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sonofthedunes · 7 months ago

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to celebrate the one-year anniversary of this blog, i’m finally writing about my favorite dorks again :p yes, it’s luke and andrie time, and here you get a glimpse into a time period i really haven’t touched on. no warnings here, just a bit of swearing. consider this another thank you to all my loyal followers :3 read along under the cut:

it takes two flints to make a fire

Ossus, 8 ABY

She is the wind, softly rustling the leaves. She is the sun, filtering through the branches to this little clearing. She is every creature that crawls and slithers and hops through the undergrowth…she is even the lightsaber gripped in her hand. She must be all of these and more, interwoven with the Force itself, if she is ever to be a Jedi.

So Andrie ignites the glowing cyan blade, fills her lungs—and swings.

Her saber slices through the air, flashing and humming; twirling the hilt, she spins quickly on her right foot, falling into a defensive stance. A step forward, then another…parry, thrust, surging forward and falling back, the occasional grunt of effort escaping as she battles an imaginary opponent. Her arms begin to ache, her sweat trickles down her brow and stings her eyes, but Andrie does not yield. She flows from one form to the next just as she has been taught, and only when she has “disarmed” her foe does she cut off the blade. Red-faced and gasping for breath, she wipes her brow and turns to the blond, black-clad figure seated on the ground nearby. “Well?” she wonders.

Luke studies her a moment, expression neutral, before nodding. “Good,” he replies calmly. “Again.”

Teacher and student lock gazes, until the student heaves an exasperated sigh. “Again? Luke, I’ve already done this five times in a row,” protests Andrie massaging her shoulder. “I really don’t feel like I’m improving.”

“You’ll never improve at all if you don’t practice,” he counters. “And you are making progress, Andrie. You grow stronger in the Force every day.”

Admittedly, she does feel the slightest twinge of pride when he says this. Still… “Won’t do me any good if I drop dead of exhaustion.”

“No need to be so dramatic,” Luke admonishes.

“Look who’s talking.” It’s his turn to sigh now, and Andrie seizes her opening: “Can I rest, please? Just for a few minutes? Then I’ll do it again, as many times as you want.” She half-wonders if she should flutter her lashes to persuade him. In the end there’s no need; “all right, come here,” Luke relents, and Andrie gladly trudges over to sit beside him.

It’s a beautiful day, warm and breezy as most days on Ossus tend to be. The grass is fragrant and the sun warms without scorching. Somewhere in the distance a bird trills, its fellow answering. Yes, Luke and Andrie were right to come here—this will be the perfect place for their Jedi temple. Adopting his posture of crossed legs and straight back, she tilts her head toward the azure sky and closes her eyes. “So, am I allowed to be your wife now?” she asks.

“We made those vows in the living Force. They can’t be undone,” he reminds her.

“You know what I mean.”

“…Yeah, I do.” Luke relaxes then, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his arms. “It’s hard to find the balance. It always has been,” he continues. “I don’t want to torture you, but I don’t want to coddle you either. The life of a Jedi can be difficult, often dangerous, and I need to prepare you for that.”

As he speaks, Andrie refocuses on him, resting her elbows on her knees. “You don’t coddle me,” she replies. “You push me to be better, because you believe in me. Even on days when I feel weak and useless, you won’t let me quit.” A tiny smile tugs at her lips. “And I do appreciate it.”

Luke ducks his head and returns her smile—a small remnant of the farm boy she fell in love with all those years ago. “Thanks.” His Force signature reaches out to hers, as warm as the sun overhead and every bit as comforting. They meet and clasp like hands, fitting together in a way wholly unique to them. There’s no other feeling like this in the galaxy, and neither knows what they’d do without it. He sighs again, but now it’s contended. She leans over, cheek brushing against the soft sleeve of his tunic. “They’re proud of you, Luke,” says Andrie. “I know they are.”

Some nights Luke still sees them in his dreams, the ghosts of his father and Obi-Wan and Yoda, just as they appeared on Endor the night the Empire fell. They never speak, but they look upon him with such joy…such love. The glow burns in him even now. His arm encircles his wife, drawing her closer. “I won’t let them down,” he promises, not for the first time. “We’ll rebuild the temple and teach a new generation of Jedi, together.”

Andrie hums happily and reaches up to touch his hand (not caring that her fingers find the leather glove covering his cybernetic). “You’ll be a wonderful teacher, Master.”

“And so will you, Padawan,” he grins. “Once you’ve become a Master yourself—and you will.”

“A mere Knight wouldn’t be good enough for your students, then?”

“I never said that—“

“I got your meaning clearly enough.” He scowls at her, she scrunches up her face, but they can only pretend anger for a heartbeat before sharing a laugh. “Is my break over?” Andrie wants to know. “You’re right, I do need the practice.” She attempts to rise from the ground, only to discover Luke’s arm still firmly around her. Her eyebrows rise at this. “Unless…”

“I thought about it,” he explains, “and you have been working hard this afternoon. A few more minutes of rest won’t hurt.”

Andrie’s surprise quickly gives way to relieved happiness. Tucking her head into Luke’s shoulder, she allows herself to be surrounded by his breathing, his pulse: the wonder of him. “You know…I’ve really grown to like this planet,” she murmurs.

His hand toys with the end of her braided hair, the reddish-gold vivid on the black leather. “So have I,” he agrees. “It sings with the Force, like everything is perfectly in tune.”

Andrie’s reasoning isn’t quite as poetic, but it expresses something they’ve searched for all their lives: “It feels like home.”

Suddenly his arm withdraws, and he guides her upright to look at him. His flesh hand cups her cheek, blue gazing back into blue. “It feels like home,” echoes Luke, the emotion bleeding over into their bond.

Andrie’s heart threatens to burst, her very being energized by the light of the Force, and by her love for him. Loosely draping her own arms around his neck, she touches her forehead to Luke’s and they close their eyes, lost in an eternal moment. The future is never guaranteed, they know this all too well—but their shared path has never seemed clearer. Here, on this planet, what was destroyed will be reborn. They will welcome the orphan, the outcast, the seeker, and mold them into guardians of peace. Even among the constant change and chaos of the galaxy, they will stand fast; evil will not triumph on their watch. This will be a sacred place. A healing place. It will be all the Jedi of the past could have wished and more. They will build it—as husband and wife. As servants of the Force. And if Andrie has to practice lightsaber forms five million times to make it so, she’ll do it.

“I’m sorry I was a bitch earlier,” she softly apologizes, nuzzling him.

“I already forgave you,” he assures her, thumb stroking her cheekbone. “Believe me, I know how it feels to be frustrated with your teacher.”

“…At least you’re not making me stand on my head,” she reasons. “Or letting a training remote shoot me in the ass.”

Even with her eyes shut, Andrie just knows Luke is smirking. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“And what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t remind you how far you’ve come?” He snorts and pulls her into his arms; Andrie opens her eyes on Luke’s playfully annoyed face. How much they’ve changed, she thinks, and how much they haven’t.

“I love you,” he says simply, even as he pretends to be piqued.

“I love you too,” she answers, gently caressing his jaw.

“…Sometimes I worry I don’t show you that enough,” he confesses, and Andrie shakes her head.

“You aren’t perfect, but you don’t have to be. You’re you, and that’s enough.” She kisses his mouth, feather-light. “I knew it when you came to our farm, and I know it now.”

He hugs her to his chest. “I never thought I’d be this happy,” he admits, shining in the Force like a crystalline star. “We can do this. We can.”

“Of course we can! After all, I’m learning from the best,” Andrie declares, basking in his presence. His arms tighten around her, and she lays her own hands on his back, making certain he knows he need never doubt her. Him and her, down the line—isn’t that how it’s always been?

There’s plenty of work yet to be done, blood and sweat and tears to be poured out. But they’ll give all they can to make this a reality.

Somehow, Andrie is sure they’ll be just fine.

#fic #andrie #luke skywalker #luke skywalker x oc #i feel like this is a bit long and indulgent but i hope y’all like it gnfhvjn #and the saber andrie uses is in fact her own!#she made it not long before this story #she’s actually fairly close to knighthood

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rogueshadeaux · 2 months ago

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Chapter Forty - Still Here

“Why should I trust anything you say?” I asked. “Because I’m the only one willing to be honest with you.”

10.7k words | 40 min/1 hour read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, canon typical bad trip, death mention, unreality, hallucinations, fucky wucky stuff.

⚠ AUTHOR'S NOTE: A year. This person has been so patient that they have been waiting a year for this, while everything around me sorta fell apart. And I hope I did his character justice, because @neverdewitt created such an amazing, intriguing character that I couldn't resist fitting them into my fic the moment I knew about them. Originally, Garrett was the only OC that was going to be in Erosion, long before anyone else was due to join—because of course I needed a cryptic little shit stirrer, and who better than from one of the most creative writers I know? Doot, thank you for letting me steal your baby and for waiting for so long for this moment, I don't know where I'd be without your aid throughout the last year on the bits of fic I could do. Your patience is admirable, your creativity is absolutely transcendent beyond anything I could ever hope to make, and I'm glad I finally made something I feel can actually stand in the shadow of your character and not flinch in shame.

Also, thanks @conduiitz for the picture! I gave her a 500 word sneak peak and she made this pic in like, 47 mins lol. Maybe...you should keep your eyes out too...

The world swam. Sound dilated and then became this obnoxious ringing, my vision sorta blurred until it was nothing but blue-white hot, and for three seconds I felt like I was going to explode.

My stomach lurched, and I felt like I was falling in the same way I would when I was on the verge of sleep. That weird, heart stuttering sensation of being fully on the ground and yet feeling like it would open up from under me. I stumbled with it, falling backwards, trying to catch myself and instead feeling like my hands were weighed down with lead.

My head snapped back and hit hard flooring, sending stars into my vision that I struggled to blink away. “What the hell,” I groaned, flinching; the bright, fluorescent lights overhead did nothing for the concussion I’m sure was settling into my mind, making my vision pulse. I moved to block my face and instead nearly hit myself with that leaded feeling that hadn’t faded away—and felt way too real in my hands to just be residual of...whatever happened to me. I blinked the blurriness out of my eyes to see what the hell was caught on my hands, blood running cold when I saw what it was.

Cuffs. Big, gaudy yellow cuffs, nearly the size of my head and six times as heavy. They encased my entire hand and went well past my wrists, leaving me to struggle to pull them away without being able to bend them as I stared at my hands.

My first question, of course, was why my cast was gone—and why did my arm not hurt in its absence? But that curiosity left the moment I realized I knew the symbol on the cuffs as my vision cleared: Department of Unified Protection.

“What?” I breathed. I ignored the hammering in my head to get to my knees, blinking hard to force my eyes to focus past the pulsing in my vision’s edges. For a second, all I could see was steel, and I had that fleeting hope that there was just some weird shit going on and Brent was right there—but as my vision became clearer, I could see the cracks and pores in the wall. That wasn’t metal. That was rock.

That was concrete.

I tried turning into humidity. Tried rushing away on a pulse of water and maybe, hopefully, the cuffs would fall off—but no; they stayed on tight, and I stayed normal. I couldn’t use my powers at all. No, no—this couldn’t be right! The DUP fell years ago, what the hell was I doing in a cell?

I looked around, beginning to hyperventilate. Okay, okay. This had to be something else, right? I just needed to get it together. I tried steadying my breathing as I took in my surroundings fully; four walls, all glass, tinted to the point where I saw my reflection looking around wildly instead of anything beyond them. A platform bed and a shitty sheet, a singular pillow. There was a desk, a couple papers on them with scribbles of owls and doves and…and the Archangel symbol?

I stepped closer to the desk, tentatively, like I was scared the drawing made with a golf pencil was going to jump out of the paper and choke me to death. It was different compared to the one on Augustine’s little tracker; this one was lined and curved like the Vitruvian Man, but it was, without a doubt, the Archangel symbol. Still holding that same dodecahedron, the shine in its center now reminding me far too much of the Ray Sphere.

How…how was this here? How was I here? I felt like some animal in a cage at a zoo, left out to be ogled at from the other side of a glass I couldn’t see through. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. This couldn’t be the tar again, right? Was I having another weird hallucination? Wolfe’s notes said something about the Vermaak going insane. God, that was it, wasn’t it? I was going insane—

“Augustine escaped?”

I froze, all panic leaving with the cold rush, head on a swivel as I looked around. I was…I was the only one in the cell, so where the hell was that voice coming from? “Hello?” I tried to ask, the sound coming out like a mouse squeak. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Who’s there?”

“Augustine.” The voice said, more serious this time. It floated, had this sorta airiness to it that would have calmed me in literally any other situation—but here, it was just freaking me out more. “You said she injured you. Did she escape?”

I caught a flash of something I shouldn’t have—pink. There, in the reflection of the tinted glass, was a long streak of pink…something.

Oh god. Not again. “Mom?”

I stepped closer to the glass, the image—what should have been my reflection—doing so in turn. Only it wasn’t my reflection. That wasn’t me at all. It was too tall, too fair and skinny to be me. There was no orange jumpsuit, but a cream knit cardigan over a plain green silky shirt, bright and plush long pink hair pulled up into a ponytail. I squinted, trying to make out features, and it wasn’t till I stepped closer that their face came into full view.

The pink hair was different, but that face, the sharp features and those eyes, were the same. “Y-you’re—” How was this possible? It was them. Younger, actually cognitive, but them. “You’re t-that person in the bed, back in the hospital room. Garrett.”

They didn’t respond, their eyes instead looking around the cell. “Sorry for the mess,” they said. “I don’t have much….control over any of this anymore. Not since my condition has gotten worse.”

They acted like this was a living room with old pizza boxes stacked to the roof, not…this. Whatever this was. But one thing was for sure; they were doing this. “How are you doing th—”

“You never answered my question.”

I blinked. “I—she did. Or, well, someone broke her out but we’re…we don’t know who.”

A thousand emotions crossed their face; regret, fear, some sort of dejection. “What happened to her?”

I hesitated; what do you say to someone who spent who knows how long trapped by Augustine? “She’s gone.” I decided to say, reassuring them. “My d—, Delsin Rowe and Eugene Sims dealt with her, after she—.”

“Attacked Salmon Bay again.” Their eyes fell, head slightly nodding as they swallowed whatever distaste that statement left in their mouth. They…I thought letting them know she was gone would comfort them—so why did they look so sad?

“You…” I drew off, concerned. “You heard?”

“I saw it.”

I thought they meant television. Logically, how would someone see Augustine’s assault in Washington from the other side of the country? But there was a familiar sound behind me, that grand roar of rushing water, and I turned in time to see the glass of the opposite wall shift.

The reflected imagery moved, the dark tint of the glass bubbling up until it looked like an angry sea, something far beyond the glass churning. It took me far too long to realize that I was looking at the whirlpool, my whirlpool, that I made to fight Augustine from the marina in Seattle. God, was it really that big?

“She’s going to come out,” Garrett’s voice rang. I looked back to glance at them, only to see them staring at the ground, mouth shut. The room echoed with their pained gasps of a past statement. “Augustine, she’s…I saw her free. Out in the world, a whirlpool behind her.”

“When?” Another voice, lower and more scratchy, asked.

“I don’t know,”

“I knew it would happen one day. I just…I never would have thought it would be you, Regina.”

The hairs on my neck stood up on end, and I slowly turned to look at Garrett. “How do you know my name?” I didn’t use my full name when I introduced myself to them. I never do.

Garrett inhaled deeply before looking up, blinking back tears and deciding now was the perfect time to ignore my question. “She called me Dream Eater, when she placed me here,” they said, looking through the reflection and around the cell I was in with a disgusted look on their face. “This…terrarium of a cell. One always names their favorite pets, and I wasn’t exempt from that rule.”

My brow furrowed. “This was…your cell?” I asked, looking around the bleak room. A bed, a desk, and tinted glass you could barely see through. This was it?

I knew Curdun was a prison, but jeez.

"In the end." Garrett confirmed. "She couldn't bear looking at me for what she'd done, but couldn't cut me loose. We were stuck with each other with no way out."

“Do…you mean the implant?” I asked cautiously, looking back at Garrett. I hated how much that haunted stare seemed to follow anyone I met, echoes of trauma that hovered on the crows feet of their eyes.

“In part,” Garrett confirmed. “Though there’s more, much more, to the story than what you know.”

Well, good, because I didn’t know a thing.

But they mentioned it—the implant. Dr. Hutch was able to confirm that was the cause of all these issues. “Whatever she did to you, she did to me,” I said, taking a step closer to the glass. Garrett’s form didn’t get closer in time with my steps; did it mean they were here, with me? Or was all of this an illusion? “I—I can’t heal anymore. The tar—”

“Tar?” Garrett questioned, brow furrowing.

“She was using concrete and tar,” I continued. The words meant something to them, I had to keep pushing. “We don’t know where she got the power from, she…she was working with this new group, Archangel.” I moved over to the desk, using the heavy cuffs to stab at the chest of their symbol. “These guys. The tar made me sick, and the doctor confirmed it made you sick too. There has to be something you know about them, right?”

Garrett’s eyes met mine, the lingering wet in them making their blue glisten until it reminded me of the sea. They held my gaze for a long time, seeming to weigh my begging against some sort of hesitance in their mind as they thought deeply. “You said she was collaborating with someone?”

“They’re called Archangel.” I informed them. “We know…well, nothing about them. Nothing beyond the fact that they want D—, Delsin Rowe. What’s wrong with me? It was meant for him. Augustine was sent to find him.” Garrett’s eyes fell and they sighed deeply, and I begged once more. “You’ve gotta know something. Anything.” I pleaded.

“I don’t—”

“Please.”

Garrett closed their eyes, forcing a deep breath. Something in their resolve seemed to break, and when their head raised, they seemed weighed down by everything, like their secrets were physically pulling their shoulders till they slouched. “There’s too much you don’t know,” They repeated, stressed the fact as something in them came to a resolve. “And we don’t have very long before I lose control again. You’d make a better witness than a listener.”

A better witness? What did that mean?

I didn’t get to ask them. The fluorescent lights above flickered, and in the millisecond of dark that washed over us Garrett vanished, leaving me to stare at my wide-eyed expression.

“Wh—” my heart dropped as I sputtered, looking around. Trying to catch a glimpse of them in the reflections. “Hello?”

They were nowhere.

And I was still somehow in a Curdun Cay cell.

“No,” I choked out, stepping close enough to the glass that my breath fogged it. “No, come on! You can’t just leave me here!”

Well, it seemed they could—and did, as they didn’t reappear despite my begging. I waited, called out their name a few times, pleaded to be released from whatever hell this was before tears bubbled up with the frustration in my chest and I raised my cuffs to bang against the glass. “Don’t leave me here!” I screeched, hitting it again. And again. And again.

With the third hit came a subtle, sharp crunch, a crack appearing where the cuffs landed. I stared at the little chip in the tint; it…it couldn’t be that easy, right? This was a cell, one that held back a lot more powerful Conduits than me.

But it was a better alternative to staying here and crying.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself, nodding slowly. I flexed my arms—I wasn’t Brent, but maybe I didn’t need super strength. Just good aim and a decent hit. Let’s hope those 12 years of gymnastics actually paid off.

I brought my cuffed hands around like an axe to a tree, hitting the crack and cringing as the glass and metal on my hands collided, screaming their protests at the impact. But that wasn’t important. What did matter was the crack deepened, chipped away glass falling to my feet as fissures spread like spider webs.

I brought my arms back and swung again, less hesitation in the hit as I watched the cracks spread further. It was working! I kept hitting the wall with resolve, putting all my strength into every swing. The fissures grew, becoming clefts, cracks, then gaps as I slammed my hands against the glass with everything I had, the wall becoming a reflective mosaic.

I put everything, everything, into my last swing and the glass exploded, giving away into a brilliant crystalline rain. My cuffs kept their momentum and I flew forward with them, losing my balance and tumbling.

There was this weird…pull in the back of my head, like those strains I’d get during migraines when I moved wrong, and suddenly my hands were flying forward to catch me—uncuffed—landing in the shattered glass of the cell wall. I winced as it dug into my palms—my exposed palms, the right still missing its cast—before remembering I should be on high alert. I just broke out of a Curdun Cay cell. I knew nothing about the DUP save for the fact that I wasn’t really interested in confronting them. So I ignored the pain, rushing to stand and faltering once I looked around.

This…this wasn’t Curdun. It definitely tried to look like it, with concrete crawling up the walls like vines and a long DUP banner over a widely spread security system made of what had to be 18 different monitors. I would have been inclined to call it Curdun if the colorful tile I was standing on wasn’t laid in a way to say Sea 6 News, the familiar banner of the news site a large testament to the area.

How did I get here?

“I think, in her own, convoluted way,” Garrett’s voice rang out, “Augustine was truly convinced everything she did was for the greater good.” The center console of the multi-television security set-up flickered, going from DUP orange to static before Garrett formed in the pixelation, looking at me from across the room. “Despite everything, she wanted safety for Conduits. To save them from being pinned as the monsters the world claimed they were.”

I had to resist rolling my eyes. Augustine? Being benevolent? “She…she tortured Eugene Sims. She tried to wipe out the Akomish, twice. She broke your power. I don’t think that’s saving anyone,” I eventually said.

“No, it isn’t.” Garrett agreed. “But that didn’t make her conviction any less sure.”

It came in like a haze, the dim light above bending and refracting on the tile. The pulsing rose, the air shifting like it would with Dr. Sims’ video powers only somehow more…ethereal. Pristine. Like magic only a god could perform. The shimmering took shape, settling into wrinkled clothing and pained expressions until they were mere feet away from me, laying on the ground and gasping like they both just had the wind knocked out of them. “Seven years, I’ve kept them safe. Me!” Augustine gasped, “I won’t let anyone undo that. Not the government—” she winced, “Not the Army. Not you.”

This was the woman I was familiar with from the history books and old articles; a long overcoat with that emblem pasted on her arm, leathery boots to match. There were a few hairs knocked loose from her immaculate bun, but not a frayed white one was in sight. She was orderly, commanding—none of what I met in Salmon Bay.

They both fought to move from their place, him being the first to rise to an elbow. Dad. Delsin Rowe. It was him in his youth, his prime, his legacy, the white hoodie stained at the cuffs with blood that definitely wasn’t his, beanie askew. His expression…god, I haven’t seen fury like that from him before. Deep bags under his eyes, face barely flinching despite the obvious pain he was in as he tried to shift. “Seven years, all you’ve done is keep them locked up.” He growled with bared teeth like a wolf, breathing hard. “You just took away their freedom.”

Augustine managed to prop herself up and began pushing back towards a slab of concrete on the ground, leaning against it. “So tell me,” she hummed, “What would you do? Just throw open the gates at Curdun Cay station? Set them all free?”

“Is this…” I drew off, voice barely above a whisper. There was no way. “Is this what happened?” This had to be an illusion. It couldn’t be anything else. “How are you doing this?”

“You bet your ass I would,” Dad hissed, moving to his knees and trying to stand, immediately losing his balance.

“Consciousness.” Garrett responded to me, like that answered my question. But then they caught my confused glance, and elaborated. “Thought, dream, memory—that’s my power. Anything that falls between the folds of your mind is mine to play with, and I’ve kept every memory I’ve gained from those who used my power. That’s what you’re seeing here.”

A memory.

“The world hasn’t changed in the past seven years,” Augustine retorted, using the concrete to pull herself up. “Inside, the Conduits are safe. They’re alive.” She gasped out in pain, rising to her feet and staggering back a step before forcing herself to stand tall. “You turn them out, they’d all be dead inside a week.”

Dad fell again, face screwed up in pain and fury as he grit his teeth so hard it looked like they’d shatter under the bite force. That pain looked real, so intense that it somehow made me flinch, the twinge crawling around my jaw and to the back of my head, forcing me to screw my eyes shut. My head throbbed with each beat of my heart and I raised my hands to press against my temples in an effort to ward off the pain—but when I moved my hand, it was laden down with…well, something. There was a small jingle that sang in my ear and I forced my eyes open, blinking in shock when I saw…a chain?

I was suddenly there, lying on the ground just a mere yard in front of Augustine, in the place Dad was years ago as Augustine glared down at him. “So tell me,” she demanded, authority leaking back into her voice. “Who’s the savior, and who’s the monster?”

She backed away slowly as I tried to stand, feeling every ounce of whatever was trying to drag Dad down originally. Was I in his body? Or simply standing where he did?

I felt like shit. My head was throbbing, my stomach threatened to flip on itself. Bile crept up my esophagus and burned the back of my throat. What was worse was the muscle weakness—every joint in my body screamed as I tried to pull myself up. Last time I felt this ill…Dad had taken my power.

Garrett’s voice rang out again, face slowly coming into view the further away Augustine moved. “At every turn, Augustine was handed impossible choices and was expected to make the most diplomatic decision as if she wasn’t toeing the line between satan and savior.”

My knees nearly gave out under me and I forced them to straighten, breathing hard like I had jogged the stairwell all the way here instead of magically appearing on the top floor of a tower that had been torn down years ago. Garrett’s television stayed strong, the only one that illuminated the back of Augustine until she disappeared into the shadows, arms wide in challenge.

“She—” I cut off, stumbling forward slightly when my ankle refused to cooperate. I fixed myself, straightening and meeting Garrett's nonplussed gaze once more. “She wanted to keep the Conduits locked up. She was mad at D-Delsin for wanting to release them all from prison.” I looked at them vehemently. “To release you from prison. I don't see how keeping everyone locked up was an impossible decision.”

Garrett kept their mild, annoyingly all-knowing gaze on me. “It was diplomacy,” Garrett said. “The only way to make sure every Conduit in the country wouldn't be hunted for sport was to hide them away. Out of sight, out of mind—and out of reach. Somewhere the world could forget about them, and she could protect them from their wrath.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the stomach flips, the fact that I was somehow standing in as Dad, or that I was plain exhausted with life up to that point—but I refused to accept that.

“She staged everything to keep Conduits under her control.” I said, shaking my head. “The breakout on Akomish land? Using my mom’s trauma to use her for her narrative and scare the country into thinking they needed her? She scared the world into thinking Conduits were monsters and she was the only one that could save them.”

“She tried her best, with what tools were provided to her,” Garrett stressed, a bit of tension in their voice. Augustine’s silhouette disappeared into the shadows, leaving a clear line of vision between Garrett and I. “After the Beast, the only tools at her disposal to protect both sides was to play into the fear of one.”

“And jail the other?” I demanded. Sorry, I know that they were trying to give me answers—but this wasn’t the sort of answer I was looking for. I wasn’t interested in hearing about how Augustine cared about others oh so much, not when my family was full of scars from her doing. I wasn’t convinced. “Torture them? Experiment on them?”

“Don’t speak on things you don’t understand—“

“Implant stuff in them to stop their powers?” I continued, stressing the point as I looked directly at Garrett. “She cared about no one! Not the public, not the Conduits—I don’t understand why you’d think she’d feel any differently o-or defend her. She didn’t care about the Conduits. Not Fetch Walker, not Delsin Rowe. Not you, or any of the others—“

“Enough.”

My words seemed to strike a nerve with Garrett as they barked out. The demand was simple, but their voice reverberated through the room loudly, a commanding tone that made me press my hands to my ears at their decibel. Ahead, on the television screen, Garrett inhaled deeply, before saying, “Augustine was always a complicated woman, and there were many times throughout my life I never understood why she did what she did. But she wasn’t a monster.”

I slowly lowered my hands, looking up at the screen as Garrett’s eyes closed and they tried to repress the pain of their thoughts. Throughout my life. “You…” I drew off, trying to do the math; if they were in their late thirties or forties now, and knew Dad, there was a chance they spent 7 years in Curdun. 7 unknown years, where I already knew could’ve been spent either experimenting on them...or training them. “You worked for her, didn’t you? That’s why you act like you know her so well.”

Garrett hesitated, eyes opening—and even then, their eyes didn’t meet mine. “I did more than work for her,” they said.

I opened my mouth to ask what they meant when the screen holding their face glitched out, the corrupted pixelation growing to the corners of the center monitor and spreading beyond, shifting the screen of each surrounding monitor until they all warped like there were magnets pressed against their screens. The corruption reached to the end of the edges of the monitor setup, the clouded colors not fully reaching the plastic of the monitors themselves and instead looking like a portal to another dimension as the hues within its window began to warp.

Outlines. Distorted sounds that slowly lost its electronic fry as the picture deepened. The crisp laughter of children, the harsh ring of carnival music. The woosh of the pendulum ride they passed as their features focused, features illuminated by the lights of the rides around them.

There was a man turned away from the screen, the ends of his slightly grayed hair scuffing against the collar of his jean jacket, and I nearly called out to him, expecting Dad. Wanting it to be Dad. But it wasn’t, not my Dad at least; the man turned, moving to grab the hand of someone else and pull them forward, a child that barely reached his chest’s height. Their auburn-brown hair bounced as the duo rushed towards a funhouse, their little legs easily keeping up with the slight catch in the man’s gait as the camera moved forward with them, watching the duo escape into the mirror maze of the funhouse before following.

The camera turned the corner to see the young child and their father playing in front of those warped mirrors that made them wrinkle in on themselves, both laughing. “How do we go back to that, Garrett?” a voice, a very familiar voice that was uncomfortably soft, asked over the low hum of the carnival and the laughter. The kid looked over at the camera and held out a hand, beckoning them closer, mirth lighting up their silvery blue eyes as a larger, older hand came to grasp theirs and allowed themselves to be pulled forward in front of the mirror. “We were closer then than we are now.”

The mother, Augustine, laughed as she looked at her distorted form before taking the child close into a hug, looking down at them. “There is no going back,” Garrett’s voice said, melancholic and yet tense. The father joined the trio, raising a handheld camera to take a picture. “That died with Dad.”

The camera flashed, light overtaking the glimpse at the memory until the white imprinted on every terminal and made them all flash before they turned dark, plunging the room into darkness save for what bleed in through the broken skylight. Realization overtook me, and I suddenly felt really unsafe.

“The world isn’t black and white. It’s a technicolor of hypocrisy, and I think you’d find our stories to be more similar than they are different.” Their voice rang from the shadows. “I am not innocent.” The televisions suddenly sputtered on, all of them, the sudden brightness from their feed blinding me. I blinked a few times, raising my hand and trying to look past the brightness to their screens, heart stopping when I did; everything, every screen, was about the flood in Seattle. The deaths, the loss, the bodies and fear. Kids being pulled out of water, thousands stranded on the open air top floor of a parking garage, floating corpses. Below the screens Augustine stood, back so illuminated I couldn’t see her front as she approached, just the outlined silhouette. “You will not be,” Garrett continued, the voice sounding…closer?

I lowered my hand, moving to a defensive stance as Augustine closed the gap; I wasn’t gonna be caught off guard. Not here, not now. But as she got closer, I realized that something was…off. She was definitely shorter than I remembered, and her gait was less ‘commandeering’ than before. Each step brought her closer to the light the hole in the skylight cast on us and once she crossed it, I saw why it didn’t seem like her. It wasn’t her.

Garrett stood across from me, Augustine’s uniform perfectly tailored to fit them, pink hair up in a tight bun. “A life is made of wrongs we inherit.”

I stood where Dad had years ago, across from the heir to the wrongs Augustine wrought. “You’re her child,” I breathed, sure they could hear my voice despite how low it was. “Augustine. You’re her kid.”

Here I was, caught in some insane memory-mind palace with the child of the woman who my father had just finished dealing with for the second time. Completely at their mercy. But they had also been at Augustine’s mercy, and she left them with scars that left them crippled back outside of their mind and within it.

“By blood.” Garrett confirmed, moving around me like they were sizing me up, now that we were meeting in person—or whatever this version of in person was. “Though not by much else. The daughter she never got, the son she never wanted. The child she didn’t need.”

They stopped somewhere behind me, and I resisted the urge to spin on my heel and keep them in my vision. Here I was at the mercy of Augustine’s hidden child, standing in the same place where my father took down their mother—and they very well could settle some scores if they wanted.

But this also didn’t feel like that. It felt less like a cat cornering a mouse and more like a bird leading another to shelter under a palm leaf during a storm. My eyes fell as I processed that, blinking hard when I noticed I was not only standing in Dad’s place, but an exact mirror of him; that jean vest, the hoodie. The blood on my hands. My fist tensed around the end of the chain it held, the press of its cool metal prompting me to ask, “Why should I trust anything you say?” I asked.

“Because I’m the only one willing to be honest with you.” Garrett stressed behind me, their voice seeming to carry off the cool rush of the A/C vents. “Unabashedly. No more half-truths. No more having to wonder what’s been kept from you.” Their steps echoed, and I turned my head to look at them the moment they appeared in my peripheral as they rounded, only pausing when they were directly ahead. Garrett’s head tilted ever so slightly, and they asked, “Aren’t you tired of being lied to?”

God, I was. I absolutely was; with everything that’s happened in the last month, I felt like I was drowning. Everything was either some new revelation that made me feel stupid for the fact that I hadn’t realized it before, or was something that was the fallout of a fact that happened years ago that I didn’t have all the facts to.

But I didn’t say anything; I kept my eyes on Garrett’s, refusing to back down. A part of me, the logical part, told me this was all some sort of trap that’d earn me more ice picks in my back, if not worse.

But then again, I was already trapped in some manipulated echo of a memory, so logic wasn’t the strongest suitor in the room, right now.

I looked at Garrett—at their uniform. The same DUP emblem on the cuffs I had on just moments ago sat proudly on their shoulder instead of shackling them like they had at some point. And yet after everything, they insisted Augustine—their mother—was trying her best to save Conduits. “Why do you vouch for her?” I finally asked. “After everything she did to Conduits, to you, why…”

Garrett shrugged simply, eyebrow cocking a bit. “I figured you’d understand, considering who you inherited your sins from. Tell me—is Delsin still running away from the truth?”

I immediately bristled. How could they even pretend that my dad and Augustine were the same? He ran away to protect Brent and I. “That’s different,” I insisted, voice cold.

“Is it?”

My mouth opened, but I struggled to find a good retort. There were definitely a lot of people that thought Dad was some sort of demon for doing what he did, releasing the Conduits. And Mom...well, her body count was higher than mine.

Garrett’s face stayed stoic, and in the stare, I saw Augustine in the contours of their shape, echoes of their mother in their features; but beyond it, I saw melancholy. Grief. They seemed to struggle to find what to say for a moment before closing their eyes, inhaling deeply. “You want to know why I thought Augustine cared about Conduits?” They finally asked, opening their eyes and meeting mine, stare unblinking. I snapped my mouth shut and nodded silently. Better not to piss off someone who could hold the secret to your rare cancer in their memory bank. “I watched her make sure the mistakes that nearly killed us all would never end up in the hands of someone who could repeat the process. She loved order, and the world the RFI left behind was lawless.”

My brow furrowed. “So you know about the RFI?” I thought Dad and Zeke said the RFI was something kept quiet so no one would try to make another Conduit Delete button.

“She destroyed anything about it after the RFI was analyzed by the DUP’s science division.” Garrett responded with assurance, “She vowed our extinction wouldn’t happen twice.”

What? Augustine…deleted info about a weapon that strong? “You say that like you’re sure,” I drew off.

Garrett’s chin came up a bit. “I am. I was there.”

The security monitors behind Garrett suddenly booted up, stark white and emitting a horrible mic callback sound that made my hands shoot to my ears to block out the terrible grating noise, unable to keep it from vibrating my skull. I cringed with the noise, eyelids pink as they screwed shut to protect me from the sudden onslaught of light and I tried to push against the way it all made my head pound. I felt like a migraine was coming on.

But then it all stopped. That screech faltered, the pink left my vision for a more muted white, and my head found relief as I tentatively opened my eyes.

There were still security screens in front of me, but that was about as far as the similarities lied; there were less of them, the feed no longer showing off corners of Seattle’s downtown but dark crevices of what almost looked like a cave, if there weren’t vents and weird heaters and more concrete. The wall they were pinned to was this sleek darkened stone, wires running from the monitors down to their supply feeds below in zipping, jagged lines that reminded me way too much of how some cheesy Hollywood villain would decorate their lair.

Unfortunately, though, I wasn’t too far off.

I backed up, trying to put every screen in my vision to puzzle piece whatever concrete maze was in front of me when my knees hit the edge of something, and I nearly fell backwards. I turned, my hands shooting out in front of me and looking for purchase to balance—

And instead I pushed myself backwards as I saw who was standing in front of me.

She looked even younger than before, uniform gone and instead replaced with army fatigues with a leaf at her shoulders, a rank higher than anything I knew from the military segment of my APUSH class. Didn’t the DUP start as an army thing before becoming its own branch? This must have been Augustine when she was Lieutenant Colonel, not Director. Augustine’s eyes fell and my blood ran cold as I thought she zeroed in on me and was going to make it my problem—but she instead reached forward, hands coming around something and bringing it up to eye level.

It was broken, the top panel of the device blown clean off and revealing the veins of wires underneath its metal welding. The center of it was glass but unclean, grime and dirt and what looked like blood dried on it and taking away its transparency. There was this branching darkness on the metal, burns singed into it like veins, the edges of every panel rusted over and smelling like the blood of the deaths it caused.

“Is that it?” Someone else in the room asked. I pushed myself up from my place on the ground, shifting to my knees and peeking over the edge of the table like some strange sort of meerkat trying not to get caught by the adder outside of its hole in an effort to see who was talking to Augustine.

They were young—looked younger than me, which was saying a lot—their hair shaggy and close cropped, a brighter auburn than it was in the hospital room back in reality. Their eyes were dim against the bright yellow shirt I’d yet to see on any Curdun prisoner before—the same uniform I realized I was wearing to match.

Garrett. Child Garrett. Were they really in Curdun before they were even an adult?

“The Ray Field Inhibitor,” Augustine confirmed, turning with the device in hand. She held it less like the nuke it was and more like a scythe. “Every life lost…every city decimated…and their best solution was to wipe us off of the face of the earth.”

She looked down at the RFI as if it were vermin, disgust and anger and hatred in her face as she stared at its broken metal top. Augustine turned, showing it to Garrett. I came around the table on my hands and knees, peeking around the leg of the desk—I wasn’t sure yet if Augustine could see me, if this was a memory, or what. And quite honestly, I was very interested in not being in the crosshairs of her vision regardless of what sort of reality I was existing in. Augustine held the device close to Garrett, allowing them to reach out and take it in their own hands.

The moment it passed to Garrett’s hands, some slinking and terrible feeling crawled its way up my spine on a thousand stabbing legs, taking hold of my throat and squeezing like it was trying to choke life out of me. That soreness that seemed to make itself at home in between my shoulder blades burned, a pain that immediately made me flinch as if I could get away from it.

Garrett and I both choked out a gasp at the same time, and they dropped the RFI on the ground like it had stung them, the device clattering to the ground and losing another small metal panel in its fall. The moment it left their hand, all that pain stopped, seeped away like muck down the drain. The RFI rolled away from Garrett and towards me, stopped only in place by a jagged spike of concrete that pierced its shell, making me jump back, falling from my knees to my ass.

“Careful!” Augustine demanded, and for a moment, I got to see the mother within her. She immediately stepped forward and let her hands cup Garrett’s cheeks, examining their face as if the RFI had slashed claws over it and she needed to assess the wounds. “What happened?”

Garrett stared down at the RFI, trying to catch their breath. “I felt it,” they eventually stammered out. “That pain.” Their vision came to rest on me, making my pant die off as I stopped trying to catch whatever breath the RFI’s hold took from me. “The same pain I felt when it tried to kill me,” they said.

When it tried to kill me.

I wasn’t sure of Garrett’s true age, but I didn’t need to be—they were alive for the Blast. The RFI’s detonation. They were one of the millions that should have died that day, and one of the thousands that somehow didn’t. I hadn’t stopped to consider that any Conduit born before 2011 felt that same searing pain—and was probably left with a thousand questions…and no answers.

But it seemed not everyone was as ignorant.

Augustine’s eyes left Garrett’s face to look down at the RFI now, hands falling from their face as she stepped forward, waving away the concrete spear that stopped it. The slab slunk back into the floor, RFI teetering just slightly at its release before it was scooped up by Augustine.

She turned it in her hands. Inspected the mess of wires on one end and the now-gaping hole in the other. The center that seemed to catch blue in the light—at least, the parts of it that weren’t covered in muck.

“It was a miracle we were given a second chance,” Augustine said, voice low and carrying pain, more than I ever knew she was capable of having. There was something in her stare that looked far past the device in her hands as she considered it, trapped in the echoes of something in the past. That pain compounded in her eyes into indignation, anger, and then a steely resolve as she shook her head, tone asserting as she vowed, “And I am not going to let something like that ever happen again.”

It was interesting watching her use concrete; while Dad’s always hovered and swirled, hers simply appeared exactly where she wanted it to be, no directing needed. Concrete wrapped around the RFI like a bandage, encasing the item fully in Augustine’s hands before it began to hug closer and closer to the metal.

Every lurch forward came with a crunching sound as the concrete crushed the RFI, compacting it into a ball of nothingness that she threw against the wall beside me with rage, the sphere shattering into a million pieces. I flinched, covering my face as the shards of concrete flew everywhere, stabbing at my forearms and hitting my drawn-up knees until everything stilled.

When I pulled my arms away from my eyes, Garrett and Augustine were no longer in front of me; they had somehow moved across the room without making a sound, standing in front of the monitors. Augustine clicked the keyboard on the long table in front of the feed with the finality of a typed phrase I somehow missed, and every screen began to blip out, their feed of the concrete caves being replaced with a scroll of photo scanned documents. The first documents that appeared had the Armed Forces stamp in the top right, the star surrounded by a laurel; a breakdown of the RFI, an autopsy report of Cole MacGrath with the outlined body marked and lit up like a Christmas tree. Radiation readings with notes about how there was a lack of any, mission objectives coupled with inventory catalogs of what all was taken from the First Sons’ New Marais base.

But the star shifted, losing its laurel and gaining weirder symbology; an hourglass and a half-filled circle, the Roman numeral I. An eyeball blinked into the center of the star and stared forward, stare so strong it drew me from my spot on the floor and pulled me forward, close enough that I could see how Augustine glared back at it.

I’d seen that logo before, a mile under New Marais.

The First Sons.

The files that started appearing were decorated in blueprints and formulas, schematics for the first of the Ray sphere and those pods the Vermaak were held in. Augustine looked at it all in disgust, shaking her head as Garrett watched from the sidelines. “Decades of effort went into creating a world the First Sons couldn’t handle.” She growled low, voice still managing to project around the room, like the concrete was grabbing it and passing her words along. “All of this—and for what? They failed to even confront the Beast in the end, the one thing they were preparing against. The only way MacGrath was able to stop its destruction was to sacrifice us all.”

“Was it the only way to stop the Beast?” Garrett asked, eyes still glued to the monitors as they watched the schematics for the Ray Sphere’s cradle scroll past. They missed how she glanced at them with anger in her eyes, indignant at the question.

But her voice betrayed none of that emotion as she said, “It was the only solution anyone bothered looking for,” before looking back at the screens ahead. “A trade of a thousand lives to absolve a thousand sins.”

She stared at the screens for a few moments before her jaw set and she slowly shook her head. “Never again,” she decided with a voice more firm than the concrete she’d laid down in her office sometime before. There was a fire in her eyes, an indignation kindled by the pain of whatever hurt her in the past. “We won’t be punished for what we are ever again.”

She leaned forward, hunched over as her fingers flew over the keyboard with the efficiency of someone who’d become very familiar with the keys from thousands of reports as she pulled up a command prompt and began inputting commands that were well beyond the one semester of foundations of computer science class I took and nearly failed. I looked around, trying to understand what she was doing and failing until Garrett asked, “You’re deleting these things from the database?”

“This is classified information few know,” Augustine said, turning to Garrett. “And even fewer need access to. Could you imagine what could happen if the wrong person knew exactly how to get rid of us? If they had a device that was even a fraction as powerful as the Beast?” Her head only shook once, and she returned to the computer. “No. I’ll make sure those that do know about these things will know exactly what will happen to them if they were to spread rumors.” She paused her typing, looking down thoughtfully at her hands as the word echoed back to the large windows. “Rumors. That’s what we will call it. And with the Department of Unified Protection soon becoming its own branch, there will be no one else to answer to but me.”

She straightened, the resolve in her eyes as she glared at the screens strong enough to burn a hole through them. “And I will not leave room for debate.”

She moved whatever the sphere that acted as a tract pad was around, and all the files were highlighted and fiddled with for a moment before a prompt came up and she confirmed it, the command center promptly informing her of it starting a complete wipe of those files from the database.

But, considering it was Augustine, it should've been obvious that she wasn't doing this out of the good of her heart.

A new window opened, and every file she had highlighted was now also being transferred somewhere else—a USB flash drive that Augustine pulled out of the back of a monitor and held up like a prized kill for Garrett to see. “Fate will be left in our hands. This...power, this ability to wipe us off the Earth will not be given to a government that wishes to rid themselves of their latest problem. This will not happen twice.”

Velcro ripped and Augustine tucked the memory stick in her breast pocket, keeping her cards close to her chest—literally. Files of the bomb that created Conduits, and the explosion that nearly made them extinct, all on a small device only in her hands.

She wielded the power, now.

Garrett watched the flash drive disappear before turning their attention back to the terminal, watching the bar on the D E L E T I N G F I L E S popup steadily grow. “How did we do it?” They asked, looking up at their mother as she stepped closer. “How did...how did we survive when so many others died?”

Augustine's eyes traveled from Garrett's face, to the ground, to somewhere far away before she turned back to the monitors and dismissed the deletion popup in favor of a new tab, typing away and opening up a video. “When the RFI was detonated, Homeland Security's radionuclide detectors went haywire. They read the sudden depletion of multiple forms of radiation that they now attribute to RFE. But—” she played the video, where a heat map of the United States grew a vivid red-hot just above New Marais, then began to seep to cool blue as the radiation disappeared, the hue spreading from the south upwards. It climbed up the Mississippi River, around the Rockies and up the burning vein of radiation the Beast laid in its wake, towards New England and the sound Empire City once rested in.

But as it traveled west, something happened.

Purples and reds burst from the Northwest, an explosion that mixed magenta in places as it pushed against the blue trying to overtake it. The two battled for space on the rest of the world map, flicks of bright red lashing out like lashes from a whip onto the blue as that cold blue stretched into the magenta like Lichtenberg figures, veins of death against whatever was trying to fight against it.

“Something countered the strength of the RFI,” Augustine said, watching the show of auroras and lightning strikes on the monitor before it all stilled, the calm map not at all reflecting the chaos that the Ray Field Inhibitor left in its wake. “Not enough to prevent it, but just enough to allow some of us to live.”

“A Ray Sphere?” Garrett asked curiously. I had to agree with them; it seemed the most possible answer, right? Maybe the First Sons had one ready to detonate in an event like this so that Conduits would never truly die.

But Augustine shook her head. “I was shown the readings of the Ray Sphere before being deployed to Empire City,” She told Garrett. “This was different. More resilient. Where the RFI would have easily consumed any power from a Ray Sphere, this was able to survive against the leech of RFE. It was able to reach out, prevent a full genocide of our people.“

Augustine pressed a button and the video rewound, the strikes of red reaching across the states, the Pacific, lashing out from the Northwest in pulses. “Every outreach was a life saved,” Augustine said, watching more bolts of power release across the map.

I watched the red snake out, reaching Russia and somewhere in South America in turn. So those random strikes of energy on the board were Conduits saved from the RFI? Augustine seemed so sure it wasn't the First Sons that caused this.

So if it wasn't...who did?

Garrett seemed to come to the same conclusion I did, asking Augustine, ”What was it, then, if not a Ray Sphere?“

Augustine's head finally turned to regard Garrett fully. “I'm not sure,” she admitted. She glanced back at the screen, hazel eyes coming to focus so hard on those flashes of red I could see the shade reflected in her iris. ”But I intend to find out. Why those that survived did, how they did. What saved us. And until then...“

She drew off, turning around to look towards the opposite wall; where the one behind her was stone, this one was pure glass, the panes so thick I could see their layers as I approached it in pace with Augustine.

It was as if the scene outside of Augustine's office knew she was approaching and wished to look down at her masterpiece; offensively bright florescent lights flashed on overhead in sectors, revealing spires of concrete shaped into levels and pillars.

The Arena.

I heard about it the first time articles were published to COLE, interviews from Curdun Cay survivors. Large arenas were littered all throughout Curdun, where Conduits would be pit against each other gladiator style while Augustine watched from above.

This was that above.

I could see power sources littered about, small enough for a Conduit to drain but not large enough for them to gain considerable power. Smoke billowed from false chimneys, light sources lined the lips of concrete. There were small bits of steel rebar poking out in some places, and I could even see puddles just under sprinklers installed on the undersides of concrete cliffs.

This was how she trained them. Weeded out Conduits one by one until she decided the victors that would take on the Pacific Northwest in search of answers. Dr. Sims. Daughtery.

Mom.

I hadn't realized everything around me disappeared until Garrett's reflection—the older Garrett—stood beside mine, looking down at the arena with their hands resting on an ornate Cedar cane I hadn't seen before. “She was a victim in her own right,” they said. “We all were, those of us that survived.”

Garrett's reflection met my eyes. “Do you believe me now, when I say she wanted to make sure we survived?”

I wanted to say I did. Hell, a part of me could even rationalize it, if I sat on the idea long enough; separating yourself from those that wanted to kill you by any means necessary was one of the few ways you could be sure you'd live.

But I didn't see benevolence in what Augustine did, then or now. “Everything she did…” I drew off, trying to find the words. “It just made things worse.”

Garrett sighed, seemingly very tired of trying to get me to see things their way. “She did what she thought would protect us—”

“No,” I cut off the reflection, refusing to accept this stupid idea. Augustine did nothing for Conduits, nothing I could spare my empathy on. “All I saw her do was delete evidence of everything that happened so she was the only one that knew the truth, and spin it all so she’d stay in charge. The only reason Conduits are even out of Curdun is because she couldn’t let that power go—”

“Would you rather the world know of the RFI?” Garrett challenged. “She was doing what she thought was best. Even if misguided.”

“By making Conduits the enemy?” I asked, motioning off to a poster on the wall to the right of me. It was a mockup to what I knew would eventually become a reporting poster, juvenile in its display: 'See Something, Say Something - Protect the Country from BIO-TERRORISM'. “Who coined that word?” I demanded of Garrett, who tore their eyes from mine to stare at the ground, taking a deep breath as if they were trying to calm themselves. “She created a problem and made herself the answer.”

Garrett grit their teeth. “She was trying to ensure—”

“Nothing else happened?” I finished their sentence for them. “How did any of her lies help?”

“Because sometimes, lies are necessary,” Garrett bit back in retort, eyes rising and their stare becoming a glare when I scoffed. I highly doubted everything that happened was because it was necessary. “Did your father not think the same, keeping the truth from you?”

I could feel my nostrils flare in anger. “That’s not the same.” I growled. Dad was nothing like Augustine; even in his lies, he did everything to try to help Conduits, in spite of it all. “My dad never meant to hurt anyone.”

Garrett’s eyebrow arched up further still as something rumbled around me; the concrete on the wall began to crawl forward, past the window’s trim and around the terminals behind me, closing in. The glass shattered, combust in a shower that sent me sprawling back as the ground on the other side of the bare window raised. I hit concrete, air sprawling from my lungs as the earthquake shuddered around me. The concrete ground against itself, a loud and painful reverberation that made me cover my ears, trying to stop the ear-splitting onslaught.

In one of the glass pieces on the ground, I caught a glimpse of Garrett’s ice blue eye still staring at me, unconvinced. “Your father hasn’t been transparent with you since the beginning,” Garrett’s voice echoed in my head in spite of it all. The fluorescent lights above cut out as they too were swallowed by the rock.

“How can you be so sure he’s a good man?”

Everything around me stilled and I forced myself to my elbows, looking around; gone was the neat observation room, the desks and monitors that allowed Augustine to peer into the maze below that made up the arena. Instead, as emergency lights flickered on, lining the rock where wall met floor, I realized I was in it.

And something that cracked in the shadows behind me suggested I wasn’t alone.

I whipped around, trying to peer past the bad lighting to see who was there. “Garrett?” I called out tentatively. Something crunched, shifted the glass that blew back when the windows burst under the pressure of the concrete, the scrapes echoing down the corridor I stood in.

And from deep within the shadows, two glowing yellow eyes met mine, followed by the sound of something rushing towards me.

I stumbled back before turning and running for my goddamn life, heart hammering in my chest. This is what I get for talking shit about Augustine, isn’t it? I told Garrett their mother was shit, and now I’m stuck in Augustine’s Fun House with whatever the hell that was behind me as punishment.

My feet pound against the ground, veering off left the moment I found an opening to. I could still hear it behind me, hunting me, and put more into my steps, trying to outrun the predator. I skidded into my next turn and hit the wall, the impact of sharp rock on my arm feeling very real. If that felt real, would any other pain? Would I be safe from death here, or were we working on an A Nightmare On Elm Street ideology where anything that happened in this illusion happened outside of it?

I wasn’t sure, but it definitely encouraged me to continue running from my pursuer just in case it was someone—or something—that could rip me apart.

The concrete ground under my feet, pebbles of it left behind from its shifting formations that dug into the plain white and laceless tennis shoes and nearly sent me sprawling more than once as they caught in the grooves of the soles. There was a puddle of water just ahead and my calls to drain it were useless; the only time the water moved was when I ran through it, water soaking the ends of my DUP-issued pants. I was only a good three yards away from it by the time the puddle splashed again—whatever was chasing me was close.

But up ahead, there was a reprieve; a light in the dark alcove, warm amber and natural and inviting where the maze opened up. There had to be some way out of here, and even if not, the light would make it easier to see what the hell was behind me—so I ran. I put as much power into my feet as I could and ignored the burn of my lungs as I ran.

The unstable lights lining the floor flickered once, twice, three times the closer I got to the opening, my eyes struggling to adjust to see and plunging me in total darkness just before I breached the opening, forcing me to accept its burn into my retinas and the pain behind my eyes it gave me.

But when the scenery around solidified, I realized everything changed again, skidding to a stop and falling to my ass when gravel caught under my shoes as I looked around the rooftop I materialized on.

The Space Needle was dark—no colored lights strobing. No lights at all, which wasn’t normal. In fact, the entire city seemed muted like it was trying to curl in on itself. Shops I knew were usually open 24 hours were closed, neon signs were off. The city didn’t seem dead—it looked like it was hiding.

It was so quiet that I could have heard the lullaby of the Sound’s ebbs if it wasn’t for the sudden barrage of gunfire from somewhere ahead.

They were short bursts and followed by something…familiar? I’ve heard that whooshing sound before. Where have I heard it before? I shifted to my knees and got to a crouch, staying low as possible as I moved back to the ledge and peeked over it.

There, standing on the embankment that separated them from the dark waters, a fully armored DUP soldier and a Conduit detainee were exchanging fire. Figuratively and literally. The DUP soldier let off bursts that lit up the end of his rifle, the Conduit returning in kind with the same sort of flash, a pooling brightness swirling around his hand before he shot bullets of ember and smoke. The marina was littered in smoldering piles of ash, and it wasn’t until I saw the remains of a helmet in one that I realized it wasn’t the wood of the embankment that was lit on fire, but the opposition that once stood there.

Something shifted in the air around me and my hair raised with the static, a shimmer of pixelated blue wings passing directly over me before following the arch of its climb and stopping at its peak. The blue and white pixels snapped together and Dad formed from the cloud, pulling every pixel back towards his body as he dropped from the sky, fist held ready.

He became a meteor of ice blue, ripples of tech waves trailing behind him as he aimed his fist for the DUP soldier and took him out in a pulse of a bright summoning circle. The soldier dropped like a ragdoll, still and silent and dead, while the detainee stumbled back in shock before moving to run away.

Dad drew up his hand and shot without hesitation, the pixelated sword landing right in between the detainee’s shoulder blades and sending him sprawling to the ground, dazed and winded. Dad stalked towards him like a predator on prey as the detainee fought through his pain to scoot back, yanking him up from his place and pressing him against the guard rail of the marina.

The wind and the roar of the multiple APCs stole their words away, but there was no mistaking the rage leaking from Dad; despite not using powers, the video never left him, rippling against the bends of his joints like it was itching to be used again. Dad held the man by the collar of his uniform, fists to his throat—but was too busy hissing at the man to feel the hand on his stomach until he was blasted back in a cloud of smoke, slamming to the ground.

Smoke. We were in Seattle. Was that the guy Dad got smoke powers from?

The man stumbled forward, the only thing keeping him upright Dad, apparently, collapsing onto the wood of the marina. And then…both men turned out towards the water. I followed their eyes to a small, barely-anything boat bobbing in the water, slowly floating away into the Sound.

The detainee began crawling on his hands and knees towards the guard rail, Dad scrambling to his feet and letting the chain fall from his wrists, unspooling just enough to wrap the metal links around the man’s throat. I felt something swell up in my own as I watched Delsin, my father, begin to choke out this man.

But then…he hesitated. I could see it in his shoulders, the way his elbows slacked just a bit as he looked back out to the water and the boat. He was moving with the detainee’s struggles too much. And I found myself whispering, “Let him go,” again and again.

Dad leaned down, whispering something in the man’s ear.

And my blood ran cold when he stood back up and planted a foot on the man’s lower back, pushing him into the chain and choking the life out of him.

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. All in amazing prose that utilizes 2nd person in a brilliant and artistic way! I fucking love second person, and Doot is the person for that POV if you're looking for writing that not only will blow you away, but show you how it's properly done.

#infamous erosion #infamous second son #Happy Second Anniversary to Erosion lol #GARRETT POSTING LET'S GO #Brooke Augustine #Delsin Rowe #fanfiction #A life is made of wrongs we inherit #heard that quote. saw garrett. blacked out. bone apple tea #Jean was in AWTE long before Garrett was in Erosion #and y'all would have known this SOONER if the thought goblins didn't steal my ability to write #jean posting #part one of the Garrett Chapters! :D #Wondering if Gab will make the connections I've been waiting for her to for over a year as well lol hope she's hype about the implications #erosion is a family story #Spotify

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