#but seriously it was a terrible idea

[shsy7573]

We’re in This Together - Ch. 8

For more info or chapter index, see overview post

DISCLAIMER: I do not own own Voyager or any of the characters in this fic (except for the aliens. Those were my creation.)

*This story is not beta-read and has not been edited or proof-read in any way! This was just something I threw together over the past three days and decided to post as my first entry on this site!*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER EIGHT

Even though they had left the ruins, the Captain didn’t think she’d be able to get the image of the Arachnoman attacking its friend out of her mind. Not for a long, long time. She was grateful when B’Elanna told her that she’d only heard what happened. Kathryn didn’t want her Chief Engineer to be going through what she was.

It was hard to tell if the nausea was from the venom in her system, or from the sign of the creature’s remains. Either way, it was taking all of the Captain’s willpower to keep it down. She couldn’t afford to lose the little amount of food that she had inside her.

Somewhere along the path, B’Elanna had looped an arm around the Captain’s waits for support. All the walking had seriously irritated her ankle, and she could practically feel her foot swelling inside her shoe.

Long story short, neither one of them was doing great. What else was new?

They continued walking. For three and a half hours all they did was walk. Staggering onward down the long, winding, endless tunnel. They pushed onward though, renewed by a new sense of hope as the floor seemed to slope upwards. And even though the incline made their journey harder to bear, neither one dared complain.

So far, the tunnel had shifted directions twice. Looping once until it seemed they were going the same direction they’d come from, and then again a little further down the path, putting them back the way they were originally headed. After that, the ground had become more uneven. Weaving up and down in varying degrees of steepness as they walked. But even as it did, there was no question to the fact that they were travelling upwards.

Now, though, the ground levelled out as they came across yet another cave. About a metre in, the ground beneath their feet slanted down in an almost completely vertical drop. The bottom of the pit was over fifty feet down, creating a large, vast canyon between both sides of the cave.

Tall, flat pillars of stone spanned the gap of the cavern, creating an imperfect path of stepping stones across the great expanse. The distance between each pillar was just narrow enough to be able to jump from one to the next… or at least, narrow enough for an Arachnoman to jump from one pillar to the next. A human and a half-klingon, though, that was a different story.

“Are you kidding me!” B’Elanna yelled, her voice echoing down the canyon walls, before bouncing up the other side, and curling back across the roof of the cave. The amplified noise sent a fresh racket of agony pulsating through the Captain’s head, and she raised an instinctive hand towards her ear.

“There’s got to be another way across.” Kathryn reasoned, looking around the cave for any sign of a bridge or an outstretched ledge.

“Why would there be?! The Arachno-stupid-aliens wouldn’t need it! So there would be no viable reason for them to—“

“—There!” Janeway exclaimed, pointing down the side of the canyon.

Now, it was worth noting that the length of the chasm far exceeded the length of that singular cavern, with each side of the cave pressing right up against the canyon’s edge. Almost to the point where there was no distinction between the two as the canyon expanded onwards.

Almost.

At the border of the canyon and the cave, there was a lip just big enough for a foothold. It seemed to run all the way along the edge of the canyon, before going out of sign behind a bend in the wall. And, not too far from the wall of the cave, was a very small, very thin bridge running from one side of the ravine to the other.

A way a cross.

“Oh.” B’Elanna startled, “oh, there is.”

They looked at each other, each sporting a hopeful, optimistic gaze. A smile broke across the Lieutenant’s face, and the Captain’s expression quickly mirrored it. With a renewed spark ignited in their hearts, they made their way towards the wall.

B’Elanna allowed the Captain to go first, professing that she didn’t have too good of a track record with climbing. Accepting this, Kathryn slowly inched her way onto the narrow ledge. Even with her back pressed firmly against the cave wall, her toes still poked out into the open air.

Halfway to their destination, her brain reminded her that she was not as fit as she was when they’d gone rock climbing, and one bout of dizziness could send her hurtling off the edge. That wasn’t even considering how hard it would be to cross the bridge.

For a moment, Janeway’s hope began to dwindle.

“Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“Oh it definitely was a bad idea!” B’Elanna exclaimed, keeping her eyes trained on the far side of the ravine. She refused to look down. “Unfortunately, it’s our only idea.”

The Captain sighed, continuing to shuffle down the ledge. The engineer had a point, there.

Far too soon for the Captain’s liking, they made it to the bridge. It didn’t look as tiny as it had from the cavern, but it still wasn’t a promising sight.

B’Elanna, immediately seeing the issue, looked back and forth between her hesitant Captain and the bridge.

“Ohh… yeah, this was a bad idea.”

Janeway looked back at B’Elanna, a mischievous glint in her eye as she responded. “It’s our only idea.”

The Captain took one determined step onto the bridge. The fast movement made her world spin for one terrifying moment, before she restabled herself. She shot her Chief Engineer a winning smile, which did not go very well received.

“You’re gonna fall!”

“I am not gonna fall! Watch!” She took another step. Now, she was completely off the wall, and balancing on the bridge, which was just barely wider than one of her shoes.

“Captain!”

“Relax!”

“I am not relaxed!” B’Elanna yelled. Although, despite herself, she found her smile returning. This was completely dangerous. Extremely reckless. But oh, so Janeway. It was ridiculous.

She watched as her Captain took another step. Bringing the foot from behind all the way around and setting it in front of the other. Her arms swayed as she did so, allowing her to keep her balance as she repeated the process with the next foot.

“Wait for me!” B’Elanna said, forcing her own body away from the safety of the ledge. “Someone has to be there to catch you!”

“I’m not gonna fall!”

“If you say so!”

Not two minutes later, Janeway did, indeed, almost fall. A fresh bout of dizziness flooded over her as she looked up from her feet to see how much father they had to go. Her body tipped, and her arms flailed as her feet lost their hold.

In the fog of her mind, she didn’t even process what was happening until it was over. B’Elanna reached forward and grabbed the woman’s backpack, pulling her back on the ledge.

They were silent for a moment, remaining still as both women regained their nerves.

“Told you you were gonna fall.”

“I didn’t fall.”

“You were falling!”

“But I didn’t fall!”

If B’E’lanna wasn’t using her arms to balance, she’d facepalm. Instead, she settled for a deep, loud exhale, “You’re the worst!”

“Careful! Wouldn’t want you to be hanged for insubordination.”

The Lieutenant rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything as they continued their perilous shuffle across the Madman’s Tightrope.

-

Half an hour later, the pair reached the over side of the cave. The minute they were able to step away from the canyon’s walls, they collapsed.

Also immediately, B’Elanna started giggling. “You are so lucky I was with you.”

“I was fine!”

“You nearly feel like four times!”

“Actually, it was five times.”

“That’s not any better!” The Lieutenant laughed, all the terror she had felt over the past thirty minutes coming out as one, big fit of humour.

The Captain listened to the engineer’s laughs for a moment before responding, “we made it didn’t we?”

“Barely!”

Unable to help herself, Kathryn joined in with a few chuckles of her own. “Yeah, we’ll, I suppose I could have been a little more careful”

“You think?!” B’Elanna cackled, looking at her Captain with wide, exasperated eyes.

Their joy carried on for a few more moments before it was indubitably cut short by the far too familiar sound of scuttling.

In an instant, they were on their feet, phaser’s drawn. This sound was more urgent, much faster. If either of them had to guess, they’d say that a couple of the Arachnomen had heard them.

Four aliens came running out of the tunnels, their eyes blazing in desperation as they spotted the Captain and her Chief Engineer.

“Food!” They hissed, all at different increments as they charged.

B’Elanna fired her phaser at the two on the right, while the Captain focused her fire towards the ones on the left. The former, having a much clearer head and far better health currently, was able to subdue hers in a matter of seconds. Janeway, however, was interrupted by another dizzying spell at the quick, sporadic movements of the creatures, and the harsh noise of the phaser fire. She managed to down one, but the other was a different story.

The spider lunged at Kathryn, and B’Elanna jumped forward into action. She pushed her Captain out of the way, making herself the target of the creature’s attack instead. It rammed her to the ground, ramming her head hard against the floor. For a moment her world spun, leaving just enough of an opening for the Arachnoman to slice its pincers across her chest.

As B’Elanna cried out in pain, Janeway felt her world click back into focus. With a fuller sense of clarity than she had in days, she reached for her phaser. It had skittered out of her grip, and was dangling dangerously over the edge of the chasm. The Captain of Voyager wrapped her fingers around the device, and turned it towards the alien attacking her friend. With two flicks of the trigger, it was on the ground.

Kathryn shoved herself off the ground, grabbing the limp body of the Arachnoman and pulling it off her Lieutenant.

“B’Elanna!” She cried, a paralysing fear twisting in her gut as she looked at the downed woman.

Torres groaned in response, slurring out a murmur of incomprehensible words. Not wasting any time, Janeway unzipped B’Elanna’s backpack and pulled out the med kit. She worked quickly, using the trauma kit to repair the chest wound with fairly decent efficiency. It was strange. All day she’d been feeling uncoordinated and out of it. But right now, when her friend and colleague was in need, her focus was obsolete.

After she’d finished with the chest wound, which took approximately twenty minutes, she shoved the med kit back in the bag, and heaved B’Elanna over her shoulder. The Lieutenant was still conscious, but she was disoriented and groggy, with a sea of confusion layered across her face.

Time seemed to pass in a blur as the Captain carried her crewman. Inwardly, she was kicking herself. This was her fault. B’Elanna had jumped in to save her, and now she was hurt. What if it was really serious? What if she dies because Kathryn was too out of it to shoot a phaser?!

Janeway shook her head. She couldn’t worry about that now. All that mattered was getting B’Elanna somewhere safe so she could more thoroughly examine her.

-

B’Elanna groaned as she slowly came back to her senses. The world came back into focus, the slush in her head separated into coherent thoughts, and she was able to make out the world around her. As she tried to sit up, a roaring pain in her head protested with great intensity.

A pair of hands gently pressed the woman back to the ground.

“Lie down, B’Elanna. It’s alright. We’re safe.”

Torres looked over to see Janeway hovered over her. Her eyes warm and her gaze gentle as she lowered her friend back down.

“What happened?” B’Elanna croaked, bringing a hand up to massage her forehead.

Janeway’s eyes darkened for a moment, but her smile and warmth remained. “You hit your head. I think you might have a concussion.”

The half-klingon groaned, that would explain the headache. And the confusion. And the kind of out-of-it feeling she had.

“How long ago?”

“Three hours.”

B’Elanna nodded, and allowed her eyes to wander around the area. She realised they were no longer by the cavern, nor were they in one of the tunnels. Instead, the area around them looked like a little cave, way smaller than any of the places they’d stayed in before.

“Where…?” She breathed, trailing off as the word rattled her brain.

“A small cave, about an hour from the canyon. It seemed a good enough place to spend the night.”

As the pain in her head subsided, B’Elanna tried again to sit up. This time, the Captain helped her. Bringing her up slowly so as to not aggravate her headache, then leaning the Lieutenant’s body against her own.

“I don’t remember walking for an hour,” the Chief Engineer remarked, getting a better look of the cave they were in.

It turns out it wasn’t as small as she thought. The walls were close together, but it was tall. The Captain and herself were posted on top of a ledge about halfway up the wall. “And I don’t remember climbing up here.”

Janeway smiled, “that’s because you didn’t. I carried you.”

This got B’Elanna’s attention. She snapped her head towards the woman, the quick action causing her world to tilt for a moment. She didn’t care though, she was too surprised.

“You carried me?! For an hour?!”

“And up the ledge, yes.” Janeway added, helpfully.

Torres sputtered, looking at the clearly exhausted, sickly, fever-ridden figure of her Captain. “B-But you’re sick! That’s not even— How—?”

Kathryn held up a hand, an amused expression settling on her face. “I’m a Captain, remember? My crew comes first.”

B’Elanna was still shocked as she looked away, gaze turning out infront of her.

“That’s some superhero level shit, right there!”

Kathryn ran her hand soothingly across B’Elanna’s back. “Why don’t you eat some of your rations, then get to bed.”

“Bed? But I just slept for like—“

“You weren’t asleep. You just weren’t aware. You still need to rest, because unlike me, you may actually feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

Although it was difficult for Torres to wrap her head around, she decided it would be best to listen to her Captain.

“You’ll still wake me up when it’s my shift, right?”

“Of course. It would be unwise not to. I’m not so far gone yet that I can’t use my judgement.”

B’Elanna nodded, a far away look in her eyes as a set of rations was delicately placed in her lap.

“Eat, Lieutenant, then sleep. You’ve been through quite a lot today.”

The half-klingon complied, chewing mechanically on her rations, before settling down to sleep. Her head unashamedly nestled in the Captain’s lap. Just as she was about to close her eyes, Kathryn spoke again.

“And… B’Elanna.”

The girl in question looked up.

“Thank you.”

The engineer smiled, and closed her eyes.

[blumineck]

It's possible that some of these aren't, like, the /best/ idea...

(Jokes aside, if you want a proper discussion of how to transport/carry bows, there's one up on my patreon now!)

[cowboygideon]

So insane reading about Kev's skills from the perspective of someone who'd played with him before his hand was broken. Like yes Neil was obsessed with him and yes he knew he played differently with his right than his left—but reading it from JEAN'S perspective?? Life changing stuff. When he said the Ravens' defense forgot what Kev was like before he switched hands? I lost my mind.

[welcometogrouchland]

(ID in alt) I literally said I was gonna post this month's ago and then never had the wherewithal to describe it and so I didn't Lmao (said with pain). But since I'm thinking of opening my commissions I figured I should remind ppl that I. Yknow. Can draw.

Lots of Steph here (I had major art block making all of these and my brain worms for her kept me going) + some sprinkles of stephcass for Cass nation to enjoy!

[mycological-mariner]

First day of Pride and I just want to shine a light on all the trans people who are unable to transition, especially those who aren’t fresh faced university grads. Those who don’t live in a supportive or even just accepting home or community. Those who aren’t well off, those who aren’t good at or popular enough to crowd fund. Those who can’t afford transitioning. Those who can’t even transition socially or need to stay in the closet for your safety. Those who rely on benefits or unforgiving jobs to just pay the bills. Having to hear day in and day out you’re just GNC, that your pre-transition body is “ugly” and the ways you can express your gender are “cringe.” Every trans person who’s been told they aren’t “trying hard enough”. Those trans people who won’t even get to imagine transitioning for years.

I see you. I love you. You’re so undervalued and under appreciated in a world where being a white, well off 20 year old on HRT and getting surgery is more common to see than people who work full time and just don’t have that privilege. It sucks, so much. But you are loved and you are seen.

Happy Pride Month to trans people who aren’t where they want to be. The world is better with you in it. We all need each other.

[greyedian]

MAN I'm seriously so sad about season 2. Bc I wish act 2 had the same emotional impact on me as it appears to have on so many others. But rn I'm just somewhere between unable to care and actively annoyed by some of those writing decisions. Seriously the more I think about it the less I like it.

[gabbingwaves]

Jiyan's most dire foe yet: A sapient bubble.

[devilemon]

fuck you *yumes ur old woman*

[deardoomedworld]

Maybe the real communist book club is the friends we made along the way the one we accidentally started for a ten year old Estonian novel that's out of print

[deoidesign]

Look at these stickers my brain is literally so huge. God. I love them so much.

I hadn't tried to do a sticker sheet at home before because I knew it would be difficult, and I was right! Getting the cut lines to line up with the print was super hard and there were many failed attempts, but it was so worth it I'm so happy with them!!!

This sticker sheet is for my patrons this month ^^

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Forty-One - Love Me Normally

“Impossible choices,” Garrett hummed, still looking down at the tile. “A soldier faced with terrible orders, the only Conduit who could prevent genocide…” They looked up to meet my eyes, stare pointed as they said, “A parent, trying to cure their child.”

9.6 k Words | 40 min - 1 hr read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, unreality, experimentation, child neglect/endangerment, mind...control? poisoning, torture, canon typical violence, erosion typical violence. Angst. Reveals :D

⚠ AUTHOR'S NOTE: the second half of the Garrett chapters and my excitement grows stronger, as now, I get to move on, finally, to what I imagined Erosion to always be—and that's thanks to Garrett and their amazing creator, @neverdewitt. Yet again I have to give credit where credit is due and thank him for the amazing character and the chance to let his OC be the one to pull the wool from Jean's eyes, and force her to stare the beast that is the past in its broken, bloody pupils. Thanks for letting me have Garrett, and again, sorry babes for having you wait this fucking long, love. I adore you!

Also....thank you @inhumanghostlight for the permissions. :) I love you as well!

“Dad!” I called out into the night, the sound bouncing back from the waters and ringing in my ears. No. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him. I stood, rushing to the edge of the rooftop and trying to summon my water to help carry me down. Trying being the keyword.

But it never came.

And I couldn’t stop.

My feet skittered against the concrete of the rooftop, failing to find traction and instead making me slip, falling flat on my back and hitting my head against the hard floor. My legs flew past the edge and went further still, not giving me the grace of letting me get the stars out of my vision before the momentum dragged me off.

I shot out a hand and barely managed to grab the edge of the rooftop, slamming against the side as I held on for dear life. I choked, the hit knocking the wind out of me—but I couldn’t let go. I wasn’t enthused at the idea of plummeting 5 stories without my powers.

Hissing, I blinked back the tears from my pain, swinging my body to get my other hand to the ledge and try to pull myself up. But just as my hand came up, a black converse settled in the place I planned to grapple.

“Shit—“ I gasped; with nowhere to grab and no way to stop my momentum, I teetered hard, fingers on the hand that was holding me up beginning to slip. I wasn’t sure what Garrett was putting me through right now, but I knew I could feel. I knew pain was possible. And that drop was going to hurt a lot.

My fingers kept sliding, and I couldn’t find the advantage to get my other hand back up no matter how hard I tried. In fact, all thrashing around did was make me lose my grip further. I glanced up at whoever blocked me from grabbing the ledge with a scowl, blood freezing when I saw they were staring right back at me—and that wasn’t Garrett. Red pleated skirt, almost like the school uniform Linus Pauling used to make us wear before getting rid of the requirement. Ablazer, black hair pulled back into an immaculate bun and…a mask. A pure white, geometric mask of a rabbit.

I grunted, trying to keep a hold of the ledge as she just stared down at me. “Who—” I cut off, the weight of my entire body now on three fingers. “Who are you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, the words came with another breeze, their airy tone familiar. “Mother’s favorite child,” Garrett’s voice whispered in the back of my mind.

I didn’t have time to mull over the words—I felt the knuckles of my last three fingers sliding, and I choked out “Help me,” to the girl, who just stayed glaring down at me. “Help me!”

She didn’t. She watched the breeze take me, not even flinching when I screamed as I fell.

There’s this strange dilation that comes with freefalling; it felt like time both sped up and slowed down all at once. Everything became so concentrated until the blood pounding in my head roared in my ears like a seastorm, and all I could hear were the war drums of my own heart rate.

I should have known it was too loud to just be some internal beat.

The fall was far shorter than it should have been, and I wasn’t at all where I should have been; I didn’t meet the dock nor sidewalk, but concrete, slamming so hard into the epoxy coating on top that I half-expected it to crack under me. I writhed in pain as my spine lit up, taking a moment to blink through the tears and will oxygen back into my lungs as I registered that I was, once again, surrounded by concrete.

And that steady beeping became prolonged and harsh as it hit a crescendo, holding its last note.

I propped myself up on my elbows, looking around; this…I think it was Curdun? To be fair, I didn’t know enough about Curdun to safely say so—but the dark concrete on all four walls, the ceiling and floor suggested as much. But this wasn’t like that cell from before, not at all. Everything was too pristine.

I shifted to my stomach, trying to push myself up off the ground as the steady note stopped, some sort of doctor fiddling with a machine in the room. He was staring down at a body strapped to a metal table with disappointment on his face, like he was more inconvenienced that this person just died on his table instead of the horrifying fact that they just died on his table. I shakily got to my feet in time to see the doctor pull EKG pads off of the Conduit’s chest, his pale skin adorned with red blood oozing from every orifice in his face and dripping back into his stark white hair. He was riddled with holes and gaps, tubing being pulled from him one by one as the doctor scowled down at the patient.

The test subject.

I heard of testing done in Curdun Cay long before I knew Dad was Delsin. Everyone did. It was one of those blemishes the history teachers would breeze over in class and you’d have to learn after seeing a survivor’s interview on television or some post on social media. I learned about it from a Wikipedia rabbit hole when writing a report on Delsin Rowe’s tag art and importance of civilian empowerment. Before then, I hadn’t known more than them being locked up. Even then, it was something disconnected from reality, or it at least felt like it.

There was something different in seeing the doctor rip a catheter out of this man’s veins like it was nothing, meant nothing. Like deboning a chicken.

“Shame.” A voice behind me said, making me spin in place. Augustine stood  mere inches away in her classic Director uniform, staring through me at the corpse in disappointment. “I had hoped it would work this time.”

Being in front of her, so close to her, felt unnerving; every fiber in my being was telling me to attack first or suffer the consequences, and I would have had water already surrounding my hands if that was even a viable option here in…whatever this mental charade was. But she didn’t acknowledge how I bristled in place, how I backed up until I leaned against the same table the corpse was on—she acted like I wasn’t there. I guess, in some way, I wasn’t. If this was a memory, I was a spectre—like I was Ebenezer Scrooge and this was my fucked up A Christmas Carol.

It didn’t keep me from scooting sideways and away from her glare, though.

As I did, I realized Augustine wasn’t alone; just off to her right and three steps behind her, Garrett stood, just a year or two older than the last memory with them in it. Their hair was longer and the ends were colored in pink that stank of permanent marker, the closest they could get to a salon. They only glanced at the corpse before screwing their eyes shut and looking away, turning their head my way as their free hands clenched into fists at their sides.

 The one closest to me, though, reminded me of Mei; short black hair cropped just before it could touch the shoulder, high cheekbones that made her monolid eyes defined and deep. She looked down at the body of the young man with her head cocked to the side, face curious. Her hands were free as well and constantly moving, playing with her fingers as she stared on.

“Initial signs were promising,” the doctor said, looking at Augustine. She was nearly 6 inches taller than him and seemed even more so, with the way he withered under her critical gaze as he delivered the news. “The device was implanted successfully, and initially was suppressing the subject's powers within expected parameters—however, prolonged exposure to the inhibitor was deleterious to the Conduit’s condition. The body began to experience threatened homeostasis, which made its HPA axis respond. Lack of power expression makes the Conduit gene continue trying to develop rayacitin, which in turn is prohibited by the device. The extreme stress caused hemorrhaging and cardiac arrest in this subject, which—with our direction to not intervene to see the device’s effects on the Conduit’s physiology…”

The doctor motioned uselessly at the dead body, like that was enough to excuse killing someone in the name of science.

Augustine looked displeased. “That’s unfortunate. I trust I don’t have to stress to you how much is riding on the results of these trials, correct?” She asked the doctor, eyebrow raising on an otherwise cold face.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, Director, I’m aware—but I need you to grasp the gravity of the situation: attempting to ‘switch off’ the Conduit’s powers is like playing with the delicate balance of their entire body. It's not just about controlling abilities; there's a real risk of their entire body breaking down. No Conduit can survive long-term with this device even if we adjust the model’s RFI abilities.”

“She knew the risks then. Before.” Garrett hummed in their youthful body, standing still behind Augustine with their hands still clenched into fists as their eyes raised to meet mine. “There was no real way to disable a Conduit’s abilities without pain.”

“Without results, I'll lose everything I've built here.” Augustine hissed. “There’s too much pressure from above to find a long-term solution to Conduits. I lose funding and the government takes over, all because you can't do what I need you to.”

Solution to Conduits?

“I know,” The doctor promised. “But Dr. Wolfe’s preliminary notes are rudimentary at best. We’re having to build more on his assumption that a Conduit’s power can be controlled via manipulation to the corpus callosum, but this is a science we simply don’t have access to. There’s no possible way to exploit the channel without having severe effects on the subject.”

Augustine took a step forward. “I didn’t ask about impossibility. I am not scrubbing DUP files and handing you Conduits just for you to tell me you cannot commit to the challenge, Bennet. This implant is the only reason we haven’t heard calls from the defense branch to defund Curdun Cay. Without results, we’ll lose everything we have here and these Conduits will be left in the hands of the military.”

“She was trying to figure out a way to get rid of Conduits?” I asked, looking over at Garrett. RFI abilities in an implant? It sounded like she was trying to cure them of their abilities, or whatever she considered curing.

They sighed. “She was trying to find a way to make Conduits safe enough for other humans’ comfort. To find them a freedom the government wasn’t willing to hand over loosely. But,” Garrett drew off, stepping out of place in formation behind Augustine and turning to another table on the opposite wall. They walked across the floor and hopped up to sit on the metal, crossing their ankles. “Mother had another motivation.”

The room got brighter, the sudden shine making my head throb yet again, and I cringed, screwing my eyes shut. Was that all outside stimulus making my head hurt, or was that Garrett playing with my brain matter?

Guess it really didn’t matter either way.

What did matter is by the time the pain subsided and I could open my eyes without cringing, the entire room had changed save for Garrett; the girl with black hair was gone, the guy with white hair no longer laid out on the other table and the doctor, Bennet, no longer hanging over him. Garrett was a little bigger now, hair just past their shoulders and tucked behind their ears as they stared blankly at the floor, face a controlled, blank canvas. There was a new doctor at the end of the table, conversing with a much-less stoic Augustine.

“—trace aggregated forms of alpha-synuclein. It’s practically unheard of in someone of Jorrer’s age, but with the family’s history of degenerative brain diseases, there’s cause for concern—”

“If it’s not common in their age, then what is causing the issue?” Augustine said tersely, the last few words punctuated at each syllable. Her hand was on Garrett’s knee, shoulders back and tense, and I swear for a moment I caught a flash of Dad in the same position just an hour ago. A parent trying hard to keep it together as they heard something devastating regarding their child’s health.

The doctor swallowed thickly, nervously stumbling, “We need to consider the possibility that Jorrer’s abilities are having an adverse effect on their cognitive function. We’ve yet to figure out how they drain for their consciousness powers. There’s a chance it’s…taking from their own synapses.”

I couldn’t believe it. “The implant was…was to help you?”

“Impossible choices,” Garrett hummed, still looking down at the tile. “A soldier faced with terrible orders, the only Conduit who could prevent genocide…”

They looked up to meet my eyes, stare pointed as they said, “A parent, trying to cure their child.”

I did not like the comparison there. 

Garrett let me stew in the symmetry between our stories, continuing, “At some point, like all well-timed coincidences, the lines between the two blurred. The truth is, Jeanie—in a world like this, there are no heroes and villains. There never will be. Just impossible choices, and their effects.”

Garrett broke eye contact to instead look at Augustine, a strange sort of forlorn bleeding into their irises. “Her attempt to muzzle me was out of mercy as much as it was fear.” They said, and something in the corner of my eye moved. I spun around as screaming rang in the room, turning to see Augustine’s face go slack as Garrett glared at her, their gazes meeting. Blood began to trickle out of her nose as Garrett moves like they’re trying to sit up, one half of their head shaven and spliced, still bloody from the staples holding the skin together.

“Turn it on, turn the damned thing on and cover their eyes!” The doctor, Bennet, screamed, ripping off his facemask.

“Although, I think in my case, one fed into the other,” Garrett’s voice rang in my head as Augustine’s snapped back, a nurse using a face mask as an impromptu blindfold on Garrett. Augustine fell with the movement, dazed, collapsing on the ground before beginning to convulse as a seizure took hold of her. “The implant was insurance as well as treatment…but you heard the doctor. The hypothetical Wolfe explored in the past wasn’t a long-term solution.”

There was a scuffle behind me and I turned, instinctively raising my hands and waiting for the water that never came. Not that it mattered—the people there didn’t see me. “I don’t understand,” Augustine growled. Garrett was sitting slouched on the table, power cuffs on—and a black blindfold over their eyes. The metal of their cuffs chimed slightly with every small kick of their leg as they sat. “What do you mean the implant is failing?”

Bennet scowled, showing Augustine the screen of his small laptop. “It seems their powers go beyond mental. The device is showing degradation akin to someone who’s had an implant for decades. Attachment to the Substantia Nigra is nearly severed. With this sort of damage, it explains why the minuscule access they had to their powers has been augmented.”

“Augmented is an understatement,” Augustine hissed, “They managed to get three guards to kill each other.”

“The first time my mother tried to restrain me didn’t last,” Garrett uttered, head still hung. “Halfway through the second year, I’d managed to fix what she tried to break. I had nearly freed myself. Though…” Garrett trailed off, inhaling deep, “Not without paying a price.”

“The implant’s degradation may also be causing their worsening condition,” Bennet added. “Disruption of dopaminergic modulation is known to cause an increase in symptoms like theirs—the tremors, the seizures. Director, I’m advising immediate removal. We need to perform a thorough examination to figure out when exactly it stopped suppressing their powers, and why.”

Augustine looked displeased—and yet a hand reached out to run through Garrett’s hair. “Their disease worsens the more they use their power,” Augustine pointed out, sounding tense. Worried.

Bennet rolled his eyes as Augustine looked at Garrett, but tried to appear sympathetic when she glanced back up. “I’m aware.” He said. “But they’ll get worse if it stays in.”

“Impossible choices.” Garrett hummed yet again. Augustine’s hand left their hair and hovered by their blindfold for a moment before falling to her side. “Her attempt at mercy did nothing but make me worse. In some strange way, I like to imagine she carried guilt over her actions. That perhaps this was her sign that it wasn’t to be. That meddling with nature like this would cause more harm than good.”

Garrett’s head rose and turned towards me, seemingly able to see me through the blindfold. “She didn’t listen. Especially when the universe gave her the perfect opportunity.”

There was a loud and terrible grinding noise and fissures began to spread in the wall to my left, rocks clattering to the ground as the crevice extended, chipping away at the walls of Curdun Cay to reveal a hidden gem; the sight of Mount Rainier and the Seattle skyline outside of the clerestory window was just on the other side of a glass wall meeting room, the sort of ones that were in fancy office buildings where passerby could peek in as people gestured to the projector's images without disturbing the meeting. The concrete wall continued to collapse until there was a space large enough for me to climb through, and I glanced back to see if Garrett wanted me to go on when I realized I was alone in the room now.

Well. There really was nowhere else to go.

I moved over the concrete on the floor and up to the hole, ducking and stepping through the proverbial looking glass to whatever waited for me on the other side. The standstill of the office seemed to switch on from its frozen point; rain began to patter against the window to the meeting room, blurring the blue bruised sky of the settling nightfall. 

I stepped into the office and the motion sensor lights immediately flickered on, the bright buzzing from the fluorescent lighting searing my eyes. That’s all it needed to force the rest of the scene to change as everything in my mind pulled together, the pulsing of my throbbing head the worst one yet. God, it felt like something in there was going to burst. I audibly groaned, pressing my hands into my temples to try and counteract the migraine, pushing against the swell in my mind as I doubled over. My nose began to run, and nothing I did to sniff it back worked. It was only after the worst of the pain began to ebb away and I wiped it that I realized it was blood.

“We’re running out of time,” Garrett’s voice whispered in the back of my mind, making me shiver.

“—here in Seattle will ensure the DUP will be funded for the foreseeable future.” Augustine’s voice said. I rose from my place, looking around the room; the walls on either side, the same ones I could have sworn were empty seconds ago, were now covered in notes, print-outs and stickies and printer paper covered in sharpie all mapped out like a conspiracy theorists’ daydream, tied together with that same red string. Pictures, all things I knew. Some of things I had seen before; DUP memorandums, surveillance photos of people who definitely did not know the photographer was there. There was one that was more pink than anything else, Mom forming from the neon streaks to kick a drug dealer in the chest. The image shifted, warped around a bit with that shimmering magic of Garrett’s power until it was Mom in DUP pants and a white shirt, brown hair tied back as she positioned the same way over Garrett to try and strike them down. “This will allow me to expand our facilities abroad. We have made excellent headway on establishing a permanent science facility in Australia.” Augustine continued, her voice coming from somewhere behind me.

I tried to turn my head and found that…I couldn’t. I willed it to, tried to tense my muscles—but nothing happened. A bubble of panic rose in my chest as I heard the footfalls of Augustine’s steps behind me and yet my body wouldn’t fucking move. Everything about this suddenly made me feel like I was trapped in a nightmare, unable to do a thing as the monster approached and I was trapped in my body.

“The work we’ve already done there using Dr. Sebastian Wolfe’s notes on the Conduit are, well, awe inspiring. Even to me.” Augustine hummed into one hand as the other settled on my shoulder. Electricity shot up my spine that my body refused to heed, the flinch inside not translating to my stature as Augustine sighed, moving to stand beside me. She lowered her other hand from her mouth, pressing a small red button on the device in it before looking at the board. Half of me wanted to run, dash away from this memory or vision or whatever the hell it was Garrett was doing…but there was another half that was overpowering that one that felt content. Calmed by Augustine’s touch.

“With Delsin Rowe taken care of, and this newfound discovery, we have everything we need for restoring the DUP to its full power.” Augustine hummed.

Unassured. That’s how I felt, or some part of me did, at least. My mouth opened without my consent, the words forced through my throat not sounding like mine at all. “You’re sure he’s gone?”

That wasn’t Garrett’s voice, either. Whose head was I in?

“He fell with the rest of the island in Elliot Bay, and hasn’t been seen since.” Augustine said reassuringly. “He’s no longer going to be a thorn in our side.”

My head lowered, the feeling registering two seconds after the movement was already happening for me, like my brain was rushing to catch up to whatever my body was doing. Those hands crossed at my abdomen weren’t mine. This body wasn’t mine.

But it was hard to repress everything I felt when I was in it. Every sensation, every thought. I was slowly losing me the longer I marinated in this person’s mind, and it became we with a stipulation that I was in the passenger’s seat, nothing more than a witness.

“Dr. Mathis has been able to confirm the status of the Conduit.” Augustine continued. Her hand came up to play with the hair of whatever body I was trapped in, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. “The ability to negate another’s powers’ effects. Merely being around a Conduit is enough to weaken their influence.”

My head raised as Augustine’s hand fell, a conscious effort going into correcting the posture of the body I was trapped in. “What are his attacks like?”

Augustine inhaled deeply. “Seems there are none. No physical ones, at least. His power extends to his being, and what he can touch. Nothing more.”

That doesn’t mean much of anything, I found myself thinking. Unsure whose thought it was as we melted into one. We didn’t voice that, though. “That’s a strong ability…” we drew off instead, leaving the end free floating and loose. Allowing Augustine to fill in the space, choose the narrative—as she always did.

She agreed, at least. “Which is why I’m giving approval for the detainee to be sent to our research facility in Purcell. If we can find a way to harness that ability? The DUP would never fall. We’d be a necessity for every government in the world to control their Conduit populations.”

Control. How we hated that word. “But the Conduit has no attacks—”

“Yet.” Augustine stressed. Her voice was sure enough to force us to look at her; she looked tired, a slice in her eyebrow healing steadily as we met her eyes. “I authorized compatibility testing to find a viable source to channel his power.”

Giving the Conduit attacks. Two powers. Not many were lucky enough to be given such a generous gift. “And if they find one?” We asked, looking up at Augustine. “What then?”

“Then the world knows nothing about this Conduit, and only sees results.” Augustine’s tone was set. Serious. Unwavering. “With no knowledge of how, they’ll be forced to accept our why. Why they need us, why the DUP cannot be unfunded.”

“You plan on using the ability on other Conduits.”

We weren’t asking. We were sure.

Augustine sighed. “It’s a necessity—”

Liar.

“A human would allow a wild animal into its home if it were defanged—”

Traitor.

“And it would be a stepping stone to ensure our kind’s safety.”

Our silence. Our extinction. They’d never be satisfied.

Our face stayed stoic as the angry thoughts rampaged through our head, screaming about how this was less fighting back and more complacency. Giving up our rights, our beings, to placate people who meant nothing. And eventually, those thoughts spilled over, and we spoke out of turn. “We’ve seen how dangerous suppressing a Conduit’s powers is. How can you be sure it wouldn’t lead to more instances like Jorrer?”

Augustine immediately bristled. “Do not mention them,” she hissed through gritted teeth. She never liked when anyone brought up her failures, and this was the brightest splashing of red in her ledger by far because of how deep the shortcomings ran.

We hung our head, staring down at our black and white shoes. Properly acted remorseful. “I’m sorry,” our lips uttered, holding the apology in the air like an offering. Waiting for her to take it.

Augustine’s exhale was shaky. “If this Conduit is able to give us a way to deactivate others without adverse side effects, then Garrett will be free from their burdens. So many others will be, too. This is vital to regaining control of the narrative. Giving the government proof that we have such capability now will buy us time.”

It would do more than that. It would lay down expectancies. Conduits would have to be disconnected from their abilities to gain a semblance of rights. To exist beyond four walls made of double-paned and bulletproof glass. There would be nothing beyond the announcement but the choice of imprisonment or inactivity, forced to mold into the ideal person, human, in order to earn the right to be alive. A right snuffed out. A gift thrown away.

“If we can find a physical element to match the ability,” Augustine continued, taking our seething silence as a cue to add to the conversation, “Garrett’s implant may hold merit. The aura of this Conduit is enough to mitigate abilities. Perhaps storing a piece of him in every Conduit would be enough to weaken their abilities.”

Every Conduit.

And we wouldn’t be spared.

Every second that passed without a response forced more tension into the room, against the dewy glass and the pinboard until something else, something louder, sliced through it: sirens. APC sirens that echoed loudly through the silence of curfewed Seattle, dozens of them. Augustine’s head snapped towards the foggy window as the siren sang its song, drawing her away from the conversation.

She wasn’t even three steps away before new footfalls echoed; the heavy stomps of boots. That familiar sound that would be followed by cuffs and commands and constraints. “Director,” The voice greeted. Augustine spun around to look at the DUP Soldier. “Rowe’s been spotted. He’s making his way through the north island and was last seen in Paramount.”

“What?” Augustine hissed. We turned to look at her, and caught the end of the glare she threw around the room before facing the soldier fully. “It’s been hours since he was last seen. That’s impossible.”

“We think he’s following Daughtry to the Marina,” the soldier continued.

Augustine inhaled deeply, clenching her fists. “Alright. Thank you,” she eventually growled, anything but thankful.

The soldier nodded and left, Augustine moving to the meeting table and leaning her palms against its flat surface, hanging her head. Her shoulders sagged, then tensed, and then she straightened, turning slowly to look at us. “I want you to track Rowe. See where he goes, what he does.”

“Do you want me to engage with him?” We asked, head tilting slightly.

“No.” Augustine interrupted before the sentence was fully out of our mouth. “Rowe is still a danger, and I don’t want to put you in his crosshairs.” She fixed the buttons on her jacket, trying to force her hands to still before looking back up at us, face softening.

Taking a step forward, her hand left her jacket to settle on our shoulder, squeezing it gently. A rush of discomfort blossomed from the touch as our mind ran a million miles a minute. “I need you to stay safe,” she reassured us. “We both know Rowe’s capabilities, but with his fury, he’ll also be a danger. After what happened in Elliott Bay, he’ll be on the warpath for revenge.”

She released us and stepped away towards the door, and we watched her with narrowing eyes. “Wh–where are you going?” We asked.

Augustine stopped in the doorframe, gripping it. “To prepare. He’s going to want a confrontation. I’m going to give it to him.”

That managed to calm the storm in our mind, everything sputtering to a stop. “What?” We balked. “You’re going to give him the chance to defeat you?”

Something flashed behind Augustine’s stare, and her jaw set. “You assume I’m going to lose to him,” She fumed, turning around to face us fully. “Rowe is a danger, but with this new Conduit? He could be an asset. We both understand what hangs in the balance if he’s allowed to continue.”

“You’ve seen what he can do,” We interjected, taking a step forward. Trying to be insistent towards that piece of her we hoped was still there, if it ever was more than an act. “If he overpowers you—”

“He’s strong in the abilities he’s gained,” Augustine agreed. “He’s not strong in mine.”

She must be joking. “You’re going to let him take your power?”

“You said yourself he’s incompetent as a Conduit with a new ability.” She stressed. “You’ve watched him fight for the most basic abilities. He’s unnatural in his source, and it’s that weakness that we need to exploit. If we can corner him, and use this other Conduit’s ability to control him further, we’d accomplish our mission. We need to create the perfect chance to capture him, he’s too dangerous to keep free.”

The way her shoulders squared, her face steeled, told us all we needed to know; she wasn’t going to change her mind. She was going to structure the ideal confrontation with Rowe, and try to take control of the situation once more. She could sense our hesitation, and added, “Follow him to me. Let me tire him with a fight, let him take my power, and be there as my lieutenant. Help me ensure we will accomplish this.”

We searched her face for a crack, a waver in the idea she’d already constructed in her mind—but she was too far gone. All we could do is nod and watch her rush off without farewells, knowing in our heart it would be the last time we saw her.

We had come to that crossroad the moment Rowe made himself known—and with this new risk, the threat of permanent impairment to placate the masses that would prefer our death, there was too much to lose. We could not idly wait for freedom. We could not win by painting ourselves the villain and inspiring distance. A road continued here would lead to our demise.

We couldn’t follow this path. Not anymore.

Opening an extension. Surpassing the log in requirements to access the DUP’s internal site. Typing in case file codes perfectly and setting their PDFs to download. Waiting until things were transferred to pull out the USB and pocket it, zipping the secrets against our hip like a loaded revolver to use against whatever forces chased for us after Augustine’s inevitable demise.

And just as she did, we turned and left the meeting room, leaving unspoken goodbyes hidden among the conspiracies. 

Every step down the hall echoed back softly on our well-trained light heels, the electricity to the building short-circuiting and plunging the hall into darkness. Thunder rumbled outside, the lightning that followed it illuminating the grout between the tile until it mimicked her concrete, the pores staring back like dozens of judgmental eyes as we abandoned her.

But she was looking for compromise while we needed freedom. And we would only find that by force.

Lightning struck again, the flash illuminating differences in our surroundings; the flooring was now vinyl, lined with a dark baseboard that snaked along with our steps, the hems of our blue scrubs almost black in the darkness. The walls looked different, less bright, and the whispers in the rumbling thunder seemed to grow until they had audible syllables. The sirens of the APC sang in beats until their siren song sank into staccato, the bass rising into even beats that trailed behind every one of our steps.

Lightning never strikes the same place again. A myth proven by centuries of steeples turned to ash and pyres made from the remains of home. It strikes, relentlessly, leaving markings like blooming scars in its wake. But do the bolts truly strike the same spot twice, if those very atoms are irrevocably changed by their first meeting?

Perhaps it was their first interaction with us all those years ago that caused our disillusionment. It felt fitting to come say goodbye.

The last flash of lightning stayed, the brightness temporarily blinding us as it stayed in the hall, shocking the rest of our surroundings to life as we walked down the melancholic halls. Past the nurses station, past the pictures up of patients and their nurses, praises of their care plastered against the hospital walls. The sterile smell of disinfectant and latex-free gloves made our skin itch, and the beeping of monitors was enough to make us want to rip out our cochlea as we briskly walked down the hall to their room. 

The sign on the door got a precursory glance, a warning we were all too used to—don’t peer into Medusa’s gaze or you’ll meet a fate worse than being turned to stone. We glanced back to ensure our lonesome before opening the door and slipping through it, ensuring it latched silently behind us. 

We didn’t raise our eyes—we learned our lesson last time, when the Dream Eater forced us to confront them on a stage they had power in. Our eyes stayed pointed down, hands rising into our vision as the edges of our palms vibrated, like the epidermis itself was trying to separate from the rest of our skeleton. And in a way, it did; our pale skin got paler, shreddings of it shaking off in large layers and fluttering around our wrists like birds dancing in murmuration before coming to conjoin where we directed, folding against each other into a masterpiece. Sharp corners and pristine edges that bent into cheekbones and tall ears, the mask a welcome sight after years of the persona hiding in its burrow. 

But there was no need to hide anymore, now that our plan was finally coming to fruition. 

We fixed the mask to our face before lifting our head to see Dream Eater resting in their bed, face blanked and empty as they stared off towards the window. Was this truly what they amounted to, in the end of it all? A shadow of everything they could have been, something barely even remarkable now? 

A shame. Baku would have made a formidable partner, if fate had written our stories differently. 

But they were a victim to Purotekutā and the lengths she would go to sell a thousand souls for her own goals, molding others into the cobblestone beneath her feet in order to take another step towards what she wanted. Forcing everyone but herself to sacrifice. 

We moved closer, footsteps calling back in echo despite how lightly we tread. They made no move to flinch, to even look in our direction, but ever so slightly their brow twitched, drawing closer as we paused next to their bedside. A part of them, possibly deep within their core, knew of our presence. 

“Hello, Baku,” We greeted. They’d grown to look more like her in their age—lines of stress cracking across their face like it had in Purotekutā’s hardened façade, their hair showed proof of relation now that they couldn’t dye it in protest of being the apple that did not fall far from the tree. We found our place in the chair at their bedside. “It’s been a long time.” 

We paused for a moment, searching Baku’s face for some kind of recognition, proof that they were still there, in some way. We didn’t receive it from their direct recognition, but by their brow twitching, the slight acknowledgement that they were processing something. Did they do the same studious glare she did, when they were still cognitive? Did their brow come together just enough to make an Eiffel Tower-shaped wrinkle reach up from the bottom of their forehead to the heavens? 

“I always wondered what became of you, in the end. For a while, I had watched before giving you the privacy you deserved,” We admitted to them, watching as their hand flexed and unflexed, like they were testing that they still had control over the appendage. We had seen them in those fleeting moments of mollified life between the point where her reign ended and the disease’s reign began, where the remains of everything before forced Garrett to grapple with the person they’d become, and the memories of who they were. Truthfully, there was no moment of peace for any of us, even long after the dust settled. “We all had things we were healing from—scars that were still rough and raw.”

We looked around the hospital room, adding, “Though, in your case, I suppose they’re still gaping.”

Our eyes scanned the room corner to corner, taking in the additions to the sterile white that made it feel liveable. Blush pinks and lush greens coming together to drown out the memories this smell brought them. Us. Anyone who had grabbed Purotekutā’s interest. 

Purotekutā. “I envied you, you know.” We hummed soft, like we were sharing a secret that could damn us. “Long ago, when I was still an ignorant child. First it was simply because of your relation. Though, later, I learned how little any of that meant to her—she wasn’t looking for a progeny, she was looking for a companion, she was looking for a spear. For something that would help her achieve her goals.” Our tone became bitter and dark as we thought about every bit of falsity that made us hope that somewhere, we would find love. That helped us play right into Augustine’s hands as she manipulated that yearn for family. 

We inhaled deeply, shaking our head. “You realized that far sooner than I did, and in my ignorance, I thought you were a fool. She called for you first, compared my actions to you. I truly thought you were throwing away your one chance to stand beside our mother and make her proud.” 

Baku’s hand clenched into a fist at that, the white knuckles far paler than we’d ever seen before. They had become a shell of themself because of what Purotekutā did to them. A shame, truly. 

Our hand snaked up from our lap, hovering over theirs for just a moment before taking it, trying to ignore how papery their skin felt against ours. “In a way, I have you to thank for showing me the truth,” we said sincerely, hoping they understood how deeply our thanks ran at their interference. Without the seed of doubt they had planted in us, we would have never blossomed into what we were now. “It was only because of you that I learned to take off those rose-colored glasses and see Purotekutā for who she really was—a coward. Bowing to the whims of the humans to placate them enough to allow us to live.” 

We hesitated, the flash of a strong nose and harsh gaze entered our mind. Our favorite plaything. “Well, you…and Fukushū.” 

Fukushū…our doubt was sewn deep by Baku’s warning, but it was Fukushū’s intervention that made that seed grow into more. Helped us realize life could not continue the way it had those seven years, if we ever hoped for more than morsels of understanding from those that weren’t like us. 

We moved, laid another hand over Baku’s until we were cupping their hand gently, like perhaps one with mercy would a baby bird. “I realized, a long time ago, that Conduits will always somehow be at fault for a life they didn’t choose. We will never know peace, will always have to pay for the circumstances we were a product of so long as they have a say. The humans, those people that see us as pests to be exterminated.

“I had hoped that these past few years would show promise.” We said mournfully, the sadness in our voice tinged with anger as we thought of how volatile the world was against Conduits still, all these years later. “That the world would’ve let go of theater hatred and allowed us to live as we are. I hoped I was wrong in my fears and that I was just carrying the remains of Purotekutā’s anger with me, what she raised me with. But I’ve come to see that Purotekutā was right. Nothing’s going to change if left to the humans. Nothing that will actually benefit Conduits—and it’s time to stop relying on hopes. Dreams. Fallacies.” 

Baku moved, shifted like they wanted to react, to say something that they couldn’t, being trapped in themselves as they were. A pang of pity shot through us and we gently patted their hand before releasing them, averting our sad gaze from their face and out of the window on the other side of the room—they would hate to have that pity concentrated on them, they always did. We instead moved to look at the sunset-illuminated skyline of this unfamiliar city from the windows, finding envy in the dozens of people below that simply meandered about their daily life like it was the easiest thing to do. Like there were not pressing issues at hand that needed their constant attention. 

But the likelihood was that they didn’t care. That no one did. “We can’t keep waiting for the world to decide when we’re allowed to live,” we said, our voice low as we shared our sentiments with a sibling who couldn’t respond, gripping the windowsill in an effort to contain our rage. “We cannot keep letting them decide how we’re allowed to live. Badges and borders and branding the entirety of our kind for a sin they didn’t commit, forcing them to carry the blame for a single man.”

Our gaze fell from the busy streets to the windowsill, to the various succulents and knickknacks that cluttered the space in an effort to cover up the sterile simplicity of being victim to fates worse than death. We reached out, gingerly taking the well-loved and very worn toy fox from its place, holding it gently in our hands. “I don’t think any of us will escape this world blameless,” we hummed, thumb running over the orb of the fox’s black eye to clear the fur from its sight. Baku had come to Curdun with this same toy, a token from a life far easier than what they lived now, inherited in some way by the parents that had raised them. “A life is made of wrongs we inherit, and the humans seem intent on bestowing these wrongs to us the moment we show we’re not like them. Maybe Purotekutā was right about one thing—the world needs someone to blame.”

Purotekutā had made herself infamous to the world in an effort to be the shield they bashed their swords against in anger. The point of contention to everyone, a dam to keep from either side spilling over too high for her own liking. But that stronghold came with a price—the cost of our people’s rights, their freedom. Baku was proof of everything she was willing to give up for that aforementioned peace. “I’ve spent the last eighteen years hoping things would change,” we told Baku, carefully replacing the fox in the corner of the windowsill, angling it so its back was basking in the warm sun as we scowled. Eighteen years. Eighteen spent hoping for a fate better than what Purotekutā saw for us, if Conduits were left without someone to intervene. Eighteen years spent preparing, holding our breath with our forefinger on a trigger, waiting to see if we needed to pull it. 

And unfortunately, between the world’s strife and our own, there was no longer a chance to wait. “But time has run out, and so has my patience.” The world had waited too long, and so had we—we had no choice but to move forward now, to put our plans into motion. Years of careful planning and deliberate secrets all amounted to the loaded gun now in our hands, and it was time to pull the trigger. “I’ll become that person for the world to blame, but I can’t stand by and watch our people suffer.” 

We turned to face them fully—they hadn’t shifted much in the time we were away from their bedside, but there was effort to how they were positioned now, like some part of them was yearning to connect in a way that was impossible for them now. We crossed to their bedside once more, grabbing both their hands in ours, surprised by the death grip Baku held us in. Despite it all, they were still a fighter, even as weakened and fragile as they were now. We gave them a squeeze back in the same manner, promise in the grip as two victims, two siblings, connected in a final goodbye. “Once the dominoes begin to fall, it will be too late to stop,” we told them. “In some way, the world will not be going back to how it was. I refuse to allow it to. It’s time we take what we deserve, and show the world it cannot keep pushing us aside. We are the product of eons of evolution, and cannot be ignored any longer.” 

Something on our side buzzed, and we released one of Baku’s hands to reach into the pocket of the scrub set we’d put on to sneak in here undetected, pulling out our phone. Right on time; the clock was closely approaching five in the afternoon on the other side of the country, and progress on our plan was due. 

‘Now we wait’ the message said, in full lowercase. An image followed soon after, a picture of the back of a gutted out van with a picture of her. 

Of me. 

The one way we were sure it would draw him out, so the rest of our plan could begin. 

Holy fuck, that’s me. Back in Portland! When those Russians tried kidnapping me!

Fukushū would stop at nothing to protect those he cared for, we learned as much before. 

That’s me.

“I’m not sure if I believe in any sort of god,” we—they—said, the voice sounding far away now. “But I hope, if there is one, that they can forgive me for what I must do.”

That’s me, that’s me, that’s me. 

This wasn’t me. 

Something in the illusion I was trapped in became harsh, my vision dilating and constricting as the edges became fuzzy like I was no longer recalling  a memory, but a dream. “We’re out of time,” a voice realized in the back of my head, and I wasn’t sure if it was Garrett’s or mine or whoever’s body I was in. The hand holding the phone lowered the device down on the bed, its movement stuttered with the most confusing motion trail that made one hand look like thirty. It hesitated for a moment before raising to place itself close enough to our—their, my, whoever’s—eyes to pull down the mask and set it aside before reaching out to Ba–Garrett, gently cusping their chin. 

And the person lifted Garrett’s head to meet their eyes. 

I wasn’t prepared for the situation to burn as everything rippled like a mirage, or the gross slimy feeling after as the perspective became wholly my own and I was freed from whatever mind I was passenger to. I wasn’t ready for that pain in the back of my head that followed every change Garrett implemented to throb like my mind was going to explode, or for me to suddenly be the one with my back pinned to a bed, Garrett cupping my face. Something about the entire room shook, edges of the room glistening with that magic Garrett could wield as they dematerialized, turning into nothing but burning white and absolute void. The Dream Eater’s kingdom was collapsing. 

They were the Garrett from before, when I first started this rabbit’s hole of a dreamscape—that green silky shirt, hair bright and pink and pulled back. “There’s no time,” Garrett said. They perched over me like a vulture, or maybe the Grim Reaper, eyes wide and wild and worried as they realized they couldn’t tell me more. 

Or that, they shouldn’t have been able to. But it seemed they weren’t going to let that stop them. 

They unceremoniously yanked my face closer, the entire room feeling like it was shaking now as it fell apart. Succulents that sat on the windowsill fell until they burst into glittering nothingness, overtaken by that blinding white as it all inched closer to the bed we were in. Their eyes bore into mine, that diamond blue glint in them multiplying until it felt like it was enveloping the part of my brain that didn’t burn, pushing in on it until everything began to flash. 

Glimpses. Visions. It reminded me a lot of the flashes of everything I could do that hit when Dad accidentally sent the full power of the Core Relay through me, only far less organized and with none of my questions answered. The ruins of a bodega encased in ice, the New Marais air uncharacteristically chill for spring; A burn that felt like being cooked alive, and the soothing balm that spread from between the shoulderblades, staring up at a being far more godlike than anything we were taught. The back of a cell and an extended hand, whispered promises of greatness and righting wrongs. 

A lifetime of flashes from the moment the Beast activated this person played in my mind; the coldness of Curdun, the training. Ruthlessly being pushed to the brink of everything she could do in order to train her to be that weapon Augustine needed. How she stalked Dad, from the moment he entered Seattle. Sleeping in hidden alcoves on the rooftops, trying to help those trapped by the DUP and threatened with being sent to Curdun. A hospital bedside, Aunt Sia bandaged and bruised; a dock just a quarter mile away, hearing his blood-curdling scream as he lost his grip on his brother. A corpse in DUP detainee orange, eyelids gently closed by her hand with a final goodbye and a promise made. That moment in the Sky 6 News tower where a different path was chosen, and Augustine was left to fight alone. 

That’s where the story should have ended. 

But it didn’t. 

My mind burned, felt like it was being stretched and compressed and iced and kindled as everything Garrett wanted to show me was shoved into my frontal cortex at once. A personal thank you to Dad, left behind in a studio apartment that reeked of rotting flesh; the outcrops of Salmon Bay’s shoreline, a house that slowly became a home and an open window that stank of paint as the nursery was built. 

A late and anxious night that bled into an early morning and the return to Seattle; a hospital room, hospital masks and pandemic preventatives, a perfectly obscured face that kept Dad and Mom none the wiser as she slipped into labor and delivery. A vial just like the one I nearly dropped at Garrett’s bedside and another of blood, one traded for the other. A large machine that pulsed with the power of a thousand reactors, and the all-enveloping feeling of a hand too small to fit in her own. The warehouse we rendezvous with kingpins, offering something better than drugs. Revenge. A man seeking her out for the same purpose. Glimpses of the sins she witnessed and the efforts it took to get to this point, years of planning that led to this precipice, all to the image of me in the back of a van. 

She did this. The rabbit face-masked one, she did this. Everything! My kidnapping, Mom’s death, her illness. 

That white around the room grew as I was suddenly shot back into my own consciousness, Garrett’s eyes meeting mine. I’m sure I looked feral in their grip, but their stare was steeled as they slowly nodded, like they were finally satisfied with me knowing everything I did. That white overtook their silhouette and my vision burned like I was staring at the sun, chest hollowing out in a gasping pain as it felt like I was kicked in the sternum, pushed out of wherever Garrett had me.

“Jean! Can you hear me?”

Unfortunately, I could.

Everything was too loud, too bright. My head throbbed so hard I was sure other people could see its pulsing and the first thing I did when I came to was gag before having to hold back a nice stream of bile. Someone yanked me back by my shoulders and I fell on my ass. I felt disgusting, lightheaded and somehow full of lead. I tried to speak, to tell someone, anyone, of what I just saw, but I couldn’t speak. Something between my brain and my mouth failed, like I was here and yet, once again, a passenger in my own mind. My vision was tinged pink and could barely focus on anything beyond it, and when I tried to wipe away, I saw my hands came back crimson. “God, that’s a lot of blood,” Dad muttered, his own hands going to wipe my eyes. He moved in front of me and crouched low, trying to force eye contact and holding me hard by the shoulders. “Jean, are you okay?”

“I covered their eyes!” Aunt Sia called from somewhere off to the side.

“What the hell just happened?” Brent demanded behind me.

Tell them what you saw, their voice still rang in the back of my mind. I flinched, feeling like they were permanently impressed in the centerfold of my brain and I would never be rid of their touch—especially as I moved despite how leaded I felt, heeding their command. 

I let the directions guide me, thankful I didn’t have to put nearly as much thought into the movements as I usually would have as I laid my hand against the ground, water sluggishly crawling down my arm as I pressed my blood-stained palm to the white floor. The two mixed, droplets taking on the red until it lightened, the rinse draining away the blood and using it as ink. I could barely recall how to use my powers, and for a moment, the slick blood stayed a sad puddle before it started to shift, separating into lines.

The color drained in places, strengthened in others, building and bending into sharp lines and deep crevices until it took the form of that rabbit mask and I felt Dad’s grip on me tighten. “Jean,” he said, voice tense, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

My head lifted, lolling slightly on my neck as I met Dad’s eyes. Something in me, the thing tugging deep on the puppet strings that were my muscles and made me move without input plastered a weak smile on my face, the blood from my eyes and nose dribbling into my gums. “Celia, Delsin. Don’t you wonder where she went after it all? Are you so dense in your age you don’t remember her? Find her. She has the key you seek, the person behind the curtain. Trust your friends, trust your children. There’s no time left to dawdle. We face the end.” 

The words ripped through my throat without my permission, something in my mind squeezing as they were spoken, like my ability to speak was choked out of both my mouth and my cerebrum. The laugh that followed was sardonic and crude, the sort a villain gives up before they keeled over. 

Which, I promptly did, as soon as the imprint of Garrett released my head, the sudden lack of a death grip on my mind making it spin. Lights got 80 times brighter, everything sorta shifted like it was a mirage atop water, and the floor rushed up to meet me as I blacked out.

Want more from Doot? Go read more about how he tortures Garrett in All's Well That Ends:

Follow the tumultuous life of Garrett Jorrer, a Curdun Cay enforcer, experiment victim...and child of Brooke Augustine

Told through memories of what was and wishes of what could have been, read through the out-of-order retelling of Garrett's experiences and how life led to this moment...and how it ends. Now with every Erosion chapter added!

I'd also like to take a moment to point you towards something a good friend of mine, @infamoussparks, made. You may remember her as the creator of Dr. Hutch from two chapters ago: 

Dissipate

Dying is a heavy burden to carry but Fetch is doing her best to balance her fate while spending time with her new family. Acceptance is hard in the dead of night but it's also the best time to shine as bright as neon.

A tender moment from Fetch Walker as she grapples with the fate of her illness, and the small children she will never get to see grow old. It genuinely had me sobbing when I first read it. It's heart wrenchingly evil.

I love it.

[danzainosolitude]

Once again I read fanfiction that seems to have been precisely written to deal psychic damage to me.

[ilovedthestars]

How do the members of the Polaris group respond to snow? Have they all even seen snow before? (this is either w writing prompt or info dump prompt, whichever you prefer! <3)

Hey I really appreciate that you sent this outside of any ask game, just for fun! :)

I tend to stick to writing the Polaris characters on stations and ships a lot more than planets, so this is actually a great question that I haven't thought about before. Most of them have probably been down on Preservation's surface at least once, but we don't know that much about the climate in the inhabited areas.

Niri has probably spent the most time on Preservation (although still not like, years) and has also gone on all kinds of contracts while undercover, which probably includes some planetary exploration missions like the ones we see Murderbot on in ASR. It has probably seen snow before. I think it would like it, especially the pretty kind of snow. If it was free to do so, and with friends, I can see it enjoying a friendly snowball fight! Aybee, if they were there, would absolutely join in.

OldUnit...is really old, so it's possible, but I think it also mostly gets sent to guard mining and construction projects, which people tend to avoid doing in places with a lot of snow. But still, in 40+ years it's probably been sent at least once to a planetary surface with snow. That was probably before at least one memory wipe, though. If it encounters snow again, it would be part new and strange experience, part deja-vu.

Hope's done a lot of traveling, but I think xe really appreciates and values comfort. So xe probably prefers to experience snow as a pretty view out the window, while xe is cozy and warm inside.

Enigma...is probably a little wary of entering gravity wells without a way to leave that it's 100% in control of. Stations just have more escape routes. But I don't have a clear idea of what the planet where it spent 7+ years on contract looks like, and an icy, frigid landscape does sound compellingly horrible--I'll have to think about that! So it probably either has never seen snow, or actively hates it.

(Bonus: Yuma and Crowbar both spent most of their lives on airless asteroids/planets, with artificial atmosphere under domes that aren't big enough to have real weather. I think they'd both be very excited about the experiences you can have in an actual atmosphere, including snow!)

[huginsmemory]

When they were like write for yourself and your dick and you're like Okay! And then you see some very specific trends...

[farawayforyou]

A man gazes at me in the mirror

I don't know who he is

But one thing is for certain

He's not me

His gaze is cold, calculated

His looks are sharp

Like what I see

But it's not me

He receives endless praise

Adoring friends and lovers alike

But that's not me

For a fluid may sit still

He flys like the river, carefree of what's to come.

[sskk-manifesto]

Atsushi's back in the game!!! ۶( ˆ o ˆ )