#infamous erosion

[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.

[hyvyinjie]

CHANCE.

TW! implications of death.

bittersweet! melancholic

t. muichiro x f. reader

graciously requested by @muuumuiiii ! thank you so much for requesting, you sweet lovely lad<3

who would have anticipated it? the mist hashira, of all individuals, displaying a concern that surpassed anyone else's for you—the spirit pillar; a warrior whose technique came at the steep cost of a gradual erosion of your life.

THE MOON; THE BRIGHTEST PEARL SUSPENDED IN OUR VELVET SKY THAT FLOODED THE INKY DARKNESS WITH ITS SILVER GLOW.

a radiant disc it was. casting its ethereal glow upon the shadows of the night, while also heralding the relentless onslaught of a few infamous entities—demons.

a symbol of hope, this pale sentinel embodied a goddess-like presence, standing as a timeless guardian, observing the earth with an unwavering gaze as warriors valiantly battled the monstrous creatures scattered throughout.

above, the luminous orb commanded the vast expanse of stars, illuminating them all. yet, even in this peaceful night, two particular slayers found themselves immersed in the serenity, although one seemed burdened by a more pressing concern, far beyond the tranquility itself.

in a world where such creatures roamed, the perfect harmony would remain elusive.

thus, what purpose did survival serve if death constantly loomed, a persistent visitor at one's very doorstep?

well, the purpose of life is to be happy. or at least, that's what this young man believed.

said boy possessed an acute understanding of this belief, as if it had become ingrained in the very fabric of his being—an awareness that, perhaps, bordered on the excessive.

the sheer ecstasy of savoring every moment of existence, embracing its essence in its entirety, was undeniably a remarkable achievement—a feat that deserved to be celebrated with fervor.

thus, he found himself utterly incapable of comprehending—indeed, he never had—how she could nonchalantly dismiss the imminent cessation of her own existence, as if it were a trifling matter. the weight of her disregard for her own life gnawed at him, like a persistent ache that defied understanding.

..then again, had he been any different?

"—and…now you’re spacing out, again.”

ah, the sound of that melodious voice; both longed for and dreaded, resonated within him and snapped him out of his reverie. even though he had incessantly poured out his thoughts to her since he awakened from his coma, with her faithfully by his side, deep in slumber—despite her own exhaustion—she had remained.

as your words echoed in his ears, he shifted his gaze to meet your own—and oh, those eyes.

he would give anything to forever witness his own reflection in the depths of your eyes.

in a mesmerizing dance, your gazes intertwined; an exquisite tapestry woven with delicate threads of connection.

he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnificence of your irises—their majesty akin to rare crystalline treasures, gleaming beneath the majestic canopy of the nocturnal sky.

as a gentle zephyr whispered sweet nothings, its delicate touch caressed their beings, a tender embrace from the invisible hands of nature. he watched, his eyelids descending to a half-closed state, surrendering to the enchanting symphony of the night.

the breeze, like a playful sprite, felt as if it alone, could carry away his worries and sorrows, dispersing them into the velvety darkness.

yet, amidst this reposeful tranquility, a question lingered in the depths of his soul, an enigma that remained elusive and enigmatic.

it was one of the few riddles that continued to elude his grasp, an enigmatic puzzle that defied comprehension, regardless of whether he had regained his former self or not.

why, he pondered ever so deeply, did your well-being hold such profound significance to him?

why did his heart ache with an inexplicable yearning to protect you, to ensure the radiance within you remained untouched by the shadows of the world? it was as if his very purpose revolved around safeguarding your light, shielding it from the encroaching darkness threatening to dim its brilliance.

no, he never intended to diminish your worth in any way.

on the contrary—he understood, with a profound certainty, that you’re fully capable of caring for yourself alone.

yet, despite his awareness, a veil of mystery draped over his consciousness—that of a delicate wisp of mist teasing the boundaries of his understanding. it remained tantalizingly close, yet perpetually out of his reach, an enigma that eluded his grasp.

similarly elusive was the faint, almost imperceptible yet weighty pang in his heart each time his gaze flickered to your bandages that dressed your wounds.

he struggled to fathom its origins, to decipher the emotions that coursed through him with every glance. was it concern, fear, or something different altogether?

of course, he chastised himself for overreacting. after all, you were healing, weren't you?

...right?

at least, that was the relentless mantra he repeated to himself, like a haunting melody, a lullaby of self-deception.

perhaps it was a lie he constructed, a defense mechanism to shield himself from the harsh reality. deep down, he knew all too well that you were pushing yourself to the brink, sacrificing fragments of your own well-being to save countless others from the clutches of death.

how he yearned to tell you—to implore you—to cease using the very essence that slowly, yet inexorably, eroded your own vitality. the desire to shield you from the self-inflicted harm, consumed him.

yet, who was he to stand in your way?

who was he to dictate how you should pursue your purpose—your solemn vow? who had the right to demand that you discard the only technique you knew, as if acquiring a new skill were a trivial matter?

perhaps, for you, it had maybe once been a tangible option—a plausible alternative.

however, it clashed with the very reason why you chose to persist in wielding the power of spirit breathing, despite its unfortunate and devastating toll on your own being.

it was a conundrum that weighed heavily upon his soul, yet another conflict that tugged at the frayed edges of his limited understanding.

then, abruptly—his consciousness snapped back to reality, like a fragile dream shattered by the gentle sweep of a waving hand.

in that instant, the symphony of your voice, a sweet and melodious tune, graced his senses once more, stirring his spirit from its slumber.

"hello? earth to tokito?"

your words danced in the air, adorned with a delicate blend of amusement and genuine concern—whilst he, silently observed your actions. his gaze lingering for a fleeting moment, as if capturing the essence of your graceful movements.

soon enough, his eyes blinked, like a dormant star awakening to illuminate the night sky, as he finally stirred from his reverie.

with a subtle tilt of his head, he emitted a soft hum—a melodic expression that intertwined intrigue and acknowledgment in response to your beckoning. the notes of his hum danced through the air, a secretive melody that conveyed both his curiosity and the recognition of your presence.

meanwhile, you watched him with an internal sigh of relief.

the young man, whom you had believed to be forever lost in the bewitching realm of his perpetual daydreams, had returned to the realm of the present. the transformation within him, from introspective to effervescent, had you spellbound, never failing to leave you even in but a speck of awe, of these rare moments of clarity that graced his being.

"seems like someone's finally awake."

a faint smile blossoming upon your lips, akin to the first delicate bloom of a spring flower. lowering your hand with graceful grace,

you adjusted yourself to a more comfortable position beside him on the edge of the engawa outside the butterfly manor—a perch where you and him had been leisurely spending time together, without a care in the world, rambling on about. relishing in the comfort in one another’s presence—like a normal pair of souls basking in the way of life.

"you’ve been staring at me for quite a while.”

pausing for a breath, you tilted your head—the radiance of your irises blooming with an enchanting glow, as if the secrets of the universe were hidden within their depths.

"what's wrong?"

in the midst of an enchanting moment, a subtle hint of wounded innocence played across your seductive countenance, evoking a mysterious allure.

"do i look that bad?"

your voice, though as mellow and gentle as always, carried an underlying touch of vulnerability.

in an instant, he reacted, tilting his head with a subtle mixture of surprise and denial.

"what? no."

aa he blinked, his words slipped out absent-mindedly, like a whisper from a dreamer's lips.

"far from it, actually."

he confessed, his sincerity palpable.

with a gaze that held a painter's eye for detail, he saw your flaws not as imperfections, but as intricate brush strokes that added depth to the masterpiece of your being. inexplicably, he adored you, to the point where it practically pained him.

and who could blame him? for you were way more than a mere beauty that could be captured in words. you were a tapestry of emotions, a symphony of sensations that defied description.

to him, you are everything.

your brows raised slightly, captivated by his ever-unpredictable nature. truly, like the wind, he embraced the freedom to wander in any direction he pleased.

reminiscent of an owl, you blinked a plenty amount of times, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of his flattery. it seeped into the recesses of your heart, stirring a delicate blend of bashfulness and gratitude.

"then..."

unintentionally mimicking his gestures, as if dancing in synchrony with his spirit, you then asked, avidly yearning to explore the depths of his thoughts.

"mind sharing what's got you so..distant?"

although it was not deemed uncommon for him, of all individuals, to maintain a silent disposition, you possessed a deeper understanding—having witnessed something greater, something more.

despite the mere span of a few days, you stood as a crucial observer to the sudden shift in his demeanor. having been privy to a bewildering yet endearingly interactive side of the boy since his awakening, it became slightly disconcerting to witness him potentially regress into his characteristic, distant, and dazed state.

the memory of those extraordinary moments lingered, and it was disheartening to question whether they were mere illusions or if they held the promise of something genuine.

as of now, the male in question pressed his lips together, creating a slender line as his gaze wandered away from yours, as though searching for a brief respite from reality.

seeing this, you reassured him. carefully observing these subtle occurrences with your keen irises.

"you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

responding with a weary shake of his head and a sigh escaping his lips, his gaze flickered back to you, and as his eyes connected with yours once more, a subtle softness overcame them.

truly breathtaking were his eyes. they possessed a hue reminiscent of emerald, yet they gleamed like the replesdent glow of the moon above.

however, what truly captured your attention was the way his brows furrowed just as the corner of his lips downturned, for internally—a cascade of emotions crashed upon him all at once. moreover, a despairing layer seemed to coat his eyes, a poignant sorrow that caught you off guard.

"i don't like it."

he stated firmly, his words hanging in the air, leaving you perplexed.

your head tilted slightly further, eyes widening as you regarded him with curiosity and intrigue.

in response, he raised a hand to the area where his heart resided, his gaze lowering and narrowing towards the ground beneath you both.

"this feeling..."

his voice carried a weight of uncertainty, gaze delicately shifted back to meet yours—and in that moment, you could have sworn you saw his frown deepen as the hint of sorrow on his features became even more pronounced.

"and knowing you could..."

he trailed off, unable to bring himself to complete his sentence. yet, the unfinished words were enough for you to grasp the essence of his meaning.

your brows upturned, sensing the profound depth of emotions he struggled to express fully through words. you had a hunch that it might be something like this, but witnessing his reaction with such intensity was, without a doubt, enough to evoke a painful ache in anyone's heart.

the desire to comfort him welled up within you, an overwhelming longing to ease his burdens. yet, you couldn't help but question how you could possibly offer reassurance.

would it be by telling a blatant lie about something that was inevitable?

now, that would be nothing short of cruelty, no?

to suggest that you would overcome it would only exacerbate the pain. moreover, you were uncertain how to approach the situation without inadvertently triggering a devastating chain of events in the unavoidable future.

truth be told, if he were anyone else, you might have dismissed the matter with a casual remark, wouldn't you?

but with him, it was different.

you couldn't bring yourself to say so.

unable to find the right words in that moment, your gaze somberly shifted away from his, fixating on a distant point ahead. yet, in a sudden and unexpected instant, you were taken aback as you felt the weight of something new but vaguely familiar resting upon your shoulder—soft strands of supple hair gently brushing against you. along with it came a delicate warmth, enveloping you in an oddly soothing sensation.

"you don't have to say anything."

he quietly uttered, his honeyed voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and reassurance. he simply needed to release his thoughts into the open, to let them be heard, even if it was just a single sentence.

there had been no intention to pressurize or burden you, but rather a desire to be the one offering reassurance while subtly seeking comfort himself.

in a silent plea to convince himself that he wasn't caught in a dream, he gingerly leaned his head against your shoulder, and though was making sure not to add any more damage to your wounds, he did so without a hint of regret.

your heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed by the depth of his actions. turning your attention back to him, you found solace in this unspoken gesture of support. that tender gesture conveyed a profound understanding, a connection that surpassed the boundaries of words. it was a silent reassurance; of ones comforting presence for the other, especially in the face of uncertainty.

a sentimental smile graced your features as you felt immense gratitude for his selfless deeds. even in this moment, he made sure you were as comfortable as possible, going above and beyond to provide solace. the warmth of his actions filled you with a deep sense of appreciation and reinforced the unmatched bond between you.

"..thank you,"

you whispered in a hushed breath, your voice carrying the weight of profound appreciation.

though the words seemed simple, they held within them an entire universe of gratitude—a universe that bloomed with vivid colors, dreamlike aspirations, and meaningful connections.

with a delicate grace, you lifted your hand and allowed your fingertips to dance upon the canvas of his raven tresses. each strand, like a silken thread, wove a tapestry of sensations beneath your touch.

the texture was soft and supple, akin to the gentle caress of a summer breeze. as your fingers glided through the ebony strands, you embarked on a journey of intricate care, smoothing out the knots that dared to disrupt the harmony.

in this intimate act, time seemed to suspend, creating a space where the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in a transcendent moment. your touch, as mindful as the brushstrokes of an artist, traced a path of tenderness and care. each movement held intention, a pledge to protect and cherish him, ensuring no harm would befall his vulnerable spirit.

It was a silent symphony, where the language of trust and gratitude flowed effortlessly through the whispers of your fingertips.

as you continued this tender ministration, a vibrant tapestry of emotions unfurled within the depths of your heart. gratitude, like a delicate fragrance, mingled with a sense of wonder, weaving a spellbinding combination.

the tenderness you shared painted a tableau, akin to a cherished memory, where hues of warmth, understanding, and appreciation blended harmoniously.

pleased by your touch, a contented hum escaped your companion's lips, his eyes finding solace in the comfortable embrace of closed lids.

a smile, brimming with emotions, blossomed upon his visage, a testament to the profound impact of your presence.

his heart fluttered with a bittersweet ache, caught between the beauty of the present and the uncertainty of the future.

yet, even in the face of daunting odds, a glimmer of hope persisted within him. it discreetly clung to his being, refusing to be extinguished.

it was undeniably a childlike hope, both fragile and resilient; to yearn for the possibility of a miraculous turn of events.

still, muichiro wanted to embrace that chance, to patiently wait for the magic of a future with you.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

At the behest of Julia Serano, LGBTQ+ people and their allies, including me, will publish and amplify pieces called “LGBTQ+ people are not going back”.

As Democratic allies and members of the LGBTQ+ community, we urge Democrats to stand strong to protect our LGBTQ+ (and especially our trans, nonbinary, intersex, and gender nonconforming) folk and not jettison them like what Rep. Seth Moulton (D-MA) would like to do.

In the wake of bigot-elect Donald Trump’s return to the White House, there is justified concern about the erosion of hard-won LGBTQ+ rights (and especially trans rights), such as nationwide policies that erase trans existence by designating male and female as the only legal genders, forced outing and forced misgendering policies in school settings that endanger student safety, bans on gender-affirming care on trans minors (and possibly adults), nationwide Don’t Say Gay or Trans laws mimicking Florida’s infamous law, and a whole host of harmful anti-LGBTQ+/anti-trans/anti-drag policies.

[...]

Contact your state legislators and Congress folk to remind them that protecting our LGBTQ+ folk is paramount, regardless of what party they belong to:

State legislators: https://5calls.org/issue/transgender-state-legislation/ Congress: https://www.congress.gov/members/find-your-member

- Justin Gibson (he/him/his), cis LGBTQ+ ally 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ Granite City, IL

Read the full post on my Substack.

[shamandrummer]

Climate-Endangered Tribe Sues Louisiana

By now, you're likely well aware of the climate crisis and its significant dangers to Indigenous communities the world over. The problem is especially magnified on islands and in coastal regions, where sea level rise can wipe away traditional homelands and make climate refugees of those who have been displaced. That's true even right here in the United States, where hundreds of Native communities -- in South Dakota, Alaska, Florida, Hawai'i, Washington, and Louisiana -- face existential threats.

And now, the first community to supposedly be moved from harm's way -- the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation -- is facing a new set of problems. Just before the new year, the tribe filed a landmark civil rights complaint with the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) against the state of Louisiana. In 2016, HUD granted Louisiana $48 million in aid to resettle the tribe. But, its complaint asserts, Louisiana failed to properly implement the grant and has ethnically and racially discriminated, violated tribal sovereignty, excluded cultural components central to a proper relocation program, and provided poor replacement housing.

The Jean Charles Choctaw Nation has resided on the Isle de Jean Charles for five generations, since the ancestors of its citizens escaped the Trail of Tears in the early 1830s amid President Andrew Jackson's Indian Removal Act. Its homelands and burial grounds are located in a region facing perpetual devastation and erosion by storms and sea level rise. Since 1955, the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation has lost over 98 percent of its lands to the encroaching ocean.

It's also worth noting that the tribe is located in Terrebonne Parish, a region notorious for oil extraction, high pollution rates, and environmental justice violations. The Parish and over 90 percent of its property are largely controlled by non-local fossil fuel and chemical companies. The infamous "Cancer Alley" is just upstream.

By filing its complaint with HUD, the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation is looking to the federal agency to investigate the grant-funded resettlement program, currently run by Louisiana's Office of Community Development (OCD). The tribe hopes HUD will order OCD to respect tribal needs and authority as the program's implementation proceeds. The lawsuit is also significant in that, while the tribe has state recognition from Louisiana, it does not have federal recognition, which would extend access to more grants, disaster assistance, and various legal powers -- including constitutional protections and self-governance recognized by the United States.

[critical-skeptic]

There Are No Gods or Kings, Only Man

A Scathing Critique of Trumpism and the Rise of Populist Extremism

The era of Donald Trump has left an indelible mark on the political landscape, both in the United States and globally. The ascent of Trumpism, with its cult-like fervor, has emboldened extremist rhetoric and actions reminiscent of a nascent Fourth Reich. This dangerous trend has profound implications, and it is crucial to dissect its roots, impacts, and the broader issues it reveals about contemporary society.

The Cult of Personality

Donald Trump's presidency was characterized by an unprecedented cult of personality. His followers, often referred to as the MAGA (Make America Great Again) crowd, elevated him to an almost god-like status. This idolization is antithetical to the principle that "there are no gods or kings, only man." By placing Trump on a pedestal, his supporters disregarded his numerous failings and embraced a narrative built on lies and demagoguery.

Trump's appeal lay in his ability to present himself as an anti-establishment figure, a billionaire who spoke for the "common man." However, this facade masked his true nature as a self-serving opportunist. The QAnon conspiracy theory, which flourished under his watch, further exemplifies the dangers of blind faith in a singular figure. QAnon followers believed in a shadowy "deep state" and saw Trump as their savior, leading to real-world violence and a distortion of democratic discourse.

Populist Rhetoric and Authoritarian Tendencies

Trump's rhetoric was marked by extreme populism, scapegoating minorities, immigrants, and political opponents. This us-versus-them mentality fostered division and hatred, eroding the social fabric. His infamous slogan, "Make America Great Again," harkened back to an idealized past that never truly existed, promoting a reactionary agenda that sought to roll back civil rights and social progress.

The rise of Trumpism also saw an alarming embrace of authoritarian tendencies. Trump's frequent attacks on the media, judiciary, and other democratic institutions undermined the checks and balances essential to a functioning democracy. His refusal to accept the results of the 2020 election and the subsequent insurrection at the Capitol on January 6, 2021, highlighted the dangers of a leader who refuses to relinquish power and incites violence.

Global Impact: A Fourth Reich in the Making?

The impact of Trumpism has not been confined to the United States. Around the world, populist leaders have drawn inspiration from Trump's playbook. Figures like Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, Viktor Orbán in Hungary, and Narendra Modi in India have adopted similar tactics, leveraging nationalism, xenophobia, and disinformation to consolidate power. These leaders, emboldened by Trump's example, pose a significant threat to global stability and democratic norms.

The comparison to the rise of a Fourth Reich is not hyperbolic. The parallels between the current wave of populism and the conditions that led to the rise of fascism in the 20th century are stark. Economic uncertainty, social fragmentation, and a distrust of established institutions create a fertile ground for demagogues who promise simple solutions to complex problems. The dangerous combination of charismatic leadership and a disaffected populace can lead to the erosion of democratic principles and the rise of autocratic regimes.

The Broader Problems: Idolatry and Centralization of Power

The rise of Trumpism and global populism underscores a broader issue: the human propensity for idolatry and the centralization of power. In times of crisis, people often seek strong leaders to provide direction and reassurance. This tendency, however, can lead to the elevation of deeply flawed individuals to positions of immense power, exacerbating the very issues they purport to solve.

The idolization of leaders like Trump distracts from the reality that they are mere mortals, subject to the same flaws and limitations as anyone else. This deification creates a dangerous feedback loop, where leaders are emboldened by their followers' unwavering support, leading to increasingly authoritarian behavior. The principle that "there are no gods or kings, only man" serves as a reminder that power should be dispersed and accountable, not concentrated in the hands of a few.

The Way Forward: Embracing Rationalism and Egalitarianism

Addressing the rise of populist extremism requires a fundamental shift in how society approaches leadership and governance. First and foremost, it is essential to reject the notion of infallible leaders. Political discourse should be grounded in rationalism, critical thinking, and empirical evidence, not in blind faith and conspiracy theories.

Egalitarianism must also be a guiding principle. A healthy democracy thrives on diversity of thought and a robust system of checks and balances. Power should be decentralized, with strong institutions that hold leaders accountable and protect the rights of all citizens. Education plays a crucial role in this endeavor, fostering a populace that is informed, critical, and resistant to demagoguery.

In conclusion, the era of Trump and the rise of populist extremism serve as a stark reminder of the dangers of idolatry and the centralization of power. The quote "there are no gods or kings, only man" encapsulates the need for a more rational, egalitarian approach to leadership and governance. By embracing these principles, society can resist the allure of authoritarianism and build a more just and democratic world.

[codenamehazard]

Welcome to the InFAMOUS: No Man's Land Masterlist! Where I will post links to chapters, art, one-shots and whatever else I feel like putting that's related.

The lovely cover art was done by the talented @rogueshadeaux who has been a major help in my writing journey and a huge inspiration with her love for InFAMOUS and world building!

.:Table of contents:.

.:Fun Stuff!:.

.:Art!:.

---What is InFAMOUS: No Man's Land?---

InFAMOUS: No Man's Land started out as a simple one-shot of a what if that took root and grew.

The story follows the journey of Cole MacGrath a couple of years after the Evil Ending of InFAMOUS 2. Years of having the burden of being the "messiah" and dealing with the hardships that came with it, Cole finally has enough. He breaks away from the army he reared and takes off into the Wildlands of the Great Plains, where new opportunities await for the Demon of Empire City to claim.

---- Want More InFAMOUS?----- Erosion By @rogueshadeaux — Second Son Continuation. How far will you go to do the right thing while trying to protect your family?

Shattered by @conduiitz/@kraftledare — Apocalypse!AU. Follow glass conduit Luca Montello as he searches for his best friend in the broken remains of Seattle.

Devil Like Me by @neverdewitt — See the aftereffects of DUP life on a forced conduit trying to make peace with his past sins.

All’s Well That Endsby @neverdewitt — Follow the tumultuous life of Garrett Jorrer, a Curdun Cay enforcer, experiment victim…and child of Brooke Augustine.

inFAMOUS: Sparks by @infamoussparks — Set 7 years after the good karma ending of inFAMOUS: Second Son, join friends new and old as they navigate what it really means to be a part of the Second Age.

Erosion link done by me, the rest was borrowed from @rogueshadeaux listing.

[locustheologicus]

The infamous Project 2025 can be found here for all to see. It presents itself as a thorough conservative agenda, which it is, but at the level of completely undermining our already weak democratic system and gutting the last remnants of economic regulations.

The video above does a good job in offering a broad overview of the expressed concerns. Most groups shine a light on the issue of reproductive rights, however. For my part, I am deeply concerned about two items. The erosion of our democratic systems, in lieu of a self-perpetuating conservative recruitment process, and the gutting of any existing and already weakened economic and ecological regulations. Two such concerns of the latter point are what Project 2025 plans to do to the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau and the Security and Exchange Commission. "Financial regulators should remove regulatory impediments to entrepreneur­ial capital formation." Here are the word for word recommendations.

Congress should abolish the CFPB and reverse Dodd–Frank Section 1061, thus returning the consumer protection function of the CFPB to banking regulators

The SEC on the other hand will continue to exist but serving the executive agenda by removing any independant oversight.

both the Public Company Accounting Oversight Board (PCAOB) and Financial Industry Regulatory Authority (FINRA)... should be abolished, and their regulatory functions should be merged into the SEC.

Politically, people will focus on the reproductive rights issue, but I think the pro-corporate agenda should be a greater concern for all of us. Just look at how it will completely undermine any social issues in Favor of corporate profit.

Prohibit the SEC from requiring issuer disclosure of social, ideological, political, or “human capital” information that is not material to investors’ financial, economic, or pecuniary risks or returns. The proposed SEC climate change rule, which would quadruple the costs of being a public company, is particularly problematic.

Repeal the Dodd–Frank mandated disclosures relating to conflict minerals, mine safety, resource extraction, and CEO pay ratios.

Oppose efforts to redefine the purpose of business in the name of social justice; corporate social responsibility (CSR); stakeholder theory; environmental, social, and governance (ESG) criteria; socially responsible investing (SRI); sustainability; diversity; business ethics; or common­good capitalism.

Prohibit securities regulators, including SROs, from promulgating rules or taking other actions that discriminate, either favorably or unfavorably, on the basis of the race, color, religion, sex, or national origin of such individual or group.

Now, it seems that Candidate Trump is attempting to distance himself from this agenda. But as you can see, he is clearly wedded to this for his potential administration.

I have mentioned some of my earlier concerns with Project 2025 when I first heard of it. Now, as Candidate Trump seems to be inching ever closer to the Presidency again, it is more important than ever to be aware of this policy paper and its repercussions. Here is a further analysis on the democratic concerns we should all have over this agenda.

Thanks to the Lincoln Project, here is a tongue and cheek presentation of what we can expect from Trump and Project 2025.

[infamoussparks]

InFAMOUS Sparks: Table of Contents

--WRITING-- Ao3 Link (bookmarks & kudos appreciated!) Prologue

Chapter 1: Sparklers & Secrets

Chapter 2: Safe with Me

Chapter 3: Missing Pieces

Chapter 4: Skeleton Closets

Chapter 5: Origami Smoke

Chapter 6: Dead Ends & Decisions

Chapter 7: Sound Choices

Chapter 8: Reunions & Relationships

Chapter 9: Sparking Emotions

--ART--

Falling with Grace

Happy Birthday, Benji!

Happy Birthday, Caly!

Happy Birthday, Lucky!

--EVEN MORE INFAMOUS--

Erosion by @rogueshadeaux — When the world comes crashing down around you and everything you thought you knew was a lie, how do you save the world, and your family, without failure?

Shattered by @conduiitz/@kraftledare — Apocalypse!AU. Follow glass conduit Luca Montello as he searches for his best friend in the broken remains of Seattle.

Devil Like Me by @neverdewitt — See the aftereffects of DUP life on a forced conduit trying to make peace with his past sins.

inFAMOUS: No Man's Land by @codenamehazard — Evil!Cole AU. Run away with Beast Cole MacGrath as he traverses through the Wildlands, the untamed and conduit-filled plains of America that hold more secrets than it seems...

All's Well That Ends by @neverdewitt — Follow the tumultuous life of Garrett Jorrer, a Curdun Cay enforcer, experiment victim...and child of Brooke Augustine.

(Summaries written by @rogueshadeaux. Erosion summary by me.)

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty-Eight — Prognosis

I think those were the worst parts of it all; the waiting. That silence that left way too much time for the thoughts to get louder. Sitting on the stiff examination bed in a hospital gown felt more suffocating than a noose, the center of a horrible sort of attention.

4.5 k words | 15-20 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Hospital, procedures, medical events

⚠️AUTHOR'S NOTE: Another chapter, another friend! How could I not let the world's best doctor be a part of this tale, especially when the RowlandRoweWhatever family needs someone with a special set of skills they can't get at just any ol' hospital? Thank you @infamoussparks for letting me steal your girl and show off her brilliant skillset, the inaugural first outreach towards the people who make this fandom fantastic.

I sat up as the patient couch pulled out of the scan machine, pulling the earplugs out of my ears and opening my jaws to force a pop. 

Dad had nearly blown a gasket when Dr. Sims explained what they wanted to do on Monday—or, moreso, how they wanted to do the imaging for it. A dose of diluted raythium with a dye in it for tracing the conducrine and every protein it produced in the time I was in there. “You want to put that stuff in my daughter?” Dad demanded, “A day after we just figured out how dangerous this shit is?”

Dr. Sims did his best to try and placate Dad’s worry, telling him it wasn’t the same. “It’s at least not gonna cause anything bad,” he assured him, “But it’s the only way to activate the proteins in her to observe them,” 

Dad eventually relented, letting Dr. Sims whisk me away as he stayed back with Brent; he wasn’t allowed in the radiology department while I was getting an MRI just in case the magnet became too attracted to his steel. 

“You did great, Jean,” Aunt Sia assured me with a low voice as I slipped off of the patient couch, Dr. Sims wheeling in a wheelchair. They wouldn’t let me walk, and I hated it—I wasn’t crippled, just broken. 

Didn’t matter—either way, I was pushed through the hall like some spectacle. 

Dad pushed off from his place leaned against the wall when the door to the exam room opened, rushing to meet me as Aunt Sia wheeled me in. He glanced down at me, smile stressed and forced, before looking up at Dr. Sims. “Get what you need?” he asked.

Dr. Sims nodded, taking the chair back from Aunt Sia. “Yeah. I’ll be back with the specialist in a bit.”

And there we were, caught in another waiting lull. 

I think those were the worst parts of it all; the waiting. That silence that left way too much time for the thoughts to get louder. Sitting on the stiff examination bed in a hospital gown felt more suffocating than a noose, the center of a horrible sort of attention. It didn’t help that they all had quickly shifted back to treating me like broken glass; Brent was silent and blankly watching me, seeming to examine every move, Dad was still acting as if I’d drop dead any second, and Aunt Sia insisted on coming. Said she wanted to support me. And I mean, sure, I was thankful that they cared…but it was suffocating. Demeaning. Even if that’s not how they meant it, it’s how it felt. 

There was a swift knock on the door, and Dad didn’t even finish saying something about coming in before the door opened—and the sharp click of heels against the hickory floor. 

The person that walked in most definitely wasn’t Dr. Sims. Her red hair was more natural auburn than Aunt Sia’s bright red, shoved away in a messy bun that somehow looked like it took twenty minutes to set. There was one fancy silver pen sticking out of it and that somehow looked deliberate too. If someone asked me to picture a ‘confident scholar,’ it’d probably be someone like her; white blouse, black pants, eyeliner that looked sharp enough to prick my finger for a blood sample. The lab coat swayed behind her as she walked confidently into the room, Dr. Sims closing the door. 

But her smile was warm and welcoming as she looked over the room, greeting, “Hello!” She regarded me first, smiling, “I’m Dr. Hutch—you must be Jean.” 

I smiled back sheepishly as Dr. Hutch’s eyes moved to Dad, something in them registering. “You must be Mr…Rowland? Rowe?” 

Dad chuffed, “I’m not even sure, at this rate,” 

Dr. Hutch accepted his admittance with grace, offering a hand to shake. Dr. Sims turned just as Dad stood, eyes widening when he moved to share the doctor’s hand—and with a shimmering sound and a flash of blue, he was across the room in an instant, gripping Dad’s wrist and yanking it upwards away from Dr. Hutch.

“You don’t wanna do that, D,” Dr. Sims warned, looking at Dad knowingly. The realization struck me almost immediately. 

She was a Conduit. 

Brent seemed to come to the same conclusion, eyebrows shooting up as he glanced at me. “Right, sorry.” Dad said, letting his hand fall. 

Dr. Hutch smiled, “I’ll go with Rowe, then,” she said simply, her own going to rest on her hip. She looked between Dad and I, getting right down to business. “I’m a certified genetic counselor, and I’m here to run one last diagnostic on Jean before we go over your test results—and what I found out from what you sent me,” she added, looking over her shoulder at Dr. Sims. 

I looked her over; nice outfit, a lab coat, and…quite literally nothing else. She made no move to pull anything out of the pockets on her coat, either. Hadn’t we established there was nothing wrong with my DNA? Why was there a genetic counselor here? Dad seemed to think the same, because he asked, “What sort of diagnostic?”

“I want to observe her health on the cellular level,” Dr. Hutch informed him. “It would give us a better idea of what could possibly be the problem here.”

“Do you—” I hesitated, not even sure how to ask what I wanted to ask. “Do you have to draw blood?”

Yeah, that’d have to do.

Dr. Hutch smiled gently, shaking her head once. “No. I’d just need about ten seconds of your time, and your hands.” 

My brow furrowed; my hands? How was she going to examine me with those? Was she gonna palm read her way to my diagnosis? I glanced over at Dad, who looked intrigued more than confused. “Alright,” he said simply, giving consent for whatever procedure she had in mind. 

Dr. Hutch nodded, beginning to roll up her sleeves before asking, “May I see your hands please, Jean?” I hesitated, looking at the cast on my right arm, and Dr. Hutch seemed to understand my concern, placating it with, “Don’t worry—just your fingers are fine.”

She brought her own hands out in a gentle show of faith, a soft coax of her fingers convincing me to lay mine in hers. Her manicured nails clicked gently against my cast as her hands closed over mine, and I could just barely hear her hum to herself as the seconds ticked by. 

Dr. Hutch spent the first few of those ten seconds looking down at where our hands met, but once she passed five, she looked up, eyes trailing along my body as she began to look for something. It was there that I saw it; her eyes were this rich green with golden flecks around her pupil, but the longer the time passed, the brighter that yellow got. 

She was using her power on me. 

Her brow furrowed further as she went from looking at me to around me, like she was searching for something in the air. Her counting progressed further, past seven, and she began to stare at specific spots like she was deciphering hieroglyphics, trying to understand something more than any of us could fathom. 

“...ten.” She breathed. She glanced over at Dr. Sims and shook her head before letting go of the hand in a cast to gently pat the back of my other one before setting it in my lap, moving away to stand by Dr. Sims once more. 

Dr. Sims crossed his arms, looking down at the floor for a moment before saying, “Thank you, Dr. Hutch.” 

Neither of them seemed happy. 

I think everyone else caught on to the sudden shift in tone in the room as well; Aunt Sia moved a bit closer, and her hand came to my back, rubbing it gently. Dad moved two steps to close the gap between us to put his hand on my knee, and Brent’s brow furrowed as he watched them both move. 

Dr. Hutch sighed hard before looking up at Dad. “I’d like to clarify, before we begin, that my power is magnification,” Dr. Hutch began. “I can essentially narrow in on the gene structure of any person and pick apart their DNA sequence just by ten seconds of contact, much like how an electron microscope functions when examining a blood sample. I prefer hand holding as it’s comforting and easy to mask with extended handshakes for those I simply have a hunch about. As I build up to ten seconds I can see the DNA sequence clearer and with that I can determine if anything is out of place or exists when it maybe shouldn’t. I’ve yet to find an instance where I’ve been wrong.”

Jeez, with a power like that, I don’t understand why we didn’t come here to begin with.

“So you’re sure you know what’s wrong with Jean?” Brent asked, looking at Dr. Hutch. 

“We had results before bringing in Dr. Hutch, however, she���s the best second opinion you could ask for. I wanted to make sure.” Dr. Sims said. He inhaled deep, looking like he was biting down on his cheek so roughly he was going to chew a hole straight through it. He looked between Dad and I, cutting right to the chase: “I’m diagnosing Jean with conducrinopathy.”

Dad’s grip on my knee tightened and his jaw tensed, and I swear to god he looked like he was about to start breaking down walls. “What’s…” I glanced at Dad before looking back at Dr. Sims. “What’s condu…that?”

Dr. Hutch took over the explanation, beginning with, “Well, your conducrine—between your shoulder blades, right about where she’s touching right now—is what gives you power. It produces rayacitins, the proteins that change this energy into your elemental conduvergence.”

Conduvergence—that was what they called the powers, right? Using a power was conduvergence. “Okay,” I hummed, nodding. But I didn’t understand; what did this have to do with what was wrong with me?

“A typical Conduit has a set amount of rayacitin proteins in their body, and when they’re running low, that causes that pain you feel in your shoulders.” Dr. Hutch continued, trying her best to dumb this down for me. “They’re also what influences other cells to heal faster. Less proteins, less power, slower healing. More, the opposite.”

Oh, okay. “So is my condushine—”

“Conducrine.” Dr. Sims interrupted. 

“Conducrine,” I corrected, looking back at Dr. Hutch. “Is it just not making enough proteins?”

She looked to Dr. Sims, who sat on my question for a moment. “Sort of.” he agreed hesitantly, head bouncing side to side gently like he was considering which way to go with his explanation. “Conducrinopathy is when the conducrine itself begins to dysfunction. Its protein output wanes, you’re correct. That’s probably the cause of your pain, currently. But it…I suppose the best way to understand exactly what happens is to consider it…a sort of organ failure.”

All my breath left in one huff, and it felt impossible to breathe in more. “What?” I whispered. 

“Your conducrine is in a manageable state right now,” Dr. Hutch interrupted. “But as the disease progresses, it will begin to produce corrupted proteins. Your power will…will turn on you.”

“Wait, like the old forced Conduits?” Brent cut in. He looked furious, but his anger wasn’t aimed at Dr. Hutch and Dr. Sims with his question. 

Dr. Sims nodded. “That’s the main instance we’ve seen conducrinopathy, yes. The conducrine is due to turn on a Conduit if it is forced to copy artificial proteins. It’s like using the wrong blood type in a transfusion. But it has happened to two Prime Conduits. A patient here, and—”

“Mom.” I looked at Dad. “That’s what happened, isn’t it? When she started looking gray a-and sick in the pictures. Her power was killing her.”

“We can’t assume that it was killing her,” Dr. Sims interrupted as Dad’s eyes fell and he stared at the floor, face void of any emotion. “But if we had to compare how she was to the data we have now, then…yes, she more than likely had the same condition.”

My fingers went to mess with my cast, and I couldn’t think of anything to ask. What the hell was I supposed to say? Cool, doc, thanks for the Conduit cancer diagnosis! I felt on the verge of a panic attack. 

Aunt Sia rubbed my shoulder like she was trying to ease the tension out of it, and that was enough to get me to regurgitate one of the thousands of thoughts running through my mind. “Can you cure it?” I asked, looking back at Dr. Sims and his partner with pleading eyes. 

Dr. Hutch looked down at the ground as Dr. Sims appeared to try and swallow back bile. “We…there’s no known cure yet, though in your situation, this has only happened to one other prime whose progression of illness could be followed. There are noted differences between the symptoms in primes versus forced Conduits, but we’re…these are uncharted waters. We don’t know what to expect.”

“What are the differences?” Dad finally asked, voice robotic. “What can we expect?”

Dr. Sims looked like he wanted to do anything but answer Dad’s questions. Like he hated being the bearer of bad news. “The pain and tenderness between the shoulderblades is common. That will probably be the most persistent symptom. However the amount of healthy rayacitin proteins in her body will…they won’t be replaced by healthy ones. The damaged cells will spread further instead, and it’ll…her powers will start getting weaker. Maybe disappear entirely. The healing is usually the first to go.”

Dr. Sims looked at the ground and scuffed his shoe on the wood before adding, “We don’t know how her power will turn on her, either. That will change the status of her condition from manageable to severe more than anything else. And…between Fetch, and the other prime Conduit we’ve observed, decline is…faster in prime Conduits. The way a forced Conduit is already stunted in power is enough to delay it significantly more than a prime, especially when considering how much weaker they are.”

“And you’re sure it’s this?” He asked, looking between the doctors. His eyes settled on Dr. Hutch. “How can you be positive?”

Dr. Hutch was trying her best to keep her face neutral. “When using my powers, I can see this aural ring around people. I can tell if they have the gene, if they’re activated—your daughter has both signs. But there is also something wrong with the aura on her. It’s turning black. The only other times I’ve seen that is when I’ve run diagnostics for Dr. Sims upon his request.”

Dr. Sims shook off the discomfort of the moment, moving a step closer. “Delsin, I’m gonna be here every step of the way in case something happens,” he looked at me, “We’re going to make sure you’re, at minimum, comfortable.”

I hated how he phrased that. Comfortable? It didn’t sound like he was offering to just help me with pain, it sounded like there was more to the statement. A promise for there to be a comfortable end.

And I wasn’t a fool, I knew how this was going for all the old DUP agents; they were either all ill as could be, or slowly succumbing to their illness. His words sounded like he was offering me management if it came to that, too. 

Fuck. Fuck. Tears immediately began to pool in my eyes and it was hard to keep them away. No cure, no help, no idea what was going to happen. But I needed to know one thing: “Am I gonna die?” 

That was the wrong set of words to use; Brent immediately threw his hand back to hammer the side of it against the wall, the hit so hard plaster immediately caved under his fist. He pushed off and stalked away, brushing past Dr. Sims to the door and throwing it open, disappearing into the hall. 

Dad sighed, head falling. “Sia, can you—”

“‘Course,” she said, patting my shoulder gently before leaving the room, heeled combat boots echoing loudly as she jogged to catch up to him. 

The silence in the room truly was deafening, the air thick as the remaining four of us grappled with what just happened. Everything felt like it was slipping away; the color in the blue hospital gown I had on, the noise of the cars on the street outside. This was it. I really was broken. 

And there was no way to fix it. 

Dad squeezed my knee three times, and suddenly I was shot back to when I was a little girl trying to sit through the scariest moment of her life: vaccine day at the doctors. Me sitting at the end of an uncomfortable bed just like this, gripping the edge for dear life as Dad sat across from me, a hand on my knee. Three reassuring squeezes. I love you. 

Took me far too long to realize he’d do it when the needle went in and I’d miss the scariest part of the whole event. 

Now he was trying to reassure me yet again, forcing a deep breath into his chest as he lifted his head, looking at Dr. Sims. “This didn’t start happening to Jean till that fight with Augustine,” he began. “Conducrinopathy doesn’t happen to just anyone. Something caused this.” 

Dr. Sims sighed. “Delsin, her powers just manifested. We truly don’t know if this can be an inheritable condition or not.” 

“Well,” Dr. Hutch held up a finger. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that yet, either.” 

Both Dad and Dr. Sims shot her a confused look. Dr. Hutch didn’t bother waiting for one of them to interrogate her, instead digging into the pocket of her lab coat and pulling out three blood collection tubes full of anything but blood. “I analyzed the two samples you sent, Eugene. And your friend downstairs passed a third to me earlier this morning.” 

Dad immediately bristled. “We don’t have another friend here,” he said, guarded. 

Dr. Hutch cocked her head to the side, concern on her face. “You don’t?” 

“What did they look like?” Dr. Sims interrupted. Dad’s hand tensed on my knee. 

“Short, wide set. Wore sunglasses inside for some reason which I’m…” she drew off. “Now I’m worried was to disguise himself.” 

I knew someone that matched that description exactly, but it wasn’t someone with a hidden agenda. “That’s Zeke,” I forced myself to murmur. My voice didn’t sound like mine. It didn’t even feel like I was talking. Was this what dissociation felt like? Feeling like I was witnessing the room from outside the window to the right? 

Dad scowled…but something in his expression shifted. “He brought you something to analyze?” He asked Dr. Hutch, surprised Zeke even cared. 

“He did,” she confirmed, holding up a collection vial that had black liquid in it that turned iridescent with a deep green where light hit it. I knew that liquid—that’s what Zeke took from the First Sons’ base in New Marais. “Said he hoped it would help me find answers for Jean.” 

Dr. Sims looked at Dad, who almost looked remorseful in a way before blinking a few times, inhaling. “And what did you find?” he asked. 

“Well, from what I understand, these two samples were acquired in New Marais,” Dr. Hutch said, shifting the samples in her hands so she could hold a pair up to the light. “I examined their properties and their aural signatures, and they’re certainly interesting. To save you the technical terms, these two samples almost replicate poison in a way. This one—” she pointed to the black and dark green liquid, “—the poison itself while this contained the cells it was affecting. However instead of killing the cells, they seemed to mutate them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Dad went on to tell Dr. Hutch what we saw when underground, and how we found files that suggested the creepy crawlies in the First Sons’ basement were Conduits turned creatures. She reacted with horror in the right parts of the tale, but her eyes were alight with a curiosity that she couldn’t hide well at all. “I didn’t know that was possible,” she said. “I knew there were instances of monsters in New Marais but never really followed up on why.” 

“We were worried, with it corrupting Conduits, that it could be what happened to Jean,” Dad finished. 

Dr. Hutch shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the case. Where these two are similar, the one from Salmon Bay is completely different.” She stored away the two vials in her lab coat and held the one full of tar to Dr. Sims, who took it without hesitation. “It matches the signature of every case of conducrinopathy I’ve seen—including Jean’s. It has the same…darkness to it, but at a strength that made it nearly impossible to read without feeling ill after.” She glanced between Dad and I. “It’s like it’s emitting something far more dangerous than a regular Conduit can handle.”

Dad stood, hand leaving my knee to step forward and take the vial from Dr. Sims’ outstretched hand. “So this tar is what caused Jean’s sickness?”

“She was injected with it, correct?” Dr. Hutch asked. 

Dad motioned to my leg hanging over the edge of the bed. “Augustine’s concrete had this tar on it when she managed to pierce Jean’s leg,” he informed her.

The scarring and spider veins on my left leg hadn’t faded at all in the last week. The raised scars were still an angry red and brown, the veins alight like they were lightning with how bright the blue was against my legs. Dr. Sims took a few steps forward, motioning for me to bring my leg up and hooking his hand behind my calf so he could examine it closer. “I need to get this and the break checked on, next,” I could hear him mutter to himself like he was making a checklist. 

Dr. Hutch joined Dr. Sims, looking at my injury from over his shoulder. “It looks like it attempted healing,” she observed. 

“If you’re right, and that tar caused her sickness, could this be when the conducrinopathy started happening?” Dad asked, pointing to my scars. “They’re healed wrong because it was running out of time?” 

Dr. Sims’ brow furrowed. “The results did come back abnormal,” he muttered. He turned my shin lightly and then looked up. “Knowing the tar is practically the same as the illness, I wouldn’t be surprised if so.”

Dad stared at my scarring for a long time, long enough for Dr. Hutch to clear her throat awkwardly and say, “I’m sorry for bringing bad news. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Dr. Sims sighed. “We’ll be visiting palliative care later today for the patient, if you’d be willing to meet us there.”

“Of course.” 

Dr. Hutch gave me a nod before turning on her heels and leaving the room, the sound of the door as it latched shut behind her feeling like a gavel strike of a death sentence. Dad, still staring at my leg, shook his head and brought a hand up to rub against his face. “Someone did this.” He said. 

“Del—”

“If that tar matches what’s wrong with Jean, then Augustine caused this. I don’t know if it’s because she got a new power, or somehow fucked with her old one—”

“Delsin—”

“But her power caused organ failure.” Dad finished with a stressed voice, and I wasn’t sure if it was to talk over Dr. Sims or simply because he was stressed. “We need to find out how she got the ability.” 

Dr. Sims shifted on his feet, thinking. “We can’t be sure that it’s not something that Augustine simply developed,” he warned. 

Dad shook his head. “I don’t believe that. Archangel helped Augustine. They tried finishing what she couldn’t do! She had to have gotten this power from somewhere.”

“I understand that, but you have to realize—this is the first time we’ve seen a situation like this with its cause. The forced Conduits develop conducrinopathy naturally, and we don’t know how the other two instances of this happened in primes—“ 

“But we know it’s not normal.” Dad retorted. “What happened to Abbs? What’s happening to Jean? Shouldn’t be a thing.” 

There were three sharp raps on the door and Aunt Sia returned, looking between Dad and Dr. Sims as the latter refused to let his gaze wander. “Archangel did something to make this happen, it was probably the plan the entire time—just for me. But this is some sort of power, right?”

“I’m not sure—“ Dr. Sims tried saying as Dad rambled on.

“—so we just need the power to fix it. Only way it’s coming out is the same way it went in.” 

“Delsin, this isn’t like then. We don’t know where the power came from or if it’s something new at all.” Dr. Sims finally put enough power into his voice to interrupt. “This is the only time it’s happened like this. For all we know, with the old DUP soldiers? It could simply be because Augustine was involved.” 

Dad opened his mouth to say something else when Aunt Sia cleared her throat loudly and pointedly, looking at Dad. “Delsin, I think you should go talk to Brent.” 

Dad blinked. “But—“ 

“Just a small talk, then we’ll finish what we came here for.” Aunt Sia turned to Dr. Sims. “Is there anything else we need to do for Jean? She still has some stitches, do they need to be removed?”

Dr. Sims looked confused and yet thankful for the topic change. “Yeah I-I want to get a general check up on her, but we’d need a more qualified doctor.” 

“Alright, then why don’t you go see who you can find while Delsin talks to Brent?” Aunt Sia asked the men, looking at them expectantly. 

They muttered some sort of agreement as Aunt Sia herded around their attention, the two eventually leaving me alone in the room with her. She stepped up to the edge of the exam table I was sitting on, right between my legs, and moved to cup my face, her expression solemn. “Oh Jean,” she murmured, “I’m sorry.” 

She pulled me into a hug and it was like everything snapped back to my center like a rubber band ball; I was no longer witnessing this from the outside, but fully trapped within the body betraying me, the ache in my back reminding me of the diagnosis. “I’m scared,” I admitted to her, voice cracking. 

“I know,” she replied almost immediately. “This has to be so scary for you. But you heard how quick your father was to begin trying to think of solutions,” she pulled away to look at me. She was right: Dad was always the problem solver. I wasn’t sure if this was something he could fix, though. “We’ll take this a day at a time, but you won’t be alone.”

Want more of Dr. Hutch? Check out Feth’s inFAMOUS: Sparks!

Set 7 years after the good karma ending of inFAMOUS: Second Son, join friends new and old as they navigate what it really means to be a part of the Second Age.

A perfect blend of OC and OG, Feth knows all things inFAMOUS like the back of her hand—for good reason ;). I’m a sucker for a good after story, for the butterfly effect of every choice made in canon to change something in their future, and Feth captures that perfect (and realistic) after. Rosa is one of many amazing new friends the original trio make as they take on foes old and new.

[sageoffablesardowin]

Storytime with the Sage: Wayfinder

There are many powerful artifacts strewn across Ardowin, but few have traveled as much of her surface as the fantastical blade known as Wayfinder.

As the tale goes, a wayward pirate captain sailing from Ashara to Xeqash watched in horror as a tumultuous tempest tore through his ship and crew. The captain, it turns out, along with his crew, had scorned the name of Ananiel, the archangel of storms, and earned the great celestial's ire. As the poor soul managed to crawl onto an escape boat, the Archangel manifested itself before him.

The captain begged for forgiveness and, sensing the opportunity to redeem the old crook, Ananiel blessed his blade with the properties of a compass. He told the man that the blade would keep him alive, so long as he swore to forgo his criminal ways.

While the captain was skeptical and arrogant at first, eventually the pangs of hunger and exhaustion began to weigh on his body and mind. As he gave further into his regret, the blade seemed to move the water, pushing him toward land.

This man would become a powerful warlock of Ananiel, wielding the mighty blade Wayfinder in battle, and liberating other criminal-occupied ports with the power of the sea at his beck-and-call. One day, finally, he was defeated in battle by a rival captain, who claimed Wayfinder as his own. As he did, its form shifted from an elegant scimitar to a wicked saw-toothed falchion.

So the blade would pass from wielder to wielder until it fell to the hands of Riptide, captain of the Whitecrest and a member of the infamous Black Wing guild of Freyglen, whose ship went down off the coast of the Winged Peaks.

The blade was known to be deadly sharp and able to pierce through even the toughest extraplanar threats, and molded itself to the whim of its wielder. It was able to cut through enemies with deadly force, eroding the tough hides of undead and fiends like like hundreds of years of saltwater erosion happening over an instant. The blade also granted the wielder control over water, making them especially dangerous at sea. It is even said that the blade protected its wielder from death by chanting a ritualistic song of the civilizations lost to the depths.

Wayfinder was never found after the crashing of the Whitecrest. The sharp, jagged beaches of stone make traversing the wreck dangerous. That specific shore is known as "Shipwright's Tomb," for the spire-filled chasm that the multiple wrecked ships get pulled into by the crashing tide. Locals spread tales of dread--of the dead who still guard their precious cargo. It is said the blade is still there, guarded by these spines of stone, the furious sea, and the restless crew below.

[xtruss]

Alcatraz Island still draws tourists for its history as a federal penitentiary. But it also has a rich past as little-known military base, erected to guard against foreign invasion. Image Credit: Mbprojekt Maciej Bledowski, iStock

Ground-Penetrating Radar Reveals Military Structures Buried Beneath Alcatraz Penitentiary

Using non-invasive techniques, archaeologists have confirmed the presence of a coastal fortification beneath what was once the prison’s recreation yard.

— By Katherine J. Wu, Published March 4, 2019 | August 02, 2023

Alcatraz might be best known as a popular tourist destination, the site of the former high-security prison that once held Al Capone. But a team of archaeologists has now unveiled new evidence of this San Francisco Bay island’s often overlooked military history.

In the study, published last Thursday in the journal Near Surface Geophysics, researchers used non-invasive technologies to pull back the curtain on a stunningly well-preserved 19th century coastal fortification that lies beneath the ruins of this infamous federal penitentiary. The work confirms that while prison construction in the early 1900s destroyed much of the former military installation, several structures were buried more or less intact, enshrining a critical sliver of Alcatraz’s colorful past.

“This really changes the picture of things,” says study author Timothy de Smet, an archaeologist at Binghamton University. “These remains are so well preserved, and so close to the surface. They weren’t erased from the island—they’re right beneath your feet.”

Study author Timothy de Smet used non-invasive techniques to create a subsurface map of remains of Alcatraz Island's former military fortification. Image Credit: Timothy de Smet, Binghampton University

Prior to the mid-1800s, Alcatraz Island was a barren strip of land capable of supporting little more than a raucous population of seabirds. But in the wake of the California Gold Rush, the United States government looked to the rocky outcrop as a potential military base to protect the newly bustling city from foreign invasion. Over the next several decades, a stone- and brick-based fortification was erected, then rebuilt as earthen structures better equipped to handle erosion. But Alcatraz struggled to keep pace with the rapid changes in artillery during and after the Civil War era, and by the late 1800s, the island’s defenses were essentially obsolete. Military pursuits on Alcatraz were abandoned shortly thereafter.

When the island’s prison was erected around the turn of the 20th century, little physical evidence of its former architecture remained—or so many thought. The new study, led by de Smet, says otherwise. To look beneath the surface, the researchers deployed ground-penetrating radar, which pulses electromagnetic waves into the earth, returning signals that can visualize remains without excavation. The strategy uncovered a labyrinth of subterranean structures, including an earthwork traverse, a kind of defensive trench, running beneath the penitentiary’s former recreation yard.

“Below the Surface, Alcatraz is Still Full of Mysteries”

“This really reinforces what several historians and archaeologists had long suspected,” says study author and Alcatraz historian John Martini. “Up until this point, we had nothing to go on except for a few visible trace remains and maps—and a lot of suspicion.”

In a way, Martini says, the findings reflect just how limited real estate was on Alcatraz, which clocks in at less than 50 acres. “On a small island, there’s only so many places you can build,” he says. “And it’s unlikely they went to the trouble of demolishing all this stuff.”

A 15-inch Rodman cannon and its gun crew, 1869. These were the largest guns mounted on Alcatraz. Image Credit: National Park Service, Golden Gate National Recreation Area

Because they’re both sensitive and non-destructive, techniques like ground-penetrating radar are crucial for these kinds of investigations, and can complement historical records that survived the era, says Jolene Babyak, an Alcatraz historian who was not involved in the study.

With these results in hand, de Smet and his colleagues plan to continue archaeological investigations under Alcatraz. Going forward, only time will tell what this rock will reveal, Martini says. “Below the surface, Alcatraz is still full of mysteries,” he says. “There’s still a whole lot to be learned.”

Soldiers posing in the island’s ordnance yard. A brick Citadel capped the summit of Alcatraz. 1869. Image Credit: National Park Service, Golden Gate National Recreation Area

[akitomojito]

I HAVE FINALLY AWOKEN FROM MY FUCKING SLUMBER. Anyways, take yet another brain rot of two characters of mine, the next thing will be soon, since I’m actually not rotting and feel the need to feed the few sleep deprived and needy people here <3

(Word count: 1,513)

(NOT FINISHED ‼️ I add to this occasionally since I made this while I was newer to tumblr, but I’ll keep updating it every now and then 😈)

”You have quite the wondeful garden, my love. And doing this all on your own? I’m truly impressed.” A small chuckle erose from [REDACTED’S] lips as he made his statement, leaning back against a white, polished table. The flowering designs carved into the furniture made it blend it perfectly, yet simultaneously with the surrounding garden. From the lush green bushes, to the fruit that either sprung from tree’s or other neighboring bushes, it truly looked as if a fairytale had been made reality. The sunset had begun to fade in, coating the garden in shades of pink and orange, making it all the more grand.

“Well, didn’t I tell you I grew up in a cottage? Of course I’d be dealt down with the cards of my trade from my home. Besides, it calms me down, and keeps me sane.” Another male replied to the other man’s comment. A slight bit of eagerness in his tone. That came from the humble joy of picking his garden’s fruit, to be more specific, his delightful strawberries. Nobody could grow them the way he liked, so he simply did it himself. He sighed, looking down at his basket. Looking at the name, “Quinn” carved into it, slight embarrassment crawling up on to his face.

“Did you seriously write my name down on my basket?” Asked Quinn, turning his head around to suspiciously stare at the face of his beloved. He couldn’t lie, he certainly was something to the eye. From the brown pants and boots, all the way up to the cream turtleneck, it was as if he was staring at a higher being other than human. [REDACTED] seemed to catch on to Quinn’s staring, raising a brow and proceeding to look around the heavenly area. “Just perfect for our wedding venue, wouldn’t you agree?” Quinn simply scoffed, slowly getting up from his crouched position from picking the fresh berries. But it couldn’t be denied how that of a strawberry color spread along his cheeks, even making as far down as his hands. He could practically feel the flirtatious stare from the man near him, smelling it.


”This is a garden, not a playground, don’t get ahead of yourself.” Gently snapped Quinn, slightly avoiding much needed eye contact from [REDACTED] as possible. He was taking few steps to meet the face of the brute, pondering his own thoughts. A wedding? The idea at first seemed brash, but the more he thought about it, the more his cheeks grew in color. It was as if his cheeks were like thin paper, and some ink was slowly seeping through, leaving behind an annoying, yet obvious stain. How could this man say a simple sentence, and made him feel like he was questioning himself more than he already was? “Oh, shucks. Let a man dream now, sweetheart. That is,” With a sly movement of his hand, [REDACTED] lifted up Quinn’s wrist with his index finger, grinning that infamous grin of his. Slowly, his index finger traced along Quinn’s palm, seeming to follow the permanent lines in his skin. “Unless you’d like to make my dream a reality.”


Quinn could feel his eye slightly twitch, this time deciding to stand his ground against the one in front of him. He didn’t quite glare at him, but gave him a subtle, warning stare. It was a mixture of a demand, and a plead. Almost begging for him not to fluster him more, yet at the same time, continue to adorn him in his love. His attention quickly caught on to a small, white plate. It sat perfectly still on the table his lover was up against, the reason Quinn payed attention to it was due to the fact there were once, a good amount of strawberries laid out across the plate. Now, there was nothing. ”Did you really eat all of the strawberries I picked? Didn’t even bother to leave one for me?” Quinn proceeded to give [REDACTED] a heavy side eye, attempting to counter the statement made previously before. Internally, he smirked to himself. There wasn’t much of a reason he suddenly felt cocky, perhaps now he could put the somewhat of a pain in his rear end in his place. Oh, what an utter joy that would be. The male had been messing around with him all day, he just had to be taught a lesson.

“No, no, I did leave you one. It’s right here. Maybe if you paid more attention to me, you would’ve noticed.” Quinn looked up at him, realizing that in his other hand close to his face, another strawberry sat comfortably in between his thin, slender fingers. Quinn pushed his bottom lip out just a small bit, fiddling with the bottom part of his blouse. He tried to distract himself with the color of his top, a dark, forest green color it was. One of his personal favorites. He looked back up at [REDACTED,] however only with his eyes. “. .I can see that quite well, but you still ate them all. You’re rather lucky I happen to have more on me currently.”


”Or you could simply say I’m lucky I have such an adorable future husband to pick through the thorn bushes for me.” Quinn rolled his eyes, [REDACTED] couldn’t tell if he did that to be playfully rude, or just straight up nasty. In an attempt to distract himself, he offered the strawberry to Quinn with a warm smile. Quinn looked up at the fruit, then [REDACTED], cautiously, slowly but gradually moving his hand towards his to take hold of the fruit. Eventually taking it away from him all together, simply holding the strawberry in front of his face. “I just love it when you’re so kind enough to leave me your leftovers.” Quinn remarked sarcastically, not even realizing how [REDACTED’S] hand was slowly closing in around his wrist. He only noticed when he felt his hand being moved. By the time he looked to see what the man was doing, the fruit was almost pressed against his beloved’s lips, barely inches away. Quinn’s eyes slightly widened, not entirely expecting such a thing to happen. “Well, how about this? I’ll eat my last strawberry, and you could have the rest you just now, picked? If you’d like, we could share.” [REDACTED] Brought Quinn’s hand a little bit closer to his lips, smirking. “So, why don’t we make this one extra memorable?”

Quinn barely had a moment of thought, before the feeling of soft, glossy lips grazed the sides of his fingers. [REDACTED] Slightly licked the strawberry Quinn held in his hand, gradually taking small bites of the berry. As if wanting the moment to last longer. His eyes stared teasingly into Quinn’s, pleased with the redness that had spread all across his face, as well as the heat from his hands. Softly, he ate the strawberry completely from Quinn’s hand, leaving nothing left. However, he didn’t let go of Quinn’s wrist, seeming to gently lick away the apparent “leftover” of the already eaten strawberry, slightly sucking on the tips of Quinn’s fingers. Leaving the male left out for words of rationality. 

A smirk grazed over the lips of [REDACTED] without fail, not once breaking eye contact with Quinn. He felt like he couldn’t if he would have chosen to done so. There was just something about the man standing right across from him, something that echoed in passion. From the day he first met him, there was something special deep within his pulsing veins and body, and [REDACTED] wanted to have it all to himself. He didn’t mean to be greedy, but he simply just couldn’t help it whatsoever. The way Quinn’s eyes were widened with shock, blush coating his face as if it were thick raisen rolling down the bark of a tree, the trembling in his eyes. Oh, how couldn’t he not tease him? He was utter perfection in his eyes, and, [REDACTED] being the person he was, simply couldn’t let such a divine appetizer scurry away on him without getting a taste.

“Oh, darling, don’t tease me with that look. You’re too adorable that way!” [REDACTED] chuckled slyly, seeming to be enjoying the look in his beloved’s eyes. He began to pull his lips away from the blushing hand of his lover, pulling back to lean against the polished white table once more. He stared down at the man below him, with a grin larger than he could’ve ever thought he could have. Something [REDACTED] always loved about himself and Quinn was the height difference. He, standing at nearly six feet, while Quinn only was a mere five feet, along with six other inches. Quinn used to get so defensive when he brought it up, but over the years, there was a glint in his eyes. Hinting that he in fact loved it equally as much. “Oh, enough of that! Do you have no sense of embarrassment when it comes to these types of. .things?! You’re always initiating them, anyway, but why in the most visible of places?”

[cookie-nom-nom]

thanks for the @, this man is a legend. I'd like to get into a little more explaining, though I'm by no means a soil ecologist and am doing cursory research. First of all the change in A profile is INSANE. That's the topsoil, where most of the organic decomposed stuff is. Also where most nutrients are, and so you want a good layer for farming since your crops grow better. Soil formation is extremely slow, so the sheer amount gained is impressive, especially when taken to account how much soil is usually eroded by conventional farming practice. Pretty bad given you need soil to grow stuff in.

Thing is, lots of farming practices disturb soil hella bad, like the tilling that is mentioned Dave avoided. Tilling very deliberately stirs up/loosens the soil such as through plows, which can destroy weeds and make it easier to plant. But tilling also causes problems like disturbing helpful organisms in the soil, like earth worms and arbuscular mycorrhizal fungi (...well amf oscillate in usefulness but I like them so dangit they get a mention!). And it makes erosion far easier because the soil is less compact and wind and rain can move it better. That soil causes problems both by no longer being on the farm, and often ending up in places its not supposed to be like rivers or blowing across the country like in the infamous Dust Bowl. Who knew breathing in dirt constantly is bad for literally everyone!

Fertilizer. Oh man. So, fertilizer causes a couple of problems. It also solved a lot of them in full transparency! There were massive concerns about how to feed the growing population, and fertilizer was a huge part in that. There are substantial consequences though. 1, you got to get those nutrients from somewhere, such as mining phosphorous and potassium, or mixing air nitrogen with hydrogen from natural gas. I don't have time to get into the ramifications of mining on the environment, but trust there's lots of them. 2. Lots of those fertilizers are washed away into rivers, lakes, etc which then inject excess nutrients that cause problems that kickstarts a process leading to fish and aquatic life dying due to lack of oxygen (eutrophication). So Dave cutting down on fertilizer usage helps the environment, but not necessarily his crop yield. Which he offset using cover crops (grown between the main crops, prevent bare ground (erosion) and can make it harder for weeds to grow). Peas are a legume, which have the ability to intake nitrogen from the air and store it, which adds nitrogen to the soil. I see evidence for peas as good for getting that nitrogen need (here). That source also suggests radishes work, though another source contradicts that. Anyway crop cover is hella important, and it's driving me a little crazy that my current job doesn't utilize it but well that's a confounding variable when trying to take data so we all make sacrifices in the name of science. Alas.

Multiple species have different nutrient requirements, and so by using a mixture of crops they can compete less. Niche partitioning lets gooo. It's like how I won't touch my roommate's blueberries, but since he's full on berries he only nibbles at my spaghetti whereas a second Nom in the house would mean WAR. Less bloodshed since we need different nutrient imput. More complete use of the nutrients in the soil mean they need less fertilizer imputs, plus the nutrients cover crops like the nitrogen fixing peas are adding to the soil. Dave used very little fertilizer without sacrificing yield much, which is a sign of very sustainable farming.

Fungicides and insecticides cause so so so many problems. Like you're introducing poison into the equation, and they don't ever affect only the pest a farmer is trying to get rid off. They tend to have health consequences for humans and ecosystems. The famous case of course being DDT, an insecticide that accumulated in fat and would travel up the foodchain when a contaminated animal was eaten, increasing in concentration and doing things like killing off eagles and songbirds. Also potentially doing things like leading to the endangerment of honey bees, generally being carcinagens, etc etc. Dave switching to using no fungicides and insecticides doubtlessly was very difficult, given pest control is a nightmare and jeopardizes yield. There are other methods of pest control however: things like using predators to the pest, having a variety of crops (see: monocultures are horrible), mechanical control, etc.

I know absolutely nothing about neonicotinoids and seed treatment, and so won't comment to avoid potential misinformation. Most of this has been my background knowledge supplemented with cursory research to confirm and offer jumping off points for further research if anyone cares to.

His cash crop yields have been increasing by an average of 5% annually for the past 5-6 years, with far less fertilizer and no fungicides, insecticides or seed treatment

^^highlighting because it's absolutely INSANE. Proof that more environmentally friendly approaches are beneficial. Wish this discussed more the economics of this, since if he's getting a 5% increase in yield but it takes 10% more money input it may still be infeasible for most people. As thin of a margin as many farmers operate on, more intensive and expensive methods may not always be possible, or too risky. I'm not here to demonize anyone who isn't employing these environmentally conscious agricultural practices, of course, since as it often is the real enemy is capitalism. I'm of the firm belief that anything that benefits the environment benefits humans in the long run, but as is the current system incentivizes profit now consequences later. Hard to change the machine when you're just trying not to get crushed. Which makes Dave's commitment all the more impressive despite the rigidity trap of the agricultural system being self propagating as it asks greater and greater inputs to maintain the human population.

It's honest work, and it means so, so much that he did it.

[berix2010]

Anyone who buys a Pixel 9 — the latest model of Google’s flagship phone, available starting this week — will have access to the easiest, breeziest user interface for top-tier lies, built right into their mobile device. This is all but certain to become the norm, with similar features already available on competing devices and rolling out on others in the near future. When a smartphone “just works,” it’s usually a good thing; here, it’s the entire problem in the first place.

Photography has been used in the service of deception for as long as it has existed. (Consider Victorian spirit photos, the infamous Loch Ness monster photograph, or Stalin’s photographic purges of IRL-purged comrades.) But it would be disingenuous to say that photographs have never been considered reliable evidence. Everyone who is reading this article in 2024 grew up in an era where a photograph was, by default, a representation of the truth. A staged scene with movie effects, a digital photo manipulation, or more recently, a deepfake — these were potential deceptions to take into account, but they were outliers in the realm of possibility. It took specialized knowledge and specialized tools to sabotage the intuitive trust in a photograph. Fake was the exception, not the rule.

This erosion of the social consensus began before the Pixel 9, and it will not be carried forth by the Pixel 9 alone. Still, the phone’s new AI capabilities are of note not just because the barrier to entry is so low, but because the safeguards we ran into were astonishingly anemic. The industry’s proposed AI image watermarking standard is mired in the usual standards slog, and Google’s own much-vaunted AI watermarking system was nowhere in sight when The Verge tried out the Pixel 9’s Magic Editor. The photos that are modified with the Reimagine tool simply have a line of removable metadata added to them. (The inherent fragility of this kind of metadata was supposed to be addressed by Google’s invention of the theoretically unremovable SynthID watermark.) Google told us that the outputs of Pixel Studio — a pure prompt generator that is closer to DALL-E — will be tagged with a SynthID watermark; ironically, we found the capabilities of the Magic Editor’s Reimagine tool, which modifies existing photos, were much more alarming.

We briefly lived in an era in which the photograph was a shortcut to reality, to knowing things, to having a smoking gun. It was an extraordinarily useful tool for navigating the world around us. We are now leaping headfirst into a future in which reality is simply less knowable. The lost Library of Alexandria could have fit onto the microSD card in my Nintendo Switch, and yet the cutting edge of technology is a handheld telephone that spews lies as a fun little bonus feature. We are fucked.

[ishika206]

Dangerous Roads in India: Navigating the Perils

India, with its diverse landscapes and burgeoning infrastructure, is home to some of the most breathtaking yet perilous roads in the world. From serpentine mountain passes to treacherous desert trails, these roads pose significant risks to travelers. For those intrigued by the daunting nature of such routes, exploring the Dangerous Roads in India can be as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking. These roads are not just a test of driving skills but a fascinating glimpse into the challenges of infrastructure in a diverse and challenging terrain. Additionally, if you are curious about perilous locations beyond India’s borders, check out the Most Dangerous Places in the World, which showcases some of the planet’s most hazardous destinations.

1. Khardung La Pass, Ladakh

Khardung La Pass, situated in the Ladakh region of northern India, is often touted as one of the highest motorable passes in the world. At an elevation of approximately 18,380 feet (5,600 meters), this road offers breathtaking views of the Himalayas but comes with its share of dangers. The road is notoriously narrow, winding, and frequently covered in snow, making it prone to avalanches and landslides. The thin air at such high altitudes can cause altitude sickness, and the lack of proper road maintenance adds to the peril. Travelers must be prepared for abrupt weather changes and ensure their vehicles are in top condition before attempting this journey.

2.Manali-Leh Highway, Himachal Pradesh to Ladakh

The Manali-Leh Highway is a key route connecting Manali in Himachal Pradesh with Leh in Ladakh. Spanning over 475 kilometers, this highway is an adventure lover’s dream but a driver’s nightmare. The road is often closed during the winter months due to heavy snowfall and landslides. During the summer, the terrain is equally challenging, with steep inclines, sharp turns, and unpredictable weather. The highway traverses several mountain passes, including the Rohtang Pass and Baralacha La, each presenting its own set of hazards. Due to the high altitude and extreme weather conditions, travelers should be well-prepared with emergency supplies and have a robust vehicle.

3. National Highway 22 (NH 22), Himachal Pradesh

National Highway 22, now renumbered as NH 5, runs through Himachal Pradesh and is infamous for its perilous conditions. The highway, which connects Shimla to the Tibetan border town of Kaza, winds through treacherous mountain terrain. It is often prone to landslides, especially during the monsoon season, making it a dangerous stretch for drivers. The road's narrow width, combined with heavy traffic and frequent roadworks, adds to the risk. Despite its challenges, the NH 22 offers stunning views of the Himalayas and is a vital route for those traveling to remote areas of Himachal Pradesh.

4. Sarchu to Leh, Himachal Pradesh to Ladakh

The stretch from Sarchu to Leh is another daunting segment of the Manali-Leh Highway. Located at a high altitude, this route presents numerous challenges, including rough roads, low oxygen levels, and extreme weather conditions. The journey involves crossing several mountain passes, such as the Tanglang La, which is one of the highest motorable passes in the world. The road is often covered with loose gravel and boulders, increasing the risk of accidents. Travelers must exercise extreme caution, and it is advisable to drive slowly and avoid nighttime travel to reduce the risk of mishaps.

5. The Guwahati-Shillong Road, Assam to Meghalaya

The Guwahati-Shillong Road, connecting Assam’s largest city with Meghalaya’s capital, is notorious for its hazardous driving conditions. The road is characterized by sharp turns, steep gradients, and frequent landslides, particularly during the monsoon season. The region's heavy rainfall exacerbates the risk of road erosion and landslides, making this stretch highly dangerous. Additionally, the road’s narrow width and high traffic can lead to severe congestion and accidents. Travelers should be prepared for sudden weather changes and ensure their vehicles are well-maintained to navigate this perilous route safely.

[codenamehazard]

.:Smack-Talk Smackdown:.

Chapter 22: Smack-Talk Smackdown

Hey guys!

I've been having this floating around in my head since the beginning of No Man's Land thanks to @rogueshadeaux and I talking about the crazy nonsense. So shoutout to her for handling my late night ramblefests!

Go read her story, InFAMOUS: Erosion! She's worked so hard on it and it's starting to get crazy!

Without further ado, let's jump in!

-------------

“Where the hell are you going?!”

My ringing ears pick up the pigeon’s shouting as I storm out of his trailer, god I already knew Dove was a pain in the ass but now I learn that this birdbrain not only has shit taste in music, he can’t carry a fucking tune!! Jesus Christ, for once I’m thankful for my god-damn tinnitus as I would much rather listen to the high pitched whining than Dove’s bubble gum hyperactive ear-murder!

“Out!” I growl. “I ain’t going to subjugate myself to your shitty ass bubble-candy bullshit or your god-awful singing a second more!” I can see Dove’s about to say something, but I quickly shut the door as hard as I can before walking off. Thank God the HEMTT has stopped for a pit-stop, I was about ready to knock the beansprout out.

I can see Pangolin prairie dogging out of the building that the Convoy stopped at to see what the commotion is, but he shrugs before going back to whatever he’s doing. I’m guessing games of musical trailers ain’t uncommon. Whatever. I walk to the trailer of someone I know for a fact has a much more palatable taste in music than the tone-deaf pigeon. Kestrel.

I don’t care if she’s going to throw a fit about me barging in, I’d rather deal with that dumbass bird’s smart mouth than birdbrain number 2’s god-awful music, both in choice and singing prowess… At least her music taste could sooth my throbbing eardrums.

I grab hold of the door and slide it open, prompting a loud and sharp yelp from inside. I’m greeted by a face of shock that quickly changes to one of annoyance. Kestrel’s eyes glows hot as she glares at me

“What in the actual fuck, Cole?!” I hear the bird squawk out as she stands up from whatever she was doing to walk towards me, intending on barring my entry, but I jump in and shut the door before she could stop me. “I thought you were bunking with Dove!”

“Well that was before I knew how much of a walking tinnitus agitator he was” I growl and I rub my ears to try and soothe the throbbing. “At least you have good taste in music, so the choice is obvious.” I can hear her groan in irritation, but I can tell by her face, she can’t really argue.

“Grrrr… Fine! You can stay!” She shouts as she spins a crank wrench. “Next time you decide to be a prick, knock… And if you plan on keeping your hands, DON’T. Touch. My shit!” Her voice snarls as I feel her eyes bore into the back of my head.

“Oh yes, of course your royal bitchiness.” I scoff and Kes rolls her eyes before throwing her hands up in the air, akin to how I’ve seen Nix do those years before. She walks back over to… Whatever she was working on.

“I mean it, MacGrath. I don’t care that you’re the Beast or how strong you are, you touch my shit and I will cut your hands off!” She warns before crouching down by what looks like a mangled mess of metal and scrap, but on closer inspection, I see what it is.

It was her bike, or rather what was left of it.

Well… That explains her foul mood.

I lean back on a wall that faces her and the door and I look around the place. It’s… An interesting set up. On one side of the trailer, she has a mini-forge set up with the kit and kaboodle needed to make weapons on the go… Hell, I can see what looks like containers full of scrap and ingots. Then there’s the other side set up more like a bedroom, except instead of a bed, she has a hammock. Huh… Not a bad idea. I look at the shelves and see various things… Legos, rocks, a gameboy… A… Jar of feathers? Hm…

I turn my attention back to the bird as I feel the HEMTT shift, must be back on the move again. I watch her work and notice that… She doesn’t have her tendrils out. Odd, but okay. None of my business. She’s elbows deep in the scrap and working away. Curiosity starts getting the better of me as I never really got a chance to see the bike in its full glory before she wrecked it.

“So, what’s it based on?” I question.

“The base bike was a Kawasaki KX.” She grunts simply as I watch her switch out the wrench for her hands, using her power as both welder and cutter. I continue to ask questions about the bike, but she starts getting short with me.

“Would you just shut the fuck up?” She snaps. “I’m trying to focus on fixing this and you’re not helping.” Oooooh, she’s still sore about the bike. I grin to myself as I see an opportunity to stir up trouble.

“It’s a shame you had to go and wreck it.” I sneer, earning me a heated glare.

“Excuse me? You wrecked it, not me.”

“I wasn’t the one driving it, little birdie.” I snicker. “You were the one who crashed it.”

"Yeah because there was a murderous electric spider monkey trying to cook my brain meat while we were going 80, what the hell else was I supposed to do?" She pulls back, bumping her head and swearing before turning around to glare at me, hands on her hips.

“Not crash it.”

“And let you kill me? Hard pass! I’m still holding you responsible!”  Sure… Whatever helps you sleep at night. “I oughta make you fix my bike since you’re the one who broke it!” The bird snarls as I smirk at her. She was the one who wiped out the bike, not me, but whatever. I look at the partially rebuilt menace of a machine before looking at Kestrel.

“Aight.” I chuckle. “Just don’t get pissy when I go and cut the break lines.” My grin grows as I watch the Gunsmith turned mechanic roll her eyes so hard, they would have rolled out of her head.

“Uh, did you forget who’s fixing the Amp, sparkplug?” She sneers as she twirls a crank wrench in her hand. Her body posture taking on a serious dose of attitude. “I kiiiiiinda can’t hold up my end of the bargain if I’m roadkill.”

“You survived that crash, I’m sure you’ll be fine with a brake failure.” I taunt with a smirk.

“Are you planning on juicing me up with some of that Beast power when that happens, hm? Because last time I checked, I’m re-enforced, not invincible!”

“Maybe if you beg.” 

“Fat fucking chance!!” She scoffs. Her little snip kicks off a competition of wit and will. Insults and snarks fly back and forth and without anyone to interfere, the smacktalk can escalate freely and without interruption

I can feel something inside stir as we put each-other through our verbal paces, something I wouldn’t dare say to her or anyone. There’s… A feeling of… Excitement? I hate to admit it but that’s what it feels like. I’m… Starting to really enjoy this little game that our rage has turned into and I can see it in her eyes and how her mouth struggles not to twist into a grin that she’s sharing the same sentiments.

I have to give it to her, the girl can fight and her audacity is still as astounding as it was when we first clashed. Not backing down, not even to The Beast. Not even taking that title or the power it has into consideration of how I could fuck her up in several different ways.

It’s… Almost humanizing. Definitely refreshing.

The arguing and shouting continues to escalate, it becomes a blur with how second nature it feels to me, the only thing that snaps me out of it was a sudden grapple at my shirt and a pull. Soon we’re embroiled in a grapple match as we try to knock the other over. Me trying to use my strength while she uses her agility to throw her metal enforced body around and make me fall. The thing that stopped us is the sound of a crackling loudspeaker and a voice.

“WILL YOU TWO PINING IDIOTS KEEP IT DOWN?!?!” Mako’s voice roars over the speaker as we stop and stare at it, still grappling one another. “IF I CAN HEAR YOUR FOREPLAY OVER THE HEMTT AND INUYASHA TURNED UP AT FULL BLAST, YOU’RE TOO FUCKING LOUD!!”

What the hell?! What in the name of God makes her think that we were?? We were fighting!!

“If you two don’t either knock it off or keep it down, I will come over there and I will kick BOTH OF YOUR ASSES!!!” The speaker turns off with a click and the two of us stare at each-other before pushing each-other away. Kes dusts herself off before glaring at me. I can see it in her eyes she wants to keep going, but with Mako’s threats sucking the wind from the sails we just settle at glaring at each-other before exchanging one last insult.

“Bitch.”

“Dick.”

We walk back to our respective sides of the trailer, her to her bike and me to the wall. When I see that Kes has her eyes focused on her project, a small smile slips onto my face. I hate to admit it to myself, but that was… Fun.

I’ll have to mess with her again soon.