Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ACT ONE
KNIGHT OF LIGHT
"...we came in?"

> Joey: Awaken.

When you come to, the first thing you notice is the stench. You’re lying on something soft and bulky that smells like rot. Everything’s wet and cold, and your outfit is soaked through. And then there’s the pain. It’s so far away that you don’t feel it at first, muffled under the nauseating smell and the freezing cold, but when you do realise it’s there it blooms out to fill your entire body. Your arms, your stomach, the crown of your skull. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to move. God, is there a part of you that doesn’t hurt?

Forcing your eyes open takes superhuman effort, and you’ve used all of that up today. Ha. Black spots dance in the corners of your vision, in stark relief against the neon blues and purples flooding the alley, lighting up the haze and smog of the night sky.

...Oh, okay. So you’re in an alley. It must have just stopped raining, because everything's covered in droplets of shimmering water. You… really don’t know why you’re here or how you got here. Your last memories before this are of practising ballet in the living room, waiting for your brother to wake up.

When Jude appears in front of you, his form wobbling into view like a degaussed monitor, it all starts to make sense. Well, not exactly; you still have no idea what you’re doing in this alley. But your brother never leaves the apartment, so if you can see him now, goofy black jumpsuit and all, it can only mean one thing. Under the smooth white dome of his helmet, behind the black mask, his green eyes are full of fear, and they burn with an unnatural light that’s almost painful to look at, so vibrant that you swear you can see it shining off windows and drain pipes.

“Oh no,” he says. His voice is small and broken and he sounds so exhausted, like the tired, scared thirteen-year-old he tries desperately not to be. “Joey. Joey. Oh God, I was worried. What did they do to you?”

“You look so stupid,” you reply. You don’t say Jude’s name out loud because even in the confused state you’re currently in, you’re well aware that anybody could be listening. But even so, you can’t find it in you to be as worried as he is. Your head hurts and everything feels so fuzzy and distant, and even though you know you should be freaking out about how you can’t remember how you got here, it all seems so inconsequential.

“Shut up, Joey,” he says, but there’s no malice in it. In fact, the way his voice wavers is like a knife in your chest. “You’re injured. Severely, I think. I never thought that… What happened when you left the sewers? What did they do to you?”

“I don’t… I don’t know what happened or who did what, I can’t remember anything. Why can I see you?”

Jude comes closer and stretches over to look at you, his fingers phasing through your armguards as his illusory form leans on you for support. “Something bad's happened to you,” he says. “Does your head hurt?”

“Yeah,” you say. When you reach a hand up to your head, Jude leans backwards to get out of your way, even though he’s not really there. Your Crown - nothing fancy, just a flower crown of red, pink and white roses - is still firmly on your head, but your hair is matted and damp, and when your fingers press against your scalp it sends an agonising blast across your skull like you struck yourself with a hammer.

“Careful, careful,” Jude says as he watches you wince, “That looks painful.”

“You have no idea. Am I going to die?”

“No, of course not,” Jude says far too quickly. “You’ll be fine. We just need to get you some help. Can you stand?”

Your feet are dangling over the pile of whatever you’re lying on. You tilt your head to take a look and… wow, nice. Bags of trash. The perfect place to take a power nap. Well you guess that explains the smell. You push your feet against the floor and you’re rewarded with waves of pain so intense that you have to grit your teeth to hold in a whimper.

“Come on, Joey,” Jude says, “You can do it. I can’t get to you. You’ve got to save yourself tonight. We’re all counting on you.”

Taking care not to stick an arm through your brother, you flail about to find something to hold on to. The ladder of a fire escape dangles overhead, slick with rain. You grab hold of it and drag yourself upright. It’s like lifting a two ton weight, and every atom of your body screams in agony as your legs threaten to give out from beneath you, but eventually you’re standing upright atop the trash bags, taking deep breaths while you wait for the spinning to stop and the black shadows creeping around in the corners of your vision to fade.

Times like this, you really wish you had a healing factor.

Jude’s still staring at you, wide-eyed with terror behind his black mask. The small strip of his face is pale with fright and tense with worry, barely visible under his helmet, between it and the black jumpsuit inlaid with filaments of green computer wire. “You’re doing so great, sis,” he says. “You’re nearly there. You’re so close.”

“So close to what?” you snap. You’ve never heard your little brother sound as caring or as terrified as this, even when he normally gets a bad vision, and it’s starting to freak you out. Some distant part of your brain wonders if it's messed up that you care less about the state you’re in and more about how badly Jude is reacting to it. In an effort to prove to him that you’re okay, you step off the pile of trash and, ow, every step reverberates through your body like it’s going to shatter you into tiny bits, but eventually you reach the floor and you’re not swaying too much.

“You’re doing great,” Jude says, and you can tell he's deliberately not answering your question. “Between your Crown and the adrenaline, you're going to be fine. Well, not fine, but good enough. Reckon you can get up there? You nearly made it all the way after your run-in with the Kindness.”

As Jude speaks, he points behind you, up the fire escape, but you don’t turn to look. Things are beginning to click into place, like the corner pieces of a huge jigsaw. You recognise the Kindness. The name sparks some huge recollection that you don’t quite have enough clues for. “That… sounds familiar,” you tell him, “What’s the Kindness? Why’s it so important?”

“We don’t have time for questions yet,” Jude says, “You’re not out of the woods yet, Knight of Light. We can still see each other. I’ve got Langly looking for the Ariborn. Your job right now is to save Joey Claire.

Again, a flash of recall. You see the burgundy Ariborn sign in your head, and it means… something.

“I think you’ve got a concussion, maybe?” he continues, “Something serious, anyway. Like I said, your Crown’s supporting you but you’re in no shape to fight villains. You need healing. That’s why we’re here.”

You look around yourself and sort of recognise the alley you’re in. The open dumpster behind you, the pile of trash in front of you and the fire escape ladder above that… Did you take them all out for some height to catch the ladder? Why didn’t you just wheel the dumpster over? At least the bags were a softer fall, you suppose.

And then it clicks. You remember where that ladder leads and have to suppress a shudder. “No,” you tell Jude, “I’m not getting help from the Poisoner of all people!”

“Please, Joey,” Jude says with a sigh, “Do we have to have this fight now? You nearly went there on your own earlier. He’s on our side now. We can trust him.”

“No, we can’t! Obviously I wasn’t thinking right earlier, but now that I am there’s no way I’m getting help from him! He’s awful and I can’t stand him!”

“Don’t be like this. Look, I don’t trust him either, not really, but do you think I’d tell you to do this if there was any other choice? You were out cold for ten whole minutes. How many doctors are there in this city who are going to help us? I can’t risk you going somewhere else and being caught by the Kindness’ minions, or worse.”

You cross your arms and glare at Jude. He glares right back at you. "Don’t make me ring Roxy and tell her you’ve gone missing," he says.

“Fine,” you eventually spit out. You know you were always going to cave eventually, so what’s the point in dragging this out? You’re all the two of you have in this world, really. Just this once, you can let him win.

You climb back onto the trash bags, reach over to the fire escape and pull yourself up. You feel dizzy and lightheaded for a second, so you to cling to the ladder for a second until things get back to normal.

“Joey, take it slowly.”

“I’m okay,” you reply, and pull yourself up to the next rung.

Chapter Text

> Joey: Climb.

Even though the exertion hurts enough that you want to scream, you take care to walk as quietly as you can on your way to the fourth floor. Hippok Mortwe’s lights are all out, because of course they are. You tap on a window and after a few seconds of shuffling two red, sightless eyes peer out at you, barely visible in the darkness if not for your infravision.

Hippok is wearing black, sopor-encrusted pyjamas with the jade Virmini symbol embroidered on the collar, and when you lean forwards you can see fluffy, pink slippers on his feet. Two horns shaped like the letter T, pointing to the front and back, stick up from his shaven head. The way he yawns and sways from side to side is disarmingly calm. He’s the total opposite of the calculating, hyper-vigilant Poisoner you fought on so many occasions.

You watch as Hippok slides the window up and leans out of it, angling his head to one side so that his horns don’t hit the lintel. “Long time no smell, Knight,” he says, fixing the space behind you with a serene, calculating expression. Or maybe he's just still half-asleep. “What took you so long?”

“I stopped to take a nap,” you say bitterly. “Did the Seer tell you I’d be coming?”

“One of his birds woke me up about fifteen minutes ago,” Hippok says, nodding, “Didn’t give me anything useful to go on. Just bashed on my window until I let it in, and then I had to listen to him babbling about how you needed help and how I had to fulfill my side of our bargain.”

“Well. Here I am.”

“Here you are, indeed, though you took your time about it. You’d better come inside before somebody spots you.”

Hippok retreats and you clamber through the raised windowpane. Thank God for your infrared vision. Without your Power, and with the neon lights outside providing a mere shadow of illumination, you’d be completely blind in here. And even though Hippok’s acting harmless now, you don’t like the idea of being defenseless inside his lair… erm, apartment.

Right now, you appear to be in his kitchen, or whatever the troll word for kitchen is. You hop off of the windowsill you’re sitting on and take a look around, ignoring how your sodden clothes are dripping on the floor. It looks nice in here. A lot of human appliances, but they’re state of the art: a convection hob, a fridge with two doors and an ice dispenser, a dishwasher larger than your oven back home. There are no decorations, which isn’t all that surprising, but there are jars and drawers for everything and you can’t see as much as a breadcrumb out of place. This kitchen is almost the exact opposite of yours and you can't help but feel a little jealous.

Hippok stands in front of you and wrings his hands. A faint smile flickers across his lips, a tiny display of nervous excitement that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You smell awful," he says.

“Yeah, I fell in the garbage on the way here.”

“No, that’s not what I meant and you know it,” Hippok says with a sniff. “Someone really did a number on you. You’re like one big ball of ouch. You’ve...” he sniffs again, stares through you with a look somewhere between sympathy and indignation, “Did somebody drop a cinderblock on your head?”

“I can’t remember,” you say, “My memories of tonight are kind of blurry.”

“Retrograde amnesia? That’s an intriguing symptom. May I?” When Hippok holds his hands to you you flinch back on instinct. “Don’t worry. I’m not… You’re not in any danger from me. I just need to get a better smell of you so I know what I’m dealing with.”

“You’re going to diagnose me by smell? That’s really creepy and also a little gross.”

“Well I’ve had six months to practise, haven’t I? I’m not going to do anything weird. I’m just going to put my hands on your shoulders and smell your bleeding.”

“Right, because that’s not even close to weird,” you say, but this time you allow Hippok to rest his hands on your shoulders as he takes long, steady breaths.

“Minor bruising, some lacerations, a few broken ribs, a mild concussion… Hmm, that would explain the amnesia. Maybe some hairline cranial fractures too.”

“Is it bad?” you say, because you have to ask.

“Well, let’s just say you should be glad you came to me. You took quite a beating, but it’s nothing I can’t fix. Just be warned, this isn’t going to be pleasant for either of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Unless you want to spend a few days bedridden, I’m going to need to use my Power to fix you. Which means you’re going to feel awful and I’m not going to have any fun at all.”

There’s a staticky crackle behind you as Jude’s illusory form shakes itself into existence. The sudden noise in the otherwise quiet room makes both you and Hippok jump. Jude is making himself perceptible to others, the green glow of his eyes cutting through the dark room like a pair of floodlamps as the reflected shine off his helmet paints the whole room in mauve and teal. “It’s not about fun,” he says.

“Ah, the Seer of Doom graces us with his frustratingly imperceptible presence,” Hippok says, sniffing, “So this must be worse than I thought. Ooh, this will be grand.”

“No, stop,” Jude says, stamping his foot, “We don’t have time for this. Someone’s in danger. They just inherited their Power and the Kindness is after them. They don’t have a Crown or anything yet.”

“So let the Kindness take them, then. They probably won’t die. Why are you so worried?”

“Because nobody else cares!” Jude shouts, and the way his voice breaks is just too awful to listen to, “We have two years until the Cosmic Witch comes back and the only reason we still have these Powers is so that we can fend her off again.

Hippok rolls his eyes—a useless gesture, but then again he hasn’t been blind for all that long.

“No. Quit that,” Jude says, pointing a finger at Hippok and glaring as if he isn’t half the troll’s size. Even if he can’t see Jude’s body language, he definitely notices the desperate, anguished tone of his voice. Jude sighs, pushes up a pair of glasses that aren’t there, and continues, “She is coming back. And do you know what’s going to happen? The entire city is going to burn, and we’ll all drown in rivers of blood. Prospit and Derse, no-one will be safe. I have nightmares about it whenever I close my eyes, and nobody else knows or cares. That’s why we’re doing this. That’s why we need your help. Just this once, please don’t make this about how fun it is or what experimental methods you can use. We just need you to fix the Knight of Light so we can save someone’s life.”

Hippok doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Alright,” he finally says, throwing his hands in the air, “No need to twist my arm with the sob story. If you kids want to be vigilantes so badly, knock yourselves out.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Jude asks tentatively.

“Yeah. Just… give me a few minutes to get my stuff out.”

“Yes!” Jude shouts, jumping and punching the air, “Thank you, Hippok, thank you so much!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Hippok says as he heads to the door.

When Hippok’s gone, you turn to Jude. “While we’re waiting, you have to tell me everything.”

“You really can’t remember?” he asks, eyeing you warily. When you shake your head, he huffs. “I only know what happened until you went into the sewers. Frohike couldn’t fit. You’ll have to remember that yourself.”

“But you’ll tell me the rest?”

Jude nods, causing his helmet to shift forwards. As he rearranges it, you hold a hand out and concentrate. You can feel your Power deep inside you, like a rumbling engine or a burning sun floating in your soul. The barest trace of effort and the open palm of your hand lights up with glorious light, amplified and strengthened by the mirrors and lenses in the fabric of your suit. At least you remember how to do this.

Oof, maybe that was a bit too bright, even as unfocused and undirected as it is. Jude recoils from the blazing beacon of your arm, hands shielding his face, and even you have to squint at the light. You quash it before the wallpaper starts peeling.

“Well at least the Kindness didn’t take your Power,” he says. And then you have to stop and think about the implications of that, which are honestly kind of worrying. So the Kindness takes Powers from people? And you were in the process of saving someone from them; someone who had only just inherited their own Power. Oblivious to your thoughts, he continues: “No, I don’t think they would have taken yours. It’s been growing in you for too long. They couldn’t remove it from you without taking most of you with it. They’re brutal, but I’m coming to believe that murder's not an intentional part of their M.O. What do you think?”

Wait, he’s talking to you? You blink at him.

“Oh, right,” he says. “Memory loss.”

“Look, just keep it simple for now. The troll I was saving, the Ariborn. Tell me about him.”

“I dunno what to say. I’ve got Langly looking for him but the trail’s gone cold. That might be his Power or maybe he just had a lucky break.”

“So we don’t know what his power is?”

Jude shakes his head. “He definitely inherited one, though. He was outside in the Tyrian Rain for hours. I mean, that and the Kindness was chasing after him.”

As you start to ask another question, the door clicks and swings open. “We’re all good to go, if you’d like to come this way,” Hippok says. He’s thrown a lab coat over his pyjamas. The breast pocket on the right has been torn off and the one on the left, emblazoned with his symbol, has something rectangular inside. A blast of your x-ray vision and you can see it’s actually four needles, each with a capped syringe and a chamber full of liquid.

Jude’s figure shudders with another crackle. He’s no longer reflecting the light around him. “It’s going to be fine, Joey,” he says, and Hippok doesn’t react in the slightest, “Frohike’s on the roof, scanning in. If anything happens I'll be able to hear everything, even when you’re fixed and I can’t be with you in person.”

“Thanks,” you reply.

“My pleasure,” Hippok says, “Now get in here.”

Jude’s hand reaches out to yours, and his fingers clip through yours as he gives them a squeeze. You step out of Hippok’s kitchen into the cramped corridor beyond.

Chapter Text

> Joey: Follow Hippok.

Hippok leads you through a corridor, past what you presume is his front door, with two chains and seven locks sloppily bolted on. “That’s a bit excessive, isn’t it?”

Hippok’s hand rests on the handle of a door on the far side of the corridor. He turns, without lifting his hand, fixing a sightless stare on the patch of wall above your head. “You’re not the only Power who knows who I used to be,” he says, “Miss Miracle, for example. She certainly hasn’t forgiven me for what I did.”

“Pfft, you’re not going to keep Miss Miracle out with a few locks. She could rip this whole building from its foundations if she wanted.”

“The locks aren’t for Miss Miracle. They’re to keep out her alter-ego.” He says it in the most nonchalant manner imaginable, like he hasn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell in history.

You stop where you are and stare, mouth agape. Jude, next to you, is similarly stunned. Miss Miracle, the Woman of Tomorrow, the Saviour of Neo City, the Caped Champion, the Scourge of the Midnight Crew. And Hippok just happens to know who she really is?! Your mind isn’t just spinning, it’s in free fall. “You know Miss Miracle?!”

“Well not quite. But she could be wearing a thousand masks and I’d still be able to recognise her. Consider it the only upside of no longer relying on my eyes. When you start to pay attention, people have all sorts of tell-tale signs they don’t even realise are there. Choice of vocabulary, stance, emotional responses. There are so many things that you sighted people simply don’t realise because you’re all far too too focused on outward appearances.”

You can’t bare to ask the question, but you have to know. “Do you know who I am, too?”

Hippok just shrugs. “Nope. Never smelled you without your mask on.” He turns to the door, pauses, turns back to face you again. “I know what you’re going to ask next, and don’t worry. Just because I know these things doesn’t mean I’m going to start running my mouth. I’m reformed, remember?”

Hippok flashes you a fanged grin. It’s entirely unconvincing. You turn to look at Jude. The way he looks back at you, he’s got to be just as unsettled as you are.

Your many aches and pains are an insistent reminder that you don’t have time for any of this. You take a deep breath and force yourself to ignore the rising stress growing inside you. “Who even cares? Let’s just get on with it.”

“Quite right,” Hippok says, and pushes open the door.

You’re expecting some DIY operating room with plastic sheeting everywhere, and you’re somewhat disappointed when the room turns out to just be Hippok’s living room. Like the kitchen, it’s pretty nicely decked out with human things. There’s an overstuffed sofa against one wall with a few bean bags in a pile to one side. A high-backed leather armchair is in the middle of the room, with a glass coffee table in front of it. The far wall is taken up by a huge curtain, and the lights shining through from outside paint the room in a thousand shades of blue. Next to it, tucked into the corner opposite the armchair, is the largest television you’ve seen in your life. The thing is fifteen inches from corner to corner, and you can’t help but feel envious when you realise it must be a colour TV. It’s even hooked up to a Betamax player. You’re so impressed by it that it takes a few seconds for you to wonder why Hippok would bother to have one at all, let alone splash out for one that displays colour. As far as you know, he didn’t move into this apartment until after he lost his sight. You know trolls can use their other senses to make up for a lack of sight in ways humans can’t, but you can’t possibly wrap your head around how Hippok might be able to smell television signals.

As you’re wondering this, Hippok throws his arms wide. “Welcome to my operating theatre, Knight of Light. Sit down on the sofa. Or on the splaysacs. Or anywhere you feel comfortable.”

“Really? Isn’t all of this going to make a mess?”

“A mess?” he says, absolutely perplexed. After a second, something must click because his eyes widen. “Ohh, right. No, not at all. I’m not going to be cutting you open. You’re thinking of the things I did as the Poisoner, aren’t you? With the bone saw and the needle crossbows?”

You nod.

“That was mostly for show. The idea of being some kind of evil doctor appealed to me back then, especially because I always knew I’d never be a real one. But no, there's no surgery happening today.” He pats the breast pocket of his lab coat with the syringes inside, “Just my Power and a little saline solution.”

“Without your Crown? Won’t that hurt?”

“Oh, probably a lot. So that makes us even, yes?”

“You killed people, Hippok,” you say, folding your arms, “If I had it my way, you’d be locked up in jail, not luxuriating in your penthouse.”

“I don’t know what you think a penthouse is, but it isn’t this. Anyway, I was joking. Just... sit down or something while I put some music on.”

Hippok walks over to the TV. You stay standing at the edge of the room, watching as he hooks his foot behind the Betamax player and drags out a small box. When he reaches down it opens with a quiet click and, after a bit of fumbling, he takes a cassette out and slides it into the player. The television flickers to life and a recorded pop music channel begins to play. You guess the TV isn't quite as state of the art as you thought at first. The colours are washed out and the entire right side is a staticky mess.

Jude perches on the edge of the sofa’s armrest, staring at the television as two women in sparkly leotards dance on a stage. “The light from outside makes the ladies on TV look a little bit like Pa’s blue ladies, don’t they?” he says.

Eugh. Now that he’s mentioned it, you really can’t unsee it. “Does that have to be on?” you ask Hippok.

“Yes,” he replies, “I need to stay in the zone. Music helps.” He turns to face you and frowns, hands on his hips. “You’re still standing.”

You hesitate. “You could do anything with your Power. How do I know you won’t hurt me?”

Hippok lets out an exasperated sigh. “Look, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have locked you in the hall and turned the air into mustard gas. Or called Starstorm to set up an ambush. Or shot you, in the head, with a gun. Or, judging by the state you’re in, I could have just not come to the window. Now do you want my help or not?”

Welp. You walk over to the armchair and sit down, with great reluctance. Jude gets up off of the sofa and walks behind you, hovering his hands just over your shoulders. The effect is slightly ruined because the back of the armchair is almost as tall as he is, so he has to phase his hands through it, but you appreciate the gesture anyway.

Hippok takes a syringe out of his lab coat and holds it up to the light shining in through the curtain. For a second he seems to just be staring toward the clear liquid inside it, brows furrowed, and then you notice the sheen of sweat that's appeared on his forehead, and how his teeth are gritted and his entire body is shaking.

"Are you alright?" you ask.

A pained grunt and the barest nod of his head is all the response you get. In retrospect, it was a silly question. Using your full Powers without a Crown to amplify it requires intense focus. The one time you tried to do it, you just wanted to create a small light to find one of your old toys in the dark and overfilled closet. Even that was so tiring that you could barely walk for the rest of the day.

After a moment, the saline solution inside the syringe begins to bubble as its colour changes to a dull off-white. Hippok unclenches his teeth and, panting, puts the syringe on the table. "That was," he says between breaths, "Worse than I was expecting. Change of... plan... We'll start with... two and... see how that goes."

"Okay," you say. You weren't exactly looking forward to four injections. Hopefully this means you can get all of this over with quicker.

By the time Hippok's done transmuting the contents of the second syringe to a viscous, green substance he looks dead on his feet. You stand up, no real plan for what to do apart from maybe help him to sit down on the sofa, but he flaps his hands at you in a floppy approximation of a 'stay there' gesture. "No, don't," he says, "That was the hardest bit. We're nearly done." He reaches his empty hand out to your neck, feeling for a pulse. "There's probably no sane reason for why a blind man should be doing this," he says with a tired chuckle. After a moment, when he's presumably found whatever vein he's looking for, he holds the syringe against your neck. "So, this is going to make your body fix itself rather rapidly, but that's not something your body can do naturally. You're going to feel awful while it's taking place."

"Just get on with it," you say.

The injections don't hurt as bad as you thought. It's sort of like accidentally pricking yourself with a sewing needle. After the first one, you turn to look behind you and your brother is nowhere to be seen. When the second one is done, you just think, Is that it?

When he's done, Hippok takes a step backwards, stumbles over the coffee table, and falls into a heap onto the sofa.

"Be careful!" you cry out, "Don't hurt yourself."

"I'll be fine," he says, "How are you feeling?

"Same as ever," you say, but as soon as you've said that a sudden a wave of exhaustion sweeps down you, blooming from the ache in your skull and enveloping your entire body. All of a sudden, you want nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep, but you know you can't. You need to get up. You need to get out of this apartment. You need to find Frohike and rescue the troll hiding from the Kindness.

Right now, you don't even have the energy to stand up. You try, and lift yourself half a foot off the chair before falling back down into it.

On the other side of the room, Hippok looks just as drained as you. "Are you feeling nauseous? Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm just... so tired."

"That's not surprising. Your body's in overdrive right now."

"So what do I do now?"

"What do you do? You sit and wait for your body to fix itself." After a few moments of silence, Hippok continues, "You know, my original plan was to pump you full of truth serum and make you reveal your identity."

“What?" you ask, every word an ordeal to say, "Why would you do that?"

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hippok says, “Maybe it’s my natural inclination as a Derse dreamer. Maybe it’s payment for services rendered. Maybe I just wanted to hurt you for taking my sight.”

“I didn’t take anything,” you spit out, “You could have closed your eyes or dropped that crossbow or something, but you didn’t.”

Hippok sighs and runs his claws across his scalp. “It’s all done now, anyway. Nothing we can do about it. I don’t suppose you’d tell me your name anyway?”

“Oh, go to hell, Mortwe.”

“I’m already there,” he replies, “I’ve been there ever since you burned my eyes out of my skull.” Your brain barely has time to begin processing that, vacillating somewhere between outrage, shock, a twinge of guilt and a heaping of what the hell, before he adds, “No, sorry. That was out of line. You don’t deserve that. You were only doing what you felt you had to.”

“Is that why you’re doing this?” you ask, “Because you feel you have to?”

Hippok just shakes his head and gives you a sad smile. "They say you can take a jadeblood out of the brooding caverns, but you can't take the caverns from the troll." He pauses for just long enough that when he starts talking again you jerk awake from a mini-doze you weren't aware of taking and says, "When I saw you out there, shivering and covered in blood and looking so small and frail, I knew I could never live with myself if I didn't help."

Well. You don’t know how to respond to that. Your eyelids are so heavy. You don’t want to go to sleep; you need to get back out there and help that troll, but your body feels like it’s floating in space.

You jerk awake, unaware of having fallen asleep. You twist your head round and are relieved to see that you’re still in Hippok’s living room. He’s not here any more, though. The TV is off and the only sound is the bustle of the city outside. Once again you float off without meaning to and fall into a dream of a golden city beyond the edge of the universe, whose bright spires reach up towards an eternal midday sky.

Chapter Text

INTERMISSION ONE

> Overseer: Open memo.

END OF INTERMISSION ONE

Chapter Text

> Dream Joey: Retreat from the waking world.

You drift in and out of sleep like a ship on stormy waters.

You're woken by a clink as Hippok sets a glass of water on the coffee table in front of you. Your mouth is full of sand, but you can barely mumble your thanks before you're off again.

The next time you wake up, you're brought round by the sound of engines whirring outside. Something on the other side of the window is projecting a familiar, arrowhead-shaped shadow through the curtain and onto the floor, but you're more concerned about the fast, throbbing ache that's about to split your skull in two. The exhaustion drags you back under before you can pay too much attention to the shadow or your aching head.

Your dreams are much more pleasant. You wake in your room on Prospit, tucked under the covers of your bed and feeling like a million bucks. Nothing hurts here. Untethered from all the pain and stress of your waking self, you swing your legs over the side and float to the ground with a smile on your face. Your room here is pretty much the same as your real one, but everything is bathed in warm light. Only the top bunk of your bed is in here, and while it used to bother you that it floats in mid-air without a bottom bunk to support it, you've long since stopped giving it any thought. Besides, you can float here as well. What's the point in critiquing the logic of your dreams?

You slip out of your open window and into the brilliant midday sky to fly amongst the city's ancient towers. The plain white mask of your suit and your flowery Crown are still on your head, but the rest of your clothes have been replaced by yellow-gold robes that rustle in the breeze. There's nothing but unspoilt blue sky above you and golden city below, separated by an ink-black horizon. You revel in this sense of freedom, unlike anything you could possibly get whilst awake, and you soar around the city's tall steeples and rooftop gardens giggling with joy.

As beautiful as the city is, it doesn't escape your notice that there's not a single other person in sight. You try not to let it get to you, but as you meander through art galleries and hedge mazes that should be full of people but aren't, you can't help but feel a little overcome by a kind of melancholy sadness, knowing that you'll never be able to share this with anyone else.

That's why, when during one of these dreams, you spot a troll girl standing on a balcony at the top of a tower, it throws you for such a loop. You hover in place as you stare at her, completely unable to get your head round the fact that there's another actual person here. This city's always been so still and empty up until now! It just doesn't make any sense!

As you stare gormlessly at the troll, she lifts her head up and locks eyes with you for a fleeting moment. She's stunningly pretty, with long eyelashes, tall, wavy horns like wriggling snakes and white hair that falls around her face in elegant curls. The golden attire that she's wearing is almost identical to what you've got on, except for the clunky grey boots on her feet that are far too large to be comfortable. Your eyes meet for just a second, and then a huge grin blooms across her face and she starts jumping up and down with delight.

"Yoohoo!" she calls, waving at you with both arms, "Over here, darling!" You point to yourself, at a loss for words and everything else. She nods, so you drift a little closer. As you reach her balcony, she comes over to rest a hand on the balustrade. "Hello, Knight of Light," she says, "I've been waiting for you to find me."

You're... kind of floored by that statement. There's a lot in it that you're going to need to work through. You start with the basics. "Do I know you?"

"Not at all," the troll says, "We've never had the pleasure to meet before today. But your sidekick told me about what you've been doing tonight and I knew I just had to introduce myself."

Your head is spinning. Everything this girl says raises new questions and you're having trouble keeping up. "Who even are you?" you ask, and you're certain that's not the most important question right now but you need answers.

"Oh, yes, forgive my rudeness. You may call me the Overseer. I... how should I put this." You wait politely as she taps a finger against her lips and hums. She's so animated. The way she moves, the smile on her face: everything about her is filled with this fluid, graceful ease. Eventually she continues: "I am the Overseer," she says, "I use my powers of functional omniscience to help coordinate the heroes of Neo City in their efforts against their villainous foes."

"Functional omniscience?" you ask, "What's that?" That specific phrase sets off warning bells in your head. You can't quite put your finger on why, but you recognise it from somewhere, and a small part of your brain is screaming that something's not quite right.

"It means that I'm not actually omniscient," the Overseer says, giving you a coy smile, "I'm just very good at pretending."

"Right," you say. That didn't help at all. "If you're a Power then where's your mask?"

"I don't have a use for one of those things. I'm somewhat of a loner, you see. Nobody will be looking upon this face any time soon."

"But I'm looking at you right now."

"And when you wake up, your memories will be as fuzzy and indistinct as any other dream you've ever had.

"Sure... And where's your Crown?"

"Oh, never mind that." The Overseer claps her hands and continues, "Anyway, I have some urgent information to share with you. Please, have a seat."

The Overseer waves her hands towards the marble floor at her feet and it surges up like a fountain, rippling and contorting to form a cute little table with a granite surface and elegant, wrought iron legs. Two metal chairs flow up from the ground either side of it, complete with plush cushions, and the Overseer delicately perches herself on one. You float over the railing, set your feet down on the floor and tentatively take the seat opposite her. If you're taking your time about it, that's just because you have absolutely no idea what the Overseer's about to do. You're not threatened by her or anything, but you can't help feel wary about something. If only you didn't have this stupid amnesia...

"Would you care for some tea?" the Overseer asks, shaking you out of that particular train of thought.

"I guess-" You blink mid-sentence to find yourself holding a little china cup and a fragrant-smelling teapot with flowers stencilled on it, heavy with the weight of water. You drop them in shock... or at least, you let go of them. They don't spill, or even move from where they're hanging in the air. When the Overseer waves a hand they calmly float down onto the table.

"Oh, bother! I do apologise for giving you a fright," she says, reaching over to pour your tea for you. "I forget that other people aren't accustomed to how this all works. You see, I spend most of my time here on Prospit. Most of my interactions in the real world are done through the medium of a computer screen. Apart from my brother and my caretaker I really am somewhat of a recluse."

"How are you doing all of this? Is this your Power?"

The Overseer nods. "Everybody's dreams of Prospit are kept separate. That's by design, of course. Could you imagine how terrible it would be if you could just waltz over and interfere with anybody's dreams? Well I, under very specific conditions and in very specific ways, have the power to ignore that rule."

"That's a really cool Power. Can you go to Derse too?"

The Overseer visibly shudders. "Oh, what an awful idea," she says, "I couldn't begin to imagine any reason I would want to go there. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Knight of Light, your waking self is currently in terrible danger."

"What?" You rise to your feet immediately. "What's going on? What's happening to me? Why am I here drinking tea if I'm in danger?"

"Calm down," the Overseer says, flustered, "It's alright. We're in your dreams so we have all the time in the world. I didn't mean to blurt that out so suddenly, I just wanted to let you know right away."

"Right." You sit back down, mostly because you don't actually know what you need to do to wake up. Rationally you suspect you just need to pinch yourself, but you'd feel like an absolute fool if you tried to do it and nothing happened. "Tell me what's going on then."

"Nothing yet. But I'm afraid the Poisoner lied to you. You're not safe in his care at all. Unbeknownst to you, he injected you with some kind of truth serum. As we sleep, the despicable Starstorm is on his way to the Poisoner's hive. The two of them intend to extract your true name from you by force, and then sell you to the Midnight Crew."

"What? That's absurd! That doesn't make any sense!"

The Overseer tilts her head to one side. "It doesn't?"

"No!" You set your cup of un-drunk tea down on the table. "Before I fell asleep, I had a conversation with Hippok. He... he told me that he was thinking of doing that, but he changed his mind. Why would he tell me what his plans supposedly were if he did actually intend to go through with them?"

"I admit, that is somewhat perplexing," the Overseer says, fidgeting in her seat, "But I'm afraid that whatever reason he had is immaterial."

"Look," you say, "I really don't want to be rude. It's just that this is a bit of a shock, that's all. Can you prove any of this?"

The Overseer nods, mouth set in a grim line. "I most certainly can. Would you mind telling me your real name?"

You open your mouth without even thinking. Before the first syllable tumbles off your tongue, the Overseer jumps up from where she's sitting. She reaches over the table and clamps her hand firmly over your mouth to muffle your words.

When you stop talking, she pulls her hand away from your mouth. "Do you believe me now, Knight?" she asks, an almost apologetic look on her face.

You just sit there, overwhelmed with shock.

Of course you took Hippok's words at face value. Why would he possibly hold a grudge against the girl who stole his sight?

You stand up, chair legs screeching against the floor, and march over to the balcony. You grip the railing with both hands and wow, you're actually shaking with fury right now. How dare he? He said he'd changed, that he was reformed. You were naïve enough to trust him and he betrayed you in the most underhanded way imaginable.

Behind you, you hear the scrape of metal against stone as the Overseer rises from her seat. "Are you alright, Knight?" she asks.

"Before I fell asleep, he asked me what my name was," you reply, "And I told him to go to hell. Was he just seeing if his serum had fully kicked in yet? Why didn't I suspect him of anything? I should have known better."

"Oh, please don't feel too bad," the Overseer says. She walks up behind you and puts a hand on your shoulder. "The Poisoner is a remorseless monster. It's people like you who have a duty to stand up to him. Not right now, of course. I do believe you have a more urgent mission to accomplish."

You whirl round in shock. "The troll on the run from the Kindness!" you shout, clutching at your hair, "How could I have forgotten him? Here I am, fast asleep and running my mouth off in my dreams when there's still someone out there who needs my help."

"It's alright, Knight," the Overseer responds, taking hold of your forearms and pulling your hands down to your sides, "You see, this is exactly why I had to get in contact with you. You might be in a little bit of a pickle right now, but I want to help you. The city is in a bad way. If you're truly willing to help people then I want to lend you as much assistance as you need."

"Alright," you say, leaning backwards against the balustrade, "What can you do?"

"Um, not a whole lot, actually," the Overseer says with a sigh. "I have a frustratingly limited capacity to interact with the waking world. I've informed the Seer of how to find the troll you're searching for, but the most that I can actually do is wake you up before Starstorm gets there. Everything else rests on your shoulders."

"That's fine," you say, "Just tell me what you need me to do."

"Oh, you just need to do what you normally do. I'm explaining the situation to your Seer in the waking world right now so you won't have to worry about forgetting anything. All that is required of you is your best. Are you up to that?"

When you nod at the Overseer she grins at you and then turns her attention to the lightless horizon. "Then let's not waste any more time. Are you ready, Knight of Light?"

"I am," you say.

The Overseer lifts her free hand and reaches up to your forehead. You pull back out of instinct, but she grips your hand tightly and pulls you towards her. When her index finger lands between your eyebrows, everything begins to fade. You barely feel as the Overseer pushes you over the balustrade. You plummet towards the golden city, wind howling past your ears, but it's as if someone else is falling and you're just watching the whole thing from the other end of a rapidly darkening tunnel.

Chapter Text

> Joey: Wake up.

You shiver awake, shuddering like someone's dipped your toes in icy water. Everything is drowning in blue light and it stings your eyes after the soft, golden shine of Prospit's towers. Your brain feels like it's full of cotton and you have no idea where you are or what you're doing.

When you see Hippok sprawled along the sofa across from you, snoring softly with his eyes screwed shut, all the disparate and confusing pieces of reality make sense again. Your peaceful, post-nap reverie is shattered to pieces when you remember what the Overseer told you: you're in danger here. Starstorm could arrive at any moment and you're not going to pretend for a second that you could hold your own against him.

You raise yourself up off the chair you've been napping on, as softly as you can so as not to wake Hippok, all the while mentally cursing this lousy day you've been having. You can hardly believe yourself. The Ariborn with his newly-inherited powers is still out there and here you are, literally sleeping on the job. Some saviour you've been tonight, after... after...

Damn. Your memories of tonight's events are still frustratingly blank. Either two syringes worth of Hippok's miracle cure wasn't enough to undo the damage to your memory, or it's beyond his powers to fix. You figure for a second that maybe he didn't actually try to cure you... but then it dawns on you that you no longer ache like you fell off the top of city hall tower, so that's something. You almost didn't notice because it feels like you never got hurt in the first place.

You can't think of a single reason why Hippok would restore you to fighting fitness if he was just trying to lure you into a trap, but it doesn't matter right now. There are more important things at stake.

You walk to the door, open it as slowly and silently as you can, and step out into the hallway. The moment the latch clicks shut, the Overseer's voice echoes through your mind. "Thank goodness you're finally awake! Talk about cutting it fine! I have been biting my nails to the quick waiting for you to return to the waking world."

"What-" you begin to ask aloud, but you're cut off by a shushing noise that rushes through your skull like an avalanche.

"Sssh! Not so loudly! It is in your interests to keep the Poisoner from waking."

"Alright then," you whisper, "What are you talking about?"

"I don't get what you mean," the Overseer replies, voice echoing through your mind.

"What I mean is how long have you been waiting for me to wake up? It's been like two minutes since we spoke." Well, this is just great. You're talking to yourself now. You must never let Jude know this happened. You don't think you could ever live it down.

"From your perspective, yes. But you were asleep. In the real world, you left Prospit two hours ago."

"Two hours?!" you hiss, clasping your hands over your mouth because wow, even for a whisper that was way too loud. "I thought you said Starstorm was on his way," you whisper at a much more furtive volume.

"Quite so. It's almost two in the morning now. So you understand the need for you to abscond as soon as you can? Quickly, out through the kitchen window and up the fire escape. One of your brother's birds is awaiting you up on the roof."

You obey the voice in your head and walk through to the kitchen. Your mouth is still drier than the wasteland but you don't have time to stop for a drink. You remember the glass of water that Hippok put down for you in his living room... but was that really water? There could have been anything in that glass, and earlier you were prepared to drink it in one gulp like an idiot.

You can't be having these thoughts now. You unlock the window, slide it up and climb back out into the night.

Ascending the rest of the fire escape is significantly easier now that your body isn't as broken as it was before. There's a faint whirring sound in the air as you climb, and it becomes louder and clearer until you're nearly at the top. As you reach the final steps you see the sleek, copper-coloured form of Frohike hovering above the building. Your brother's favourite out of the drones he's created, it's sharp and pointy: a little bit like a stealth bomber built out of scrap parts but only the size of a fridge. Well, "only." Even though it's technically smaller than a real airplane it still looks far too large to have any sort of lift. Even now, watching it hover in the air, you can't quite understand how it doesn't just plummet straight down to the concrete.

When you reach the top, you realise the drone is pointing the other way. "I'm here," you say, and Frohike rotates like a spinning top.

"Finally! Overseer said you were waking up. Excessive waiting had me worried," Jude's voice says. Through Frohike's speakers, he sounds so tinny and artificial that you can barely recognise him. "Your eyes are strange."

"My eyes?" you repeat.

"Glowing bright yellow. When you move your head they leave a little trail of light."

The Overseer's voice echoes through your mind again. "That's me," she says, "It's how I'm able to talk with you like this."

"Cancel last question, Overseer explaining it to me now," Jude says.

"Is she in your head too?" you ask.

"Negative. She hacked into Langly's transmission sub-routines. Uhhh, I think. Whatever she did so subtle I can't tell what changed. Scared at first, but she's really friendly. Nice to have someone on our side for a change."

"Agreed," you say, "She says she told you where we'll find the Ariborn."

"Correct. Good news or bad news first?"

"The bad news. Let's get it out of the way."

"Correct choice. Important development: we need to stop calling our target by his symbol name. Although there's no way of tracking which trolls have what symbols, anonymity still of paramount importance. Overseer reckons determined party could figure it out."

You cast your mind back to when you were in Hippok's apartment. As far as you can tell, you never told him what sign the troll had... or, indeed, that you were rescuing a troll at all. That's some relief, you suppose. "Okay, got it. Is that all the bad news?"

"Negative. In brief, our target is now far away. Over by the south wall."

"Urgh, that's ages away. I'll have to hitch a ride. Anything else?"

"Only good news now. Our target was able to evade the Kindness."

"That's great! So he's safe, then?"

"Not quite. Individuals aligned with Kindness currently seeking him out. Should be less dangerous than facing Kindness directly but still significant challenge due to numerical disadvantage."

"Oh, great" you say, dragging your hands down your face, "I forgot those people existed. How awful do they have to be to see what the Kindness is doing and think, 'Yes, torturing innocent people, now that's something I can support'?"

The Overseer's voice echoes through your mind again. "Don't worry," she says, "They're no match for you and your talents."

"That's not what I'm worried about," you say aloud. Welp, so much for not letting Jude witness you talking to yourself. "It's just so frustrating having to deal with all of these problems that keep coming up."

"I'm afraid that's the way things are at the moment. But what you're doing is the first step to changing things for the better."

"If you say so."

"Oh, I know so. Now, I'm going to have to leave you with that. There are other matters across the city that require my attention. But I wish you the very best of luck! Take care, darling. I'll check in later to see how it's going."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Talking to Overseer?" Jude asks.

"Yes," you reply with only minor hesitation. "She's left, so we're on our own now."

"Your eyes have stopped glowing. This is as good a time as any to make our move. Starstorm could be be here any minute."

You nod. "Let's go, then."

"Acknowledged. Hang onto Frohike. I'll lower you to the ground and we'll find a SkaiaCorp truck heading south."

Chapter Text

> Joey: Hang on.

You cling to the back of a driverless SkaiaCorp truck as it races down the empty freeway that connects the city from north to south. With your hands clenched around the hinges of the truck's back doors and your feet hooked in the little gap behind the footstep, you're actually pretty secure even if you are going way faster than anything could have prepared you for. It's a surprisingly convenient way to travel as long as you don't think about what might happen if you lose your grip. The trucks aren't monitored in any detail as long as they arrive at their destination, and your white suit provides good camouflage against the truck—although that doesn't matter an awful lot as you're going much too fast to need to worry about anybody spotting you.

Right now, Frohike is currently hovering over the back of the truck, just a few inches above the roof. You have no idea what it is that Jude actually does to the truck's systems but you're grateful nonetheless. At first when you started doing this you'd just wait on an overpass for a lorry to drive along beneath you and hope that it takes you in the right direction. Now Jude just finds the closest truck going the right way, hacks into it, diverts it towards you, and you're off in minutes.

"This truck's heading to the observatory depot so you have to jump down when it takes the off-ramp," Jude says, but you can barely hear what he's saying. Although the roads are empty due to curfew, your brother's tinny, distorted voice is almost imperceptible, masked by the dull roar of the truck's wheels against tarmac and the buzzing drone of Frohike's engines. In any case, you don't bother to shout a reply. You've done this plenty of times before. You know what you're doing.

The buildings either side of the freeway start to change as you travel south, the high-rise apartments transforming first into skyscrapers and then into squat office blocks as you speed through the various districts of southern Neo City. When you reach the abandoned districts near the wall, the difference is as clear as night and day. The buildings get a little shorter and a little browner, crusted with graffiti and swarmed by construction equipment that hasn't been used to build anything for a long time. Cranes hang in place over the bare shells of unfinished buildings, mostly dark with the occasional flickers of light and occupancy. This part of the city is abandoned in name only, after all. You try not to take it for granted that you don't have to live all the way out here with the trolls and the fugitives.

The sign for the off-ramp whizzes past so quickly that you nearly miss it, and you're not about to let go of the truck to turn around and double-check. "Was that it?" you shout.

Jude doesn't reply, but the buzzing of Frohike's engine drifts over your head, sweeping round behind you and arriving by your right hand side. That's your cue. The truck lurches as it turns right onto the off-ramp, and as it turns left to swing under the freeway you unhook your feet from the stand and leap off the truck. For a few seconds you're weightless and falling, arms up high as you plunge through the air, but Frohike's large shadow quickly spreads over you as cold metal knocks your fingertips. You grab hold of the drone's chassis and it gently lowers you to the ground, the whirr of its engines increasing in pitch as it struggles to accomodate the added weight of a teenage girl.

You let go slightly higher than you'd meant to and your stomach drops as you plummet the remaining few feet. You try to stick the landing with a sideways roll but the attempt goes terribly. Instead of landing on your feet you collapse in an awkward heap on the ground by one of the off-ramp's pillars.

Frohike buzzes down to you with all the grace of a steel girder. "Are you alright?" Jude asks.

"I'm fine," you say, picking yourself back up and straightening your Crown, "Just a bumpy landing. It's no big deal."

"Please be more careful. Can't have you breaking your legs after everything else that's happened tonight."

"I said I'm fine. You don't have to nag."

"Have to make you realise how weird you are for willingly doing this."

"But it's fun!" The fact that you're currently rubbing your back where you landed probably isn't helping you to make your point, though. Oof, you can already tell that's going to bruise. "At least, it is when I land properly."

"Shame neither of us can fly or teleport."

"I guess that would be easier," you say with a shrug, "But would that be as fun? I think not."

"It's not about having fun," Jude grumbles, "It's about helping people."

"So there's no harm in trying to have fun while I'm helping people, right? Not every night's quite as intense as this one, after all. Anyway, what's the time?"

"Half past two."

"Really? Wow, that was way quicker than I expected. That's a relief." Not that it really matters, you guess. With the timeline in such a mess, you really had very little control over how long this journey took. It only took you about twenty minutes this time, but the next time you come this way it might take an hour or more.

"Agreed," Joey replies, oblivious to your internal monologue, "It's good that we're getting this done quickly. Don't want the Lancer picking up your trail."

You roll your eyes. "Seer, please, not now."

"I'm being serious. The Lancer has eyes and ears all across the city."

"The Lancer doesn't even exist! It's not even a conspiracy theory! It's just a dumb ghost story to scare people."

"You're missing the big picture. Just like what I've been trying to tell you about the black helicopters-"

"-Oh, wow, no," you say with a groan as you bury your head in your hands. "I'm not in the mood for-"

"-An incredibly malicious plot of coercion and intimidation-"

"-I don't ever want to hear about this again. No-"

"-Misinformation and willing disbelief a vital part of their plan-"

"-Never, never, never again, never-"

"-an Epsilon-level conspiracy, Knight-"

"-Uuurgh." You start walking, wishing you'd never opened your mouth. You were only going to say that you'd feel relieved to know you could rescue the Ariborn and be back before anyone noticed you were gone. Which, depending on if it's Roxy or Pa who gets home first tomorrow might mean you actually have a lot of time anyway. But in any case, that was all you meant. You didn't intend to open Jude's floodgates. He's your brother and you love him, but sometimes he's a lot to put up with.

At least it's easy to find your way out here. That's one thing to be thankful about. You're so close to the south wall that you can see the observatory tower in the distance, sticking up into the sky like a nail hammered out from underneath the ground. Jude knows where you need to be going so you plan to just walk south until he steers you in a different direction. Hopefully he'll have shut up about black helicopters and fluoridated water by then.

You catch yourself feeling kind of guilty for thinking that. Even though Jude can exasperate you with his interests sometimes, you're grateful for all the help he gives you and you're immensely reassured just to know that he's keeping an eye on you. There's not a lot he can do from the other side of the city, but you're feeling especially vulnerable with the gaps in your memory and it's nice to know that you're not alone.

As you walk, the entire city gets older and more decrepit around you. Out here the streetlights are missing their bulbs, the alleyways are so full of clutter that you have to climb over the dumpsters and discarded fridges to make any progress, and everything metal that isn't rusted has been stripped for parts. After walking past the second or third burned out skeleton of a building you turn to Frohike and ask, "How much further do we have to go?"

After a few seconds of silence, Jude replies. "Overseer says we're nearly at our location. Round this corner and then another turn at five hundred yards and we're there."

"Cool." You turn the corner onto a street that could be anywhere in the city. "Say," you ask to break the monotony, "How does the Overseer know where to go anyway?"

"She has the address of the apartment where the Ari... uh, where our target last showed on her monitoring systems. That was about an hour ago."

"Monitoring systems? What, does she have cameras everywhere or something?"

"Or something. Already tried asking her. She won't tell me how her Power works. Says it's top secret."

"Pfft, that must be torture for you. Don't tell me, you think she's secretly working for the Lancer, luring us into a trap?"

Jude doesn't respond to that. The pause drags on for a few seconds too long and you're keenly aware of it. Desperate to stop him from spouting off about the illuminati or whatever, you spin on your heels to face Frohike. "That was a joke," you say, "Seriously, I was kidding. Please don't make a big deal out of that."

"Wait," Jude says, interrupting you, "Look up there." Frohike tilts upwards and you turn back around. You follow the line of its nose cone and see a grimy, dilapidated tenement building off in the distance, nearly hidden behind the skeletal frame of a high-rise office block. One apartment on the second floor from the top has the lights on, in stark relief to the rest of the neighbourhood.

"I see it," you say, "Is that the place?"

"That's right. That apartment with the lights on. How are you going to do this? Just walk up and knock on the front door?"

"That's the plan."

Getting to the building is the easy part. Actually getting inside is another matter entirely. You circle it a couple of times but it seems that someone's gone to great lengths to ensure you can't just get in through the front door, or by any other way for that matter. The main entrance is covered by a shutter that's bolted to the ground, the back entrance is chained up and all the other windows and doors are either boarded or bricked up. Sure, you could prise the boards off a window frame and smash your way in, but that would create an awful lot of noise and gather far more attention than you're happy with.

This is fine! It's not an issue. It's just... a puzzle you haven't solved yet. An extremely frustrating puzzle that's stopping you from reaching someone who desperately needs your help; the latest tedious and unnecessary obstacle in a long line of other tedious and unnecessary obstacles that you really don't have time for right now. But there's got to be a solution.

You give the building another loop, hoping to spot something you missed the last few times. What do you know, when you're standing at the other side of the tenement building, you notice a small strip of what might be wood on the roof of the building, bridging the gap between it and the unfinished office building next door. It's worryingly high up and it's narrowness attribute doesn't really fill you with confidence... But yeah, if you can get to the top of the office block, you think it should be a cinch to get across. The only issue is how you're going to get up there, and your initial investigations don't look promising. You walk over to the office building and peer through an empty hole where a window should be. You see right away that where the stairs are meant to be is just a collapsed pile of concrete. You tilt your head back and huff in frustration... and there you go. A short way above your head is a rusty gutter pipe that snakes its way up to the roof. It's not the sturdiest thing you've seen, but you don't weigh all that much. You're sure it'll hold your weight. ...Probably.

You clamber into the empty window, leap upwards and grab hold of the bottom of the pipe with both hands. The whole thing makes a worrying squeal and you have to squint to stop the rusty flakes that you dislodge with your hands from falling into your eyes.

"What are you doing?" Jude asks from behind you.

You let go with one hand so that you can twist round to look at Frohike. "There's a walkway up between this building and the one we want to be on. If I can get up there, walking across should be easy."

Frohike hovers off to the side and you focus on gaining some proper altitude. You climb the pipe, but it's really slow going! Your fingers keep slipping on the rusty, rain-slick metal because there aren't any actual hand-holds apart from the tiny fixtures that bracket it to the wall.

More whirring behind you. "Are you sure about this?" Jude asks, "It's just a plank of wood up there. It doesn't look stable."

"Shut up. It'll be fine," you say with a bit more force than you intended.

Jude doesn't say anything for a moment. "Just trying to help," he eventually says sullenly.

"Sorry," you say, "I shouldn't have snapped. I just... I have no idea how to get into that apartment block. This is the only way I can see to do this and I have to make it work."

"It's okay. I'll take a look and see if there's any other ways up."

"Thanks, that would be great. You know what would be nice, though? If I could just hang on to Frohike and have you lift me up to the roof."

"Doesn't work that way. Not enough thrust in Frohike's engines to increase your altitude. Entirely different beast to slowing your descent."

"I know, I know. But you should really get that thing's engines upgraded."

"Yeah, right, cause it's that easy. Next time the Mechanist sticks a tracking device in one of my birds, I'll ask him to give the engines a little tune-up while he's at it."

"Good idea. I mean, you still don't know where Byers is, do you?"

"No," Jude says with a sigh that's crackly with static, "Won't hide from me forever, though."

Frohike whizzes off and you focus on ascending to the roof, but it's a lot harder to climb this thin, slippery pipe than you originally thought it would be. You're breathing heavily and your arms feel like they're about to pop out of their sockets. What makes it worse is when you're nearly at the top and you realise that the pipe doesn't even reach all the way to the roof! It comes to an abrupt end just a few feet short with a smooth, level cut that makes you think somebody's taken a saw to it.

You climb as high as you can, and fortunately you can just grip the edge of the roof with your fingertips. With intense effort you pull yourself up over the edge and flop onto the rough, flat concrete roof. After all the energy you've expended getting this far, that last bit feels like it took everything out of you. You spend a few moments to just lie there with your eyes closed, sucking in air like a vacuum cleaner, idly listening to Frohike buzzing around. Eventually you begin begin to feel like you've spent far too long lying down, so you force your eyes back open and haul yourself to your feet. You're still tired to your core but at least you're upright, so that's something.

To your left, by the far edge of the building, Frohike is floating near where the wooden platform should be, and you can just about hear Jude muttering agitatedly to himself. You walk over and immediately see why. The wooden beam spanning the gap between the building you're currently on and the one you want to be on is even narrower and more precarious than it looked at ground level. It's barely wide enough for you to walk by putting one foot in front of the other; not that you would ever want to, as every few seconds the wind causes it to shift and wobble. And the worst thing is that it's not even secured to the roof by anything, so there's nothing to stop someone from coming along and tipping you off. Even with your ballerina training and the grace and balance you inherited from your mom, it's going to be quite a challenge to cross this gap.

You place one foot on the beam to test it, ignoring your brother's cry of alarm. It doesn't feel like a bridge. It feels like a see-saw. You wobble your foot a little and are alarmed by the amount of give this thing has. Really, it's a wonder it hasn't fallen down already. The wood is rotten and cracking in places, and you don't see how it could support anyone's weight. This was such a terrible idea.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't take another step," says a scratchy, nasally voice. When you look up, you see the silhouette of a troll who wasn't there ten seconds ago, standing at the other end of the wooden plank with one foot resting on it just like you. You can't make out any details because his form is obscured by the vivid yellow and purple light that spills out of his eyes, shining like the headlamps of a car with enough light to dazzle you.

"Where did he come from?" Jude says in a stage whisper, although it's still pretty hard to hear because of how loud Frohike is. "How did we not spot someone whose eyes glow in the dark?"

"I've been watching you skulk around here for the past fifteen minutes, you creep," the troll continues, "Now tell me what you're doing before I..." The troll falls silent mid-sentence and he tilts his head at you. "Waaaait," he eventually says, "I think I know who you are. You're the Nightlight, aren't you?"

"Knight of Light," you say with a huff. You switch to your infrared vision to try and get a better look at this guy. He's too far away for it to help much, but at least you can see the guy's silhouette properly. He looks to be about as old as you, but you're aware that you don't know enough trolls to make any kind of accurate judgement of his age. He's dressed in a tee shirt, baggy jeans and a pair of ratty sneakers. There's a Crown of jagged metal spikes on his head which encircles four horns that stick out of his skull. With the two sets of horns and the coloured eyes, he must be a goldblood. The only other goldblood you've ever met is Mr. Captor who works with your Pa, but he's nothing like the kid standing on the other building.

"Night light, light knight, whatever," the troll says, "It's all the same anyway. Now tell me what you're doing here."

"I'm looking for someone," you shout back, "A burgundy troll with big, curvy horns. He was out in the Tyrian Rain for hours last night and I'm worried about him."

"And why do you want to know where he went?"

"Wait, you mean you've seen him? Please, if he's gone somewhere you have to tell me. He's in a lot of danger."

"Danger? Not likely. I've seen his new Power in action. The Kindness doesn't have a chance."

"The Kindness is long gone! And now their weird, violent fanatics are looking for this troll and he's not going to be able to take them all on his own! I was barely able to get away and I saw them coming."

The goldblood looks like he's about to interrupt you, but when you say that his mouth snaps shut and he narrows his eyes, cutting the glaring headlamps to tiny slivers of light, "Show me your Power." he says.

It's an odd request, but you don't see any harm in obliging him. You put your hands together, palms facing forwards, and fire a blast of white light down to the ground. The troll's eyes go wide again. "Oh, for the pity of..." he says, throwing his hands in the air. "Right, sorry for the suspicion. I didn't realise you're the Power he was talking about when he said someone blasting beams of light helped him to get away. I guess you're more than just some kind of building-climbing loon."

"So you believe me now?"

The troll forcefully sighs. You can't hear it over the gap, but he exaggerates the motion so much that you see his entire body move. "Yeah, I believe you. I'm not a complete bulge-snorter."

"...A what?" You suddenly regret having asked. You know very little about troll biology and you feel like that phrase would create the kind of horrifying mental image that would never leave you.

"Never mind. Look, I'm fed up of having a conversation over this huge chasm. You're gonna have to come over."

"Alright," you say. You look down at the plank of wood. It's just as flimsy as it was a few minutes ago. "Uhh, you'll have to hold on while I work out how to get across, though."

"Aargh, no, don't be dumb, if you walk across that it'll snap and you'll splatter against the ground. Don't move a muscle, alright?" The troll spins on his heels and rushes off to a heavy metal door at the far end of the rooftop, yanking it open with great force and leaping down the steps beyond.

You step off the wooden plank, somewhat dumbfounded by this turn of events. "That was, uh, unexpected," you say more to yourself than to anyone in particular.

Frohike, who's been buzzing behind you this entire time, floats over beside you. "Stay on your guard," Jude says, "We have no idea what connection that troll has to our target, if any at all. Can't trust such unknown elements."

"I don't know, he seems alright. So long as he can help us find our guy, I don't see a problem."

"Problem is he was wearing a Crown. Be vigilant until you know what his Power is."

"Yeah, sure, will do."

The troll with the multicoloured eyes rushes back up the stairs, and his eyes are no longer too bright to look at. Without the extra illumination, you don't notice the troll walking behind him until they both step out into the night. She looks slightly older than the goldblood, and also somewhat taller. There's a mole beneath one corner of her mouth, her hair is pulled back behind long, straight horns that sweep backwards at the tips, and she's wearing a grey polo shirt, black trousers and thick black boots. There's also a chunky pair of goggles dangling around her neck, which strikes you as a somewhat impractical accessory in such dim light.

"I've brought my fellow co-conspirator here to get you across," the goldblood calls to you, "This method was actually all her idea."

He gestures to the other troll, who gives you a suspicious glance and whispers something to him. They have a quick, hushed conversation, with lots of emotive gestures from him and no movement at all from her. Her arms are tightly folded and her eyebrows are furrowed, giving her a stern, taciturn appearance. What did he call her? Co-conspirator? What a weird turn of phrase to use. You really don't think you'll ever properly understand trolls.

Eventually, the troll with the goggles—you really need to give them nicknames—looks somewhat satisfied, and she gives the other troll a curt nod. She steps towards the wooden plank and crouches down, laying her hands flat against it. Now that she's a little bit closer, you can see that she's wearing a Crown as well; a slim tiara made out of delicately twisted rebar. You notice a flicker of concentration on the troll's face and slowly, starting from beneath her hands and spreading steadily outwards, the wooden plank is engulfed by liquid concrete, rapidly spreading out and cooling in the air. A long, sturdy footbridge quickly begins to form around the core of rotten wood, wide enough for two people to stand side-by-side. As the concrete reaches the side of the building you're standing on, it melds into the concrete that's already there, forming supportive arches beneath it.

"Wow. That's a really cool power," you say.

You take a single step onto the bridge but Goggles stands up, back as straight as an iron rod, and holds a hand out. "Off," she says. You meekly comply, one step at first and then another and another as she glares at you. When you're far away enough from the concrete bridge, she drops her hand, then with a sudden swirl of movement she thrusts both arms into the air and crosses them into an X shape. Rebar spikes burst out from the sides of the bridge, fast enough to startle you. They grow longer and longer, winding around each other until they coil back around themselves to form a waist-high railing on either side of the bridge. Finally satisfied with her handiwork, Goggles drops her arms, nods and takes a step back.

You walk across the bridge, marvelling at the impressive handiwork. It's so sturdy beneath your feet; nothing like the wooden plank that was there moments ago.

"That was so impressive," you tell Goggles when you're at the other side, "I think you've got one of the most unique Powers I've ever seen. How have I never heard of you before? What are you called?"

Goggles gives you the dirtiest look you've ever received, and that's when you realise what's been bugging you about her appearance, and that of Traffic Light as well (although Traffic Light is a terrible nickname). They're both Powers but neither of them are wearing masks. You shouldn't even be able to tell if they're troll or human but you can clearly discern their facial features. "I don't dabble in such silly things," Goggles says. "Funny names, preposterous outfits... They're nothing but immature diversions from matters of actual importance."

"Hey!" Her rude statement catches you so off guard that you find yourself scrambling for a coherent response.

"Pay her no mind, she's just blunt like that to everyone," says Strobelight (no, that won't do) with a dismissive wave of his hand. "She kinda has a point, though. It's you humans who make a big deal about your secret identities and all that. For us trolls, it's really not a big deal."

"But what about the secret police, or the Midnight Crew, or the Lancer?"

"Oh, be serious. The Lancer's nothing but fakey bullshit. Everybody knows that."

"Okay, true, but my point still stands. Everyone's out to get you if you're a Power. It doesn't make sense not to hide it."

Shiner (that's terrible too) just shrugs. "It's not a big deal for us. Those are all human problems. I mean, take the secret police. They only really care about you humans. If a troll goes on a rampage and kills people, nobody cares unless an innocent human gets in the way."

You're taken aback by the vitriol in his voice. "Uh, right," you say. "Anyway, that's not important. You need to tell me where that troll went."

"First, explain to us exactly why you're searching for him," says Goggles.

"We really don't have time for this," you tell her.

She just folds her arms again, fixing you with a venomous glare.

"Argh, fine! Look, that troll escaped from the Kindness, but he's still being chased by that monster's weird fanatics."

"You already said that earlier," says Glowstick (ugh, also awful), "But you didn't say why."

"I don't know. Nobody knows what they really want. I've tried to talk to one before but it was like arguing with a toddler. They don't make any sense and they don't care about anything but violence."

"And what will they do to our comrade if they find him?" asks Goggles.

"Again, I don't know. What I do know is that it's ludicrous how bloodthirsty they are. One of them attacked me earlier and I don't remember much but it was pretty bad."

"I bet. Your hair's all matted with blood."

"I'm not surprised. I haven't exactly had time to stop and look in the mirror. But see, I was able to get away. Your, uh, comrade, probably isn't thinking straight, so I don't know if he'll be able to. That's why I need to find him before the Kindness' fanatics do."

"What do you mean, not thinking straight?"

"It happens to everyone when they first inherit their Powers. How much do you remember of the day when you got yours?"

Goggles shakes her head. "Not a lot. My memories are kind of hazy but it was definitely stressful."

"Exactly," you say, "It's stressful, your body's full of energy it has no idea how to handle, and you're suddenly being chased by a glowing monster. It's only natural that you'd forget things in that sort of condition."

"Right," says Lightbulb (which is just as terrible as the other nicknames), "I've heard enough. I believe you, Nightlight, but I don't actually know where our comrade's gotten to. You'll have to speak with our captain."

"Who?"

"She's in charge of the two of us. Plus some other trolls you probably won't meet," he says with a nod of his head towards the heavy doors leading downstairs, "Right now she's downstairs in our safehouse. She'll be able to tell you how to find the troll you're looking for. Plus I told her I wouldn't take too long up here and she's probably getting kind of irate, ehehehe."

"Alright," you say with a nod, "Lead the way."

Chapter Text

> Joey: Enter.

You follow the two trolls through the door and down a dark, unlit stairwell. For the umpteenth time tonight, you find yourself thanking your lucky stars for your infravision. "How you you cope down here?" you ask. "It's so dark."

"You were right," Goggles says to her co-conspirator, as if you're not even there. "Definitely a human. No troll would ask such a painfully obvious question."

"Don't be such a bitch," the troll with shining eyes replies, You've decided to call him 'Lollipop' for the time being, at least until you think of a better name. You fondly remember a store back in Hauntswitch that sold pink and yellow sweets, and his eyes remind you of them. It's as dumb a nickname as any of the others you've been coming up with, but you can't think of anything else.

Goggles makes an exasperated "tch" sound, but instead of replying she just walks faster.

The air around Lollipop begins to ripple like a heat haze. He kicks off the ground and begins to hover in mid air. Still floating forwards, he spins around to face you. "You see, us Alternians are nocturnal," he says with a casual nonchalance as if he wasn't explaining xenobiology while levitating. "Our eyes don't do well in bright lights and shit, so this is actually pretty much ideal. Even the neon lights outside are way brighter than anything we had back on Alternia."

"As if you even know anything about Alternia. You were hatched on a nursery planet just like the rest of us," Goggles says.

"Who asked you, nooksniffer" Lollipop says with a snarl. "Vikare's ancestor wrote tons about Alternia, so shut up and let me get on with the schoolfeeding."

You hastily rearrange your face into a less shocked expression as Lollipop turns back towards you. That was a pretty sudden outburst. You either do a good job or he doesn't notice, because he gives you a double thumbs up and a smile that doesn't show his teeth. "So yeah," he continues, "Sunlight bad, darkness good."

"Is that because-" you begin, and then your brain catches up with what your mouth is saying and nope, that sentence is probably all kinds of awful and you definitely aren't finishing it out loud. It's really not like you to blurt things out without thinking them through like that. Is Hippok's truth serum still affecting you? That's an alarming thought. You have to be extra careful with what you say until it wears off, or else you might blow your secret identity by mistake. There are already two people who know your secret, and you're in no hurry for that number to get any higher.

"What is it?" Goggles asks.

"Nothing, nothing. Never mind."

Lollipop grins at you, revealing a mouth crammed full of sharp fangs. "You were about to say something super xenophobic, weren't you?"

You can't help but falter and stop walking because wow, those fangs of his are scarily sharp. You remember reading in an encyclopaedia once that lots of animals used to bare their teeth as a threat, and you can't help but wonder if that's what's going on here. "Uhh... I..."

"Hah! I knew it! You're squirming like mad."

"I wasn't going to say it!"

"Yeah, whatever."

"I didn't mean anything by it. I wasn't trying to be rude, I was just thinking of a book I read once and nearly spoke without thinking."

Goggles huffs in irritation. Lollipop entirely ignores her, floating right into your personal space. He clasps his hands on your shoulders and says, "Chill the fuck out. It's fine. I'm not offended or anything. But, listen, you've got to tell me what you were going to say."

"I was going to say the reason you can't stand the sunlight is because it'll turn you to stone if it touches you," you blurt out, and then you clap your hands over your mouth because oh no, you had been trying so hard not to actually say that out loud!

Lollipop lets go of your shoulders and studies your face. You swear, if your cheeks were burning any more they'd catch on fire. For a few seconds, neither of you move. Then, without warning, Lollipop suddenly starts cackling with laughter. It's so forceful that his entire body is doubled over and he's bobbing up and down in the middle of the hallway.

"I'm sorry!" you say, too taken aback to think of anything better. You were imagining a lot of possible reactions to what you said, but you could never have guessed that laughter could be one of them.

"Oh, dude, I haven't heard that one before," Lollipop says, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of one eye as he straightens up. "That's a good one. I'm gonna be telling that one to my spademate when I see him next."

You want to ask what a spademate is, but you notice Goggles glaring at you out of the corner of one eye and quickly decide against it. Her abrasive rudeness is really starting to get to you. This entire time, she's been leaning against a wall with her arms folded, glaring at the middle distance as if it was personally responsible for the current turn of events. When you look her way, she pushes away from the wall and shoots the both of you with a stony glare. "Can we keep going now?" she asks, but she's already started to walk off.

"Sure, sure, wait up," Lollipop calls He gives you one last thumbs up and floats off. You follow after him, picking up your pace to catch up.

As the three of you walk along the corridor, you occasionally hear faint noises coming from behind the doors you pass. The first few times it happens, you ignore them as the sounds of an abandoned building settling in the night, but it quickly becomes obvious that that's not the case. You can hear something new behind every third or fourth door: the squeak of furniture against the floor, doors creaking, snatches of whispered conversation. When you walk past one door with faint light flickering around the edges, your curiosity gets the better of you and you fire a quick blast of x-ray vision. On the other side, you can see the silhouettes of three trolls sitting on what looks mostly like a sofa.

"From the outside, I never would've guessed that this place was full of people," you say as the three of you head down another flight of steps.

"Yeah, that's on purpose," Lollipop says, "This place is a safe house for trolls who can't get home during curfew. The fewer people who know about this place, the better. You're special, obviously, because you helped our co-conspirator out earlier, so you should feel super grateful."

"I do," you say, hoping to make it clear that you sincerely mean it. "I never thought about it before, but if you're all nocturnal, the curfew must be awful to deal with."

"Eh," Lollipop says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Most of the time it's not a big deal. The secret police normally don't bother us if we keep to places like the Black Market and Knifegarden. But if we get a heads up that they're out hunting for trolls to round up, at least we can offer them a place to lay low."

"So who are you guys, anyway? Some kind of pro-troll secret society?"

Goggles huffs when she hears that and Lollipop starts cackling again, a little quieter than earlier. "Secret society?" he says, "What a dumb idea."

"I mean, it's just that you keep calling your friends 'co-conspirators'."

"You think I'm his friend?" Goggles asks, disdain clear in her voice. "I'd rather run myself through with a culling fork than be his friend."

"Hahah, I'm gonna hold you to that, friend," Lollipop jeers. He spins to face you and continues, "Nah, we're not a secret society. Though I guess we are secret... and we are a society... Look, let's just say you're mostly right and leave it at that. If I tell you anything else I'd probably have to cull you. Or at least, I'd try my hardest, what with the timeline being fucked and all."

"Uh, okay." That was... kind of a rapid escalation you weren't really expecting. What is it with this kid and jumping from nought to sixty without warning?

Goggles suddenly holds out a hand to stop the two of you. "We're here," she says.

The three of you are standing in front of a door numbered 612 with light shining through the gaps in the frame. Lollipop floats to the ground and pounds the base of his fist against the door. The noise echoes away in the silent hallway for a few moments and then the door opens up, catching on a chain.

After the darkness of the corridor, the bright light that pours out of the doorway dazzles you. When you've turned your infravision off and unscrewed your eyes, you see the face of a miserable troll staring at you from behind the door. The bags under his eyes are enormous even by troll standards, his hair is long and straggly, and his horns are large, capped with smooth domes. A chunky band of charcoal sits low on his head. You're certain that it's a Crown, but like the others he's not wearing a mask.

"Oh, it's you," the troll says in a deep, rumbling monotone. "Who's the girl in the mask?"

"This human's the Power who helped... our mutual friend," Lollipop says, "Y'know, the guy who stopped by earlier."

"You mean Xefros?" asks Sulky. (Eugh, it will have to do. You're sick to your back teeth of trying to think up nicknames.)

Goggles huffs and Lollipop grasps clumps of hair in his hands. "For the last time," he says, voice low and menacing, "We're not meant to use our names around outsiders!"

"Oh, yeah," says Sulky, but he doesn't sound very concerned. He sucks his teeth for a moment and then turns to you. "Well, thank you," he says. "Not many humans are willing to help a troll in distress. Especially one they've never met before."

"I am a Power," you say, feeling very self-conscious all of a sudden. "It's my duty to help people."

"Even so," says Sulky, "Thanks for sticking your neck out for us."

"The point is," Lollipop interrupts, "The Nightlight here reckons our friend is still in trouble. We've gotta speak to the captain."

Without so much as nodding, Sulky slams the door shut. For a moment you think you've been snubbed, but then you hear the sound of chains rattling and locks turning on the other side of the door. Just as you start to wonder how many locks one door could possibly fit, it opens up all the way and Sulky makes a beckoning gesture into an empty apartment with patchy, burned carpet and unpainted concrete walls, lit by a single, bare bulb.

Goggles and Lollipop step inside and walk right through to a half-open door at the far side of the room. You follow after them, but before you can reach the back door a curtain of fire springs up in front of it. You jump backwards and spin round in alarm. Sulky is standing to one side of the open door you just came through with his hands in front of him, palms facing each other. Between them, a red, jagged, translucent shape slowly turns in the air.

"What was that for?"

Sulky just shrugs. "Didn't mean to alarm you. I'm under orders not to let outsiders in there. Or in here, really, but it's a bit too late for that."

"Consarn it, I told you to stop throwing flames up everywhere!" says a loud, drawling voice from behind the curtain of fire. It flickers out of existence and a tall troll with burly arms steps out from behind it, Goggles and Lollipop following close behind. This new troll has long, matted hair and thick horns that splay out to either side and end in sharp points. She's wearing a maroon shirt and dark leather chaps, as well as the same heavy boots as Goggles, but she doesn't have a Crown - at least, you're pretty certain the twig tucked behind her ear isn't a Crown - but she looks like she's able to fend for herself.

"Sorry, captain," Sulky says, hands now behind his back.

This woman, the captain of this strange bunch of trolls, steps into the centre of the room you're in. Goggles goes over to the window and leans against the sill, crossing her arms and resting one foot against the wall, but Lollipop slinks past you, muttering under his breath. As the door to the apartment slams shut behind you, the captain extends her hand. "Howdy, Nightlight," she says, "My co-conspirators are being worse than useless. Care to fill me in on just what in tarnation's goin' on with Xefros?"

"Names," Goggles hisses, and for once you're in agreement with her.

"I'm actually called the Knight of Light," you say, shaking the captain's hand. Wow, she has a strong grip. "And, uh, captain-"

"Please," she interrupts, "Call me Skylla."

"...Really?"

"Yeah, of course," she says with a nod, ignoring Goggles' irritated growl.

"It's just that I'm really not comfortable knowing everyone's names. Especially Xefros. If he's the the troll who inherited a Power from the Tyrian Rain earlier tonight, you really shouldn't be throwing his name around like that."

"Finally, the human speaks some sense," Goggles barks. "Great job, captain. Thanks for spilling all this confidential information like some overcaffeinated chatterbeast."

"Please," Skylla says as she turns around, "Now really is not the time."

"Oh, of course not, because following procedure's always such a chore. Why, I can't wait to stand in front of the Tetrarch in that dumb little throne room of hers, trying to explain to her why some human in a dumb costume covered in sequins knows all our names!"

"It's okay," you begin to say, and almost stop talking when Goggles glares at you with such fury you can feel it like a punch to the stomach, but you force yourself to keep going. "I'm a Power, so I understand the importance of keeping secrets. Anything you tell me won't go any further than me and my..." And then you realise that you stopped hearing the loud, buzzing drone of Frohike's engines some time ago. You were so acclimatised to the noise that you didn't notice it stop. "Wait, where did Frohike go?"

"Fro-what?" Goggles asks, lip curled in a sneer."

"The drone that was with me up on the roof." You're really not enjoying her inexplicable hostility. If anything, it's gotten ten times worse since you entered this apartment. What could you possibly have done to upset her so much?

It seems like the captain agrees with you because she turns round to Goggles with her hands on her hips. "Will you just stop already? Your aggressive attitude is getting on my nerves. We're meant to be better than this, remember?"

"I'm getting on your nerves? Do you even hear yourself talk? I'm fed up of you ruining everything! I have more than enough to get aggressive about!"

The two women start arguing with an intensity that takes you aback. It's as if they've forgotten you're even in the room with them. You're in half a mind to just leave and carry on looking for Xefros by yourself - argh, this is the worst, you're never going to forget his name at this rate - when Sulky sidles up to you.

"Would you believe me if I told you that's entirely platonic?" he asks.

You don't get what he means. You're not sure platonic is the right word to describe their argument, but what other word is there? You hardly see how an argument could be romantic. Rather than say that out loud and prove just how ignorant you are, you keep your mouth shut and make an indistinct, non-committal noise.

"Well, don't worry about it too much," Sulky continues. "And don't let it get to you. Mar... uh, she's a good person, she's just bitter about the way our organisation's run."

"If you say so," you reply. "I just don't understand why she hates Powers so much. Outside, she called them all immature. I don't understand it. I don't really understand any of you, for that matter. None of you are wearing masks. Doesn't it worry you that everyone's out to get us?"

"You, maybe, but not us," Sulky replies, "We're just lowbloods. Nobody cares about us rusties."

"Come on, I'm sure that's not true. Besides, what if one of you gets captured by the Midnight Crew? They could make you expose all of your co-conspirators."

"That probably won't happen," Sulky says with a shrug. "We do a good job of keeping our secrets."

You inwardly roll your eyes at that. "And you can't tell me how, because then you'd have to cull me, right?"

Sulky nods. "That's the gist of it. Hey, can I ask you something?"

It looks like Skylla and Goggles are beginning to run out of steam - at any rate, they've stopped shouting at each other quite so loudly - so you guess you have a few minutes to waste. "Shoot."

"Why do you - uh, you Powers who wear masks - care so much about people knowing your real identity? Can you really not let anybody know who you are?"

"It's sort of okay if one person knows," you say. "Two is the absolute maximum but that's it. It has to be as few people as possible, and only people you really trust."

"Why? Does it stop your Powers from working?"

"No, but if lots of people know it ruins the anonymity effect of our masks."

Sulky blinks at you. "Ano... What's that?"

"Our masks are meant to hide our faces," you say, pointing at yours. "It doesn't have to be special. It could just be a bandanna with some eye holes cut into it. But when you're wearing a Crown, nobody else can tell who you are, even if they know you well, unless somebody actively tells them." You remember what Hippok said earlier tonight, about being able to discern who people are behind their masks because he doesn't need to see. As terrifying as that thought it, you're going to have to ignore it for now. You can follow up on the sinister musings of an ex-villain when you're not trying to save Xef-aargh, the ariborn, whose name you wish Skylla had never spoken. "With a Crown and a mask, we can't be seen right. I bet you have no idea if I'm a troll or a human, do you?"

"Well, it's kind of obvious. Mar-uh, everyone keeps saying you're a human."

"That's why it's obvious? Wouldn't it be easier just to look and see if I have horns?"

"Well, uh," Sulky falters and his eyes flicker up to your hairline.

Bingo. You can't help but smile, because you've never had a reason to explain how this works to anybody before and it's quite fun to watch Sulky's confused expression as he experiences it for the first time. You point to the space just above your head and say, "Now that you're actively looking, you can see a pair of horns there, can't you? Just too faint to be sure if they're really there or not."

Sulky stares at your hair, wringing his hands and muttering to himself. "This is... That's... They're... Well, that's just weird. I can't even tell what colour the blood in your hair is."

"Oh, I forgot about that." Goggles did say that your hair is matted with blood. It would make sense, considering how you took a head injury bad enough to concuss you. "Does it look bad?"

Sulky doesn't reply to that. He's too busy staring above your head and wringing his hands together. After a few minutes, he squeezes his eyes shut and groans. "Urgh, this is making my head hurt."

"It'll stop if you look away."

He blinks a few times and shakes his head. "That's really ingenious," he says. "I wish I'd known half the things Crowns could do when I stole mine."

"Why did you steal yours?"

"How else was I supposed to get one??"

"It's supposed to just appear the day after you Inherit your Power. That's what happened to me, and the Seer as well."

"Nothing like that happened to me. I had to go to a SkaiaCorp warehouse pretending to be a cleaner and sneak one out."

"That's strange. I wonder why you didn't get one?"

"I'm sure it doesn't matter," he says. "These Crowns are powerful things, no matter how we get them. The name's Fozzer, by the way. You may as well know it. Like I said, you're not going to tell anyone our secrets." That's kind of an ominous thing for him to say, but you're too busy focusing on not blurting out your own name to ask him what he means. "So why are you looking for Xefros anyway?"

"Not again." You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. "I've explained this two or three times already. Suffice it to say he's in a lot of danger."

"You keep saying that," Goggles pipes up from the other corner of the room, interrupting Skylla mid-rant, "But I still don't see why my co-conspirator was so adamant that you're telling the truth," she says, waggling her fingers for air quotes around the word 'co-conspirator'. "Frankly, I don't see how he could possibly be in any danger whatsoever. His Power is one of the strongest I've seen. The Kindness doesn't stand a chance against him."

"The Kindness is long gone, how many times do I have to say this?" you say, somewhat louder than you meant to, "He's not going to be fine, he's going to be overwhelmed by violent fanatics and beaten as close to death as he can get. Do you really want that to happen to your friend?"

"He's not my friend," Goggles replies with an irritated pout, "And you'd do well to cease with your melodrama. It's not like he's going to actually die. The timeline's broken. It's literally impossible."

"Hold on," Skylla interjects, "That's all well and good, but the Knight has a point. If we know Xefros is gonna get hurt, we should do something to help."

"Stop saying his name!" You've had it up to here with these trolls, but you're well aware that getting angry will get you nowhere. You take a deep breath and continue. "What I think... What I know is that the crazed lunatics who follow the Kindness don't care about anything but making people hurt. Isn't it our duty to save him, or anyone for that matter, from people like that?"

"Feh," Goggles says, "I still think you're overreacting. He's going to be fine."

"No," Skylla replies, "She's right. If we can do something to help then we have to. That's what our entire rebellion's about, right?"

The two women start their heated argument again. You turn to Fozzer. "Please tell me you agree with me," you plead. "Help me break their stupid tie. This is getting embarrassing."

"I don't know," Fozzer says, wringing his hands, "I agree with you and I get where you're coming from, but the Tetrarch gave us all explicit orders not to leave this building until the end of the night. I don't want to disobey her."

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Skylla cuts in, "Since when did haemocaste rebellion involve so much taking orders from incompetent highbloods?"

Wait. Haemocaste rebellion? What have you gotten yourself into?

"Well, she's not exactly a highblood," Fozzer begins.

Skylla immediately cuts him off. "No, shut up, I don't care. I'm done talking about this. This is getting preposterous." She marches up to you and places a hand on your shoulder. "Come with me, Knight of Light. If these two imbeciles want to sit and twiddle their nubs all night then so be it, but you and I have a troll to rescue."

"So you're going as far as to disobey direct orders now, captain?" asks Goggles, ice in her voice.

"Gladly," Skylla replies. "Go ahead and tell the Tetrarchs what I'm doing. I bet the moment Dammek finds out we're saving his moirail, they won't care."

There were a lot of words in that sentence that you didn't understand, but they definitely shut Goggles up. She gives Skylla a venomous look before storming off into the back room with a huff and slamming the door.

"Thank the ancestors she's finally gone," Skylla says. "Fozzer, come with us. We're going to need someone to lock up behind us."

"You want me to stay here?"

"Yeah, we need someone with a pan to stay and hold the fort."

Skylla walks over to the window Goggles was standing by and takes a metal rod from where it was lying on the sill. She hooks a loop at the top through her belt and turns back to you.

"Come on, then," she says to you, "He only left a little while ago. I'll show you the way he went."

Chapter Text

> Joey: Follow your new companions.

You follow Skylla and Fozzer as they lead you through the winding corridors of the apartment block. You're fairly certain that they're taking you on an over-complicated route to mess up your sense of direction, especially when you head up a set of stairs for no good reason, but you don't say anything. Eventually you reach a metal door at ground level with a glowing exit sign hanging above it, and when Fozzer pushes it open you step out into a small vestibule. There are walls behind you and to your sides, and in front of you is a chain link fence with a gate secured by a padlock and chain. You recognise this area from earlier, when you were trying to find a way into the building. You didn't know this was going to be your way out.

Fozzer pushes past you, unlocks the chain with a small key and shoves the door open, bowing like the doorman at the entrance to a mansion. "Good luck, captain," he says. "You too, Knight of Light."

"Alright, we shouldn't be too long," Skylla says. "You're responsible for keeping everything running smoothly while I'm out, y'hear?"

"Okay," Fozzer says. "I don't think anything is going to happen. It'll probably be just as quiet as every other night."

"Maybe so, but stay alert anyway. If anything goes so badly wrong that you need to get in touch with a Tetrarch, promise me that you'll message Dammek."

You have no idea what that means, but judging from the look of dismay on Fozzer face, she may as well have told him to eat the padlock he's holding. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly," Skylla says. "I don't care if this project is being run by whatsherfangs-"

"Kanaya?"

"Yeah, her. I don't want her meddling in what we've done here. She'll just make everything worse."

"I really don't think that's sensible. This whole operation was her idea. She's the one in charge, not Dammek."

"Yeah, so what? We were the ones who did all the work to get this place up and running."

"I know that, captain. Look, I don't like her either, I get it. But what I like even less is the idea of having to deal with the mess we'll make if we go over her horns on this."

"Yeah, it'll be a pain in the globes, but it ain't worth it in the long run. One day we'll have more than one competent leader and we won't have to worry about things like this. Hell, one day we'll have more than two leaders in our entire organisation. But until then, we can't let some greenblood with no idea what she's doing risk everything we've worked for."

Fozzer sighs and sulks at the ground. "Fine," he eventually says, "But if I do report to Dammek and Kanaya pitches a fit, I'm telling her you told me to."

"Sure thing. If that helps, then go ahead. It ain't like she don't know I don't like her."

"This is just gonna prove Marsti right."

"Marsti can do what she likes. I'm done trying to make her see sense." With that, Skylla turns towards you. "Well, we'd better be off. We've wasted enough time here."

She's definitely right about that. The night sky is a little lighter than it was when you entered the apartment block. After this much time, Xefros could be anywhere—and now you need to make sure nothing's happened to Frohike, too. This night is just getting more and more complicated.

Skylla steps out into the street. You rush to catch up with her as she walks in the direction of the observatory tower, the looming silhouette of which rises over this district of the city. As you walk, you keep your eyes and ears open, scanning the side streets for any sign of movement. Without Jude keeping watch to make sure your path doesn't cross with a random bystander's, you don't want to take your chances. All kinds of unsavoury people lurk in the streets at night, not just the Kindness' fanatics and you don't want to risk meeting any of them. Fortunately, the streets are empty as always and you meet nothing but the odd crashed car and unlit lamp post.

Just as you start to let your guard down, you hear a familiar buzz from overhead. You crane your neck to the sky and see Frohike buzzing towards you like an oven launched from a trebuchet. You stop walking and stand with your hands on your hips, waiting for it to hover down to your level.

"There you are!" you scold. "Where did you go? I was worried about you!"

"Sorry, Knight," Jude says, "Switched to Langly to do some recon."

"You could have told me first!"

"Couldn't fit through building's entrance. You went inside before I could explain."

"Oh." You take your hands off your hips, feeling a little guilty for jumping on your high horse like you did.

"Who are you talking to?" Skylla asks.

"Oh, right. I should have said something. Skylla, this is Frohike," you say as you tap the side of the drone. "The voice you hear is my sidekick, the Seer of Doom. Seer, this is Skylla, uh..."

"Koriga."

"Skylla Koriga, captain of a pro-troll society who our target belongs to."

"Our target?" Skylla asks. "Wait, you mean Xefros, right?"

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "They're really bad at not using names, Seer, it's awful. And they all think Powers are kind of a joke."

"C'mon, now," Skylla says, "I don't think y'all are a joke. Y'all just seem kinda unnecessary is all."

"They're all like this," you say in Frohike's direction. "I talked to three trolls inside there and Skylla was the only one who wanted to help."

"Well, thanks for the assistance, captain," Jude says.

"You're welcome. Did you say you were carrying out reconnaissance work?"

"Affirmative. Overseer mentioned potential of secret police agents near your location, so I went to confirm."

Skylla freezes. "The secret police? Nearby? How many are we talking?"

"None. It was a false alarm. A curious transmission trace but no clandestine individuals in sight."

"That's a relief," Skylla says. "Secret police is the last thing we need."

"Seer," you ask, "Is the Overseer still there?"

"Negative," Jude replies. "Had to talk with someone else regarding Midnight Crew activities."

"That's a shame. Can you let me know when she's online again?" That phrase she used in your dream, 'functional omniscience,' has been bugging you for a while now. You were hoping you could ask her more about it.

"Shall we carry on?" Skylla asks. "We're not much further now."

You follow Skylla through the quiet streets of the city, Frohike zooming ahead of you. After a few minutes of walking in silence, something in Skylla's pocket buzzes. She jumps in alarm, fumbles in her pockets and pulls out a thin square of grey plastic from her pocket. You recognise it as a portable communicator, but it's way more advanced than any you've seen before. The LCD screen is three inches from corner to corner, and it displays colour as well.

As you walk, Skylla reads the message that's popped up on the communicator's screen with a frown. When she's read it all, she flicks a compact keyboard out from the bottom and starts furiously typing as if she's having an argument with someone.

"Is everything alright?" you ask.

"Dammek," she says gruffly.

"Uh, bless you?" The word's been thrown around a lot tonight but you have no idea what it means. It's probably a name, but you wouldn't want to assume.

"Tetrarch Dammek, one of the leaders of our organisation. Xefros is in one of his quadrants, so I was hoping he wouldn't find out about all this. Marsti had to go and tell him what's happened, so now he's upset. She also had to describe everything in the worst way possible, so it looks like I've bungled everything. Now he's pissed off and I have to make him see sense."

That explanation went straight over your head but you can sense the frustration in Skylla's voice. "That sounds rough."

"It'll be fine," she says with a huff. "Dammek doesn't like to show it, but he's got a soft spot for me. He knows I can get the job done. He's just being ornery because it's his moirail involved, which I guess makes sense."

The two of you continue to walk as Skylla types away to her boss, her eyes flickering between the street in front of her and her communicator. As you turn down an intersection she thrusts the communicator under your nose. "He wants a word with you."

"Me? Why?"

"Hell if I know. Not like he'd tell me. Probably just wants you to back up what I'm saying."

"Okay, I guess I can do that." You take the communicator from Skylla. The conversation she's been having is still up on the screen. Even though it feels slightly invasive, you give it a quick skim-read to make sure you have all the context.

You hand the communicator back to Skylla, who's been watching you type for the last few minutes with an amused expression on her face.

"He's got quite the personality, hasn't he?" she says.

"Your leader is the rudest person I've ever met!" you say. "How can you stand him? He's the most pompous, irritating, stuck-up, snobbish person I've ever talked to!"

"He's not always like that," she says with a quick smile. "He cares deeply about the movement and the people he commands. He's just not the greatest at showing it."

"If you're sure," you say, entirely unconvinced. You walk in silence for a few minutes more, thinking about what Dammek said. "What's a moirail?" you ask. "I know Xefros is one, but I have no idea what it means."

"Moirallegiance is one of the quadrants."

"Ohhh," you groan. Every time someone tries to explain troll romance to you, you end up knowing less than before. It's as if your sparing human intellect instantly assumes the most ingratiating posture of surrender imaginable. The entire topic is weird and confusing and you regret asking.

"Do you know what quadrants are?"

"No," you say.

"Well, an easy way to explain it is-"

"No, please, I don't know and I don't want to. Quadrants are confusing and I don't care what they mean. Just tell me what a moirail is."

"Oh," Skylla says, taken aback. "Why, I guess the simplest way to look at it is that a moirail is a cross between a best friend and a confidant. Moirails keep each other grounded. They care for each other, keep each other safe, and pacify each other's murderous rages.

"Does... Does that last bit about murder happen a lot with moirails?"

"Back in the Empire, all the time. It was considered a duty of lowbloods with highblooded moirails to curb their destructive impulses. Fortunately, trolls of all blood colours are much less violent here in Neo City. Hold on, we have to go through here."

Skylla cuts through a narrow alleyway between two rusting metal buildings, so small that you almost didn't see the opening. You follow her through and are surprised to find yourself not in another street but the bombed-out ruins of some large structure that might have once been a factory or a warehouse. Whatever it once was, it barely counts as a building any more. The scorched floor is littered with cracked ceiling tiles and scraps of charred sack cloth, the windowpanes are all blown out, and huge holes in the walls have collapsed. You look up through the gap in the roof and stare up at the cloudy night sky.

"What happened here?" you ask.

"Illegal sopor works," Skylla replies as she continues to walk. "Secret police found out and, well, look around you."

"That's awful," you say. "How did the secret police find out? They must have tried to keep this place a secret."

There's a buzz as Frohike swoops down to you. "Probably ratted out by an insider," Jude says. "Secret police are actually just a skeleton crew with a pretense of omnipresence to instil fear in the populace. There's like ten people working for them, supported by a network of snitches and part-time spies."

"Come on, Seer," you say, rolling your eyes, "Enough with the conspiracy theories."

"No, he's actually right about that," Skylla calls from the open doors at the far end of the building. You jog to catch up to her as she continues talking. "One of the workers had been getting paid to keep tabs on the whole thing. They picked a day to be ill while everyone else was working here, then the secret police descended and blew the whole place up with the rest of them still inside."

"That's typical for the secret police," Jude says. "They don't want to bother actually arresting anyone. They don't actually care about keeping the peace.

"The poor trolls who were here," you say. Just like that, the bombed-out factory is behind you and you're travelling along empty streets again. "Even if they were making drugs," you continue, "To be caught in an explosion like that must have been horrible."

"It weren't drugs they were making," Skylla says. "We need sopor to sleep. The city rations it, and do you know how pitiful those rations are? They're barely enough for even the most warm-blooded trolls and it only gets worse the cooler your blood is. The people working here were midbloods who couldn't live off of what they were given and they didn't have the money to buy more on the black market. They were just trying to help their communities, and the secret police blew it all up to keep the mayor's monopoly safe."

"That's horrible," you say. You had no idea how important sopor is. To be deprived of something as important as that sounds abhorrent.

"Yeah, it ain't great. One of our organisation's members was part of the group working there. She's was just a kid. Probably no older than you. Just thinking about what happened to her makes me mad."

"Because she got temporal shock?"

"Yeah. A really bad case, too. She was out for half a sweep, and when she woke up she couldn't even remember how to speak. I know her moirail. He's actually not too awful for a highblood. But he was in a pretty bad way about it for a while. He stays with her all the time. Had to teach her how to use the gaper and everything. Nobody should have to do that for someone they pity."

"That's awful," you say. That's all you can say. Part of you is worried that anything else you say would just come across as callous. Also, what Dammek said about temporal shock being inevitably fatal is still bouncing around in your head.

Shortly after the timeline broke, your Pa had an accident at work. He had temporal shock and it was just as horrible as Skylla described. Even though it was supposedly mild—he came out of his coma after three weeks, and was mostly back to his old self a month later—it was still the most horrible time of your life. You barely ate anything for those first three weeks, you were so sick with worry. Even now, just thinking about it is making you anxious and teary-eyed.

Sure, you don't exactly see eye to eye with your Pa about anything these days, but you don't want to imagine that he might actually...

You don't want to imagine that what Dammek says is true, because that's just too awful to think about. Everything about this sad, tragic, distressing topic is too awful to think about. You have to move this conversation to something else before you actually start crying.

"With all of this going on," you say, "I can definitely see why you'd become part of a rebellion."

Skylla gives you a surprised look. "Rebellion? Who said anything about a rebellion?"

"You did, back in the hotel. Haemospectrum rebellion specifically."

"Well, darn it," she says with a soft chuckle. "Me and my oversized squawk gaper."

"What does haemospectrum rebellion mean?" you ask. "Are you rebelling just against highbloods, or are you trying to overthrow the entire concept of blood castes?"

"A bit of the former, a bit of the latter," Skylla says, "But I probably shouldn't be telling you this."

"Because you'd have to cull me if you told me?"

"No!" Skylla says, affronted, "Why would I even say that?!"

"That's what your co-conspirators kept saying when I asked them things about your organisation."

"Well they shouldn't just throw the threat of culling around like that. That's a gross thing to do. Besides, you're a smart girl. You'd've figured it out eventually."

"Aww, you don't have to say that." As clichéd as it sounds, Skylla's praise is making you actually feel warm inside, and you can't stop the bashful smile that stretches the corners of your mouth.

"Well, you are. You'd be way better at this captain job than me. I'm really no good at all this cloak and dagger stuff. It's a load of cholerbear leavings if you ask me. But I can't just stand by and do nothing while people are getting hurt."

"I feel the same way. I just never knew quite how bad it was for your people. I don't really know any trolls."

"I'm not surprised. We all tend to keep to ourselves. I guess half of us are hoping the war with Alternia will end and we'll be able to leave this planet."

"Where would you all go?I thought Alternia was destroyed."

"Oh, yeah, the Vast Glub pretty much ripped our entire galaxy in half. But there's millions of worlds out there. Even if we can't go back to the Empire, there's bound to be some rock out there we can call home."

"Does every troll want that?" pipes up Jude, his voice emanating distantly from the speakers of Frohike flying above you.

"Oh, of course not," Skylla says, raising her voice. "I bet half of us just want the Empire to finish invading so we can... Wait, are we here already?" You're standing opposite a crumbling concrete building with a faded sign that reads South-4 Fire Department sticking out from the ground in front of it. The left hand side of the building is a squat tower, three or four storeys high, and the right hand side is a garage with doors for six fire engines. The two buildings are connected by a glass-covered walkway at ground level.

"Is this where Xefros is?" you ask.

"Mm-hm," Skylla says, nodding. "That's meant to be where the Kindness lives."

You can only stare at Skylla, so shocked you're unable to form words. Thankfully, Jude is able to say what you're thinking. "Wait, you know where the Kindness lives?"

"That's what I just said, ain't it?"

"How long have you known that?"

"Not long. It was Xefros who told us."

"For God's sake, you two need to stop saying his name!" Jude hisses.

"Sorry," you say, as you realise you've been saying it along with Skylla all this time. "I don't know why I've been saying it. I should know better."

"I forgot you lot don't like names," Skylla says.

"It's not that we don't like names," Jude explains, "But you just really shouldn't throw around the names of... Never mind. How the hell does he know where the Kindness lives?"

"Not the darndest idea, but he sounded pretty sure about it."

"This is phenomenal," Jude says as Frohike floats down to face you. "Knight, the Overseer knows Miss Miracle, and Stormchaser, and loads of other Powers. If I tell her where the Kindness is, they can bring them to justice!"

"I reckon Xefros had the same idea. He was saying he wanted to avenge everyone who'd been terrorised by the Kindness like him."

"What was it he said about Dammek? That he wanted him to show them the "truth of the world" or something like that?"

"Yeah, that was it. Still ain't got no idea what he meant by that. He had this really weird look in his gander bulbs when he said it. It was like they were glowing."

"That's a side effect of only just having inherited his Power," Jude says, "He's unstable and confused."

"Then we'd best get in there and rescue him," Skylla says as she walks towards the fire station. You walk towards the tower and Jude calls out to you just as you reach for the handle. "Wait, Knight. Don't go in. I can't scan inside."

"What do you mean? Why would a fire station be lead-lined?"

"It's not! Lead makes my sensors act up, but they're not showing anything at all. It's like the building doesn't exist for my sensors."

"Hey, Knight, come and take a look at this" Skylla calls from the other side of the tower. "I've never seen anything like this before."

You walk around to the other side of the building, where Skylla is peering through a window. She steps away from it as you get close and you lean in, switching your infravision on. Everything inside is covered in a few inches of some yellow, glistening, gum-like substance that stretches up the walls in long, elastic tendrils. Whatever this substance is, it's completely covering the floor and the bottom half of the walls, reaching up with spindly tentacles to obscure the forms of the things it covers.

You take a step back from the window, severely grossed out. "What is that?" you ask.

Frohike zooms close towards the window, and you can hear a quiet whirr as its camera focuses in the darkness of the room. "That's gross," Jude says after a while. "I've never seen a substance like that before. Should I go over to the 'research library' to identify it?"

"Don't bother," you say, rolling your eyes at the audible finger quotes around the phrase 'research library'. You know what he really means, and there's no way that any of the books on the tiny shelf in your Pa's room are going to help you identify whatever the hell that stuff is. "I'm going inside," you say.

You start to walk back around the building but Frohike flies to block your path, engines buzzing like a hive full of angry hornets.

"No, don't, stop," Jude says. "I can't scan in and the building is filled with weird ooze. Anything could be lurking in there and Frohike won't fit through the door to offer any help. You can't go in on your own!"

"She won't be on her own," Skylla says behind you. "I'll go with her and keep my sponge clots open. Nothing bad will happen to her."

"No offence, captain, but I have no idea what a sponge clot is or how it opens," Jude says. "Also I only met you half an hour ago and I don't trust you."

"Really?" Skylla asks, quite offended indeed. "The whole reason I'm here is so that I can help you! Do you really think I set all this up as some kind of trap?"

"Maybe."

"Well that's absurd. I'm here to help keep Xefros and the Knight of Light safe. That's all I want."

"Don't mind him. He's always like this," you tell her. Then you turn round to Frohike and say, "Where was this concern earlier when you let me walk into that apartment building with two Powers?"

"That was different. I could see in."

"And in the grand scheme of things, how does that help me one jot if I get attacked?"

"Well, I..." Jude sputters.

"We have to get in there somehow, Seer. I get that you're worried but there's no other way. I'll be quick, I promise. I'll open up one of the garage doors, then you can send Frohike in and search to your heart's content."

You reach out for the door handle and twist it with both hands. It's unlocked, if a bit stiff, but one firm yank and the door flies open. A stale, rancid stench wafts out of the door, like body odour mixed with rotting meat, and you have to step away from the door so as not to gag. After a few moments, when you no longer feel like you're about to retch, you steel your nerves and step inside.

"What in tarnation?" Skylla yells, "Ìt smells like month-old dead moobeast in here!"

"I know, right? How could anybody live like this?" you ask as you step inside.

The room you enter was definitely a reception once. You can vaguely make out the shapes of desks, chairs and filing cabinets, entombed beneath this icky covering of what looks like chewed gum but feels like raw chicken beneath your shoes.

"Gross," Skylla mutters behind you. "This stuff on the floor feels like it's breathing."

You look down. Sure enough, the floor puffs and pulsates in a slow, torpid rhythm. This is absolutely disgusting. You can feel the grimace stretch across your face and the nauseous churning of your stomach get more intense for every second you stay in this room.

You pick a door at random and barge through it, ignoring the meaty squelches of your feet as they stomp on the unidentified substance on the floor. You find yourself in a corridor, with a set of stairs heading up on your left and some doors on your right. The floor is still carpeted in grey-yellow ooze, so you ignore them all and head through the door directly ahead on you, passing through into the glass walkway. Frohike is watching you from the other side of the glass, so you stop for a second to wave at it and carry on through to the garage.

There's none of the yellow gunk on the ground in here, thank God. The room is cavernous and echoey, with a high ceiling and cold concrete for the walls and floor. Six enormous garage doors loom over you to the right, and hanging above you is a metal catwalk, suspended from the ceiling by steel wires. Far off on the other side of the garage, the catwalk leads to a small room with dark windows, with a spiral staircase and a pole dangling beneath it.

You were expecting to see at least one fire engine in here, but the room is huge and empty. You walk across the empty room to the closed doors, feet echoing on the concrete floor like gunshots. Skylla follows you in, and she immediately looks at the garage doors as well. "Now how do we get these open?" she asks.

There's a box mounted on the wall behind her. You point it out and she spins round. "Ah, that looks promising," she says as she flips the lid open. With the press of a button and the twist of a dial, the garage doors begin to trundle upwards, filling the room with light, noise and a squeaky, grinding noise.

Frohike slips under the door closest to you when it's a foot off of the ground. "That was nerve-wracking," Jude says. "Good that you're both alright."

"Yeah, we're fine," you say. "I think this place is deserted."

"Typical. All that for nothing." Frohike buzzes up so that it's hovering just in front of your head. "No idea what was blocking my scanners, but I've got limited range now that I'm inside. Let's see..."

"Hey, Skylla," you call out, "Seen any signs of Xefros nearby?"

"None so far," she calls back, shaking her head, "But we've barely begun to look."

"Knight," Jude hisses in a distressed stage whisper.

"What is it?"

"We're not alone in here."

"What?" You spin round and switch your infravision on, scanning the room for signs of movement.

You see a humanoid silhouette on the catwalk just as it throws something large and heavy in your direction. You barely have time to jump to the side before a huge, wheel-shaped block of concrete sails through the air towards you. It ploughs right through where your head was just a second ago and crashes straight into Frohike. The poor drone doesn't stand a chance. It's smashed to pieces, raining to the floor in little pieces of jagged metal and shattered circuitry. Jude's voice crackles and sputters, and you can just about hear him say the word "Four," before Frohike is completely silent.

A length of steel cable is threaded through the middle of the concrete wheel. The shadowy figure yanks it away with one hand and the block flies through the air, where he catches it with one hand as if it weighs nothing.

"I remember you," he shouts, his voice deep and rumbling, and you can hear the cold malice dripping from his voice. "You're that pesky little girl with the lightbulbs for hands from earlier!"

The silhouette's voice is vaguely familiar, but you don't have to guess who he is. "You're one of the Kindness' fanatics, aren't you?" you ask.

"Fanatic? No, you've got me all wrong," he says. "I'm not some kind of cultist. I'm a devotee. I'm filled with a purpose you could never understand."

"Is that why you've been hunting for that troll all night? Is that your purpose?"

"Oh, shut up." He vaults over the catwalk railing, landing on his feet. The concrete block sails through the air and lands beside him, cracking the concrete floor with the force of the impact. Now he's a little bit closer, he's illuminated by the light coming through the half-open doors behind you. He's a troll with straight horns flared at the tip, wearing so much dark blue that he has to be a blue-blood. There's something wrong with his eyes, though. You can't be sure, but you're certain the amber-coloured sclera are darker than all the other trolls you've seen tonight. And there's something about him that's eerily familiar.

It suddenly hits you. This troll and his concrete block-on-a-rope are responsible for the head wound you received earlier tonight. Your missing memories, your vulnerability that Hippok was able to exploit—all of it is his fault.

"Up there on the railing!" Skylla shouts.

Up on the catwalk, two humans, a tall woman and a short man, are standing where the blueblood was a minute ago. They lean their elbows on the railing, watching the scene below them with impatient amusement, like they can't wait to get stuck in themselves.

The blueblooded troll chuckles. "What a coincidence that we'd run into you again whilst searching for our sacrifice. I thought you'd had enough of me last time, but I'm fine to be proven wrong."

"Shut up! He's not a sacrifice! Where have you taken him?"

The blueblood pouts when you say that. "Oh. I was hoping you knew the answer to that. How disappointing."

"So he's not here?" Skylla asks.

"No idea," the blueblood says with a shrug, "We just got here. And if you don't know either then you've outlived any usefulness you might have had."

With a swing of his arms, too fast for you to react, the troll launches his concrete flail towards you. All you can do is flinch and hold your arms up in front of your face. As if that's going to help at all.

With your eyes squeezed shut, you only peripherally notice the sound of footsteps rushing in front of you, but there's no way you could miss the thunderclap of sound that follows, mixed with a flash of violet light that's so intense you can see it through your eyelids.

The concrete block doesn't hit you. You open your eyes. Standing in front of you is the Ariborn who you've been searching for this entire time. His grey skin is covered in circular, tyrian-coloured welts and reddish-brown bruises, and a flash of electricity quickly arcs between his horns before fading out. He's holding the block of concrete in his hands, the muscles in his arms tensing against the force of it. On the other end of the steel cable, the blueblood is huffing and pulling as he tries to yank it out of his grip and achieving absolutely nothing for his efforts.

Skylla rushes over to the two of you. "Xefros! Are you alright?"

"Ya, I... What are you doing here?"

In front of you, the blueblood snarls. It's a venomous sound, like something you'd expect from an animal. "You insolent worm! Let go!" He tugs at the cable in his hands, feet scrabbling across the floor as he struggles to keep his footing. "

"Xefros, we have to leave," Skylla says.

"Not yet," he says with a sullen look, "I have to find the Kindness first." He turns around to face you, and you see purple light glowing in his eyes like fire. "I remember you. You helped me out earlier."

You nod.

"I need your help again. When I give you the signal, light it up." His voice is calm and slow, as if he's half-asleep. You can see what Skylla meant when she said Xefros had been acting strange. Nobody in their right mind could be so calm and unconcerned in a situation like this.

Before you can ask what he means or what his signal is, Xefros turns back to face the blueblood. "You want this back?" he asks, nodding his head in the direction of the concrete wheel in his hands, "Then catch it!"

Chapter Text

> Joey: Regard Xefros' sweet throw.

Xefros lobs the head of the concrete flail towards the blueblood at full force like a pitcher throwing a baseball. As the blueblood reaches up to catch it, you extend a hand out over Xefros' shoulder and shine a blast of brilliant light in the blueblood's face, causing him to squint and lose his coordination. The concrete block strikes him square in the face with a gross, meaty crunch and a spurt of indigo blood. He topples backwards like a felled tree, howling with pain. The two humans atop the catwalk lean over to look at him, evidently startled.

"Holy shit," says the lanky woman.

"Zebruh? Are you okay, dude?" asks the stocky man.

The blueblood—Zebruh, you guess—makes a soft, pained moan but doesn't reply. Spread-eagled on the floor, he doesn't so much as lift an arm. He just lies there and whimpers, blue blood gushing down his face. You wonder why you thought bluebloods were meant to be scary. Maybe you had them mixed up with another colour?

Xefros turns around to face you and Skylla again. His eyes lock with yours, shining with a bright, purple light that makes you squint. "Come with me," he says. "We can put a stop to all of this." Without another word he rushes off towards the door you came in through.

"Where do you think you're going, you bastard?" the lanky woman shouts, but he's already barged through the door to the glass walkway.

"Knight, go after him," Skylla barks. "We can't lose him again."

"What about you? Are you going to be okay?"

Skylla unloops the metal rod from her belt and flicks it to one side. Both ends telescope out with a metallic shuttering noise to form a pole as tall as she is. She grips it with both hands and twists, causing a sharp halberd head to fan out of the top segment.

"Yeah, now that's more like it!" the stocky man hollers, pumping a fist into the air. "Two on two! We can still have a proper fight!"

Skylla rolls her eyes and turns to face you. "No offence meant, Knight, but they're just humans. I'll be fine. Now go and get Xefros."

You nod and head towards the door. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Zebruh stagger to his feet, dark blue blood pouring down his face. "You festering abscess," he roars, "I'm going to tear you apart!"

You stop in your tracks. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" you shout.

"I said I'll be fine, didn't I?" Skylla replies. "Stop worrying about me!"

You don't need to be told again. You turn and run to the walkway, ignoring the tall woman's shouts of protest. The door into the corridor beyond is still wide open, and you can hear Xefros' footsteps on the floor above you, so you follow them upstairs, grimacing at the sensation of the yellow goo beneath your feet. The floor of the first floor landing has actual carpet, thankfully, as does the second. As you climb up to the third floor, you see Xefros hammering both fists on a wooden door with a little of the grey-yellow gunk spilling out from underneath it. The landing up here is barely the size of a broom cupboard. When you reach the top step, Xefros takes a few paces back, almost stepping on your toes, and rushes forwards with a hoarse yell. He throws his entire body weight at the door, causing it to rattle in its frame, but he bounces off and hits the floor with a thud.

"Xefros, what are you doing?" you ask, and then you inwardly grimace at having used his name. You're never going to get it out of your head at this rate.

Xefros climbs to his feet and leans back against the door, panting heavily, the purple light from his eyes washing over you. "I have to get through this door," he says. "They have to be here. I looked everywhere else in this building before those thugs came along."

"They?" you ask, unsure who he means for a moment. And then it hits you with a wave of terror that makes your skin erupt in goosebumps. "The Kindness is behind this door?" you ask.

Xefros nods. "I'm going to bring them to my moirail. He's going to make them pay for all the awful things they've done."

"I spoke to your moirail," you say, taking a step away from the door. "Dammek's worried about you. He asked me to bring you back to the safe house."

"Not yet," Xefros says, his voice expressionless. "Not until I... Not until..." The purple glow in his eyes starts to dim and his feet give way under him. Even though you don't want to be anywhere near that door, you rush over to him to keep him steady.

"Easy there," you say as you help him to sit down in the corner away from the door. "Take it slow for a minute."

"I can't," he protests, a note of exhaustion in his voice that wasn't there a moment ago. "I have to get in that door."

Xefros reaches towards the door with a slim, welt-covered arm, and that fear is back again, gripping you round the chest like a vice. The Kindness? Behind this door? Does Xefros expect you to fight them? You wouldn't stand a chance.

Tentatively, you press an ear to the door to see if you can hear movement on the other side. The door wobbles precariously when you lean against it. Xefros hit it so hard it's barely still hanging in its frame. Which raises the question: where's that telltale glow? If the Kindness really is in here, there should be harsh, white light pouring out from around the edges of the door. And ignoring that, why would they lock themselves away up here after spending the better part of the night hunting Xefros down?

Maybe they're not really in there. All this time, you've been assuming Xefros' hunch that they were here was right, but why would he know their location if so many other Powers have been unable to find them? That single thought makes you feel a little bit less scared than you were before. The only course of action, you decide, is to get this door open. If the Kindness is or isn't here, you can deal with that. But not knowing for certain is torture.

You step away from the door to give yourself a bit of distance, and execute what would be a textbook grand jeté if you didn't plant your foot firmly above the door handle. The whole thing pops out of its frame—hinges, screws and everything—and as you regain your footing you boggle at just how much force Xefros must have put into the door to make it so loose.

And then you see inside the room, and you're so dumbfounded by what you see that you completely forget about any of that.

The Kindness isn't here, which is a momentous relief, but the whole room is so unlike what you were expecting. It's spacious, with a high, sloping ceiling and wide windows. The air is thick with an almost indescribable stench: equal parts the rotting smell from the reception downstairs, the kind of overpowering deodorant that Jude wears, and another musty, acrid smell that you reckon is probably troll body odour. This room must have been some kind of open plan office once, but all the filing cabinets, water coolers, swivel chairs and other office furniture has been clumsily overturned and stacked into a large pile in the corner. The floor is covered in the same gum-like substance as downstairs, and there's another layer on top of that of empty pizza boxes and crushed soda cans. Posters for bizarre Alternian pop bands have been haphazardly taped to the wall, and trolls wearing bizarre outfits and playing weird instruments stare down at you. Over in the far corner, next to a broken printer/copier, sits a huge cocoon with a hole in the top, big enough for a person to sit in and filled with green slime and red-grey mould that smells like rotting fish. The weirdest thing of all, sitting atop a chest of drawers with all the drawers missing, is what looks like a bust of a Roman statue with troll horns sticking out the side of its head. The bust is wearing slotted shades and a wig of curly, bubblegum pink hair.

This isn't the lair of an evil, sadistic Power. This is a teenager's bedroom.

Behind you, you hear Xefros sigh. "They're not here," he says, "All of this was for nothing." You turn round to face him. He's leaning against the door frame, standing at an awkward angle so his feet don't touch the ooze on the floor. There's a look of tired disappointment on his face, and the violet glow in his eyes is much dimmer than it was a moment ago.

"It's alright," you say.

"No, it's not," he mutters. "I'm such a failure."

It hurts to see the devastated look on his face, but you don't know what to say.

Xefros walks into the room, tip-toeing over the rubbish and the yellow-grey material on the floor. "How can they not be here?" he says to himself. "There's nowhere else that could they be." He walks over to the window and rests his forehead against it. "I just wanted to stop them from hurting anyone else. They could be doing something terrible and there's nothing I could do to stop them. What am I supposed to do?"

You jolt to attention when you realise he addressed that last sentence to you. You can't bear to see Xefros hating himself like this, but what could you possibly say to cheer him up?

"It's not your fault," you decide to say. "You had no way to be certain the Kindness would be here."

"Ya, I did," he says sitting down on a smooth black box on the ground that seems strangely out of place with everything else in the room. "Down in the sewers, I heard them talking to their followers. Remember when they had me pinned against that grate in the floor?"

"Yeah, I remember." You don't, but that's not really important right now. "What did they say?"

"They were giving their fanatics orders. They told them all to take me here and wait for them. I don't remember why. I wouldn't even have known they meant this place if my lusus and I hadn't lived nearby when we first arrived in this city."

"Why did they want to bring you here?" you ask. "They've never taken anyone anywhere before. Normally they just drain your power and leave you there." You have no idea where you got that half-remembered fact from, but Xefros nods in agreement so it must be true.

"That's what I thought," he says with a shrug. "I don't know what they wanted, but they said something about the Handmaid." Xefros shivers. "I hope I heard them wrong. If the Handmaid is real, I never want to be unlucky enough to meet her."

You don't know who the Handmaid is, but it doesn't feel like an important question right now. "Come on," you say instead. "We've wasted enough time up here. We should probably-"

"Wait, is that me?" Xefros says, standing up and staring at the far wall. You follow his gaze to the many posters on the other side of the room. One of them clearly depicts Xefros singing into a microphone. There's another troll with deer antlers for horns on the drums behind him who you don't recognise, but you're pretty sure he's Dammek based on the brown symbol on his hoodie.

"That's really creepy," you say. "Has the Kindness been waiting for you to inherit your Power all this time?"

"I don't think so," he says, walking up to the poster with his likeness on. "That wouldn't make any sense. I didn't inherit it the normal way." He holds his arms up so that the tyrian-coloured welts are illuminated in the light coming through the window.

"Right. The Tyrian Rain, of course. It must have been awful."

"Oh, you have no idea," he says with a small smile. "It was like being on fire, only worse."

"What a terrible accident. At least nothing too bad happened to you."

"Ya, I'm glad I didn't grow a mutation. But it wasn't an accident."

"How could it not have been an accident?" you ask. "It's not like you deliberately exposed yourself to the Tyrian Rain."

"Well, I mean, that's kinda exactly what happened."

Wait, what? You stare at Xefros, unable to properly articulate the state of complete stupefaction induced by that sentence. "What are you saying, that you did it on purpose?"

Xefros nods, oblivious to the look of surprise growing on your face. "I waited for the warning to come on the TV," he continues, as nonchalantly as if he was explaining how to get dressed in the morning. "I waited until the time it was due to start, climbed to the top of my hivestem, stripped to my underwear and waited for the rain to fall."

"What?"

"Ya. I'm just glad I remembered to keep my eyes shut."

You can't help but stare at Xefros in horror. You're pretty sure your jaw has hit the floor and your eyebrows are so high they could touch the Battleship Condescension, but seriously, what the hell? Who would willingly subject themself to the Tyrian Rain? The chance of gaining a Power is so miniscule compared to the chance of mutating or losing your mind or getting temporal shock or worse. Who would risk that willingly?

After a few moments of sputtering and false starting, you finally manage to spit out, "Weren't you worried?"

"Nah. Everything worked out fine, just like my moirail said it would."

"He encouraged you to do this?" Skylla's description of a moirail as someone who cares for you and keeps you safe can't be right, surely. Who in their right mind would encourage someone they love to go out into the Tyrian Rain?

"No, Dammek didn't encourage me," Xefros says.

Phew.

"It was actually all his idea."

What? The? Hell? Moirail or no, that's unconscionable. That's barbaric. That's evil. At first, you thought Dammek was just rude and self-absorbed, but now you hate him almost as much as you hate Dr. Scratch. You really hope you never have to meet him. If he loved Xefros, how could he make him go out into the Tyrian Rain with all the dangers involved?

That being said, how could Xefros willingly go along with it?

You're still trying to wrap your head around that bombshell of a sentence when you're distracted by a loud crash from below you.

"Skylla!" Xefros shouts. "Is she still downstairs?"

"I'll go and find out," you say, feeling guilty for forgetting about her. You were only supposed to find Xefros and make sure he was safe. You've been up here for way too long.

"I'll come with you."

"No, you won't," you say in the most authoritative tone you can muster. "You're falling over your own feet with tiredness. You're in no state to help anyone. Stay here and I'll come back for you when it's safe."

"But I have to help-"

"No, you don't. Stay here." You rush downstairs before Xefros can argue further, leaping the steps five, six at a time. You jump to the ground floor with both feet and turn sharply towards the glass walkway, but you're tackled to the ground the moment you open the door. The lanky woman from earlier is on top of you, and you're so taken by surprise that you can barely piece together what's happening before you hit the floor.

"I'm going to make you hurt," she says as she stands up, towering over your prone body. She pulls a switchblade from her belt and flicks it out. It sparkles in the dim neon light shining in from outside.

Enough of this; it's getting old. You throw your hands up and pour as much light as you can through them, shining a beam so powerful that your eyes sting and numbness spreads up your arms. The woman, who doesn't have your resistance to your own light, shrieks in pain and falls backwards, writhing around on the floor as she tries in vain to block the light by pressing her hands over her eyes.

You quash the light and stand up. The woman wails as she crawls along the floor on her hands and knees, staring sightlessly into the distance with red, watering eyes. You shove her away with your foot—less a kick and more a prod away from the stairs, because you don't want her and Xefros meeting. You might have temporarily blinded her, but you don't feel any remorse about it. She did draw a knife on you, after all. Besides, unlike Hippok, she didn't keep on staring long past the point she lost her vision. She'll probably have her sight back in a few minutes, which is more than enough time for you to collect Skylla and Xefros and get out of here.

You head back through the walkway to the garage. The huge garage doors are lowered shut again, and the catwalk has dropped down from its supporting wires and crashed to the floor. In the centre of the room, Skylla is being restrained with her hands behind her back by the stocky human man, who's obviously having trouble keeping his grip on her. She's covered in cuts and bruises and there's a bronze smear of blood across the side of her face. In front of her, Zebruh is holding his concrete disc in one hand and Skylla's telescopic halberd in the other. The river of dark blue blood that spouted from his nose has stained his face and the front of his waistcoat, and he looks about as injured as Skylla. As you burst through the door he turns to face you, fury glowing in his dark amber eyes.

"You again," he snarls.

"Let her go, Zebruh," you shout back, trying to muster the same imperative tone you used with Xefros and feeling significantly less confident about it. You never quite realised how muscular Zebruh was. When he said he was going to tear Skylla apart, you didn't realise that was a threat he could realistically carry out.

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" Zebruh roars, flinging the halberd at you with impressive force. You barely duck underneath it in time, so you don't notice as he leaps across the room in a single bound until he collides with you. Both of you tumble to the ground and before you can even right yourself Zebruh is kneeling on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground with his weight. His face, matted with dried blue blood, is contorted into a vicious, fanged scowl. As you struggle to get out from underneath him, he hefts the block of concrete up into the air with both hands. You blast a pulse of light from your entire body, causing him to snarl and flinch away. He drops the concrete block to one side and you try to wrest him off you but he hits you in the side of the face with the base of his fist. The blow is so forceful that you swear you hear your neck crack.

As you lie there, disoriented from the blow to your head, Zebruh growls, puts one huge hand over your face and squeezes, simultaneously digging his claws into the side of your head and crushing your skull. The pain is so intense that you can't help but scream, and no matter how much light you emit or how desperately your fingers claw at his face and hands, you can't stop this pressure from crushing you.

There's a flash of violet light and a crackle of electricity and the pressure on your head is immediately lifted as Zebruh flies off to the side. You roll to one side, half-moaning and half-sobbing in relief, furiously gulping down air.

Xefros flickers into view above you, a concerned look on his face and his arms outstretched. "Did he hurt you?" he asks.

"Thank you! Thank you!" you say as you grab his hand and rise to your feet.

"Now we're even," he says, flashing a weary grin at you. The violet glow behind his eyes is much dimmer, and his face is haggard and exhausted. You're too grateful for his help for words.

As you massage the sides of your face, you turn to help Skylla. She's currently struggling in the grip of the stocky man, who's barely hanging on as she twists in his grip. "Skylla, shut your eyes!" you shout.

You worry for a nanosecond that Skylla won't know what you mean because you didn't use whatever the ridiculous troll word for eye is, but she squeezes them shut without hesitation. You flash a blast of light at the man's face, who recoils with a yelp and lets go of Skylla. She spins round and throws a fist into his stomach, knocking him to the floor.

Behind you, Zebruh makes a noise halfway between a roar and a hoarse scream. "You're all going to pay for this!" You look round to see the laanky woman helping to pull him from a crater in the far wall.

"Did you throw him all that way by yourself?" you ask Xefros.

He nods and gives you a weary grin.

"That's impressive. You could give Miss Miracle a run for her money."

You hear the rumbling of machinery behind you as a sliver of neon light slowly begins to grow on the floor.

"We have to get out of here," Skylla calls. She's standing at the controls for the garage doors, and you don't hesitate to run towards them. Grabbing Xefros' hand as you run past him, you duck under the doors and out into the cool night sky, Skylla close behind you. To your right, you can see a faint line of orange light on the horizon as the sunrise cuts through the jagged peaks of the city skyline.

"We can't take that blueblood in a fight," Skylla says. "We need to put as much distance between us and him as fast as we can."

"Captain, what about the safe house? It's not that far," says Xefros.

"Out of the question. I ain't leading those freaks back there."

"But if we can get Ardata to-"

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Zebruh roars. You spin round in time to see him duck under the garage door, Skylla's halberd clenched tightly in his fists. "After all the trouble you've caused, I'm going to..."

The whoosh of a jet engine above you distracts Zebruh. He looks up at the sky and you follow, hoping beyond hope that Jude might have brought Langly along with some assistance. But that engine is much too deep to be Langly's.

You switch to your infravision and see a dark, humanoid shape hovering high above you, almost impossible to pick out against the dark, pre-dawn sky. It holds out an arm and an orange bead of light flies from it down towards you. You squint, trying to make out what it could be. You only realise what it is when it's far too close to the ground.

"That's a missile! Everybody-"

The fire station erupts into flames, the explosion picking you up off your feet and tossing you through the air. You land in a heap on the floor as concrete and debris rains down around you. Every inch of your body is in agony and your ears are ringing so loudly you can't hear anything else. You pick yourself up, ignoring the now familiar ache that throbs through your entire body. Nothing seems to be broken this time, though. That's an improvement over the last time you were...

The last time you were what? The glimpse of a memory, barely out of reach, dangles just beyond your conscious mind.

You look back towards the burning wreckage of the fire station and the street between you and it, which is now full of pieces of the destroyed building. You can't see Xefros, Skylla or Zebruh anywhere, but you can see the humanoid figure that was floating in the air a moment ago much clearer now.

It steadily descends to the ground, limned by a soft green light. You can see it clearly with the illumination of the burning building behind it, and the recognition of just what it is is like ice water in your veins. Jude rants about this thing all the time, but you never believed it was real. And yet here it is, hovering just a few yards away from you.

It looks like a tall, metallic humanoid, wearing black armour adorned with spikes. Instead of a head it has a dome of smooth, black glass, halfway between a motorcycle helmet and the helmet of a space suit. Its face is wholly featureless except for two red points of light like malevolent eyes, staring right at you.

The humanoid touches down on the ground with a soft step and tilts it head in your direction. It throws its right hand out to the side with a blur of motion that's almost too fast for your eyes to follow. A long, sharp blade flicks out of its forearm, extending from its elbow to half an inch beyond its extended fingertips. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, it puts two fingers of its left hand to where a person's ear would be.

"Our informant was right, boss," the Lancer says in a dispassionate, digitised voice. "Yeah, I have a visual on the human Power. No, this won't take long."

Chapter Text

> ===>

The Lancer stands in front of you, its black, spiky form silhouetted by the burning building behind it. "Good evening," it says in a quiet, polite, digitised voice, "You'll be coming with me." The sinister, red glare of its eyes pins you where you stand, and it takes a few slow steps towards you with such fluidity and purpose that you can't tell whether it's a person or a machine.

You want to run—you need to run—but the storm of fear and sheer disbelief whirling around in your head is too overwhelming to think about. This isn't real, some part of your brain continues to protest. The Lancer isn't real. It's nothing but a modern-day boogeyman. It can't really be here!

And yet, despite your firmest of convictions, the Lancer is definitely here in front of you. The air is thick with swirling ash and concrete dust from the destroyed fire station but you hardly notice it. The roar of the the flames, your aching body; all of these are are just as faint. There's only you, the Lancer and the rapidly shrinking gap between the two of you. There's nowhere for you to run. There's nowhere for you to hide.

A savage yell from your right breaks the silence as a mound of broken concrete begins to shudder and fall apart. Zebruh claws his way out of the wreckage and lifts himself to his feet. He's covered in so much concrete dust that the only colour on him is the indigo blood dripping from his lips and his furious, amber-coloured eyes. "You fucker!" he spits, dragging Skylla's halberd (now bent at an alarming angle) from the wreckage he was pinned under. "Mike and Ruby were still in there! And you dropped a building on them!"

The Lancer turns to face Zebruh, its head tilting to the side in what might be amusement. "And there's the Alternian," it says to itself with satisfaction before placing its left hand—the one that doesn't have a long blade extending up the entire length of the forearm—to the side of its head again. "Hey, boss. Just found him. Yeah, he has to be the one. The Alternian named 'Zeh-something'. Yeah, I just watched him move half a building worth of concrete like it was nothing."

Whatever the Lancer says next is drowned out by Zebruh's furious, rattling yell as he charges at the machine. He lifts Skylla's halberd above his head but the Lancer sidesteps the downswing with ease and plants a knee into his stomach. Zebruh grunts in pain but before he has a chance to react, the Lancer grabs him by the hair and throws him fifteen feet into the air as if he didn't weigh anything.

"Really?" asks the Lancer as Zebruh crashes back to the ground, "Is that all you can muster? How pitiful." As Zebruh moans and struggles to lift himself up onto his arms, the Lancer takes a couple of unhurried steps over to where Skylla's halberd clattered to the ground and picks it up. "Who let you outside with this? Why, you could hurt somebody with something this sharp."

"Guh," Zebruh grunts as he clambers onto one knee, "Shut up."

As Zebruh starts to stand up, the Lancer lifts Skylla's halberd above his head and snaps it in half with a quick flick of his wrists and tosses each half aside. He reaches a hand out towards one of Zebruh's feet, and a soft, green light begins to shine around the tips of the Lancer's fingers and the outline of Zebruh's leg. It flicks its hand towards the cloudy, smoke-choked sky and Zebruh lets out a terrified scream as he shoots up as if launched from a cannon, only to come to a complete stop in mid-air and crash back to the ground as the Lancer throws its arm back down.

There's a sickening crunch as Zebruh hits the floor, muffled somewhat by the crackling of the burning fire station and the Lancer's callous, digitised chuckle. It lifts its arm to send Zebruh flying into the air again and crashes him back down a second time, and a third, and a fourth and a fifth time until his screams turn into whimpers and the small section of asphalt beneath him turns into a blue-soaked crater. Finally satisfied, the Lancer drops its arm and the green glow fades. With a puff of steam, a thin, black cylinder shoots out from the top of its spine. One end blazes like a rocket as it shoots off in Zebruh's direction, where it splinters apart into a ring-shape, latches around his ankles and hoists him into the air so that he's dangling with his hands a metre away from the ground. Throughout all of this, Zebruh continues to growl and snarl like a wounded animal, and you can't imagine how much pain he must be in. Sure, not five minutes ago he was trying to hurt you, but he doesn't deserve any of this.

"How are you still making noise?" the Lancer asks. "I know you trolls are meant to be hardy, but that really should have knocked all the fight out of you. I daresay that would have stunned Lord English himself."

Zebruh groans and spits blood in response.

"Oh, well," the Lancer sighs, "I guess that will have to do. As for you-" Oh, God, he's looking in your direction, "-Unless you want to share his fate, you'll lie on the ground and put your hands on your head."

Screw that. You're not letting the Lancer take you anywhere. You turn and sprint faster than you've ever ran in your life, with no goal or destination in mind except for getting as far away from this monster as you can.

"Oh, do give up," the Lancer calls after you. You leap over a chunk of concrete the size of a bathtub and take the first turning you can down a narrow side street. You have to try and outrun that thing, even though in the back of your mind you know it's never going to happen. That being said, five minutes ago you had no idea that it even existed, so maybe you should stop making assumptions about these sorts of things.

For the first time in your life, you wish you'd listened to Jude's conspiracy theories. If only Frohike was still here so he could tell you what to do. Even if he couldn't, it would help just to know that somebody was watching out for you. The only other people here you can count on are Skylla and Xefros. Putting aside the fact that you only met them tonight, you have no idea where they are or if they survived the blast.

You really hope they're okay.

You turn another corner onto a street blocked by the rusting, tyre-less chassis of an SUV. At the end of the street, you can see the flickering orange glow of the burning fire station. You must have ran in a circle in your panic. There's no time to second-guess your route now, though. You just have to keep moving and hope you can shake off the Lancer. You rush forwards and hop onto the bonnet to leap over it, but the moment your feet touch the metal the entire vehicle is suffused with a pale, green glow. Panic hits you like a bullet to the brain, but you don't have time to think before the car shudders beneath you and shoots into the sky, bucking you off like a rodeo bull. You careen through the air and hit the road, yelping in pain as your body cracks against the asphalt and the air bursts from your lungs.

Every breath is a struggle as you lie on the ground, struggling to get moving again. You flip over onto your back just in time to see the green glow around the SUV floating above you fade away. You roll to the side faster than you've ever moved for anything in your life, muffling a scream as the ground batters your aching ribs. The car collides with the road right beside you with a bang so loud that your ears ring, showering you with shards of broken glass as the windscreen shatters.

You grit your teeth and stagger to your feet, even though your legs are wobbling, but before you can stand up straight you feel a hand between your shoulder blades. Five metallic points dig in as the Lancer clutches the material of your suit and throws you sideways into a wall. Your head strikes the brick so hard that the world goes white for a second. When the stars floating in your vision begin to fade, you find yourself slumped against the bottom of the wall. The Lancer is standing over you, idly running the index finger of its left hand along the blade protruding from its right arm. Those red eyes shine down at you like spotlights.

"My, my. You didn't think running would actually work, did you?"

"Oi!" shouts a voice—Skylla's voice!—from the end of the alley. The Lancer looks up and something hits its head with enough force to knock it off balance. As the bladed end of Skylla's halberd clatters to the floor in front of you, the Lancer staggers backwards, flailing its arms as it falls and sending a stream of sparks into the air as one hand digs into the far wall for support. The side of its head is covered in a cobwebby mosaic of cracks, and as it regains its footing, it traces a finger along them.

The Lancer's head whips round to face the end of the alley. "You don't know just how bad a decision that was," it says, its voice ice cold and emotionless but booming so loudly that your teeth rattle. As it turns to face the direction the halberd was thrown, it starts to let out that whirring, bassy hum you remember from earlier, like a jet engine but lower in pitch. The soles of its feet light up with green light as it levitates of the ground, and there's a hiss of hydraulics as ten slender rods slide out from either side of its spine. In the dim light, they look a little bit like wings, or at least they do until they begin to glow green, with flickers of shadow inside as if something inside is spinning with intense speed.

The shaft of the halberd flies towards the Lancer but it catches it with one hand and launches it right back like a javelin. It leans forward and shoots off in a blur of movement, blasting you with a shockwave of hot air as it speeds away.

Skylla has probably only given you a few minutes, and you're more grateful for them than anything else you've been given in your entire life. You need to stand up, but being thrown about like a rag doll has knocked all the energy out of you.

With a flash of violet light, Xefros flickers into view in front of you. He's in a really bad way, covered from head to toe in welts and bruises and soot and concrete dust, with a nasty gash on his forehead that's gleaming with brown blood. But he's here and holding a hand out to you, and right now he looks like your guardian angel.

You grab hold of his hand and he pulls you up, with a lot of pained grunting from both of you. When you're standing on your feet again, you try to pull your hand away but he clenches tight.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"We have to save Skylla," he says. As exhausted and injured as he looks, you can see the determination in his eyes, lit by the faintest sliver of purple light.

"I just want my hand back," you say. The thought of leaving Skylla hadn't even crossed your mind.

"Not yet," Xefros says. He grimaces in concentration and then both of you fade from view. If Xefros' hand wasn't still gripping yours, you would have jumped with surprise.

"Is this your Power, too?" you ask. You know there are more important matters at the moment, but you can't help but be impressed. When you first inherited your Power, you could barely outshine a lightbulb.

"I don't know if I have much left in me," he replies, "But I have a plan, I think, if I can keep it up." He tugs your hand in the direction the Lancer went and you follow, trying to avoid tripping over your invisible feet.

The two of you walk out of the alley, back to the stretch of road in front of the burning fire station. Zebruh is still suspended upside-down, not too far from you, gnashing his teeth and shouting obscenities despite the fact his face has turned blue. Skylla and the Lancer are fighting in the middle of the street, and the Lancer's unbridled savagery is almost too much to watch. As you and Xefros reach a crumbling, waist-high brick wall near the two of them, the Lancer extends the blade on its right arm further out and lunges at Skylla, driving it through her stomach and sending up a spray of bronze blood. You clap your free hand over your mouth to suppress a horrified scream but Skylla hardly seems to notice it. She shoves the Lancer away and, holding a hand over the rapidly spreading patch of umber on her shirt, reaches for a baseball bat-sized chunk of rebar lying on the ground nearby.

You once read that trolls had evolved to be strong and hardy because of the savagery of life on Alternia, and as a result they can shrug off injuries that would kill a human. Until now, you didn't quite realise what that meant.

You feel a tug on your hand and crouch down to follow it. "You said you had a plan?" you ask, trying to keep the fear and desperation out of your voice.

"Sort of," Xefros replies from next to you.

Your stomach drops all the way to the floor. "Sort of?" you hiss.

"Just wait here until you get my signal." Xefros lets go of your hand and you shimmer back into sight.

"What signal?" you ask, but there's no reply.

Behind you, the whirring noise emanating from the Lancer becomes louder and higher in pitch. It almost sounds angrier. "It's time that you experience the consequence of your actions," the Lancer says, its icy voice crackling with barely-restrained fury.

You peek over the top of the wall. The Lancer is floating a few metres from the ground, holding Skylla by the collar of her shirt. Her black hair is matted with bronze blood and dirt. The Lancer smashes its fist into the side of her head, knocking her to the floor. It extends a blade from its left arm so that both arms match and delicately hovers to the ground.

You can't just sit here and passively watch this awful scene unfold. So much for Xefros and his plan. You have to do something to stop this, no matter how rash or futile. If that signal of his doesn't appear in five... four...

Your attention is caught by Zebruh, who's still struggling against his ankle restraints while his arms dangle uselessly below him. With a pop, a spark and a flash of light, the device holding his ankles in the air snaps in half and he falls to a heap on the ground. He picks himself up, totters to a standing position, and then his dark amber eyes lock with yours and narrow with fury.

Zebruh points at you, says something that you can't hear from this distance (but you're certain was probably vile) and stamps over in your direction. Just as you're wondering how things could possibly get worse, there's a reassuring squeeze at your shoulder and your body shimmers out of sight beneath you. Zebruh's eyes go wide as he skids to a halt for a moment and then he snarls and starts to charge in your direction. You find your feet just in time to fling yourself out of the way as he leaps at the wall you were hiding behind, planting a drop kick where your head was with enough force to send the wall crashing down.

The Lancer turns away from Skylla, sweeping its baleful red eyes right past you to glare at Zebruh. "Strange," it says, "You were trussed up. How are you not paralysed?"

"You can't hold me!" Zebruh bellows, picking up a basketball-sized lump of wall from the ground. "You're nothing to me!"

There's a tug at your sleeve. You let Xefros pull you past the two as they square up to each other. You reach Skylla, who's currently holding herself off the ground with her arms. She flinches back from something unseen and then fades from view.

"What in-" she starts to say, but Xefros' voice shushes her.

"We have to get out of here," he says. "Can you stand?"

"I think—ngh!—yeah, I can stand."

"This way, then."

You follow Xefros away from the carnage and down another alley. You risk a glance over your shoulder before you turn the corner and see the Lancer kicking Zebruh around like a hacky sack. Even though you don't exactly feel sorry for him, part of you can't help but feel bad for abandoning him. And then there's the two humans who were inside the fire station when it was destroyed. You can't begin to fathom how awful it must be, stuck under the rubble with flames all around. Just thinking about it makes you shudder. Nobody deserves that, and you're sick of people rationalising it as, 'Oh, the timeline's broken, it's not like they're going to die.'

You run down the maze of alleys, taking turn after turn seemingly at random as Xefros leads you and Skylla away from the Lancer. You assume he has some destination in mind, but before long he starts to slow down. "Hold on," he says in between heavy gulps of air. "My head... I can't..."

The three of you shimmer back into view and Xefros passes out, collapsing to the ground like a felled tree.

"Xef!" Skylla shouts, rushing to his side. She flips him onto his front and tries to shake him awake but he doesn't so much as stir. If not for the soft rise and fall of his chest, you'd think he'd died on you.

You're about to ask Skylla if going to the safe house is still off the cards but you're interrupted by a familiar whir echoing from the end of the alley. Skylla stares towards it and then back to you. Her wide, fearful eyes are lit by a faint, green glow that's getting steadily stronger. In unison, without having to say a word, the two of you drag Xefros' body into a door well and then you turn to face the glowing light, ready for a fight you both know you have no hope of winning.

The light gets steadily brighter, and you realise it's not coming from the end of the alleyway but the top of it. You look up and see the Lancer, limned with green light as it flies across the smoke-filled sky. One hand is holding onto a figure dangling over its shoulder, who has to be Zebruh. The other is touching the side of its head. In the still silence of the alley you can clearly hear what it's saying.

"No, I don't know where they went, boss! I think the human with the light powers turned them all invisible or something. I'm telling you, one second she was right there and the next she wasn't.

"No, boss, I'm not going to carry on searching. It'll be morning soon. I'm dropping this troll off before Miss Miracle comes to investigate the explosion.

"Sonar? Boss, there's only so much room in this thing. Where am I supposed to put a sonar array alongside the missiles and the tractor beam and the blades and the-

"Yeah, I know, I know. Of course I got the troll Power, boss, do you even have to ask? Yeah, uh-huh, super strength, just like your informant said.

"La Bête Noire? No, I haven't, but I'll keep an eye out.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be there soon."

As the Lancer passes overhead, you and Skylla both release breaths you hadn't realised you'd been holding.

"The Lancer," Skylla says. "I never woulda reckoned in a million years that it was real."

"Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you," you say. "Though mostly I'm surprised we were able to escape. I don't know how much longer you could have fought him for."

"I'm a bronze," she says dismissively. "We're good at getting knocked around, even by troll standards. I reckon you could cut one of us in half if you rightly had to and it wouldn't be any kind of hardship."

"Wow. Let's, uh, let's hope that never happens."

"Yeah." Skylla leans against the wall and lets out a noise halfway between a sigh and a weary groan. "Wow, that was such a catastrophe."

"Not quite. We got Xefros out of there, didn't we?"

"That we did," she says, looking at him with a fond, weary smile. "I ain't too comfortable about his fainting spell, though. Think he's gonna be okay?"

"I think so," you say, hoping you sound more confident than you are. "He's probably just drained. He was using his Power a lot and he doesn't even have a Crown yet."

"Well he did a damn fine job. He saved both our hides back there."

"He really did. I don't want to imagine what the Lancer would have done to us if Xefros hadn't come to the rescue."

"It ain't worth thinking about, that's for sure," says Skylla. She leans down to pick Xefros up, shifting him into a piggyback carry even though it makes her grit her teeth and screw her eyes shut. "Consarn it, how can one tiny kid be so heavy?"

"I can help carry him! Don't hurt yourself!"

"Oh, I'll be fine. Thanks for the concern but I've had worse than this."

"Really?" You can't help but give her a suspicious look.

"Hmm, maybe not," she eventually concedes, "But I'll live. Say, do you want to come back to our safe house for a bit? You must be exhausted. Besides, I'm sure Xefros'll be mighty grateful to you. He'll want to see you when he wakes up, I'm sure."

"Yeah, that'd be nice" you say, "But I can't stay for too long."

"That's fine. After all your help tonight, you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like. But we'd best be heading off. I don't want to stay out on these streets any longer than we've got to."

"You and me both," you say, falling into step beside her as you begin your journey back through the city's deserted streets. Above you, the blanket of smoke from the burning building is starting to clear, and through it you can see the faintest hint of dawn light against the night sky.

Chapter Text

> Joey: Return victorious.

You walk back to the safe house on weary legs. Above you, the sky is streaked with the pastel pinks and oranges of early dawn. It's still cool and quiet from last night's rain, and the air is filled with that distinctive petrol smell, but you're too tired and in too much pain to appreciate it properly.

You steal occasional glances at Skylla when she's not looking. Even though she says she doesn't want to make a big deal out of it, she's clearly suffered much worse than you tonight and you can't help but feel worried about her. Sure, she says bronzebloods are tough, but every step makes her hiss and clench her teeth. Nevertheless she walks on without complaints, as if the dead weight of Xefros slung over her back isn't even there. You admire her determination. You just wish she didn't need it.

There are so many things that you want to say to her—that you admire her, that you're grateful for everything she did tonight, that you just want her to put Xefros down for five minutes and catch her breath—but you can't find the words. After all, what good could words do for the stab wound in her stomach?

So instead you just walk in awkward silence and try to ignore the guilt crushing you like a sixteen ton weight.

When you reach the bombed factory from earlier, Skylla throws a hand out to stop you. "We shouldn't retrace our steps," she says, shaking her head, and sets off down the street without explanation. You rush to catch up to her, your mind buzzing with suspicion. Why is she suddenly so eager to take an alternate route when you've been practically walking in your footsteps so far? Is it something about the factory, or does she know something you don't?

Sure, over the last few hours, you've come to trust and respect Skylla immensely. She's strong, steadfast, and cooler under pressure than you could ever hope to be. If she's not going to tell you, you can live with that.. But, you can't help but feel bothered about what she might be keeping from you.

You're distracted from your thoughts by the whir of engines high in the air. You both freeze, scanning the skies for the familiar silhouette or green glow that means the Lancer's caught up with you. But something doesn't seem right. The noise you can hear is nothing like the Lancer's rumbling, jet engine roar.

You don't recognise the sound until it's too late. A small, silver crescent, barely larger than a textbook, streaks through the sky like a frisbee. It plummets down towards you and smacks you in the face before your brain can catch up with your eyes and ears.

"Ouch!" you yelp, more from surprise than actual pain. Langly hardly weighs anything. It's like being hit by a paper plate.

The drone reorients itself to float in a horizontal position, with the tips of its C-shaped body pointing towards you. "You're okay!" says Jude's voice, emanating from Langly's speakers with the familiar crackle of compressed audio. Even through the distortion, you can tell he must have been crying because of the panicky waver in his voice. "I was so worried but I couldn't do anything!" he adds with a loud, gross sniff.

"Everything's alright, Seer," you say. "I owe you an apology, though. The Lancer-"

"I saaaaaaaaw!" Jude wails. "I was there! You were trying to run and I didn't know how to help but you couldn't even see me anyway!" He starts crying, and your heart aches for him. To have projected alongside you during your encounter with the Lancer must have been terrifying. You were so caught up with trying to escape that you didn't realise the horror of it all until you got away. You can't imagine how awful it must have been, watching the entire thing unfold but being unable to affect it. Even though neither you nor Jude are the hugging type, you desperately want to give him one right now. Still, even if he wasn't miles away, what good could a hug possibly do? For the second time in five minutes you wish you had more than just your useless words.

"Cheer up, Seer," Skylla says, forced levity in her voice. "I told you I'd keep the Knight safe, didn't I?"

Langly swivels round and you hear a sharp intake of breath. "Whoa, holy shit-"

"-Language," you say.

"-Skylla, you look awful!"

Skylla chuckles and continues walking. You and Langly follow alongside her. "I've had worse," she says. "'Sides, you shoulda seen the other guy."

Jude's stopped crying now, but his voice keeps hitching occasionally. "I did," he says, and then that hushed, conspiratorial whisper creeps back into his voice. "The Lancer was beyond furious. Promise me you'll lay low for a while."

"Pfft, whatever," Skylla says with a shrug, "I ain't scared of a robot made of glass."

"Made of glass?" Jude sputters incredulously. "That was just a frictionless surface layer! It's not glass all the way through!"

"Eh, my point still stands. It wasn't all that tough."

"But it stabbed you like eleven times!"

"So what? That's what redundant organs are for."

"It's strong enough to take Miss Miracle in a fight!"

"She's overrated."

"It has missiles for arms!"

"Come on. If I was frightened of everyone packing heavy weaponry, I'd run screaming from every seadweller I passed on the street."

"I don't get you!" Jude says. "Why are you not scared of the Lancer?"

"Why, that's a secret," Skylla says. She takes a step and then stops, spinning round to face the both of you with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. "But hey, I think if anyone deserves to know it, it's you two. Y'all can keep a secret, right?"

"Mm-hm," Jude says without a moment's hesitation. Of course he's going to be interested. The slightest mention of secrets and he's captivated.

"Yeah, your secret's safe with us" you say. To be honest, you expect this to be a big production over nothing at all. You've only known Skylla for a few hours and you're sure she couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it.

Skylla leans in close to you and Langly and despite yourself you crane in as well. When she speaks, it's so quiet that you can barely hear her over the soft thrumming of the drone's engines.

"I'm actually an adult," she says.

So what? you think. She's definitely more mature than the other trolls you've met tonight, but what does her age have to do with anything?

"Whaaaaat?!" Jude shouts, entirely as surprised as you aren't. "That can't be right! That doesn't make any sense!"

Skylla shoots Langly a satisfied grin, eyes raised as if to say, Yeah, I know, right?

Well you don't know, and you feel dumb for being unable to see what appears to be the very obvious elephant in the room. "I don't get what all the fuss is about," you say.

"Adult trolls are killing machines!" Jude hisses. "Ten feet tall, skin like shadows, claws like swords. When they come of age they're all sent off-world so they don't murder each other. Most trolls in Neo City are kids because they're the only ones who were able to escape the colony worlds. All the adults were all off fighting wars and invading planets and stuff."

"Not all adults look like that," you say. You're no good at guessing troll ages, but you know Mr. Captor is about twenty-four in human years and he just looks like a grown-up troll, the same way an adult human looks like a grown-up child. If you had to guess, Skylla looks even younger than Mr. Captor; maybe about seventeen or so.

"Yeah, not all of them do," Skylla says, "Especially if they haven't had their final molt yet. But if you're my age, you should."

"And how old are you?"

"Gee, well I don't rightly know. Even before all this timeline hokum, I wasn't exactly counting my wriggling days. But I think I'm about fourteen sweeps old?"

Embarrassingly, you have to pause for a second to run the mental maths on that. You can't believe you're so tired that doubling numbers is too much for you. There are two troll years in one human year, right? Yeah, you're pretty sure that's how it goes. "So you're about twenty-eight in human years, yeah?"

"Uh, if you say so," Skylla says.

"Well that's not that old. Anyway, if it's not rude to ask, how come you look so young?"

"Ain't rude at all. When I was eight or so I had to go outside during the day to fend off some bandits looking to kidnap my lusus. I was stuck under the rays of Alternia's sun for too long and it stunted my growth. I've looked like this ever since."

"Can sunlight really do that?" On the one hand, you're well aware that trolls are susceptible to sunlight, but that sounds like such a ridiculous over-exaggeration that you want to disbelieve it out of principle. Then again, heaven knows skepticism hasn't been doing you any favours tonight.

"Alternia's sun could," Skylla says. "It was mighty fierce. But you don't have to take my word for it. I can prove it to y'all."

Skylla lifts a finger to one eye and pulls a coloured contact lens away. You tilt your head up to look at her eyes, one of which is now a deep, russet brown.

...You don't get it. So she has brown eyes instead of black. How does that prove anything?

Next to you, Langly's speakers crackle as Jude makes the biggest gasp you've probably ever heard. Once again, he's privy to some sort of shocking development and you're completely in the dark. "What?" you ask, sounding tetchier than you mean to.

"Troll irises fill with their blood colour as they become adults," Jude says. "If your eyes are just black, that means you're still a kid."

"And if they're brown, it means you're all grown up," you say.

"Correct."

"How do you know so much about trolls, anyway?"

"How do you know so little? Have you not even read the Wikipedia article about them?"

"I don't spend my spare time reading Wikipedia articles at all, you nerd," you say, although that's not entirely true. You've been known to read Wikipedia articles when you're bored; mostly about animals you wish you'd be able to see and old Hollywood actors. There's also the article about your mom, which you've read so many times you can probably recite it word for word, but that's a very different matter.

"There you have it," Skylla says as she replaces the contact lens. "That's why I ain't afraid of anything. Anything this city throws at me, well, Alternia was way worse."

"That makes sense," you say. "Earlier, when I asked you what a moirail is, you talked about life on Alternia as if you'd actually been there. I didn't really pay much attention to it, but it makes sense now."

"Hey," Jude interrupts, "if you're an adult, isn't it weird being around kids all the time?"

"Not really," Skylla says with a shrug. "What's weird is being around adults who are younger than me but who treat me like a child." She stops walking and turns to face you. "The reason I wanted to tell y'all this was to prove that..." She trails off, gesturing with her arms as she searches for the words. "I dunno," she eventually says, putting her hands on her hips, "'Thank you,' I suppose, or 'I trust you.' Not many humans would risk their columns for a bunch of lowblooded trolls they've never met before. It means a lot to me that you wanted to help Xefros tonight without-"

Jude screams into the mic, and you and Skylla both cover your ears at the awful screech. "AAAAAAAAAAA! Stop! Saying! His! Name!"

"Trust me, Seer, it's way too late for that," you say. "I think I mentioned, but these guys all have some really weird ideas about us Powers."

"Y'know, you never did properly explain why all y'all get so worked up about saying names," Skylla says.

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "For the love of... I'm not explaining it all again! Get Fozzer to explain it to you when we get back."

You walk on in silence for a little while longer until Jude speaks up. "So does anyone else know? That you're an adult?"

"Not really," Skylla says, gritting her teeth as she adjusts Xefros' position. "I don't like telling people. It makes things weird. The tetrarch's the only other person who knows."

"Ah," you say, "That makes sense."

"What d'you mean?" she asks.

"Now I get how you can stand him."

Skylla just smirks. "You think I only act nice to him 'cause he knows my secret? Nah, that ain't it at all. Trust me, he's a nice guy deep down. Tonight probably just wasn't the best time to get to know him."

"If you say so." You trust Skylla, but when it comes to her opinions of other people you'll have to reserve judgement.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

> ===>

After a little more walking, you start to recognise where you are. The sense of relief that washes over you when you realise the safe house isn't much further very nearly overwhelms you, especially as the long walk has only intensified the aches in your body. You want nothing more than to have a bath and sleep for a century. It's just a shame that you don't have a bath at home and that school is never cancelled for more than a day after the Tyrian Rain.

When the safe house comes into view above the tops of the buildings, Skylla pulls out her communicator, which now has an ugly crack on the screen. As she types, the shifting of her shoulders nudges Xefros back into consciousness. He groans and wiggles his legs a little, startling Skylla so much that she nearly drops the communicator.

"Xefros, you're awake!" she says.

Langly buzzes over in front of him. "Good to have you back," Jude says.

"Where am I?" he asks. The purple glow in his eyes that you saw earlier has completely disappeared and his voice is now quiet and timid. He doesn't sound anything like he did earlier. The initial rush of his Power has completely faded and he's he's back to his old self, whatever that is. "Captain?"

"Take it easy, Xefros. You're safe now."

"Can I get down?"

You and Langly move out of the way as Skylla sets Xefros down on his feet. He staggers as he tries to walk and you rush over to him to hold him steady.

"Thanks," he says, steadying himself.

"No problem," you reply. "How are you feeling?"

"Not great. Like a plateau rag someone's squeezed all the water out of."

"A... plateau rag?" you ask, trying your best not to sound absolutely dumbfounded.

"Ya, you know, like a rag to clean your nutrition plateaus," he says as if that's supposed to make perfect sense. You can't cope with all this troll terminology. It's ridiculous. Every now and again an incomprehensible word comes along when you're not expecting it and not only derails your train of thought but sends it crashing down to the bottom of a rocky valley.

Xefros turns away to say something to Skylla and immediately does a double-take at you, his mouth hanging open in surprise. "Wait, it's you! You're the one who saved me when the Kindness arrived! I never got the chance to say thanks!"

"You don't have to thank me," you say. "I reckon we're even after you saved us from the Lancer."

Xefros' eyebrows shoot up to the sky. "You don't, uhh, think the Lancer is actually real, do you?"

"He attacked and you saved us," you say. "Don't you remember?"

Xefros turns to look at Skylla who just shrugs. "She's right. A robot with red eyes came down outta the sky and threw us around like it was an Imperial drone and we were a couple'a mutants. I never would'a believed it existed either if I hadn't seen it with my own lookstubs."

"I don't remember any of that," Xefros says, frustrated. "I can remember getting to the safehouse but everything after that is a mess. But... maybe that explains why you both look so hurt."

"You've been through a lot tonight, so don't worry about missing a little time," you say. "It's completely natural." As you've been talking, the communicator in Skylla's hand has been buzzing and beeping away. "Aren't you going to answer that?" you ask.

She does and her face rapidly contorts into a scowl as she reads. "For pity's sake," she growls, "How could he?"

"What's wrong?" you ask.

"Nothing. Well... No, it's nothing. Just something I have to deal with quickly. Y'all can make it back to the safe house alright without me, right?"

"It doesn't sound like nothing, Captain," Xefros says. "What's wrong? I can help now, remember? I have a Power."

"It's nothing important," she replies, and you wouldn't believe her for a second even if you couldn't see the anger in her eyes or hear the tension in her voice. "I have to go meet Fozzer," she continues. "I'll meet you guys at the safe house later, so go on ahead without me." She runs past you, back the way you came.

"Let us come with you!" Xefros calls. "I want to help!"

Skylla rounds the corner without responding.

"That... was very weird," Xefros says.

"It was," you say, "But I'm sure she must have her reasons. She seems very dependable." You desperately want to know what those reasons are but you know you're not going to find out today. Who knows, maybe if you meet Skylla again in the future—and a large part of you hopes you will—she'll tell you then.

"Ya, she really is," Xefros replies. "She's so great at everything. Just like you!"

"Aww, thanks." You can't help but blush. Being compared to someone like Skylla might just be the best compliment you've received in a while.

"I mean it! You were so cool down in the sewers, fending off those maniacs with your laser beams! You're awesome!"

"I'm just glad I was able to save you," you say. You don't have the heart to tell Xefros that your 'laser beams' are nothing more than bright lights. "Not many of your rebel friends thought I'd be able to."

"Loads of them hate masked Powers. Not me, though! I think you're all really cool!" He falters for a second, picking at his sharp, black fingernails as he finds his words. "Uhh, don't tell anyone I said this, but now I have a Power of my own I, um, I really want to become one of you guys."

"Really?" You have to admit, you're kind of surprised. After Marsti's spiteful attitude you assumed all the other rebels hated Powers just as much as her. You never would have imagined Xefros would say anything like that or have such a starstruck expression in his eyes.

"Ya, of course! This city's awful! I want to make it better! I want to fight criminals and do good deeds and protect innocent people!"

"You'd be good at it," Jude says from somewhere above you.

"You really mean it?" Xefros asks, looking up at Langly with excitement.

"Affirmative. Saw you enact plan to escape Lancer. You're smart, you think fast, you want to do the right thing. Ideal Power material."

"I agree," you say, "You'd be great at it."

"Oh wow, thank you!" Xefros says with a grin. He has huge bags under his eyes and he's tottering from tiredness, but that smile is so bright and infectious that you can't help but smile too. "Hearing you both say that has made all the bad stuff tonight worth it."

The two of you walk a little further, Xefros humming contentedly to himself. You're still exhausted but it's much more bearable now that he's has come out of his shell a little bit. It's like he emanates an aura of warmth and happiness. How can you feel bad around that?

As you walk past a jack-knifed lorry, he stops without warning and spins to face you. "Oh! I haven't even properly introduced myself yet!"

"You don't have to-" you begin to say, but he speaks right over you.

"I'm Xefros Tritoh! What's your name?"

He sticks a hand out and you shake it.

"I'm Joey Claire."

It's not until you let go of his hand that you realise what you've just done, and your blood turns to ice. You clap both hands over your mouth as if that could possibly do anything to help.

"Knight, you idiot!" Jude screeches. "What are you doing?!"

"What's wrong?" Xefros asks, face framed with worry. "Did I..." Realisation dawns on his face and he sputters over his words. "Oh, no! I asked you what your name was!"

And you told him like a complete idiot. What could have possessed you to make such a catastrophic mistake?

Wait. You know exactly what caused it. You must still be under the effects of Hippok's truth serum. How could you have forgotten about it after the Overseer's demonstration? And more importantly, what are you going to do now that you've just told your secret identity to a complete stranger?

"I'm so sorry," Xefros says, babbling with a guilty look on his face as if he was entirely responsible. "This is all my fault, I'm so stupid! Dammek's always getting on my case about names; why am I so bad at following basic instructions? I should've realised! Why am I always such a failure?"

You let out a deep sigh and carry on walking. "It's not your fault," you say.

"Yes, it is," Xefros says, scurrying to catch up with you. "I should know better! Argh, why didn't I ask what you're called instead? I'm really sorry for being so terrible at everything."

"It's fine. Stop apologising. I'm the one who slipped up."

"Sorry," Xefros says again, hanging his head.

You reach out and grab his shoulders. "Look at me for a second, okay?" You expect him to shrug you off or back away—it was a pretty blatant invasion of his personal space, after all—but instead he just stands there, moping, eyes fixed to the floor. "Please? I don't want to talk to your horns."

Xefros looks up at you. His eyes are burning with so much shame and self-loathing that you're overwhelmed. You want to explain that it's not his fault, but could anything you say possibly counter that? Even if it can't, you have to at least try, because watching him feel sorry for himself is almost unbearable.

Oh, right, he's still looking at you. You'd better stop clutching his shoulder like a weirdo and start actually talking. "Please don't say all that stuff. You're not stupid and you're not a failure, alright? You saved my life tonight. Even if you can't remember it, I owe you a lot."

"I..."

"This is my problem. It's got nothing to do with you and even if it did, you haven't done anything wrong so please don't apologise"

"...Okay," Xefros says, nodding. Even though you don't think he entirely agrees with you, you let go of his shoulders. You also take a step back, because you didn't realise just how close you'd gotten to him. His eyes back to the ground, Xefros adds, "Even so, I'm sorry for asking your name."

"Please, stop apologising." All of this grovelling is starting to test your patience. Sure, it was tragic a moment ago, but now you suspect he wasn't even really listening; either that or you're not going to get through to him as easily as you'd hoped.

Xefros' looks up to say something and his eyes flick to the top of your head. "Um, if it's any help, the anonymity effect is still working."

"Really? Oh, that's good to hear," you say with a sigh of relief. "I was dreading finding out."

"Ya, haha, um, at least I didn't ruin everything." He's still nervously clicking his fingernails together, but the slightest hint of a smile has crept back into the corners of his mouth.

"I'm surprised you even know what the anonymity effect is," you say. "None of your co-conspirators do."

"Ya, they all think Powers are dumb. But my hivemate's moirail is really vocal about supporting masked Powers. It's kind of, uh, intense; I don't know how he hasn't been snatched in his sleep by the secret police yet."

"So you found out about it through him?"

Xefros nods. "He let me borrow me a few Magnificent Miss Miracle comics and they were all so cool. I actually didn't know they were banned until after." Xefros chuckles. "I always wished I could help people like she does. When Dammek told me his plan for me to get in the Tyrian Rain it just seemed perfect."

Oh, right. You almost forgot it was Dammek's idea for Xefros to expose himself to the Tyrian Rain. You don't care a jot about the intricacies of alien romance. The kind of person who would make his boyfriend do something like that is nothing but a monster in your eyes. You force yourself to swallow your distaste, though: after all, you're trying to cheer Xefros up, not make him feel worse. "I was inspired by Miss Miracle, too. When I got my Power, I started helping people to be just like her"

"How did you start? It's kind of overwhelming to think about it all."

"Oh, definitely. I was clueless when I first started." You're fully aware you're still oversharing but at this point can it get any worse? "I had a mentor who showed me the ropes. He really helped a lot. I think without him I would've been so out of my depth."

"That's a good idea!" Xefros says. "Would... would you be my mentor?"

You really didn't expect that. "Why me?"

"Because you're so good at this!" Xefros shouts. "I know it's a lot to ask but I'll just screw everything up if I do it on my own. I want to save the world so badly. Maybe if you show me what I'm meant to be doing, I'll work out how?"

You hesitate for a moment because yikes, you're really not sure how to answer that. You thought Jude had self esteem problems but they don't come anywhere near to Xefros'.

Right on cue, Jude speaks up. "You can't seriously be considering this."

"Yes, actually, I am," you say, hoping you sound confident.

"It's a dumb idea! he shouts back. "We can't add a third person! We're not Team Charge! We risk the security of our operation by inviting unknown entities!"

"It's okay," Xefros says with the most heartbreakingly despondent sigh you've ever heard. "I don't want to cause any trouble for you. It was a stupid thing to ask."

"No, stop, you didn't let me say yes! It's not stupid, not at all. I'd love to show you the ropes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. You deserve the same chance to become a Power that I did."

"Knight, come on-" Jude says.

"No, shut it, I've made my mind up." And with that you march on ahead in the hope that he won't keep complaining, or at least you won't be able to hear him when he does.

You barely take five steps before the trolls' safe house comes into view at the end of a side-street. "Finally!" Xefros shouts, and runs past you.

Langly hangs back as the two of you make your way to the apartment block, Xefros sprinting down the street and you walking behind at a considerable distance. The building's front shutters are now up, and a pair of green deck chairs have been placed out front. When Xefros gets there, he immediately starts having an animated discussion with two trolls waiting outside. As you get close, you recognise one of the trolls as the goggle-wearing girl from earlier. The other troll is perched on the edge of a deck chair and wearing a neckerchief, a green, wide-brimmed hat and black overalls. As you get close to them, you catch the tail end of their conversation.

"Is it true you met the Lancer?" asks the troll in the hat.

"I told you, I don't remember a thing after leaving here," Xefros says, shaking his head.

"Well what matters is that you're okay," Goggles says. "I'm just glad you got back safely. If half of the things in Skylla's messages were true, it must have been awful." This is a whole other side to Goggles that you're seeing. Where was all this concern earlier?

"I can't imagine them either!"

Goggles' eyes flick between you and Xefros. You expect to see that familiar malice in her eyes and instead there's nothing but care and worry. "We all heard the explosion from here," she says, "I was fearing the worst, so thank you for bringing my co-conspirator back in one piece."

"You're welcome. It's my duty to help people, remember?"

Goggles nods. "I evidently underestimated you. Accept my apologies."

"Sure," you say. You suppose a please would be too much to ask for. That being said, you're definitely a fan of this new thing where she's not being outright hostile to you. It's a definite improvement over earlier.

"So... what are you going to do next?" asks the troll in the hat.

"I'm going to visit Dammek and then I'm going to sleep for a sweep and a half." Xefros says.

"Don't be ridiculous," Goggles says. "You're not going anywhere until you've had your ablutions." She grabs Xefros by the shoulders and spins him round. Wow, that kid really doesn't care about getting manhandled—er, trollhandled. "I don't know what this powder you're covered in is but it'll turn your sopor rancid. And after the night you've had, I have some scented detonators that will be perfect for unwinding."

"Noooo, I don't need any ablutions," Xefros whines, not moving to free himself from Goggles' grip.

"Uh, it's concrete dust," you pipe up. "That explosion you heard was the Lancer blowing up a building to... Huh. I'm not actually sure why."

The troll in the hat whistles. "Impressive," they say. "If you escaped that... You must really be something"

"She's so awesome," Xefros says, and you feel yourself blushing again. "I wish you two'd seen her! She... uh, what am I meant to call you?"

"The Knight of Light," Jude says, before you can open your mouth.

"Right, well she was so cool!"

Goggles folds her arms and gives you an appraising glare. "Hmm. I can't imagine what Dammek would say if he heard you singing the praises for a masked Power like this."

Welp, there's the hostility you were missing. It doesn't really faze you but for some reason Xefros winces like she physically struck him. "She... she saved my life," he says, muttering at the floor, "Can't I feel grateful to her for that?"

"...You wouldn't have actually died," says the troll in the hat.

Xefros doesn't reply to that.

"... Whatever." They stand up and stare gormlessly up at the sky. "...Nearly morning. I'm gonna go wake Lanque up."

"Good idea," Goggles says, "I suppose I'd better prepare our handover. Coming, Xefros?"

He sighs and looks at you. "In a bit. The Knight and I have some things to discuss.

"Okay."

You all just sort of stand there awkwardly for a few moments.

"What I mean," Xefros says, "Is that I want to speak to her privately. You two go in. I'll catch up."

Goggles and the troll in the hat awkwardly shuffle into the building. Xefros waits for them to leave and turns back to you. "So, do you still want to be my mentor?"

"Absolutely," you say before Jude can interrupt you again.

"That's great!" Xefros leans in close and whispers conspiratorially. "We should meet up as our ordinary troll—and, uh, human—selves. We'll pretend to be hanging out and secretly we'll make plans to save the world!"

That earnest smile is on Xefros' face again, and you can't help but giggle at that. "I think, just for the beginning, we should probably set our sights a little bit lower than saving the entire world."

"You're right," Xefros says with a sly grin. "Just the city for now, then."

"Uh, sure. Just the city. So when do you want to meet up? How about midday tomorrow? I don't have school."

Xefros grimaces. "Ugh, I forgot you humans are all awake during the daytime. Also, I'm exhausted so tomorrow just isn't happening for me. How about Friday?"

"Sure, Friday works. I'm at school all day, but we can meet up after? How about 5 o' clock?"

"In the morning or the evening?"

"Um, evening."

Xefros ponders that for a moment. "Okay, I guess I can wake up early."

"Great. Where do you want to meet?"

"Well I've got a monorail pass so I can go anywhere. What district's your school in?"

"West-1," you say, and then you realise that was probably a little too personal.

"Oh, alright, that's not far. Do you know where Acorn Park is?"

"Yes, that works," you say with a nod. That's actually pretty close to your school. Sure it's convenient, but you'll have to be careful not to make anyone too suspicious.

"Awesome! Then I'll meet you there at five. Just me, just you, okay? Nobody else, not even the Seer."

"Nobody else." You don't think Jude would leave the house even if the world was ending, but it would be kind of mean to say that out loud.

"Then it's settled! I'll see you Friday. But for now-" Whatever he's going to say next is cut off by a massive yawn. "Wow, I've never felt this tired in my life. I know Skylla wanted us to wait for her but if I stay here I'll collapse where I stand. I'm going to grab my stuff, go to Dammek's hive and sleep all day."

"That sounds like a good plan. I'd better go home, too. Good night."

"Good night?" Xefros asks, head tilting in confusion. "Oh, right. Well, good night, and good day too!"

You watch him enter the apartment building and pull a switch on the wall next to the door. As the metal shutters trundle down, you turn and head home. As you walk, Langly swoops down beside you.

"Not one word about how I accidentally said my name," you say. "And I don't want to hear you complain about choosing to mentor Xefros, either."

"I wasn't going to," Jude replies. "Name reveal wasn't your fault. My outburst wasn't fair and I'm sorry. And as for the mentoring strategy; I've actually been thinking about it and I've changed my mind."

"Really? That's a surprise."

"I think it's what Zephyr would've wanted when he mentored you. Besides, if that troll's surrounded by people who think Powers are a waste of time he'll need all the encouragement he can get."

"You're definitely right about that," you say. "I wonder why he's so fixated on becoming a Power when-" The rest of your sentence is cut off by a huge yawn. "-Whatever. I'm too tired to think right now."

"I see. When did you wake up yesterday?"

"Half past six."

"Makes sense that you're tired. It's almost five o' clock."

"Wow. It's been a long night, hasn't it?"

"Agreed. Let's find a truck to get you home."

Chapter Text

INTERMISSION TWO

> Xefros: Contact your soulmate and give him the good news.

Chapter Text

> Hippok: Wake up.

You're woken by the crackly sound of artificial birdsong. Your limbs ache like you've been lifting weights and that damn screeching, like a trepanning drill to your cranial carapace, isn't helping matters. With a laboured groan you totter to your feet, feel your way over to the window and slam it shut. The noise ceases and you topple back onto the sofa.

Mother Grub's oozing sphincters, what time is it? You sniff at the air, certain you can sense sunlight. Well, that would explain why you're feeling so awful. How long were you out for?

"Knight of Light," you say, "I don't suppose you're still here, are you?"

No response. Not that you're surprised. No doubt she let herself out to carry on being a hero. You just hope she locked the door behind her. You'll have to go check.

...Later. When your body doesn't feel like it's decomposing. You swear, you were feeling better for a little while there last night. You forced your Power without any Crown to speak of and then decided in your hubris that you didn't need your "secret weapon" afterwards to mitigate the side-effects. Now you're paying the price and you entirely deserve it.

After lying on the sofa for a while, almost immobile under the weight of your aching, you eventually decide that enough is enough. You haul yourself to your feet and drag your body from the soft, fuzzy carpet of your sitting room to the cold linoleum of the kitchen, all the while clutching your head as every footstep causes your think pan to burst with furious agony, sending waves of pain up through your horns and down your postural column.

You fumble around in the cabinets until you locate the bottle of nasty human bourbon you stashed in here. You unscrew the cap and take a swig straight from the bottle. It smells like gasoline and tastes like fire and industrial solvent, the mixed-up senses firing in your think pan as explosions of angry maroons and crimsons. Between the synesthesia and the familiar burn down your consumption tunnel, the alcohol is proving to be a pleasing distraction to the aches in your face.

Physician, heal thyself. Or, failing that, lean against the thermal hull and have another sip. You’re not even getting drunk; it’s only ethanol and that does about as much for troll physiology as plain water. It’s an acquired taste you’ve gotten the hang of, like olives or unagitated grubslurry. But that doesn’t matter. You’re just nursing your headache. Who knows, this kitchen might stop spinning around you any moment now.

By the third or fourth sip, the blasts of colour have begun to distract you from the long list of aches and pains that are vexing you. It's weird, being blind. Although it makes perfect sense on an intellectual level that your senses would adapt to compensate for being unable to see, you can't wrap your mind around how you can smell colours with olfactory organs that are unable to detect light photons. It should be impossible and yet it just sort of... happens somehow.

Your attention drifts back to the bottle of bourbon in your hand. You can faintly smell the glimmering, citrus-yellow words against the nutty brown label, but it's much too small and much too ornate for you to read it by smell alone.

Out of nowhere, you remember Starstorm telling you about a blind friend of his who would lick people, computer monitors and everything else to suss out their appearances. He definitely has some weird friends—you're a prime example, really—but surely there's no way that could work? She must just do it to gross people out.

A ridiculous thought enters your head. No, you're not going to lick the bottle like some kind of goblinoid squatbeast. It's probably the dumbest idea you've had in weeks. You feel like a grade-A idiot just for thinking about it.

And yet, the rough surface of the label beckons. Try as you might, you can't get the idea out of your head.

You poke your tongue out and tentatively bring it towards the label. This isn't going to work. What are you doing, Hippok, licking random objects at six in the morning? Bronya would be so disappointed in you.

Your tongue makes contact with the label and your entire mouth is filled with colour as a multifaceted wave of sensory input bursts over you, far more vividly than than anything you ever experienced when you were sighted. For a few moments you just stand there, running your tongue across the label in astonishment. Your pan is so blown by the intensity of what you're sensing that you forget about your headache. You can read the writing on the label and the minute shifts in the ink's composition and even the slight change in luminosity where different amounts of glue were used to stick it to the bottle.

This is amazing. For the first time in six months, or however long it's been, you don't miss your eyesight. You couldn't put words to the bizarre jumble of gratitude, embarrassment and wonder that's ricocheting through your body but you're smiling like a wiggler on 12th Perigee's Eve and you can't find it in you to care. This is wonderful. This is magnificent. You feel like a whole new troll.

...Starstorm must never find out about this.

Wait, shit, Starstorm! You didn't tell him the plan was off! And yet there's no sign that he's been here, which is somewhat unsettling. You rush back into the living room and haul the portable communicator from where you had stashed it behind the sofa. It's about the size and weight of a microwave but it's still the smallest one you could surreptitiously get your hands on. After all, if Latula finds out you're still in contact with your old villainous associates, that would go badly for you.

You switch the communicator on, ghost your hands across the keyboard until you feel the raised nubs on the F and J keys, and take a big sniff until the colours on the screen swim into a coherent form in your mind. For a second, you debate whether or not to lick the screen. As tempting as it is, you probably shouldn't. You bought this thing second hand, after all. You have no idea where it's been, but if you lick it you might be unfortunate enough to find out.

END OF INTERMISSION TWO

Chapter Text

> Joey: Go home.

It doesn't take long for you to reach the SkaiaCorp truck that's going to take you home. You ignore the exhausted ache in your limbs and climb onto the back of the vehicle, hooking your legs into the gap behind the footstep.

This early in the morning, the sun is just starting to peek over the skyline. The streets are quiet, the air is cool, and the sound of artificial birdsong is floating on the wind. You've had enough of this city for tonight, though. It's time to go home. You just wish home wasn't so far away.

Langly buzzes over to you, floating just above your head. "Ready?" Jude asks.

"Mm-hm."

"Everything okay?"

You're not sure 'okay' is the right word but you're still in one piece. After everything that's happened tonight, you can't really ask for more. "Yeah, I'm fine," you say, "Just tired."

The truck's engines come alive and you drive north, away from the abandoned districts and towards home. As the sky lightens and the truck speeds along the empty freeway, you find yourself thinking about Xefros again. He reminds you of yourself when you first became a Power, back when you were naïve and idealistic and just wanted to do the right thing. Of course, that was before you learned just how evil people can be, and just how much danger you were putting yourself in.

You knew you'd had enough when you found yourself in a grimy public toilet in East-2 one evening, feverish and hallucinating, staring at a bloody, ooze-dripping wound in your shoulder caused by the Poisoner's syringe-launching crossbow and thinking, If I die now, what's going to happen to Jude?

Of course, you didn't die. You gritted your teeth, splashed water in your face and went back out there. You saved the day or whatever, Hippok lost his sight, and you snapped his Crown in half to make sure he couldn't hurt anyone ever again. You won, you suppose.

But that question stayed with you.

When you finally arrived home that night you and Jude hugged each other tight and cried yourselves hoarse. The whole time, you kept promising that you'd never do anything like that again, that the whole city could burn to the ground for all you cared, that you'd never let yourself get caught up in the ridiculous battle for good and evil that the Powers liked to think they were fighting.

You still have nightmares about that time, even though it happened six months ago – or however long it's been since the timeline broke. You kept your promise, though, and never played the role of superhero again. Sure, you didn't stop doing the small stuff: missing people, muggings, anything that wasn't caused by another Power. Zephyr once told you that all it took for evil to thrive was for good people to do nothing, and you still believe that with all your heart. But you can't go back to your old ways, risking your life to curtail the ambitions of petty megalomaniacs with god complexes.

You didn't go back to it when the Cosmic Witch appeared, turning people to dust with a wave of her hand. You didn't go back to it when the timeline broke and life in Neo City turned from difficult to plain weird, when every other vandal and petty thief inherited a strange or destructive Power. You didn't even go back to it when Jude began to show signs of developing a Power of his own, no matter how much he pleaded with you. Not even when his visions got more disturbing and his paranoia worsened, and he'd stay up for nights in a daze, babbling about the end of the world; not even when his Crown appeared and he wore it for two days straight without eating, drinking or sleeping, growing more and more distraught as he forced himself to watch every atrocity and act of malice that happened in the city.

Jude's always had a bit of an obsessive streak, but it's only gotten worse since you moved here. The arrangement the two of you currently have – him finding crime and you going out to stop it – is a compromise between the both of you. Sometimes you wonder whether it's more for his benefit or yours, though. You know he'll overcome his fear of going outside one day. Whether or not he's properly inherited his Power by then, you're terrified of what he might do or what might happen to him.

While you think, Neo City comes alive all around you, the morning sun illuminating the buildings with a silver gleam that fights to outshine the tacky glow of LED screens and neon lights. As the truck drives through the city, South-4's crumbling, dilapidated wrecks fade out, replaced by the glass and metal you're more used to. Far off in the distance, the slender, black spire of City Hall rises from the horizon, looking more like a nail sticking out from under the ground than a skyscraper.

Welcome to West-1, says a familiar sign that zips past you. The truck leaves the freeway and cuts through an industrial park. You know these squat, grey buildings well, and the cooling towers that loom over you, belching steam, are a welcome sight. They stand like an obelisk by the side of the road and their message is clear: You'll be home soon.

You soon arrive at the familiar streets of the neighbourhood where you live. As you look up at the cramped townhouses, squeezed together like commuters on the rush hour monorail, you can imagine how pretty they must have looked years back, when the city was new and the area was still glitzy and desirable. Of course, that must have been decades ago, before the waves of outsiders came. At first it was humans like you, who came looking for a better life. The trolls came next, refugees from the Alternian Empire's nursery planets fleeing the devastation caused by the Vast Glub. And after that came humans and trolls of all types, fleeing the devastation wrought by Alternia during their conquests to find a new homeworld.

Of course, when those outsiders arrived, the city's wealthy denizens all fled to Central and Northern, taking their money and their glitz with them. Now your neighbourhood has very little of its original charm left. Sure, every now and again you spy an ornate lamp post or a weather-worn statue, but everything else is squalid and run down. The buildings' façades are all cracked and mildewed, the streets have potholes big enough to lose your foot in and every third window is smashed in or boarded up.

When the truck reaches a dead mall, fronted with yellowing plastic panels and rows of smashed, looted stores, it turns off down a small access road. It swings around the side and comes to an abrupt halt behind the mall, in front of the entrance to some kind of goods hangar, locked behind a metal grate. There's nothing back here except for the plastic bags strewn across the floor and a metal cage full of dumpsters that haven't been used in years.

You jump off from your perch, tottering as you find your balance. The truck reverses back to the main road and Langly floats down beside you.

"Coast is clear," Jude says, "We weren't followed."

You nod in response. "I'll see you around," you say. The real meaning is clear: I'll see you in a minute when I get home.

Langly buzzes off towards the secret location where Jude keeps the drones, wherever that is, and you walk over to the metal cage, which is held shut by a chain and a combination lock in the shape of a pink heart. You input the code, swing the gate open (grimacing at how loudly the rusty hinges squeal), and hop into the dumpster in the far corner.

It's a lot roomier than it looks from the outside, even if you do have to crouch. The only thing in here is your white backpack, the one adorned with the sequins, rainbow-coloured ribbons and pictures of unicorns that you haven't actually worn since you were eight. You wolf down the chocolate bar inside and take out your normal clothes, pulling the pink sweater and blue jeans over your outfit and trading the white shoes for neon green light-up sneakers. When you're convinced it's all covered up, you reach your hands up to the flowers on your head that comprise your Crown.

It's difficult to describe what it's like to 'let go' of a Crown. You suppose it's a bit like unclenching a muscle in the middle of your brain. By now it's second nature, though. The form of your Crown ripples under your fingers and the bolts disengage with a click. You pull it off your head and, like always, scrutinise its new appearance. In its inert form, your Crown looks like a golden band. The outside edge is a smooth curve and the inner one is segmented into hundreds of faces. There are also four chunky bolts of smooth, grey metal stuck through it, one in each corner. Like always, you trace your free hand over your temple, where one of those bolts supposedly went in. There's no hole there, no indent, no sign of any sort that a lump of metal pierced your skull.

Whatever, you think as you stuff your Crown in your backpack. It's not like it matters how it works. It's alien technology that lets you help people. That's all you care about.

Next you peel your mask off your face. It's stained with blood in multiple shades of red, brown and blue. Didn't multiple trolls last night say you were covered in blood? You must look like you were attacked by a mob. That's another reason to hope nobody sees you on your way home, you guess. Your current appearance raises way too many questions, and none of them need answers.

You throw your backpack over one shoulder and hop out the dumpster. You lock the gate, double and triple-check it and head home, walking as fast as you can without attracting the attention of anyone who might glance out of a window. Fortunately the streets are as deserted as ever and your house is only a short walk away. The morning air is much colder than you're used to, and you can't help but shiver. You should be grateful – after all, cold days are pretty rare when you live in the middle of a desert – but the frigid air is just making you wish you were in bed already.

The noise of artificial birdsong hangs in the air as you reach the apartment block you call home. It's piped through the emergency broadcast speakers hooked up to the streetlights, but if it's meant to be soothing it's doing a terrible job. You have to consciously ignore the tinny, irritating racket as you look up at your building, its concrete exterior turning brown-green with centuries of mildew and grime. Your bedroom window is halfway up, and you can just about see the cracked, peeling wood around the pane from where you are on the ground. The light is on, and the silhouette of your Humanimal doll looms in the window, a signal from Jude that nobody else is home. That creepy, ugly thing may as well have some use. It's not like you're ever going to use it.

You climb up the front steps to your building and walk through the empty lobby with its cracked floor tiles and cobwebs in the corners, past the cramped elevator that reeks of burned plastic and stale urine, up three flights of stairs and along the dark corridor that always smells of fish and cigarette smoke. When you finally reach apartment 419 you let yourself in, lock the door behind you, drop your backpack and slump to the floor. Your feet push at the little pile of clutter that's built up by the door, sending takeout flyers and unread letters scattering with the toys, dirty clothes and foam bullets that have accumulated in the narrow hallway.

Half-Harley Manor this place definitely ain't, but you guess it's home for now.

Opposite you, your bedroom door creaks open and Jude steps out. His eyes burn with a green light that suffuses the room and turns the white walls the colour of mint ice cream. He's not wearing the black outfit that you remember from his hologram last night, inlaid with green lines like the circuitry on a motherboard. Instead he's just wearing his ordinary pyjamas. Instead of a mask, he's wearing the same thick glasses he always does. And instead of the smooth, white dome of a helmet, the true form of his Crown is a crumpled tin foil hat, sculpted into a conical peak like he's wearing a funnel on his head.

"You're back," he says, voice shaking with relief.

Bracing yourself against the door as you stand back up, you smile at him and take a step forwards, dropping your backpack and opening your arms for a hug. He rushes towards you, colliding with so much force that you have to steady yourself against the wall. Neither one of you is the kind of person who hugs things out, but after the night you just had you're too grateful to be back home to care. When you regain your balance, you wrap your arms around him, tucking the top of his head beneath your chin. The two of you stay like that for a little while, neither of you saying – or needing to say – anything. God, you're glad to be back home after the night you had.

"Thanks for your help tonight," you eventually say.

"...Mm?"

"I said thanks for watching out for me. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Right." He untangles himself from the hug and adjusts his glasses as he looks up at you, his eyes so bright that you have to squint. "Sorry. Multitasking. Having trouble coordinating actions in two places at once."

"You look exhausted," you say. His glowing eyes are bloodshot and the bags beneath them are almost as bad as Xefros'. "You don't have to–"

"Don't say I shouldn't continue doing it," Jude snaps, glaring at you. "I just talked a guy off a bridge. Made him promise to communicate with his family more. Would've jumped if I hadn't intervened."

"I'm not telling you to stop," you say, choosing your words carefully, "But you don't have to wear yourself out trying to be everywhere at once."

"Yes I do! I have to try! I can't do anything else from in here! Should I just wait for you to do everything for me?"

"That's not what I meant, come on. It's not your job to fix the entire world."

"That doesn't mean I should ignore it," he says with a pout. "Besides, I had to make sure you got here safely."

"I know, and I'm grateful, but you don't have to wear your Crown twenty-four hours a day to do that."

Jude frowns at you. "I won't ignore people in trouble. It's my responsibility to help people in need." He's about to say more, but something catches his attention. His head spins round and he stares at the wall next to him with a look of intense concentration.

"What can you see?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Some troll, all cut up like she fought a lion or something. She doesn't seem to be able to hear me."

"Is she okay?"

"I dunno. She's all scratched up and covered in some sort of black stuff, but she's seems okay, just...." Jude stops mid-sentence and jerks as if struck by lightning. Groaning, he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his hands to the side of his head.

You put a (hopefully reassuring) hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Ow, that was weird," he says. When he opens his eyes to look at you, the green glow has faded.

"Did something happen to you?"

"Not really," he says. "My vision just... ceased. Argh, my ears won't stop ringing."

"Did you see anything before it stopped?"

"No. The troll was conversing with someone I couldn't see. It's strange, though. She looked fine."

"I thought you said she fought a lion, though."

"Clarification: she looked fine for a troll. Definitely not in mortal danger."

"So why were you able to see her?"

"Can't be certain," Jude says, frowning at the floor. "Too many worrying possibilities, though."

"Try not to worry about it," you say. "If you can't see her any more, she's probably going to be fine."

Jude shakes his head. "It didn't feel right. That was an anomalous disconnection. I should do something."

"Like what?"

Jude gives you a lost, worried look. "I... don't know," he says. "If I was a good person, I'm sure I'd have the answer."

"Jude, you are a good person," you say, struggling to keep the exasperation out of your voice. You swear you have this conversation as often as you have the going outside one. "How many people have we helped since we started doing this? There's nothing evil about you, I promise."

"Yes, there is," he says, "I'm a Derse dreamer."

"That doesn't count for anything and you know it. Half of Team Charge are Derse dreamers."

Jude doesn't reply. He just shrugs. You know your words aren't getting through to him but you wish you knew why. He's the kind of person who feels bad squashing a spider, and you couldn't ever imagine him so much as calling someone nasty names. You're not going to press the issue, though. That's one argument you've had way too many times, and you know from experience that nothing you can say will make him change his mind.

So instead you give him a reassuring shoulder squeeze and walk past him into your bedroom.

Your room is too cramped for one person, let alone two, but somehow you and Jude make do. The door to the closet you share is on your left, and to your right is the computer and the bunk bed. The little floor space that remains is covered in toys and games you have to tiptoe over, and the walls are almost fully concealed behind the many posters put up by the both of you. For a second, you expect to see your top bunk floating in the air on its own, and you're momentarily confused by the sight of Jude's lower bunk with its creased covers and the tomato soup stain next to the pillow. But then the feeling passes and you feel kind of silly for humouring it at all.

You go over to the window sill and take the Humanimal doll. As you throw it onto your bunk with the rest of your stuffed toys, your eyes are drawn to the silhouette of a monorail car in the distrance, speeding along an elevated track that winds between distant high-rise apartments, ducking and resurfacing like a dolphin in the ocean.

You hope Xefros got home safely. His name and his face are so clear in your mind that you know it's futile to try and forget them. In your mind's eye you can see his curving horns, his bright, infectious smile and the eyes that burned so brightly with that desire to save the city. No, I had to talk him down from that, you remind yourself. He wanted to save the whole world at first.

You still want to mentor Xefros, but you can't bear the thought of watching him experience all the struggles you've had to face. But what are you supposed to do instead? Just leave him to his own devices? That would just put him in even more danger and you know you could never forgive yourself for abandoning him like that. It's clear from the way his rebellious 'co-conspirators' talk about masked Powers that they can't give him any useful help. You don't know about his other friends, but if they're anything like Dammek he won't get any help there either.

You really have no idea what Xefros sees in his boyfriend. The two don't seem to share anything in common, especially not their opinions about Powers. You're almost sure Dammek will try to convince Xefros not to become a Power if he finds out. While you don't see Xefros changing his mind just like that, you also don't see him putting up a fight if Dammek demands something. After all, he willingly exposed himself to the Tyrian Rain for him. That's devotion just shy of madness.

In the end, there's not really much you can do. Either he becomes a Power or he doesn't. Whatever happens, you hope you can become friends with him. He seemed cool, but you didn't get to talk with him for as long as you might have hoped.

While you were staring out of the window and thinking, Jude's sidled up beside you. "What're you smiling about?" he asks.

"Nothing," you say, unaware you were smiling at all. "I was just hoping Xefros got home safe."

Jude huffs when you say that. "I can't believe you told him your real name!"

"Well I didn't mean to get pumped full of truth serum," you reply, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

"Well, true, but..." Jude pauses for a moment, stroking his chin. "Okay," he says, "Who do you have a crush on?"

"What?! Why would I tell you that?" you ask, recoiling in horror. The mere thought of Jude finding out has your face turning bright red.

Jude chuckles, but it's gone a moment later, replaced by his usual serious expression. "At least it's all out your system now."

"Geez, seriously, of all the questions you could've asked, why did you pick that?"

He shrugs. "Because you'd never willingly answer it."

You can't help but pout. "Well are you really in a position to be asking questions about embarrassing crushes, Mr Jude Adalov?"

Now it's Jude's turn to go bright red as he buries his face in his hands. "Come oooon, do you have to keep bringing that up all the time?" You reach out to muss his hair and he recoils like you waved a gun in his face. "No. No. Don't touch me. You're covered in blood."

Indeed, your hand is covered in multicoloured blood, probably from touching your hair without realising. "You didn't care earlier," you say.

"Sorry for feeling glad you weren't abducted by covert agents!" he says. "I'm suddenly really regretting my enormous tactical blunder of not letting you get kidnapped."

"Letting me get kidnapped?"

"Joey, please. Go take a shower or something."

You roll your eyes, grab a towel and your pyjamas from the closet and head to the bathroom. You were going to take a shower eventually, after all.

Under the harsh light of the halogen bulbs, you finally get a good look at your reflection. The girl who stares back at you from the grimy, toothpaste-flecked mirror on the medicine cabinet has been through hell. You're in such an awful state that you can't help but wince. Even disregarding the layers of grime, dirt and concrete dust, your hair's matted with multiple colours of blood including the bright red that's trickled down your face and dried in long rivulets. You have a black eye, a split lip, almost too many bruises to count... If Roxy sees this she's going to flip.

At least your head wound is gone, though. You poke and prod at it, but you can't see as much as a single mark in the mirror. You still don't get why Hippok bothered to heal your injuries if he wanted to capture you, but it hardly matters any more.

You peel off your clothes and your super suit and step into the grimy, mildewed shower. As soon as the hot water hits your body, a wave of exhaustion slams into you and you slump against the tiled wall. Tonight has been such a night. Now that you're finally home, you just want to sleep for a century. At least school's going to be cancelled tomorrow due to the Tyrian rain. It's only a small victory, but your tiredness makes it feel so much more important.

As you placidly scrub the dried blood out of your hair, turning the water shades of red, brown and blue, you think about Jude's self-loathing attitude. You know you can be stubborn sometimes, but he makes you look like a total doormat. You just wish it wasn't always about negative things. The conspiracy theories you can sort of deal with, but listening to him berate himself for being an evil, irredeemable monster makes your heart hurt. For the last few years, he's refused to so much as leave your apartment, convinced that everyone outside is out to get him, and it's only been getting worse. Maybe it's this depressing hellhole of a city, or maybe he just needs a few good friends, or maybe you need to be a better big sister...

You really wish you knew how to help him. Your mom would definitely know, but she's not here. You'll have to step up. And you've been trying so hard. You just wished you knew what you were supposed to do.

Chapter Text

INTERMISSION THREE

> Zebruh: Return.

Most of the time, surfacing from a reverie is like waking up from a long nap in fresh sopor. You feel energised, invigorated, and so full of energy that you could whip up a new review for your blog in twenty minutes.

This isn't one of those times.

You know something's wrong before you even fully regain consciousness. Your whole body throbs and aches like you've been run over by a semi truck, and everything feels floaty because your blood's rushed to your head. A low, bassy hum mixes with the wind rushing around you, coalescing into an abominable noise that thrums through your body and sets your horns on edge. To top it all off, something is crushing your wrists and ankles so hard that they've gone numb.

You open your gander bulbs and immediately have to squeeze them shut again as the harsh rays of the morning sun fry them like grubloaf on the griddle. When your bulbs finally acclimatise to the light and the white glare begins to resolve into actual shapes and colours, you see the city skyline looming far, far above you, the tops of skyscrapers leering down like a hungry maw full of sharp teeth.

Well, that explains why you feel so lightheaded.

You try to resist the urge to panic and fail almost instantly, releasing an embarrassingly high-pitched yell of terror from your squeal chute. Your panic is undignified and useless. You can't even flail your arms because some bizarre contraption made of black metal is squeezing them so tightly that they're beginning to turn blue.

You try to tilt your cranial column to see if there's a similar device around your ankles and look up into the piercing, red eyes of the Lancer, holding you by the very ankle shackles you were looking for. The sheer shock of it kills the words which were on the tip of your tongue. Its black armour is caked in dust and a huge crack covers half of its head.

What the fuck? Did you do that? Just what did you get up to last night?

The reality of the situation doesn't seem to want to set in for you. After all, you didn't even believe the Lancer existed until now. You still don't and you're looking right at it! That being said, you're keenly aware that every second you spend as its prisoner is a second closer to never being seen again. You have no idea where you're going, but you'd bet money it's nowhere pleasant.

"If you could let me go, that would be brilliant," you say as cordially as you can, pushing down on the terror that's slowly starting to bubble its way up your thoracic cavity. "I assure you, there must have been some sort of mistake. I'll more than happily–"

"Be quiet."

The Lancer's voice sends a shiver through your body. You can feel sweat beginning to bead on your forehead. "Where are you taking me?" you ask. "What do you want with me?"

"You know full well what I want."

"Ohhh, no, no, no..." Your bloodpusher sinks with dread. It's all starting to make sense. "This is because I've been fraternising with the gutterbloods, isn't it? Please, you have to believe me, I never meant anything I said. You know what rusties are like. I had to pretend to be on their side or they would've turned on me!"

"Whatever. I don't care what you do in your own time. I just want your Power."

"Haha, whuh?" As perilous as the situation is, you can't help but chuckle as the fear and surprise battle for dominance in your think pan. "But I don't have a Power."

"That's what they all say. I watched you break concrete with your bare hands. How else do you explain that?"

Before you can explain how your superior genes grant you superior strength to match, you're interrupted by a clear, sonorous voice from somewhere above (or is that below?) you.

"Lancer, let go of that troll this instant!"

The Lancer spins around and the whole world lurches with it, causing your nug to ring and the contents of your acid tract to churn nauseatingly.

Floating a few yards ahead of you is a female Power wearing a black and teal outfit, as well as gloves, knee-high boots, a belt and a cape that flutters in the wind, all of which are an eye-searing cherry red. She's holding an oversized cueball in her left hand but you almost don't notice it because you're too busy ogling the way her outfit hugs her figure. Sure, she may not be the most curvaceous woman you've seen but that's not a dealbreaker for you. You're thoughtful and respectful like that.

"Miss Miracle," the Lancer hisses, voice crackling to static, "I should have known you'd show up eventually."

Miss Miracle's Crown is a laurel wreath and her mask is a visor of red, transparent plastic. As she descends down (or is that up?) from the clouds, illuminated by the rising sun, she looks like an angel.

...Y'know, a sexy human angel, not the terrifying, serpentine harbingers of death they had back on Alternia.

"I said let him go!" Miss Miracle shouts.

With an electronic snarl, the Lancer points its free hand at Miss Miracle. There's a hiss of hydraulics and the roar of a jet as a rocket emerges from a port on its wrist and flies towards her, but she zaps it with a beam of red light from her eyes before it gets close. It doesn't explode like you'd expect, it simply... falls from the sky.

Damn, she's so powerful. There's something really sexy about women who mean business, and Miss Miracle is really distracting you from the awful aches in your body. Well, all but one ache, anyway. You kind of want her to hold you in her arms and you kind of want her to step on you and you can't decide which you want more.

"You're not getting him," the Lancer says. "The Midnight Crew want his Power and there's nothing you can do to stop me from delivering it to them."

"He doesn't have a Power, you freaking idiot!"

"I saw him lift half a building off himself earlier. You can't tell me he doesn't–"

"Yes, I can! He doesn't! He's a blueblood!" Miss Miracle says. "They're all that tough!"

"It's true," you add, "We're all naturally superior. Besides, I don't even have a Crown."

"Be quiet, you whelp," the Lancer says without looking at you. Then, at a louder volume, "You can't fool me. He doesn't need a Crown because he only inherited last night."

"What, you think he's still running on his initial rush? The real Power inherited, like, way before midnight. That rush wore off hours ago."

"The real Power?" the Lancer asks, "What are you talking about?" You can hear the confusion in its digitised voice.

"I mean you got duped, Lancer! You got played! That troll you've got there is useless to you!" Miss Miracle glances at the cueball in her hand. "You know I ain't making any of this up. I'm functionally omniscient, remember?"

"Don't give me any of that 'functional omniscience' crap," the Lancer says. "That phrase is meaningless and you know it." It looks down at you and you swear you can see hesitance in its emotionless, red eyes. "Anyway, he has to have a Power. My source was very clear that–"

"Your source was right but you messed up, dude! While you were busy catching this guy, some friends of mine found the troll you really wanted and bounced. You'll never find him now. Oh, and good luck getting anything else out of that informant of yours!"

The Lancer growls in frustration, looking between you and Miss Miracle, who's grinning and has one hand on her hip. "You're infuriating. You know that?" it says.

"Yeah, whatever," Miss Miracle says. The cueball disappears with a flourish of her wrist and she punches her empty palm. "Now, how 'bout you do us both a favour and stop being such a buzz-kill. Let that troll go and maybe I'll only smash you up a little."

"You want me to let him go?" the Lancer asks, and your blood runs even colder than normal when you hear the malice in its voice. "You want me to let him go, right here, is that it?"

"No, wait, don't–" you start, but you don't get the chance to finish the sentence.

The Lancer doesn't drop you. It throws you, tossing you overarm like a garbage sack.

The city spins past you as you hurtle through the air, which rushes past your auriculars with a scream. Or maybe the scream's coming from you?

The concrete rushes up to meet you. You try to lift your arms, as if bracing for impact is going to do a single fucking thing, but you can't even do that because they're still restrained, just like your ankles. So instead you squeeze your eyes shut and pray whatever happens next is quick.

The impact you're expecting doesn't come. At the last second, something grasps the back of your shirt and yanks you upwards.

You crack one eye open and survey your surroundings. You're much closer to street level than earlier, but at least the street is below your feet and not above your head. Right now, you're hanging a few feet above the roof of what might have once been an apartment building. The Lancer is nowhere to be seen and Miss Miracle is holding you by the collar as if you weigh nothing.

She unceremoniously drops you to the roof and you land in a heap, unable to break your fall because you're still shackled. "Ohh, thank you, thank you!" you say as you shuffle into a sitting position. There's a lump in your throat and your whole body is shaking.

A flash of red light and the metal lumps constricting your limbs clatter to the ground, neatly bisected by Miss Miracle's laser vision. She mutters something that sounds an awful lot like "I can't believe I'm doing this," but you can't be sure.

"Come again?" you ask.

"I said I don't want your thanks," Miss Miracle replies. She's still floating a few feet off the ground, one hand lightly pressing buttons on the side of her visor.

"But I mean it," you say as you clamber to your feet. You spread your arms wide. "I'm in your debt for this, I truly am. Lucky for you, I'm a man of significant means. Your wish is my command, m'lady."

Miss Miracle gives you a look of pure, unfiltered disgust, one that her visor doesn't hide in the slightest. "I don't need anything from the likes of you. I almost didn't bother going after you back there. People like you make me sick."

You've got to say, you weren't expecting such overtly caliginous advances this quickly. You get that your raw charisma is pretty overpowering but you're not sure how to flirt with someone who could probably rip you in half without trying. "What do you mean, people like me?" you ask. "I'm a tolerant and outspoken advocate for oppressed minorities, I'll have you know. Actually, I bet I'm the most woke highblood you'll ever meet."

"What you are is nothing but a thug. I've heard you people talk about devotion and purpose but that doesn't change the fact that you follow the Kindness' sadistic whims and terrorise innocent people. You don't have any shame or guilt in you at all, do you?"

"Listen, lady. I don't know what anything you just said means but I've got plenty of guilt in me, or whatever. Hear me out."

"No," Miss Miracle says, turning around in the air.

"Come on. I'm sure this is all just some big misunderstanding. I'd love to set the record straight some time. I could prove to you just how respectful and socially conscious I am. Maybe over drinks some time?"

Miss Miracle spins back to face you. "You're kidding," she says.

That's not a no, so you figure you're practically in there! You just need to play your cards right. "Very serious," you say. "I can tell you're intrigued. You're human, right? Well, you know what they say: once you go troll, everything else seems so droll. And I–"

Miss Miracle shoots to the ground like a bullet and you barely have time to leap backwards. You land on your back as she drives a foot into the concrete right where you were with enough force to shatter it, sending cracks shooting out in all directions.

You're no longer excited. You're terrified. Even your blueblood strength is no match for Miss Miracle's pissed off state.

She steps over you, grabs the knot of your tie and yanks you up towards her, so close that your noses are almost touching. "Let me set the record straight," she says, her voice a hateful hiss. "You are one of the most odious people I've had the displeasure to meet. I would not fill a quadrant with you if you if you and your four clones were the last people in the universe. And in fact..." She trails off as her eyes lock with yours and widen with recognition. "...And in fact your eyes are back to normal. Radical. You don't have a clue what I'm talking about, do you?"

You really don't. Maybe she can see the fear in your eyes? In any case, she lets go of your collar and you drop to the floor. You stumble backwards as she waves her fingers, conjuring that cueball from nowhere in particular.

"If you're sensible, you'll make sure I never see your disgusting, sleazy face again. If I do, I'll make you wish the Lancer had taken you away. You dig me?"

You nod mutely.

"Good. Now go home, put all of this behind you, and for pity's sake, try to become a better person." She begins to ascend, and that's when you realise you've been stranded on the top of a derelict building in a completely unfamiliar part of the city.

"Wait, hang on," you shout as you clamber to your feet, "How do I get to Central from here?"

"Figure it out yourself," Miss Miracle shouts back before blasting off.

Fucking bitch. What did you do to deserve that? You were being perfectly civil and she just turned on you without provocation.

Oh, well. Not much you can do about it now.

You jump down to street level – it's only four or five storeys; not that big a distance – and wander the streets, scanning around for recognisable landmarks. Judging by the run-down look of the place, you're probably in one of the slummy, abandoned districts to the south. Not the most pleasant place to be, but you're not particularly frightened. After all, you can definitely take the filthy degenerates who eke out their lives here if you can damage the Lancer's skull-dome-thing by yourself.

Now that will be a tale to tell at the Equine Club later!

...Even if you don't have the faintest recollection of how or why it happened.

When you step out onto an empty avenue flanked by deserted, glass-fronted skyscrapers, the sight of a phone box on the intersection is a welcome sight. The glass is still intact and there's a map of the city on the back! Perfect!

You walk over and scrutinise the map. If you're reading the 'You Are Here' arrow right, there should be a monorail station just a few blocks behind you. It's probably out of commission, but you should be able to follow it to South-3, and from there the express service will get you to your hive in half an hour. The walk to South-3 should only be twenty minutes, which should...

Actually, screw that. What are you thinking? Why bother walking when you can call in a favour and get a lift?

You step inside the booth and put the phone to your ear. The dial tone is the sweetest noise you've heard in years, and you spend your days reviewing the indie scene so that's saying something. You fish a few coins out of your pocket and call Chixie, tapping on the booth's glass walls while you wait for her to pick up.

When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the glass' reflection, you're so horrified that you can only stare in slack-jawed disbelief. The front of your waistcoat has been torn to shreds and it's stained with indigo blood. How did it get so absolutely ruined?! You spent almost three hundred dollars on this thing and it's not even fit for rags any more!

The rest of your body's in bad shape too; your nose is probably broken, two of your front fangs have been knocked out, and you're just as dusty as the Lancer was, but none of that is as important as the senseless destruction done to your wardrobe. Once again – and definitely not for the last time, you're sure – you wonder what the hell happened last night.

You're distracted from your grief over your waistcoat by a clattering noise from the other end of the line.

"H'lo?" Chixie says. She sounds groggy and irritated; nothing like her usual self.

"Hi, it's me," you purr down the phone. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Oh, Zebruh! Hi, no, it's totally fine. Thanks for calling!" There's the bouncy, energetic Chixie you know and love. "Did you need something? I was just about to put momma to bed for the day."

"Oh, that's quite alright. I just need a quick lift home."

Silence. You can hear Chixie breathing delicately down the line but she doesn't say anything.

"Are you still there?"

"Oh! Yeah, I'm still here!"

"Good. Thanks for coming to my aid. You know how it is."

"Um... Right. Okay! Another one of your soirées?"

"You guessed it. The invitation's still open if you want to be my plus one next time, of course."

"Oh, thank you, that's really sweet, but I couldn't. I can't spend entire nights at parties, not now I'm so close to finishing the LP."

"Yes, I'm sure. I'll have to take you along when it launches then. As a celebratory present."

"Uh, sure! Whatever you say."

"Attagirl. Anyway, I'm in South-4. If you take the highway down and come off at junction, uh, seven, I'll be waiting by the monorail station. If you could get here soon that would be great. The sun is far too bright and I can feel a headache coming on."

"South-4?" Chixie says with a sigh. "But that's ages away."

"I beg your pardon?" You're overcome by a red-hot wave of bitter anger that leaves you clutching the phone so tightly that the plastic begins to creak. "I didn't realise that asking for the occasional favour every now and again was such a hardship for you, especially after all the help I've given you to book venues and studio time!"

"No, that's not–"

"–I thought we were friends! But if everything I've done for you means so little–"

"–No, no, I didn't mean it like that! I'm happy to come by! Really, I am! I'm just a little tired! It's been a long night, ha ha! I'll be there right away!"

"Good. Don't leave me waiting."

You slam the phone down and kick your way out of the phone booth, breaking the door off its hinges in the process. It clatters to the ground and the glass in the frame shatters but you can barely hear it over the rushing pulse of blood in your sponge clots. How dare she complain just because you're not right outside her cozy little East-1 apartment! It's not your fault you were stranded out here, after all!

Your mental tirade is interrupted by what sounds like crying from somewhere off in the distance. You ignore it at first, determined to stay angry until Chixie arrives so you can really give her a piece of your mind.

Damn, that's some loud crying, though. You should probably take a look. If Chixie really is so far away, she has no right to complain if you wander off for a little while.

The crying's coming from a nearby alleyway. As you reach the entrance, you see it's spattered with what looks like mustard-coloured blood, as well as some weird, black ooze like crude oil but not as shiny.

Maybe a yellowblood troll slipped on this oil further down the alley and injured themselves? If so, this is the perfect time for you to play the hero. Sure, yellowbloods kind of gross you out with their bug eyes, their twitchy demeanours and their general lack of hygiene, manners or self-respect, but coming to the aid of one will give you serious kudos amongst your other conscientious highblood friends. Plus, they're close in caste to Chixie so maybe they'll know each other. In any case, you're sure that this poor, distraught troll will be grateful for your help. And if not, it doesn't matter. You can always just leave them here. You spend every waking hour championing gutterblood rights, so who would object to you passing over the odd unhelpable case every now and again? Besides, is anyone really going to cry if another lowblooded nobody from an abandoned district goes missing?

You step carefully down the alley. Slow movements, a friendly expression, hands at your sides. The less aggressive you look, the greater the chance the injured lowblood looks at you and sees 'saviour' instead of 'culler'.

The crying is coming from behind a dumpster just up ahead. A grey leg sticks out from behind it, wearing fishnets and a black shoe.

"Do you need some help?" you ask as you round the dumpster.

The crying was coming from a broad-shouldered troll woman, nearly an adult, with three horns and long, straggly hair. At the sound of your voice, she stops crying stops and totters to her feet, leaning against the wall. Her right arm dangles limply at her side and her face is covered in long, bloody scratches, oozing with yellow blood and a few dots of the black ichor you saw from earlier. The troll shivers and stares at you with fearful eyes. Thank the Mother Grub, they're normal eyes and not the gross, glowing balls so many mustardbloods have.

After a few moments of you both staring awkwardly at each other, you clear your throat. "I said," you repeat, "Do you need some help?"

The lowblood's eyes are frenzied and fearful, like a wild animal's. You can see now that she doesn't have three horns. Horn number four has been snapped off near the base, leaving a short stub topped off with a jagged edge. She swallows, with visible effort, and asks, "Did that black shadow get you, too?"

"Black shadow? Don't be ridiculous. Sure, I was in a fight – which I won, naturally – but I haven't been attacked by shadows.

"Thank fuck. Please, can you help me? My kismesis is in here. I need to get her to safety but I'm scared that thing might come back. I didn't know what else to do with her."

The woman tilts her head towards the dumpster. You open it up and see the body of a troll inside, wearing a tattered sundress covered in jade blood and more of that black ichor. Her injuries are too savage for words, and you have to look away before the image burns itself into your think pan forever. That'll be one awful case of temporal shock, and in the meantime you can console the grieving lowblood–"

"I don't know how I got her in there," the yellowblood says, snapping you out of your daydream. "I can't get her out again, not with my arm like this. Please, we don't live far. I'll do anything you want if you just get us home."

"Oh? Anything?" You flash your winning smile, grab the mangled jadeblood and throw her over your shoulder with ease. Eugh, she smells of blood and something else damp and fausty you can't quite put your finger on. "A good friend of mine will be here soon with a flatbed truck. We can take you wherever you need to go."

"Ohh, you've saved us! Thank you so much!" the yellowblood moans.

"My pleasure. Now, if you follow me, we'll–"

A bestial growl, as loud as a thunderclap, cuts you off. The yellowblood shrieks and grabs your arm.

"It's back!" she wails. "This way! We have to get out of here!"

You don't need to be told twice. No natural creature could have made a sound like that.

You follow the woman as she limps out of the alley but a dark, hulking shape jumps down from above you and cuts you off. It's huge and disturbingly muscular, with two arms and two legs but no head, covered in black fur slick with the same oily substance you've been seeing everywhere. Its bulk rises and falls unevenly as if it's taking pained, difficult breaths.

The yellowblood backpedals, head whipping round as she looks for another way out of the alley. You're not afraid of this thing, though. You can't really believe this is the shadow she was talking about. It looks like some sort of deformed, under-developed cholerbear. You've never seen anything like it, but you know you're much too tough for it to stop you.

"Out of the way," you say as you step forward. Your voice is calm and even. You don't think this thing can understand you, but you're saying it for the goldblood's benefit. You can practically already hear her gushing to her friends about the cool, tough, confident highblood who saved her from this feral beast.

There's a glint of light as three metal claws, sharper than carving knives, slide out of the end of the beast's paws. With surprising speed, the creature leaps forward and lashes out at you. You barely duck under a swing that would have cleanly separated your neck from your body. You have to drop the temporally shocked jade to avoid it but you suddenly find yourself not caring about these two lowbloods in the slightest.

The yellowblood shrieks, drawing the beast's attention. It lunges towards her. Grateful for the distraction, you run to the mouth of the alley, paying no mind to the awful screams you're leaving behind. Fuck them. That thing was vicious. You're saving your own hide.

You hear the pounding of feet and something sharp scrapes across the back of your legs. You topple to the ground with a yell, indigo spraying out from beneath you. You try to stand up, but your legs won't obey you. There's nothing below your waist but a searing, indescribable pain.

You have no idea what the fuck you did to deserve any of this.

You spin onto your back, praying to whoever's listening that the beast didn't outright amputate you. You don't get a chance to so much as look down before it steps over you. A wide slit in the middle of its chest opens up to form a slavering, fanged maw suffused with a deep green glow. The mouth is so wide that it almost bisects the creature from armpit to armpit. It would be almost comical if those fangs weren't so sharp.

The beast leans over you and you drive a fist into its side, where you hope the soft gaps in its endoskeletal organ cage are. It doesn't even notice. Instead it plants an astonishingly heavy leg on you, pinning you to the ground. As you try to lift it, hissing and straining in vain, a smaller mouth opens up above the larger one, spitting luminous flecks of saliva as it speaks.

"In... com... plete," the beast's smaller mouth hisses, its voice grating like sandpaper on a chalkboard. Its glowing saliva burns like acid where it touches your skin.

"You can talk?" you ask, panting with the exertion of trying to escape this freakishly strong thing's grasp. "You can understand me? Then get the hell off me!"

"You're... incomplete... too," the beast says.

It lifts both arms. The sharp claws glimmer in the early morning sun.

The creature's claws are a blur as they descend. It rakes one set across your face and plunges the other into your ribs. The pain is way beyond anything you've ever felt before. Blinded and unable to breathe, you try to howl in agony but no sound comes out, only a wet, gurgly hiss. You can feel blood welling up in your throat and dribbling out of the corners of your mouth.

The pressure on your torso eases up just a little, but that's more than enough. You shove the creature off you with all your strength and stagger to your feet. Your face feels like it's melting and you can't tell if your gander bulbs have been sliced open or if you just can't see through all the blood.

Sobbing from the pain, you half run and half hobble, in whatever direction gets you away from the beast and the semi-coherent sentences it's growling. You trip over you feet and hit the floor more than a few times, but every time you force yourself back up. Every breath comes out with a wheeze and you still can't see, but you need to get away from that monster. You only stop when you run into some sort of pillar, falling to the ground with an undignified yelp.

You can't hear the beast or the screaming gutterblood any more, thank fuck.

You can't hear a single thing except your ragged breathing, your fluttering heartbeat and the wind.

As you lie there you hesitantly touch your face, trying to wipe the blood from your eyes even though the slightest pressure stings like you're peeling your skin off with the tines of a culling fork. Your blood is already sticky and starting to scab up, which is especially weird because of how little time it's been. One of your eyes is definitely not working any more, and you have to struggle to ignore the panic bubbling up inside your thorax. The other eye must have narrowly avoided that thing's claws, though. You peel away the wet, sticky scabs and prise it open.

Your first thought is, What the fuck's happened to my hands?! You can barely see them under the layers of blood and black gunk they're covered in, but the flesh is covered in a splotchy blue rash and drooping like it's about to fall off. Your claws are loose in their beds and one of them is missing, exposing the spongy, indigo-coloured flesh beneath.

You peel your right sleeve back, following the rash up your arm. Oh, fuck, it goes all the way up. And it itches! Your arms are on fire, and the sensation is spreading, but you're scared to scratch it in case something else falls off.

You're in such a state right now. You need medical attention, but you don't think you'll find anyone who wouldn't take one look at you and run screaming. With how lost you are, you don't think you can find anything. So much for getting a lift from Chixie. You don't recognise any of the buildings around you and you don't rate the chances of retracing your steps.

What did you do to deserve any of this?! You need to get home, fast. Bizarre skin disease or no, you're never usually out this late. Your lusus is probably getting worried about you.

You wish he was here. You really need him right now.

You try to stand up and regret it straight away as a wave of nausea washes over you. You grit your teeth as you lean against the stop sign you crashed into earlier, taking deep breaths (as deep as you can) and waiting for the churning in your acid tracts to die down. If anything, though, it gets worse. You lie on the ground again, holding your guts and groaning as sweat runs down your face in sheets.

A wave of agony blasts through you without warning, obliterating every thought in your pan. Your mouth opens in a noiseless scream and your back arches so violently that your head cracks against the concrete. Your arms and legs spasm, jerking like a puppet with tangled strings, and you can feel your bones cracking and shifting under your skin, stretching and bulging your body as they reshape into positions nature never intended. Your mind is overwhelmed by the pain. You can't scream, you can't breathe, you can't think.

Eventually the pain fades and the spasms subside, leaving you panting in agony on the floor, sightlessly looking up at the sky with your one good eye. The harsh, burning glare of the sun mixes together with a sickly green glow that seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once, almost like it's coming from inside you.

You can feel something bubbling up your throat. You cough up a spout of thick, inky slime, so viscous and solid you nearly choke on it. You cough up more and more of the stuff and it splashes onto your face and shoulders. When it stops you feel wretched and empty, like you coughed up everything inside you and there's nothing left but a huge, vacant emptiness.

You lie there for who knows how long. Your think pan is hazy and full of fog, and guessing the time is beyond you. You try to think about your lusus, Chixie, Miss Miracle, the Society of Responsible Hedonists... None of it sticks. Every thought circles back to how hollow and miserable you feel.

Slowly, with great effort, you pull yourself to your feet. There are more legs than you had earlier but you can't muster up the mental energy to feel alarmed by it.

You can feel a pull from far away, like a giant magnet drawing you inexorably closer. You try to speak but your mouth is different: larger, wider, with fangs in all the wrong places. You can only make a hollow bellowing sound, like the wind rushing through a tunnel.

You can feel the response echo in your bones. That unavoidable pull grows stronger and more insistent.

Your new legs are heavy and unwieldy and they bend in all the wrong places, so it's difficult to walk now. But that pull is as insistent as gravity and as loud as the strange new rhythm of the blood pumping in your veins, so you reach out and claw your way towards it.

END OF INTERMISSION THREE

Chapter Text

> Joey: Go to sleep already.

You spend way too long in the shower. The steam and hot water saps what little energy you had left and when you're finished it's a struggle to put your pyjamas on. You manage, somehow, and force your legs to walk you out the bathroom. The door to your bedroom is slightly ajar and you can hear the high-pitched whine and whirr of the computer from inside.

Taking care to be as quiet as you can, you push the door open just enough to put your head round. Like you guessed, Jude's already fast asleep, curled up on top of the covers with a peaceful expression that looks so out of place on him. You step into the room and spend an entire minute inching the door shut so it closes without clicking on the latch. When that's done, you tiptoe over to the computer. There's absolutely no way it's staying on. Jude might be able to ignore its buzzing and beeping but you'd rather rip your own ears off than try to sleep through that racket.

Jude's Pesterchum account is still logged in, and the screen is full of conversations between him and his strange online friends. When you sit down in the chair, a new message window pops up and your heart stops for a moment. There's no text, no system messages, not even the usual 'so-and-so began pestering you' heading at the top.

You know who this is, though, and you bite back a groan of dismay. For God's sake, what could he want with you now?

You know what? It doesn't matter. You are not giving him the satisfaction of talking at you. You try to move the mouse over to the start button so you can shut the computer down, but it disappears as soon as you move it away from the chat window. None of the usual keyboard shortcuts work either.

With a sigh of frustration (as quietly as you can, because you don't want to wake Jude up and you definitely don't want him seeing this) you reach down and press the power button on the tower. As you hold it down, the clock in the corner of the screen advances one minute, and another, and yet the computer stubbornly stays on.

You screw your eyes shut and drag both hands through your hair. Why did he have to message you now of all times? You'd rather gouge your eyes out than talk to him. In fact, you'd offer one of your arms too if you were given the choice. But you know that wouldn't help. Dr Scratch would never let you get out of anything that easily.

With a resigned sigh, you move the mouse back into the chat window and highlight Scratch's text. You mash out a reply as quickly and as silently as you can, hoping that, for once in his life, he might make this quick.

Your hopes are in vain, as always.

You stand up and ball your fists, suppressing a scream. He's doing this on purpose. Just like always, he's winding you up to get a rise out of you. And just like always, it worked perfectly. You hate how you always end up playing along like a sucker, even when you deliberately try not to.

You're too tired to put up with hours more of this back-and-forth squabbling and getting worked up isn't going to help. You need to focus.

Your blood turns to ice. That's why the phrase sounded so ominous when the Overseer said it. Does that mean she's working with Dr Scratch? No, you can't believe that. The Overseer was so nice and friendly and helpful, while Dr Scratch is none of those things.

As unbelievable as it seems, some nagging part of you is suspicious. Was everything that happened last night part of some big plan you unwittingly took part in? When you thought you were saving Xefros, were you really just setting him up for something much worse planned by Dr Scratch?

You have to find out, but you can't let him know what you're asking. You tap your fingers on your knees while you think of a reply that will probe him for answers without making him suspicious.

You take a deep breath and push down on the frustration and unease mixing inside you. This is getting absolutely nowhere. Once again, you feel like Dr Scratch is playing with you for his own amusement. You can think about his possible links to the Overseer later, but for now you just need this conversation to end so you can turn this computer off and get to sleep.

The chat window closes just as you start to type a retort and the computer shuts down without you even having to do anything.

You stay sitting for a while, thinking about what Dr Scratch said, even after the computer tells you it's now safe to turn it off. His smug creepiness, his oblique threats that you're not good enough, everything to do with 'functional omniscience'... You don't know what to do about any of it and you can't turn to anyone else for advice.

You're too tired to make sense of that conversation, especially not what he said about the Umbral Star. You climb up into bed and pull the covers over you, unable to shake the feeling of dread you always get after a conversation with him. It doesn't help that you have no idea what his agenda is.

Part of you hopes that you'll dream about Prospit again, so you can ask the Overseer exactly what functional omniscience means. Another part, speaking in Jude's voice, is vehement that she's in league with Dr Scratch and whatever insidious, inscrutable scheme he's planning. You don't want to believe it. There's no evidence to suggest they even know each other!

Then again, there's no evidence to suggest the Lancer is real, and you've already learned that lesson.

You decide that maybe it's best not to look for the Overseer in your dreams tonight. Whether or not she's working with Dr Scratch, you need time to think all of this through.

As you start to fall asleep, you have a terrible thought that jolts you awake like a bolt of lightning. If the Overseer and Dr Scratch share the power of functional omniscience, what if they also share the ability to visit other people's dreams? The thought of him intruding in your dreams, just like he's intruded everywhere else, is like a punch to the gut.

As you drift back to sleep, for the first time in your life, you hope you don't dream about Prospit.

Chapter Text

INTERMISSION FOUR

> Miss Miracle: Be a big goddamn hero.

The human lady who's clinging to you doesn't stop crying even when you reach the ground. "Thank you so much, Miss Miracle!" she wails through tears of relief, "I'd never have gotten out without you!"

You reassuringly pat her on the back. "Shoosh. Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for."

Someone steps out of the large crowd of people you've brought to this park and wraps the woman you just rescued in a tight hug. As they cry in each other's arms, you float upwards so you can see the entire crowd of people you've rescued. The burning building continues to blaze unabated behind you. You can still hear the roar of the flames and feel some of the heat even though you're some distance away. The sound of fire truck sirens is suspiciously absent, though. If a fire crew still haven't arrived after this long then the secret police must be behind this. That means these people aren't safe yet.

You do a quick headcount to make sure nobody was abducted while you were waiting. Sphinx said there were exactly a hundred people in that building when it caught fire, and here there are... one hundred and one. Strange. You don't recall seeing anyone else arrive.

"Hey, is there anyone here who wasn't in that building?" you ask as you float back down to the ground.

As the crowd of people look among themselves, an adult troll just shy of his final molt, his skin dusk grey and poking out at awkward angles under his psychedelically-coloured tie-dye T-shirt, pulls a pistol from the waistband of his sweatpants. The crowd scatters as screams fill the air.

"Miss Miracle!" he shouts, clearly psyching himself up, "It's all over now!"

He points the gun at you. You just roll your eyes.

Before you can say anything, the woman you just rescued steps between you, holding her arms wide. "I won't let you harm her," she says, voice shaking.

"Dude, stop, that's totally not necessary," you say, putting a hand on her shoulder and nudging her aside. It takes all your willpower not to say, What the fuck is wrong with you? People keep offering to lay their lives down for you and it's the lamest thing ever. You're the invulnerable one. You're the one whose job it is to protect the helpless. Even if the timeline's broken and it supposedly doesn't matter, you refuse to let innocent people hurt themselves for your sake. It defeats the whole point of what you're doing.

When you take a step closer towards the troll with the gun, he panics and aims right at your forehead. "Don't take another step!" he cries, hand trembling. "I'll shoot! Don't think I won't! I mean it! And you won't shrug it off this time!"

Yeah, right, you think, and take another step. He pulls the trigger. The crowd screams as the shot rings through the air. The bullet hits you right in the centre of your forehead and bounces off into the grass somewhere.

You reach the troll in a single bound and grab him by the shoulder, digging your fingers in. He howls in pain and drops the gun. With a casual flick of the wrist, you throw him high into the air.

As his screams vanish upwards, you pick the gun up off the ground. It's human-made and probably decades old. You don't know how to eject the magazine, so you snap the grip in half. Bullets rain onto the ground and you bend down to pick one up. It doesn't seem to be made of metal. Instead it's formed from what looks like brown plastic, with silvery stripes that shimmer in the light like an oil slick.

So this is what they think's going to stop you? Please. It'll take more than fancy bullets to put you out of action.

The screaming from above you starts to get louder again. You squint up into the morning sunlight to find the falling troll's silhouette. When you see it, you blast off into the air, pluck him out of the sky and dump him back on the ground. It's a forceful drop, but definitely way less terminal than the speed he was going at earlier.

"Y-Y-You're evil!" the man says, his entire body shaking.

You pointedly ignore him, shifting your attention to the crowd of people who've been watching you this whole time. "If any of you don't have a place to stay, go to the Yellow Yard in East-1. It's the big building next to the GrubMart by the museum. They know you're coming and they'll get you sorted you out."

That sorted, you turn back to the troll. You grab him by the scruff of his garish shirt and hoist him up to eye level. "Alright, talk," you say, fixing him with your iciest glare. "You're with the secret police, aren't you? You'd better be feeling chatty today."

"Get off me, you psycho! I'm not telling you anything!"

"Really? Do you want me to throw you again?"

"No! Wait-wait-wait!" he shouts, bronze-coloured tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "Don't, please, not again! I'll talk! I promise!"

"Why did you torch that apartment building? Which residents were you targeting and what did they do?"

"The residents didn't do anything! It was all just a trap for you!"

You have to restrain yourself from punching this jerk. "So you don't care about hurting innocent people just to get to me? You're a coward."

"Please don't throw me again, it wasn't my idea! I'm just following orders!"

"Orders from who? Spit it out, you pig."

"I don't know! I never see anyone else! They call me from a phonebox!"

Of course this idiot's clueless. They'd never send someone who wasn't completely expendable for this kind of thing. "Cool! Sick! Well I'm here now. What next?"

"Nothing! I was just meant to keep you occupied for an hour. They wanted you out of the mayor's way, that's all!"

Urgh. Of course he had to be involved somehow. "And what's that wasteoid doing that's so important?"

"I keep telling you, I don't know anything!"

"Well I guess I'd better go find out, then."

"No, please, you can't, if they find out I blabbed–"

"Quit it. I don't care what they do to you. Next time your boss or your commander or whatever calls you, tell them they're wasting your time." You hold the strange bullet between your thumb and forefinger and show it to him. "Tell them they can't hurt me with these or with anything else, and it's pointless to try. Tell them that maybe rather than hunting me down, they should actually help the people of this city and stop blowing up their homes? Believe me, I'd be more than happy for you to put me out of a job!"

You pocket the bullet for Mituna to have a look at later and drift up into the sky without waiting for the grunt to reply. When you clear the tops of the buildings around you, you hear a quick melodic chime and see a ping of blue light in the corner of your visor, notifying you that Adalov's just sent you a message.

Rather than read it right away, you climb higher, into the clouds. Inside the dense, grey mist you can see a delicate mesh of tyrian-coloured crystals, stretched out in a long, tangled chain that shimmers and swirls. Twirling to avoid them, you blast straight ahead until you break through to the other side, with nothing around you but the harsh glare of the mid-morning sun and the endless blue sky.

For anyone else, that journey would have been suicide. If a normal person got that close to the chemicals which cause the Tyrian Rain, and in such a concentrated form, their body would probably rip itself apart at the cellular level. You've seen the nasty things it can do when dissolved in rainwater, and that's after it's been diluted so much a homeopath would have doubts.

Of course, there's nothing for you to worry about. You're not just anyone. They call you Miss Miracle for a damn good reason.

You press the button on the side of your visor and Mallek's cerulean text cascades across your vision. It's hard to read against the pale blue sky, so you cup your spare hand over your visor to read what he's typed.

Another chat notification pops up in the corner of your vision. Now the Overseer's trying to get in touch with you? Damn, she's always so quick on the uptake. Functional omniscience is one thing, but it's downright creepy how she always knows everything before it's happened yet.

Oh, whatever. If that well-meaning spoilsport truly knows everything, she shouldn't care if you leave her hanging for a few moments.

Welp, you guess you've left the Overseer hanging long enough. Time to face the music.

You feel guilty the moment you send that. You were being so rude and the Overseer didn't deserve any of it. You're just so sick of how she micromanages everything. All she ever does is manoeuvre Powers around the city like pawns on a giant chessboard. Sometimes the things she says makes you wonder if anything has any meaning to her, or if it's just a game with absurdly high stakes.

Eugh, all this wallowing in anger is getting you nowhere. You need to get a move on while you still know the Mayor is vulnerable. You tilt your body and let gravity carry you back below the clouds, flying in spirals to dodge the undulating arms of the tyrian crystals. When you break through to the other side you speed off towards West-1. The city rushes past in a blur far beneath you and the cold air whips at your face. After a short flight, you spot the ugly cluster of concrete laboratories and glass-fronted office blocks that comprise the SkaiaCorp main campus.

Even from the height you're at, you spot Noir and his entourage easily, and land unseen on top of a squat building with shale cladding and a courtyard in the centre. There are five people there, but you only really recognise the two standing in the grassy square in the centre, next to a lichen-flecked concrete mo'ai. The first man is pale and wiry, wearing a sharp suit, a serviceable hat, black leather gloves and an eyepatch. He's holding a maroon crowbar, which he's brandishing at the second man, a mustachioed, bespectacled, broad-shouldered wimp in a lab coat who's wobbling where he stands as if he might fall over at any moment.

"I'm sick of you ruining everything, Harley," Jack Noir snarls. "You had one job. One job!"

Jake Harley cowers backwards until his back is against the mo'ai, eyes flicking between the crowbar in Noir's hands and his walking stick, which lies in the grass several feet away next to a squat machine that's been smashed to pieces. "Believe me, chum, I'm at a thorough loss for words," he replies, his ridiculous speech patterns somehow making him sound like more of an abject coward than normal. "The confounded machine worked fine with the samples you gave us. Everything was right as rain up until last night."

"That monster smashed Main Street to pieces last night and your useless lump of junk didn't make a single sound," Noir spits, flinging an arm out towards the broken machine. "Do you really call that 'right as rain', you simpleton?"

The servos in Noir's robot arm whir as he raises the crowbar. Harley throws both hands up to shield himself but his bad leg buckles underneath him and he falls to the ground with a piteous yelp. Noir stares at him, arm shaking with barely restrained fury. A moment pases and then he sighs, lowers his arm, and scratches under his eyepatch with his free hand.

"Why've you got to get me all worked up? I'm just trying to run my city without morons like you ruining everything I've built. Is that too big of an ask?"

Harley's only response is a whimper of pain as he struggles to his feet.

You can't say you feel any sympathy for Noir. Boo hoo, running a city blows, big deal. Maybe if he wasn't a crooked scumbag who liked to use blackmail and violence to rule like a dictator, he'd find it easier. You're not a civil engineer, but you're fairly sure making the monorail run on time is a lot easier when your secret police force isn't blowing stations up all the time.

Argh, just being in the same zip code as that asshole is making you angry. Sure, he might no longer be the villainous masked Power known as Spades Slick, but the list of crimes and misdeeds he's committed as a politician is miles longer than the one when he was just a mobster. He's like numbers one through seven on your personal most wanted list, and the fact that he's always being guarded by his secret agents and that damn Lancer makes you so frustrated you could vomit.

A small movement in the corner of your vision distracts you from Noir and Harley's argument. At the edge of the courtyard, three men are having a quiet conversation. In between sentences, they glance at Harley and the mayor with the bored, dispassionate looks of people who've seen this happen far too often to care. You recognise Diamonds Droog, the mayor's right hand man. Thankfully he's not wearing his Crown right now. You also vaguely recognise that one guy from the Felt, the one who originally owned Noir's crowbar. You don't remember his name and you don't really care to. The third man's identity is mostly unknown to you. He's just an old, short, balding dude with white hair, wearing a green shirt and white slacks under his lab coat. You think he might be the director of SkaiaCorp? Whatever. He's probably just some unimportant bystander.

You shift your attention back to Jack Noir, who's currently twisting that damn crowbar in his hands. As much as you hate to admit it, its presence is a frustrating complication. Even your superpowered invulnerability is no good against that thing. However you're going to do this, you need to pounce on Noir and disarm him with absolute precision. If he regains his composure and swings it at you, you're in trouble.

You're distracted from your thoughts by two messages popping up in your visor, one from Mallek and one from the Overseer. You're about to close them, but a glimpse of Adalov's message makes your blood run cold.

Oh, that's just gnarly. You knew this was too good to be true. You cast your gaze back down to the courtyard to assess the situation. Maybe you could fly down there, disarm Noir and whisk him away to somewhere secluded before the Lancer gets here? It's risky—not in the least because of that damn crowbar—but it might be your best chance.

Movement in your peripheral vision. You look down and lock eyes with that SkaiaCorp bigwig. Oh, great, how long has he known you're up here? You glance around to see if you've been rumbled, but Noir's goons are too engrossed in their quiet discussion to notice you.

The old dude smirks at you, taps his watch, and then turns to Noir and Harley with an eager expression, as if waiting for a show to start.

That was... weird. What's that dude's game? Does he know the Lancer's coming too?

Whatever. No use pondering that now. It's do or die time.

As you watch Noir for an opportunity to strike, you turn your attention back to the Overseer's messages, which have been slowly saturating your vision in gold text.

You launch yourself off the edge of the roof and dive towards Noir. You crash into him, knocking him to the ground and landing on your hands and knees a few paces away, digging ruts into the grass as you scramble to stabilise yourself. You leap for the crowbar lying by him but he's up on his feet before you can blink and you both grab it at the same time. For a few moments, the two of you struggle to wrest the crowbar out of each other's hands. You try to yank it out of his grip but he stubbornly holds on, snarling at you as his shiny leather shoes kick up clods of grass.

This shouldn't be a problem for you. In any other situation, you'd be able to overpower Noir with ease, but the crowbar is diminishing your super strength and you can't make him let go.

The sound of feet padding across the grass behind you catches your attention. Any ordinary person wouldn't have heard Diamonds Droog sneaking up behind them, but you're still much more than any ordinary person, even with the crowbar's effects. You twist round and puff out a blast of icy breath in his direction, forcing him to scramble backwards to avoid it. Unfortunately, that's exactly the kind of distraction Noir needed. Your fingers slip and he jerks the crowbar out of your hands. Face contorted with fury, he takes a step back and swings like a batter aiming for a home run. You duck under the first swipe with inches to spare and leap backwards to avoid the second, shoving Diamonds Droog out of the way. Gritting your teeth, you gather up energy and prepare to fire your laser vision. The light that bleeds from your eyes stings like you're crying battery acid and you can barely see past the harsh, red glow. You push past the pain, focusing the intense light into a beam of energy aimed right at the mayor's dark, fuzzy silhouette.

There's no way Noir's reflexes are faster than the speed of light, but the crowbar in his hands jumps up to intercept your laser vision as if it has a mind of its own. The beam, reflected off at an angle, goes completely wild. Harley yelps in alarm as he throws himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding being scorched by the beam as it burns a dark squiggle on the mo'ai's face.

"Cut that out!" Noir shouts. He takes one step forward, and then another, gritting his teeth as he pushes against the immense force behind your laser vision. "Stop that, you bitch, you're wrecking everything!"

You ignore him, obviously, and keep up the pressure, even as your eyes burn like they're boiling out of your skull and your whole body starts to shudder with the effort of keeping this going. You normally last a while longer than this, but that damn crowbar's still sapping your strength.

Noir struggles closer, inch by inch. When he gets just within striking distance, you snuff out the beam. The sudden lack of pushback makes him stumble forwards and you lunge up to meet him with a punch to the jaw. He falls backwards like a felled tree, still holding the crowbar. You reach down to grab it out of his hands but he flails it in an arc and strikes you right in the forehead.

The world goes white as the top of your skull splits in half, or at least it feels that way. You yelp and stumble backwards, struggling to stay on your feet as your head throbs. Damn, this sucks. You shouldn't even have felt that, but the crowbar suppressed your invulnerability and your healing factor in one.

You force yourself to breathe deeply, riding out the wave of pain. Your blurry vision resolves into focus just in time to watch Noir totter to his feet, free hand pressed to his chin. He rushes at you, swinging the crowbar like a lumberjack felling a tree. This time you're ready for it, and you thrust your hands out to catch it mid-swing. Your hands and arms feel the impact like an explosion and the pain blasts up your arms so intensely that you have to grit your teeth to suppress a howl of pain. Before Noir has a chance to react, you yank the crowbar towards you. He doesn't let go so you close the gap with a headbutt. There's a loud crack as your skulls knock together. You ignore the throbbing in your head and your suppressed healing factor, swing your arm back and plant a punch strong enough to break steel right into his stomach. He flies backwards, clips the side of the mo'ai and lands in a heap on the ground next to it.

Oh, shit. Has he stopped moving? Maybe you overdid it a little bit...

The mayor coughs and limply flaps an arm. You've never been so happy to see he's alive. Sure, you're angry with him, but you don't actually want to send him into temporal shock. He totally deserves it, but you're meant to be better than that.

"Owwww," Noir groans. It's less a word and more an agonised croak. With intense effort, he lifts himself up onto his elbows. You can tell that every movement hurts him. His arms are shaking, his teeth are clenched and his one eye is squeezed shut. Nevertheless he's still moving, and he's still a threat while that crowbar's by his side.

You stride over to him, snatch the crowbar off the ground before he can reach it and bring it down on his head. As he screams and collapses again, you spin round and launch the crowbar like a javelin. It flies clear over the lab and a moment later you hear a distant, muffled clatter of ringing metal as it lands in a random street far away.

You turn back around and stare at Noir's battered, bleeding body. Once again, you have to wonder if you overdid it. Yeah, you were pissed off about the crack to your head, but now your healing factor's started to come back and the pain is just a foggy memory. What you did to Noir is probably ten or twenty times more severe and he's mundane and unpowered. Sure, you didn't give him temporal shock, but you probably hurt him far worse than you needed to.

Eurgh, why are you getting so worked up over this? Noir is slime in human form. His eyes are still open and he's still conscious, and he should be grateful for that. You raise a hand to your visor and dash off a quick message to the Overseer.

You have more time than you thought you did. Either the adrenaline made that fight feel way longer than it actually was or the timeline went weird again. In either case, you can't breathe easy just yet.

You lean down, grab Noir by the collar and lift him up until his feet dangle off the ground. The forearm of his robot arm falls out of his sleeve, shattered at the elbow where it hit the statue. "Alright," you say, "Now we've got that out of our systems, you'd better listen to me."

Noir spits in your face.

Grimacing, you throw him back to the ground and plant a foot on his chest. He hisses and gasps in pain, even though you're barely touching him. You ignore the noises he's making and wipe his spit off your face with your sleeve. "Are you going to stop yet?" You steal a glance behind you to make sure his lackeys aren't about to spring some dumb rescue operation, but they're nowhere to be seen. They probably fled when you started winning.

"Fucking—ow, ow, ow-ow-ow!" Noir sputters below you. "Get off!"

You lift your foot a fraction of an inch. "Are you going to stay there?"

Noir doesn't respond. He just lies there, fixing you with a hate-filled glare. That's a good enough answer for you.

"I'm gonna get to the point before you pass out or something," you say, putting your foot back on the ground. "Stop unleashing the Beast on this city or I'll be forced to rip your other arm off and-" You falter when Noir's face screws up in confusion. How can he not know what you're talking about?

"Unleashing the beast?" he says, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"The Beast! La Bête Noire! The monster that was causing havoc last night and has been for ages!"

Noir groans, a mixture of pain and frustration. "Ohh, come on. Why would you think that's got anything to do with me?"

"It shares your name, dumbass! Jack Noir, La Bête Noire, it's not exactly subtle. You're the only person in this city dumb enough to think that's clever."

"Oh, go to hell," Noir groans. If anyone's dumb here, it's not me. I've spent years building this city. Wasn't nothing but a bunch of rocks and sand before I got here. Why would I create a monster to go round trashing everything? I've already got a perfectly capable secret police force for that."

Yeah, time's definitely going weird right now. But hey, a deadline's a deadline. You take a step away from Noir. "Then there's no point to me being here?"

"Nope. None at all. Glad you're finally realising how useless you are."

You glare at him. That was a rhetorical question, but of course Noir had to answer it and ruin the little moment you had planned. "Shut up for just one second and listen. Neither of us want the Beast around, right? Then there's no point in fighting like this. We might disagree on what's best for the city, but if we can put our differences aside for like five seconds, maybe we can stop it together."

Extending the olive branch like this makes you feel gross. Noir is just such a terrible person! He doesn't deserve a redemption, not even slightly. Hell, if you had it your way, you'd throw him so high into the sky that he'd fly right past the Battleship Condescension and keep going. But you're also aware that the moral high ground isn't a luxury you can afford right now. Your whole reason for existing is to protect the people of this city. If that means temporarily teaming up with one monster to defeat another—and you're very set on the temporary part!—then so be it. You're Miss Miracle, not Miss Perfect.

You expect Noir to respond with derision or sarcasm or just flippant indifference. No matter how much you hope for it, you don't expect him to take your request seriously.

What you don't see coming at all is him getting angry. "You really want to team up?" he snarls. "You want to be partners? Buddies? Allies? After what you did to me? Fuck you!"

"Noir, don't be a tool, this is what I'm trying to get past-"

"Great! How about you give me back my eye and my arm! Then I'll get past it. Screw you. I'd rather lose my other arm. I don't want your friendship or your pity."

"Come on. Be reasonable."

"Go to hell."

You release a deep sigh and run a hand through your hair. You thought you might have trouble getting through to him but this just stinks.

Okay, that was way longer than sixty seconds.

You glance down, feeling a light sensation by your ankle. The mayor's tried to stab you with a balisong pulled from who knows where. The knife's crumpled against your invulnerable skin like a wet cardboard cutout. With a theatrical sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose, ready to pick Noir up and throw him someplace.

A familiar whirring sound stops you in your tracks. You look up to see a sickly green glow pouring over the roof of the lab. A cascade of golden text pours down your visor and obstructs your vision but you can clearly see the Lancer hovering in the sky.

Oh, great. It's holding the crowbar.

Why did you have to throw it away? It would have been much safer—not to mention much more sensible—to keep hold of it, power nullification or not.

No matter. You push off from the ground with a sonic boom that rattles the windows around you. You have to lose the Lancer. It's more than a match for you in normal situations. If it has the crowbar, you don't stand a sliver of a chance. You'll be fine if you can escape it, though. Maybe it'll get distracted by a Power who's easier to victimise, or maybe the secret police will need it's help with something, or maybe its batteries will actually run low this time. Sure, you'd need a miracle to escape the Lancer, but you're full of those.

...At least, that's what you think at first. You zip through the sky, weaving around buildings and through tunnels to dodge the missiles it fires and shake it off your tail. It stubbornly refuses to let up. Every time the green glow and low-pitched whir begin to fade and you try to regain your bearings, it pops up right behind you again. What gives? It's never been this tenacious before. Is the crowbar making it more confident than usual? Can it even feel confidence?

No matter. This is getting ridiculous. You fire off a reluctant message to the Overseer. You feel bad about asking for her help after you were so rude to her, but the choice between being caught by the Lancer and eating humble pie is sort of a no-brainer.

You follow the Overseer's instructions as they pop up in your vision, flying in bizarre patterns that make no sense. You don't look behind you and you don't take any detours, you just single-mindedly fly forwards with no clue where you are or where you're headed.

After a while, the Overseer tells you to hide under an overpass covered in graffiti. By now you're so turned around that you haven't got a clue where you are. Somewhere in West-4, maybe? You did see a lot of garbage trucks on your way here. You'd have to fly higher to be certain, but you're not doing that until the Lancer's gone. More specifically, you're not doing that until the Overseer tells you it's safe.

You need to be real with yourself. You trust the Overseer, more than pretty much anyone else in the city. Your outburst earlier wasn't directed at her. You were frustrated and you lashed out, that's all there is to it. She doesn't deserve that, though, not when she always tries so hard to help.

The minutes pass in slow, dull silence. You don't dare move a finger until, at last, new golden text fills your screen.

You take off and soar through the skies towards home. Your hunch about being in West-4 was totally correct. It's gonna take you some time to get home. Might as well apologise to Adalov and Harley for crashing their workplace while you fly.

Adalov doesn't respond, but you're not too worried. He's always been hard to get hold of, and he's probably got his hands full with whatever this threat he's monitoring is. As expected, Harley answers immediately. You're fairly sure the man always has at least five computers on his person at all times.

You catch yourself at the last second before you send that last message. You push down the rage filling your body until you can stomach deleting it.

You watched Mituna tear his brain apart for you, and you've been by his side the whole way on his long and arduous road to recovery. Whenever he tells you about the dumb, thoughtless shit his co-workers do, the righteous fury makes you want to march down there and start busting heads. Sure, he has a tremor and he mixes his words up, but he's still one of the smartest, most passionate people you know. He doesn't deserve to be treated like garbage.

Deep breaths, Miss Miracle. Remember, you need Harley to like you so he'll build that dumb machine for Team Charge. You hang in mid air for a few moments to compose a reply, determined to send something snarky and spiteful with just enough plausible deniability that it'll go right over Harley's head.

It doesn't feel even a little bit satisfying, but it'll have to do for now.

You spend a few moments pondering whether to message him back and ask about the dangerous thing in the SkaiaCorp atrium before eventually deciding against it. Mallek said he had it all under control and the Overseer said it would all end well, so what's the use in worrying?

You just wish you could say the same about La Bête Noire. The Overseer's deliberately been keeping you in the dark about what it actually is. She says she 'doesn't want to give you more to worry about', somehow unaware that's the most worrying thing she could say! All you really know is that it's a monster that blinks into existence and vanishes just as suddenly, spreading an infection as it wreaks havoc. You don't know what she means by infection and you haven't seen anyone displaying symptoms of any strange diseases, but the last thing you want is to deal with an evil Power spreading an epidemic through the city. You just know that if it gets too bad, you'll be the one who has to sort everything out. In the meantime, there's not much to do but let the Overseer deal with it. If she says she's got it under control then you should trust her, as difficult as that is.

When you get close to your North-1 apartment building, you plummet to the ground, ending the dive a second early to land soundlessly on the roof of an abandoned building. You grab the duffel bag with your normal clothes in from under the busted air conditioning unit and hop the twenty storeys down to the ground. You land in a dingy alley. After making sure you're alone, you start changing.

It's a bit of a rigmarole to get your Crown off over your horns. It's one of the earliest models, designed for the neat, narrow horns of seadwellers, so it doesn't have the hinge like newer models. Still, you eventually get the thing off. You stuff it back into the duffel bag with your outfit and step out of the alley, rejoining the real world as your non-Powered alter ego.

Why, who's this classy dame walking home in the morning? Not a Power, no sirree! Just Latula Pyrope, freelance journalist, on her way home after a long day of chasing scoops and following leads.

The walk up the fifteen sets of stairs to your apartment is always tougher than you expect. You've spent so long wearing your Crown that you forget you're not normally able to leap entire buildings in a single bound, and you're shattered from going so long without sleep. But still, would it kill for them to fix the elevator?

Dubstep music is pulsing from behind your apartment door loud enough that you can feel it in your bones. You can't help but smirk as you climb the last few steps. How have you not had a single complaint yet? Obviously Mituna's dastardly charm is just too strong—or maybe, more realistically, your slumlord of a landlady would be a fool to kick out tenants who always pay their rent on time, especially in a building like this.

You push open the front door into your apartment. The whole place is barely larger than your cell on the Battleship Condescension. The door on the right leads to the closet and the one on the left has a small alcove for your ablutions, but apart from that everything you and Mituna own has been messily crammed into a room barely big enough for the two of you. The coffee table in the middle of the room is piled high with video games, scientific journals and unopened letters. The stove and sink in the corner are, while meticulously clean, stacked high with dishes and pans you don't have space to put anywhere else. Between those, the couch, the double size recuperacoon and the chunky CRT television in its cabinet, you barely have room to tiptoe around your apartment.

Ahh, penthouse living it ain't. You always discuss moving out, but the rent is cheap for where you are and you're slap bang in the middle of the city, which is convenient for both of you. Maybe one day you'll retire to the suburbs, but you don't see it happening soon.

Mituna is lying on the sofa... although maybe lying isn't the right word. His feet are resting on the top of the backrest and his head is by the ground. He's somehow reading from a thick wad of stapled paper almost black with mathematical equations, holding it high up to catch as much light as he can. He scrambles upright as you open the door and gives you a large, fang-filled grin. "Hey, Tula!"

"Hey, Tuna," you say, nudging the door closed with your foot. You walk over to him and lean down, sweeping the hair from his face and giving him a kiss. "How was work?"

"It was okay," he says with a shrug. He's still wearing his labcoat, with the SkaiaCorp logo embroidered on one pocket and his Gemini symbol on the other. "I've been here for a while. Harley just buzzed me. He said a certain someone came and had a fight with the mayor."

Yeah, a 'certain someone'. Of course Mituna knows your secret identity; you trust him with your life. "It went terribly," you say as you make your way to the stove. "Want some coffee?"

"Nah."

"Cool." You shift the plates out of the way and fill the kettle with water. As much as you want to sleep, your day job won't put itself on hold while you save the world and you have a story to write. "That certain someone hopes she didn't make things too difficult for you when you go back to work. It was kinda brutal."

Mituna snorts. "I don't care. Harley's a nooksniffer."

"You said it, dude."

"Oh! I had lunch with Damara last night."

You turn and raise an eyebrow. "You're kidding."

"Nuh-uh."

"You're telling me you and Damz sat down and ate food together and had a whole civil conversation and everything?"

"Yeah!" Mituna nods. "She's studying the broken timeline. It's really interesting!"

"And she didn't threaten to kill you once?"

"Well... She did threaten to stick my bulge in a macerator."

"There we are. And what did you say to her to get that reaction?"

"Nothing!" He pauses, trying and failing to keep an impish grin off his face "Although I did say if she did that she'd have to kiss it better after."

You sigh and pout theatrically. "Tuna, Tuna, Tuna. You can be so puerile sometimes."

Mituna makes a kissy face. You can tell he's about to say something foul, but he's startled by a loud chime first. He scrambles around in his pockets and fishes out his personal communicator. When he reads the message his jaw visibly drops.

"What is it?" you ask, expecting it to be something boring and work-related.

"It's Armina!" he shouts, "I got a message from Rufioh but it's definitely Armina!"

"Holy shit." The kettle begins to whistle but you ignore it, rushing over to Mituna's side. "What's she saying? Is she alright?"

Mituna angles the comm so you can see the screen. You've never been so happy to see a message in your life.

Chapter Text

> Armina Meenah: Abscond.

Every step rings out as you run along the cramped access corridor, feet pounding the metal grating that separates you from the tangle of pipes, cables and tentacles below your feet. You stopped caring about making noise long ago. There's no way you're going to stop running while you can still hear the shouts behind you, reverberating down the tunnel.

"Yo, get back here!"

"You're both dead!"

"Just stop running, homies! We won't fuck you up if you chill out and come back!"

Despite the near darkness of the narrow corridor, you spot a bulkhead door up ahead. When you reach it you let go of Karkat's hand to twist the wheel.

"Fuck, Meenah, are you sure we're not running in circles?" he says, hanging his sickle on a pipe running along the wall so he can massage some feeling back into the hand you were clutching. His Crown is a regal band of thick, heavy gold, crenellated like the battlements on a castle's walls and covered in hundreds of precious stones that glint and shimmer under the dim shine of the emergency lighting. "I want to get away from the jaildevilians as much as you, but we need to run away from them."

"Oh, can it," you say, but not with any malice. You know Karkat well enough by now to tell when he's angry and when it's just bluster. You've both been running for what feels like hours and the hot air in here is making sweat pour down your face and back in rivers. To make matters worse, the bulkhead door's wheel handle is stuck fast, and all the huffing and puffing you're doing to try and budge it isn't helping any. "I know—ngh!—exactly where we're going. We gotta take the long way round or we'll just run back to Marvus and his goons again. Also they're not jaildevilians, they're hilareapers."

"No, they're not," Karkat says, elbowing you out of the way to try and twist the handle himself. "Hilareaper face paint is a technicolour travesty made for torturing people with working gander bulbs. The chucklefucks hunting us have grey faces. Argh, what's this fucking door's problem!?" Behind you, the braying mob is getting louder. Karkat spins round and stares for a moment down the corridor to where it splits in two, then he curses under his breath. "We're wasting too much time," he says. "We have to find another way."

"We don't got no time," you say, struggling with the wheel again. "Everyone on this ship knows we've escaped by now."

"Then why are we bothering with this fucking door? We need to find another fucking way."

You turn to look behind you. The search party's flashlights faintly illuminate the end of the corridor. "No, we can get through here. We gotta," you say, "So either shut up and stop distracting me while I get it open, or use your Power and bust it down."

"Fuck you," Karkat snarls with the ferocity of a cholerbear. He grabs the sickle off the wall and jabs it in front of your face. "Don't you even joke about that. I'd rather die than use my Power again."

You're about to tell him he might have to but your reply is interrupted as footsteps echo their way up the corridor. A seadweller clown with hastily applied face paint and gold jewellery hanging off her gills steps into your branch of the corridor. "I've found them!" she calls back the way she came, "The prisoners are through here!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" you shout. You snatch the sickle out of Karkat's hand and launch it at the clown. It whizzes through the air and strikes true, slashing a deep cut where her neck meets her shoulder. Violet blood spurts out, drenching her frilly tunic and splashing the wall behind her. There's a yell of indignant fury from further down the left hand bend of the corridor as the clown puts a hand to her neck and plummets to the floor.

"You idiot," Karkat yells, "You've just gone and made her mad! She'll be up again in five minutes!"

"Then let's get a fuckin' move on!"

You grab Karkat's hand and run down the corridor, leaping over the violetblood's fallen body and down the other branch of the corridor. Karkat doubles back to pick his sickle up. The clown you sliced open is holding herself up by her elbows. When he gets close, she glares at him with such an angry expression her face paint cracks. You reckon she won't need two minutes to get up and chase you again, let alone five.

The roar of a furious mob of clowns, honking and shouting obscenities, echoes behind you as you run through the mazelike tunnels. You don't care where you're going any more. This part of the ship wasn't on the maps you swiped, so you're leading Karkat blind. He still believes you know where you're going and you don't have the heart to break it to him that your escape plan is ruined.

It doesn't matter, though. After so long in isolation, you'd give anything for just a single taste of freedom. The way Karkat described it made it sound so sweet. You can't imagine how good it must be to wake up when you want and do whatever the hell you feel like without dreading all the weird, invasive tests that make you feel exhausted and ashamed. Even if none of that mattered, you're determined to get Karkat out of here. The poor kid's barely six sweeps old. He had a life, once upon a time, and then the Empire discovered his mutant blood and threw him in a cell. He doesn't deserve to spend his whole life under a microscope like you. He doesn't deserve any of this. You're going to grant him his freedom and you're going to cut down anyone who gets in the way.

You take the first door you reach, not caring where it leads. This one has a wheel for a handle too, but it opens with a quiet squeak. You kick it open and drag Karkat out into an empty corridor that's so large and opulent you almost trip over your own feet in surprise. Out here, the air is cooler and more moist than in those hot, stuffy tunnels, the carpet beneath your feet is soft and thick, and swathes of fabric in polka dot patterns hang from gilded chandeliers and framed portraits of theologists painted in bloody umbers and ochres. It's like a circus tent designed for a billionaire up in here.

"Shit, I recognise where we are," Karkat says.

Oh, thank fuck. You could barely distinguish this place from the poop deck. "Oh yeah?"

"We're not far from an escape pod bay," he says. "This way." He grabs your hand and you both run down the corridor.

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! The clowns used to bring me up here after their shitty sermons so they could take blood samples. That's Dammek's block, right there." He points at a door that looks like all the others. "I always imagined myself making a break for it in an escape pod. I didn't think it'd fucking happen like this!"

"Amen to that."

Karkat glares at you like you've just grown a second head. "Fuck, no, fuck off. Why do you already sound like you're down with the clown when we've been here for two whole minutes?"

"It was a figure of speech! Shut up and lead us to the escape pods!"

"You fucking shut up," he snaps, but he carries on running and you follow after him. The riotous din of the juggalo militia is still behind you, but it's fainter than it was in the tunnels, thankfully. Getting caught by them on their home turf is the last thing you want to do.

The end of the corridor is a mezzanine balcony with a narrow staircase leading down to a wide, curved chamber. The far wall of the lower chamber is studded with large, circular metal hatches that almost definitely have escape pods behind them. Up here on the mezzanine, there's nothing but a couple of plastic benches and a terminal mounted on a pole sticking up from the ground. The terminal is insectoid in nature, like all the technology on this ship. Karkat runs over to it, squeezes one of the pedipalps and starts pressing buttons. You're grateful he's got experience with technology. You've spent your whole life in either a cell or a laboratory. You wouldn't know where to start.

Before Karkat can finish doing his thing to the terminal, a shrill klaxon blares and a wall of thick, red metal drops from the ceiling, cutting you off from the stairs with the swiftness of a guillotine. Karkat barely has time to say, "Shit, oh, shit!" before it slams down.

"Yo, what did you do?"

"I didn't fucking do anything!" He clenches the other pedipalp and starts jabbing buttons like the terminal insulted his lusus. "They must know we're here!"

The intercom crackles to life with an all too familiar voice.

"Hey, guys," Marvus says, his smooth, husky voice flowing through the air like grubsyrup. "It's been fun, watching y'all lead Her Tyranny's personal army on a wild honkbeast chase through the Battleship's guts, but this is where the carnival ride ends. Y'all ain't going anywhere."

"Shut your festering slime hole, Marvus!" Karkat screeches. He raises his free hand to the glitzy, gaudy Crown on his head. "Raise the barrier right now or I'll kill everyone on this level!"

"Don't be a fool, brother," Marvus purrs. "We both know you can't control that Power of yours. You'll kill Armina and maybe a couple of my crew, and then we'll just have to cut your head off and throw your temporally shocked asses right back in the brig."

Karkat glances over at you, and you can see the fear in his eyes. Marvus can go eat an entire bag of bulges, but he's right. Karkat using his Power is probably the worst thing that could happen right now.

"Don't go doing anything you'll regret," Marvus says. "If you kill some people, that's a whole lot of blood spilt for no good reason. Come quietly and I'll try to make sure my crew stays civil."

The noise of general clown ruckus grows louder as Marvus' 'crew' spills out into the corridor. To call them an 'army' is laughable. They're just a bunch of bored highbloods in garish clothes and ridiculous face paints. They all have weapons, ranging from the sensible (laser pistols, cutlasses) to the bizarre (hula hoops, juggling clubs). You can tell from the bloodthirsty looks on their faces that they're itching to use them. Their idea of staying civil will put you in temporal shock for sweeps.

"You call this a fair fight? Give me a double trident or a Crown or something. I don't want to make this too easy for you." you say, straining to project your voice over the hollering clowns. You're terrified, but you refuse to let that show. Keeping your eyes on the mob, you grab the sickle out of Karkat's hand.

"Armina, what are you doing?" Marvus asks.

"Meenah, what are you doing?" Karkat hisses.

"Stalling," you whisper back. "Any idea how to get that wall up again?"

"No. It's not connected to the terminal. You'd need a laser drill to get through."

The intercom crackles again as Marvus sighs. "So are you gonna come quietly or do we have to get violent?"

You pointedly ignore Marvus. "I'm gonna charge that indigo on the end, hopefully grab that trapeze pole-looking thing. I'll smack the bolas out of that purple's hands, and you can–"

Karkat puts a hand on your shoulder. "No, stop. We can't fight them all. We're fucked."

"Then what are we meant to do? I ain't never going back to the cells."

"Me neither." Karkat takes a deep breath. "It's going to be unimaginably shit, but I have to use my Power."

"No you don't," you say, spinning round. "There's some other way, there's gotta be."

"There isn't. We can't take that many highbloods in a fight and you know full well they'll never let us get get a chance like this again. This is the only way."

You can't control yourself, you want to say.

"You could hurt yourself," is what you actually say.

Karkat snorts, fixing the floor with a smirk that can't hide the terror in his eyes. "Shut your eyes and count to five," he says. "I'll use my Power for just five seconds, then I'll turn back, and we'll run."

"But–"

"Meenah, please! Promise me you won't open your eyes until it's over!"

"This is a waste of time," Marvus barks. "Get them already!"

You know this is a terrible decision, but what else do you have to lose? "I promise."

You squeeze your eyes shut. "Five."

"Meenah and I are leaving and I'm not letting you fuckwits stop us," Karkat shouts. His voice is almost lost amid the deafening din of the clowns. The next thing he says morphs mid-word into an agonised scream, coupled with a violent, meaty crack. It's such a monstrous sound that you wouldn't believe it came from him if you hadn't heard it before.

The clowns must agree with you, because their whoops and shouts cease immediately. You don't think any of them knew what Karkat could turn into. If they had, they probably wouldn't have been so keen to chase after him.

Karkat screams again, or maybe it's a roar. This time it's both higher up from the ground and lower in pitch than before. It doesn't sound like any noise a troll can make. Whatever it is, it shocks the clown army back into action. One yells a battlecry and the rest join in, honking, stamping their feet and tooting vuvuzelas.

"Four."

Karkat growls as he charges the clown army, immense feet shaking the ground with every step. The juggalos' battlecry quickly turns into screams as they start to fight him, filling the corridor with violent, raucous noises. You feel a bit disappointed that you can't see any of what's happening, but you promised Karkat you'd keep your eyes shut and you're going to stick to that. As much satisfaction as you'd get from watching some clowns being torn to shreds, you know how ashamed he feels about his Power.

A scream flies over your head and something lands with a wet thud against the far wall. "What the fuck?" Marvus says. There's not a single trace of that confident composure left in his voice. You can't imagine how much he must regret calling Karkat's bluff when he said he'd use his Power.

In truth, you didn't expect it, either. Some part of you knows this is a terrible idea but you can't help but be proud of the guy. Jumping in at the deep end like this is the only way he's going to learn to control his abilities. It sure is better than the shit Trizza put him through. So what if a few dozen clown bastards get fucked up? Are you meant to feel sympathetic towards them? After what they did to you? Nah. Fuck that.

Oh, shit. You're meant to be counting. "Three."

Karkat has pushed the clowns back and the fighting has drifted away from you. You almost don't hear the rapid beeping but you definitely hear the explosion that happens next. It feels like it rocks the entire ship, blasting the corridor with a shockwave so strong it slams you on your back. Even though your ears are ringing and your head feels like it's being flushed down the load gaper, you pick yourself up, leaning against a wall for stability. What the hell is Marvus thinking, using explosives in a spaceship? Surely he must know enough about Karkat's power to realise it's futile. The only way explosives are going to stop this fight is if they rip a tear in the hull and jettison the lot of you into space. There's no way that's actually the plan, though. The Condesce would never allow that to happen to her last remaiming ship or her last remaining mutant.

You hear the stomping of heavy boots and the buzzing of mechanical, insectoid wings. They must be getting worried if they're sending drones in. Karkat roars again, and a symphony of laser blasts joins the cacophony, almost inaudible above the roaring, the screaming and the smashing of metal. Behind all of that, there's a faint, low rumble, like something incredibly heavy being dragged along the ground, and a high-pitched whine cuts through the air. The whine isn't a noise you hear with your auricular sponges. The noise drills into your bones and makes your hair stand on end.

The whining stops and an ear-piercing shriek of a sound cuts through the chaos, like a choir of angels screaming in hysterical fear. The air itself catches on fire. You fall to the ground, hissing and writhing in pain as the tips of your fins burn from the blast.

What the fuck was that?! Another Power? Some sort of energy weapon? Whatever it was, if it was meant to incapacitate Karkat, it didn't work. He lets out another bone-chilling roar and something strikes the floor with enough force that the ship shudders again and your feet nearly slip out from under you again.

Heavy feet stamp past you. You hear the sound of something squealing and buckling as it's ripped apart. It flies over your head and crashes into something else, exploding and raining down to the ground in hundreds of pieces. More stamping, more roaring. The last few shouts of juggalos turns to screams, and finally there's silence, broken only by the sound of something burning and Karkat's laboured breathing.

"One."

Those large, heavy feet stomp in your direction and a huge, meaty fist clenches around you, so large that it grasps your whole body. You try to struggle free but you can't move under the vice-like weight of the hand squeezing you .

"Karkat, let me go!" you shout, desperately hoping he listens to you.

If he hears you, he doesn't respond. The vice grip crushing you squeezes tighter. You try to struggle out or squirm free but it's no use. Pain racks your body and fuchsia spots dance behind your closed eyes. You can't move, you can't even breathe! The world is spinning and your whole body is screaming in pain. You try to scream too but nothing comes out of your mouth except a hoarse rattle.

Well, fuck. Part of you knew this might happen. It's strange, but you can't find it in you to be upset. Whatever happens, Karkat's going to get off this ship. If temporal shock is the price you have to pay, you're alright with that. Whatever happens now, whether he takes your body with him or leaves it here for Marvus and Trizza to chuck back into a cell, you just want him to escape. He deserves it so much more than you, after all.

You only have one regret. If you never get off this ship, if you never see Aranea again, if you never find a way to apologise to her for all the awful things you did... The thought of it hurts almost as bad as the gargantuan fist squeezing the life out of you.

"Please," you croak, determined to spit the words out from your crushed bellowsacs before they give up on you, "Promise me... You'll tell Aranea... I'm sorry for what I did..."

The fist crushing your body vanishes, just like that. You hit the floor, bounce a couple of times, and land by the wall in something warm and wet. You breathe in as deeply as you can and cough it all right back up again. Shit, your whole body aches like it's on fire and every breath feels like a chisel to your chitinous organ cage. You'll be lucky if you only have a couple of cracked flanges.

The corridor is silent. You keep your eyes closed, taking breaths as deeply as you can. Eventually the coughing subsides but everything still hurts. You're alive despite everything, though, so you'll count this one as a victory.

As twisted as it is, you're proud Karkat was able to control his Power in the end. Sure, he almost crushed you like a slimeberry, but that doesn't matter. You never thought he'd be able to but he stopped himself just in time.

"Meenah?" says a small voice somewhere behind you, "Where are you?"

"Kar?" you croak.

"Oh, thank fuck you're still alive."

You open your eyes. You're lying in a pile of technicolour blood. The corridor's full of twisted metal, smashed bits of culling drone and a whole bunch of dead juggalos. Sure, they're just 'dead', not truly dead, but their limbs are lying at odd angles and their blood pumpers have stopped. That's dead enough for you, even if they'll eventually get better.

Karkat himself is standing in the centre of the hallway, surrounded by bodies, staring vacantly at his blood-covered hands. He looks completely normal, with not so much as a scratch on his body or a seam on his clothes out of place. The same can't be said for the clown he's standing over. Although his body is in one piece, he's covered in blood and his polka dot dungarees have a messy rip through the waist, like their wearer was ripped in half and miraculously put back together. You don't know how that works and you don't want to. The broken timeline is confusing enough as it is.

Ignoring the sharp pain in your sides, you clamber to your feet and walk over to Karkat, taking care to avoid the sharp chunks of broken machinery strewn across the floor. "Good job," you say, patting him on the shoulder.

"I nearly killed you," he says, still looking at his hands. "I almost didn't stop myself. Part of me... part of me just wanted to keep going."

"I'm fine, Kar. Don't worry about it."

"The only thing that stopped me was..."

"Clam it, Shouty, seriously. You didn't actually kill me, so we're all good. Besides, what's one more case of temporal shock gonna do to me?"

Karkat sighs and stares out of the window, fixing the stars with a look full of shame and regret. You half expect him to start crying, but instead he stands straight and walks past you. "What the fuck ever," he says, "I'm sick and tired of this place. Let's get the fuck out of here before they send more clowns after us."

"Hah, funny. They ain't sending anyone else after us, not after the carnage you wrought."

"Yeah? You want to wait around and prove that?"

"Nah, I'm good. Any plan for how to get that wall up, or–" You turn round and the sentence dies on your tongue. Something—no prizes for guessing what—has ripped a hole in the blast wall blocking you from the escape pod bay. "What the fuck," you say, mouth hanging open. "Did you do that? That's like three feet of solid titanium."

Karkat doesn't reply as he steps through the hole. You follow him down the stairs and to one of the circular hatches.

"You were right, by the way," you continue, "Those guys up there you killed? Definitely not hilareapers. Sure didn't fight like them, anyway."

Karkat's obviously avoiding the topic of what he just did, so you kind of expect him to either shout at you or just be too sore to respond. You wait in silence as he inputs a code into a number pad on the hatch. When he turns round, there's a stand-offish gleam in his eye. You're so glad to see it again. "I told you," he says. "They can't have been hilareapers. They didn't know what the fuck they were doing. Why is Marvus giving fucking hilareapers orders over the tannoy?"

"Yeah, well, I still don't think they're jaildevilians."

You hear a knocking sound from behind the hatch as the locks disengage. Karkat tugs on the handle in absent-minded impatience. "Alright, then. If you're so sure I'm wrong, what were they?"

"I'unno. Mirthecutioners, maybe? Marvus called them the Condesce's personal army."

"He was fucking with us. Besides, Mirthecutioners are trained soldiers. Those wackjobs were amateurs at best."

"Maybe they were laughsassins, then?"

"Fuck, I doubt it. Laughsassins are all about covert ops and sabotage. They don't go traipsing around in face paint."

"Then I don't know." As you say that, the hatch door swings open, revealing the actual escape pod inside. It's a bright red, circular tube, barely taller than you are, set lengthways into the wall. The door is circular and almost completely dominated by a glass porthole, but it's too dark in there to see what it's like inside.

"What does it matter?" Karkat says as he opens the escape pod and steps inside. "They were obnoxious clown fucks. That's the only important thing."

Even though there's no-one else around, you can't help but stifle a giggle as you join him in the escape pod. "You can't just say that!"

"Of course I can," Karkat replies. "My moirail's the most obnoxious clown fuck to ever honk himself to sleep in oversized shoes. I can say whatever I fucking want to."

Giggling, you pull the door closed behind you. There's a soft whirr as the lock re-engages and soft lights illuminate the inside of the pod. The left and right walls have a row of high-backed seats along them. At the far end of the pod is a door with an oversized porthole just like the one you entered through.

Karkat walks to the other end of the pod and sits in one of the seats next to the porthole. He straps himself in and starts pushing buttons on a glowing terminal in the roof. "Let's not waste time talking shit. We should get the fuck out of here before those clowns try any funny stuff."

"I get your point, but ain't 'funny stuff' their whole biz?"

The look Karkat gives you could wilt a razorfern at fifty paces.

"Sorry," you say with a grin, "Couldn't help it. How am I meant to take this seriously? I'm too pumped to finally experience freedom."

Karkat gives you a soft smile when you say that. "It's going to be fucking amazing, Meenah. There's so much I can't wait to show you."

"I'm holding you to that, dude."

Chapter Text

> Karkat: Make the most of your freedom.

When the escape pod's flight stabilises and your think pan stops shaking like a wriggler having a tantrum, you stand up and walk to the front of the craft, staring out through the porthole at the humans' desert planet whose name you can't remember. It hangs in space like an orange marble, calm and serene. It almost reminds you of Alternia, or at least how the propaganda vids depicted it; you were hatched on a nursery planet, so it's not like you ever set foot on the homeworld yourself. If it was just a little greyer, a little smaller, with a couple of moons orbiting it, it'd feel much more homely.

"Yo, Kar," Meenah pipes up from the far end of the pod. "I got a question for ya." You turn towards her. She's sitting in a seat next to the rear porthole, watching as the Battleship Condescension, the only home she's ever known, shrinks off into the distance.

"What is it?" you ask, but you feel so guilty you can't bring yourself to make eye contact.

"This planet we're flying to, what's it called again? Dirt?"

"Are you talking about Earth?" you ask, staring at your shadow on the floor.

"Yeah, that's it. Earth. Is that where we're heading?"

"Nah. We blew Earth up during the First Invasion. I don't think they ever bothered to give this planet a name."

"Huh, that's weird. Well, whatever. How long 'til we land?"

"Uh... Right, hang on." You start busying yourself with the console above the porthole, grateful for something to do. "Two hours, according to this."

"Cool. I can be patient for a few hours. That's, like, what, a sermon that drags on too long? That ain't nothing."

"Fuck, that's a good way of looking at it. I've put up with the Grand Highblood spewing shit from his gulp channel for way longer than that, just for the faygo they give out at the end. If I'm seeing my friends again, that's fucking nothing in comparison.

"You got that right." Meenah turns around to look back out of the rear porthole again. She's probably thinking the same thing as you: soon you'll finally reunite with all your friends after what feels like centuries apart. You'll be able to stay awake as long as you like, go where you want, hold entire conversations with people who aren't vivisecting you.

The thought of getting your freedom back has been the only thing to sustain you over the past few sweeps when things seemed hopeless. That and the thought of curling up in the centre of a pile with Gamzee like you used to, holding his lanky form as tight as you can, tenderly papping his face as you lose yourself in those gentle, soulful, troubled eyes. Even now, with your freedom so close you can reach out and scratch it, those thoughts are a sorely-needed distraction from the memories of what you did earlier.

Fuck, you're a monster. You're a rank, congealed smear of genetic material in the form of a troll. There's no denying it.

"Thanks again for helping me escape," Meenah says, jolting you from your thoughts. "I couldn't have done any of this without you."

You can't say anything to that without feeling even worse than you already do, so you turn around and stare at the humans' planet again. You don't know why Meenah is acting like she's fine with your presence, but you wish she'd stop trying to fool you. She shouldn't have to pretend that she's not worried around you, not after you nearly squeezed her like a pustule.

The worst thing, you've come to realise, is that deep down you enjoyed doing it. Some awful, fucked up part of your psyche enjoys being the mutant, the monster, the rampaging, unstoppable beast. It saw a chance to inflict pain on someone close to you and it jumped at the chance. That part of you is still there, lying dormant just beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to rear its fuck-ugly nug again. And that's something you're going to have to live with for the rest of your disgusting, miserable existence.

You're really not sure if you can.

Meenah stands up and stretches with an exaggerated huff. "Well," she says, "Now we've got a little breathing room, shall we have another go at getting that Crown off?"

You only hesitate for a moment, but she picks up on it.

"Aight, it's cool, we don't have to rush-"

"-No, shut the fuck up," you shout, desperate to cut her off before she can rescind the offer. "I'm fine. Let's give it another shot."

"You sure? We can always-"

"Of course I'm fucking sure. You think I want to wear this gaudy piece of shit all the time?"

Of course your Crown has to look like the regalia of the universe's tackiest, most exuberant monarch. If a Crown takes a form that matches its wearer's subconscious desires, it's obvious the festering, pan-erodingly sadistic shitsniffer known as Subconscious Karkat wants to feel like the universe's meanest, most brutish deity, with the power to cause infinite pain and suffering to any subject who lacks the right amount of fearful, deferential simpering.

You absolutely fucking loathe Subconscious Karkat. You hate him more than Conscious Karkat, which shouldn't even be possible.

"Alternia to Nubs McGee," Meenah says, waving her hands in front of your face. Somehow you hadn't even noticed her walking towards you. "Come back from wherever you've gone off to."

"Fuck off, I was just concentrating."

"Cool. Well, you ready?"

"Of course I'm ready. Let's get it over with."

When Meenah grasps the base of your Crown, a feeling of wrongness drips down your chitinous column. You clench your fists and swallow it down.

"Say when," she says.

"Stop fucking stalling and pull," you snarl.

With a grunt, Meenah yanks on your Crown as hard as she can. You plant your legs in the ground and focus all your thoughts on letting go. Meenah pulls this way and that, tugging so hard that you almost lose your balance and have to brace against the wall. Just like always, your Crown refuses to budge. Whatever Trizza Tethis did to you, you're connected too tightly to break free. The thing's fused into your pan like a stick in cement.

"Try—nngh!—try imagining like you're unclenching a hand in the middle of your head," Meenah says, breathless from pulling for so long.

"I fucking know what I'm meant to be doing!" you snap. "It's not working, and this is-" Something comes loose inside your mind. It's just the slightest sliver of a gap but it's a start, it's more than you've been able to achieve in half a sweep and the wave of relief and hope almost knocks you off your feet. "It's coming loose! Keep pulling!"

You don't know how or why, but something goes Wrong inside your head. Maybe you pull something out of alignment or your Crown touches something too deep inside your think pan, or maybe Subconscious Karkat realises his days are numbered and begins to shit himself in indignant anger. Without warning your think pan splits in half like a cluckbeast ovum, grey matter dribbling down your head and neck like rancid, runny sopor. Your whole body jerks and your legs give out from under you but you don't know if you hit the floor because all your senses are overwhelmed by indescribable, white-hot pain that shreds your body to pieces.

The pain crashes into you like a tidal wave. You can't move, you can't see, you can't scream, you can't even think. All you can do is ride it out as every atom in your body burns.

When you finally come to, it feels like it's been just a few seconds and entire sweeps at the same time. You uncover your gander bulbs and see the silhouette of Meenah crouched over you but the lights in the escape pod are so bright that you have to clench them shut again, mewling pathetically as your ocular array—and the rest of your body—throbs with pain.

"Kar?" Meenah asks. You can hear the worry in her voice.

"What the fuck was that?" you mutter. Just moving your tongue to speak sets your entire mouth ablaze. Judging from the metallic taste in your mouth, you must have been chewing on it.

"You seized up. I didn't know what to do. There's nothing in here, not even a first aid kit or a medicaliser."

"It's fine," you say, weakly waving a hand through the air. Of course it's not fine. You reach up and poke the top of your nug dome. Thank fuck your head didn't actually split in two but it's still raw and tender with pain, especially the back of your cranial case, which throbs like someone's been using it as a punching bag, probably from where you were seizing up and hitting it on the floor.

"I'm just glad you're awake now," Meenah says. "Are you okay?"

Anger swells up inside of you from out of nowhere. "Of course I'm not okay!" you shout as you sit up and ohh fuck that was a bad idea. The pod spins around you as a wave of nausea hits, so strong you have to lie down again. What the fuck ever! You're used to feeling like shit! Quieter, you continue, "I'm fucking tired of this, Meenah. My Crown's gone from not only ruining my life to actively trying to kill me. I should've believed the clowns when they said my life was a fucking joke."

Your gander bulbs are still covered so you can't see what she's doing, but you hear Meenah shifting position. After a moment, she lifts your head off the cold metal floor and onto her lap. The position's no less awkward, but it's... kind of nice.

"It's gonna be okay," she says. "When we land, I'll find Horuss. He's good with machines. He'll get your Crown off for good."

You wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of your mouth as you think about what she said, squinting one eye open to look at the bright red smear on your hand. Funny. To think that the sight of your freakish mutant blood used to fill you with shame. You've seen so much of it during your time in captivity that it barely registers as strange any more.

"Remind me," you ask, "who's Horuss again?"

"He's my Zahhak. Rippli had him making drone parts."

"Thought I recognised the name. Think he'll still be making robots now he's escaped?""

"I don't care. I'll force him if I have to. I ain't losing my future chief threshecutioner to some hardware glitch."

You can't help but open both eyes this time, staring up at Meenah with wide-eyed shock even as the pod's lights burn holes in your retinas. "Wait, you were serious about that stuff?"

"About what, becoming the next Empress? Making the waterbitch regret ever making me? Of course I was."

"Well fuck. I thought that was all just a joke."

"Nah, Kar, I meant every word of it," Meenah says with a fanged grin. "Still am. And I was just as serious when I said I needed your help."

During the conversation, a roar just too quiet to hear has been building in intensity, growing louder and louder like the call of a feral pouncebeast. It explodes with a sudden flash of light as flames reach up from behind the outside of the pod's portholes, dousing the inside of the craft in harsh, flickering red light. Meenah freaks the fuck out, lunging upright and scrambling away from the window. Your head hits the floor, sending shock waves through your body. Cursing, you curl up and cradle the back of your head with your hands.

"What the fuck's happening?!" Meenah shrieks. She's staring at the porthole, her entire body tense with fear. For a moment, you wonder what she's all worked up about. Then it dawns on you that she's never been on a vessel during re-entry before.

"Relax," you say, trying to be as reassuring as you can while scrunched up in a tiny ball on the floor. "We've just hit atmo. This is all totally normal."

"Normal? The pod's on fire!"

Sometimes, with all her confident swagger, it's easy to forget Meenah has no life experience outside of the lab where she grew up. "It's nothing to worry about. Trust me. On the huge list of shit that could go wrong in here, this doesn't even make the cut."

"Alright. If you say so," Meenah says hesitantly.

You slowly stand up, pushing through the lightheadedness that threatens to send you crashing right back down. "How long was I out for? I thought we still had hours to go before we reach the planet."

"A shell of a long time, probably."

You roll your eyes. "Stop with the lame nautical puns, Meenah. They just sound forced." You walk over to the console by the forward porthole on unsteady feet, leaning against the wall for support. With your free hand, you reach up and press the buttons to bring up your flight details. The computer screen lights up, dutifully informing you that you'll land in forty minutes.

"Fuck me and all my ancestors," you say. "I was out cold for over an hour. Sorry."

Meenah shrugs. "Nothing to apologise for. At least we'll be landing soon."

You nod. "I wish this thing would tell me where it's going to land, though. Hopefully it's somewhere uninhabited."

"Why? How much do you know much about this planet?"

"Absolutely fucking nothing at all. Just that most of the refugees from our colony worlds settled here. For all I know, we'll step outside and the air will be so acidic our lungs will dissolve."

Meenah snorts. "Don't be ridiculous. This planet is tame. The sun's supposed to be so weak you can walk around in the daytime. Guess that makes sense, though. If humans are as soft and helpless as they say, this planet's got to be the most boring place in the universe."

"I guess we'll soon find out." You look out of the porthole again. In the gaps between the flames shooting past and the clouds hanging in the night sky, there's nothing for miles but rocky, lifeless desert. It doesn't exactly fill you with a sense of eager anticipation, but anywhere's better than the Battleship.

Chapter Text

> Karkat: Land already.

The escape pod finally breaks through the human planet's lower atmosphere. The night sky is dark and empty, with no light except the dim and distant stars shining down on the sterile deserts and jagged mountains that rush past below you. Even your specially adapted Alternian vision has difficulty spotting anything until a glow starts to form on the horizon. After a few moments, a city comes into view. Surrounded by a tall, circular wall, it spreads out in every direction across the barren land. Five tall, slender spires poke upwards like nails hammered from under the earth: one in the centre of the city and one at the north, east, south and west corners of the wall.

Meenah, who was looking over your shoulder through the porthole, pushes you to the side to get a closer view. "A city! Finally! Thought we were gonna be the only livin' things on this damn rock."

"What was that for?" you shout as you scramble not to fall over. She just gives you a fanged, impish grin, then turns back to stare at the city on the horizon.

You shouldn't get too mad at her. She's never even seen a planet before. You reach over to switch the flight terminal's display on. It reads, "LANDING <1 MIN," just like it has for the past half-hour.

"This is ridiculous," you whine, twisting pedipalps and mashing buttons at random in the hope it might make it do something different.

"What's it doing now?" Meenah asks, barely looking back over her shoulder.

"Nothing! The rancid, disease-ridden lump of globe gristle this pod has instead of a navigation system's still looking for a good place to land!"

"Ew. Kar, that's gross."

"I don't care, this is fucking absurd. What's it waiting for? Somewhere caegars grow on trees and grub sauce flows in rivers? It's a fucking desert world! Everything looks the same! Just land somewhere already!" You thump the terminal with the side of your fist, more to punctuate your point than anything, and the entire pod lurches to the side like it's trying to shake you out. Before you can think of reacting your legs fly out from under you, your Crown clips a rail hanging from the ceiling and you find yourself lying on the floor, limbs splayed every which way.

"What did you do?" Meenah groans, picking herself up from a similar position on the ground.

"That wasn't me. This bucket-swilling pod must be on the fritz."

"Oh, great. Just what we-" Meenah's words trail off as she glances out the porthole. "Wait, no, I think we're landin'."

You drag yourself to your feet—you swear, what's the point of having chairs in this piece of shit if you're just going to keep collapsing on the floor?—and follow Meenah's eyeline. Indeed, the ground seems significantly closer than it did before. You reach up to reactivate the flight terminal and the display lights up with "LANDING IMMINENT".

"Finally!" you shout, pumping a fist, "Terra fucking firma! Fresh air! A floor that's not constantly shaking itself apart! Oh, it's been far too fucking long!"

The escape pod finally sets down in the centre of a vast, empty plain of rock and dry dirt, so far from the walled city that you can barely see its lights glowing on the horizon. You and Meenah begin to walk towards them, without so much as a single rock or tree to provide a landmark. It's not too bad at first, even if hiking across the rough, rocky ground makes your legs feel mushier than macerated grubloaf.

This isn't too bad, you find yourself thinking. Sure, the walking is tiring and you're bored out of your dome, but freedom is so close you can almost taste it.

And then the sun begins to rise.

At first the light that pierces the horizon is just a nuisance, but as the sun climbs higher and higher and the world gets brighter and warmer you find yourself wishing you could take back your earlier thoughts. Not too bad? How could you have been so fucking naïve? This planet officially fucking blows and now that you're being boiled alive you can't believe you were stupid enough to think it could've been any different. Your skin is dry and peeling, your gander bulbs are sizzling in their sockets and every breath scorches your shout tunnel like you're breathing hot plasma. Eventually that cruel, vicious sun is hanging high above you and you just can't take any more. You flop to the ground, covering your face with your arms to block out the light and wipe away the waterfalls of pink-tinged sweat pouring down your face. All your efforts are in vain, though, because the sun's still cooking you like a cluckbeast and the sweat refuses to stop.

You truly, sincerely wish, from the grimiest folds of your calcinated bile gland, that whoever told you this planet's sun was weak enough for trolls chokes to death on their own nookflaps.

"I can't believe I thought this was a good idea," you croak. "Oh, let's abscond in an escape pod with no plan and no destination! What a fucking joke. I should be shackled to an execution jut and riddled with arrows for suggesting it."

"Clam it, Kar. This is still better than what those clowns were gonna do to us."

"Fish puns? Really? Are you fucking serious? I'm actually being murdered to death by stellar radiation right now and you won't even let me die with dignity?"

You turn onto your side and peek at Meenah through the gap between your arms, squinting against the sun's glaring rays. Wow, she's in a worse way than you are. Her skin is cracked and flaking and her fins have withered so much they're starting to curl towards her face. And yet somehow she's toughing this out way better than you are. It doesn't make any sense. She's the seadweller. How is she still able to walk around like nothing's the matter?

"Oh, fuck this," you shout, "I'm so thirsty! What kind of an escape pod doesn't have any water in it?"

"I don't think they were really escape pods," Meenah says, scratching a patch of flaky skin on her cheek. "They were marked as drop ships on the maps, and..." She stops talking and turns her head to the side. "Can you hear that?"

You stand up and try to focus. For a few seconds all you can hear is the whispering wind and your heavy breathing. And then you hear it: the low-pitched rumble of an engine from somewhere behind you. You turn around and see a line of dust that snakes its way from the mountains on the horizon, over to the escape pod, and then towards some kind of machine. It's too far away to see clearly, but it's kicking up plumes of sand and dust as it hurtles in your direction.

"What the fuck is that?" you ask.

"Dunno."

"Helpful, Meenah. Urgh, where the fuck are we supposed to hide from it?"

"What are you talkin' 'bout? We ain't gonna hide."

"But we have no idea what it is!"

Meenah just shrugs. "If it's a person, they can take us someplace with shade and water. If it ain't, we just gotta follow it and we probably still get to civilisation somehow."

"You're not serious, are you?" The machine has still been speeding towards you while you've been arguing. You flick your head to look at it and you're surprised how quickly it's gained on you. Yeah, there's no way you're evading that thing. "Oh, fuck it, fine," you say with a sigh. "But if it's some kind of murderous death bot that kills us both, I'm going to say I told you so."

You sit back on the ground and watch as Meenah waves her arms above her head. As the machine gets closer, you can see it's some kind of reddish-purplish hover-barge: a wide flatbed floating a foot or so off the ground with a crane and cabin attached to the rear left corner. It quickly catches up with the two of you, kicking up a cloud of dust so thick you can't help but squint and cough. The engine stops, and as the barge floats to the ground a tall figure steps out of the cabin, obscured by the dust cloud.

"Hey," the figure says. Its voice is deep and rumbling. "You, uh... you lost, dude?"

As the smoke clears and you get a good glimpse at the figure, your first thought is that Tavros has had one hell of a growth spurt.

This troll is a bronze-blood too, and his horns jut out the side of his head and spike sharply upwards. But his skin is dusky grey, bones awkwardly sticking out in a way that signals his final molt isn't far away. His hair is wind-tousled and full of faded red hair dye and he's wearing sand-smeared overalls, rubber gloves and thick work boots. His left eye and arm have been replaced by cybernetics that glint in the harsh sunlight, surrounded by pale, angry-looking scar tissue.

For a moment you just stare up at the troll in confusion. And then you spot the Taurus symbol on his overalls and everything clicks into place.

"Rufioh!" Meenah shouts from somewhere inside the cloud. A figure lunges out of nowhere, wrapping itself around this Nitram clone, and as the dust settles you see him and Meenah embracing each other.

"It really is you..." Rufioh says. He's sniffling like he's trying not to cry, and you can't help but feel you're intruding. "I saw the pod but didn't wanna hope that you... Haha, this is so unreal!"

"I've missed you so much. I've missed everyone! I never thought I'd see you again!!"

"Haha... Damn, it's cool, I knew you'd get out one day. Sorry we didn't get round to breaking you free."

Meenah and Rufioh stay like that for a few moments, before he gently extricates himself from her arms, as gently as a lusus handling a newly-hatched wiggler. Still holding onto her shoulders, he casts an impressed glance at her hair. "Whoa, what's up with the braids? Don't get me wrong... You rock them and all..."

"What the fuck happened to you?" Meenah interrupts, staring at Rufioh in horror. "Where are your wings? And what happened to your eye and your arm?"

"Oh, this," Rufioh says, pointing at his cybernetic eye with his robot arm, "This ain't no thing. Aranea kinda caused an accident... Everyone was super freaked out, haha, it was all kinds of wack... It's all cool, though. It was just an honest mistake."

This is so surreal. It's staggering that somehow, even across lifetimes and generations, Serkets still keep managing to maim Nitrams.

"Who's the kid?" Rufioh asks, glancing at you.

"I'm not a kid, you globe-fondling bulgelicker!" you snap.

Rufioh's eyes go wide and he stares at you like you've just grown a second head. Meenah just cackles. "Rufioh, this is Karkat. Don't worry 'bout the language, he's cool. He helped me escape."

"Whoa, that's tight. I guess you're both looking for somewhere to stay for a while?"

"Why, I hadn't thought of that," you snarl. "I was just going to lie down in the dirt and boil to death under that fuck-awful ball of fire in the sky! I was really looking forward to having whatever disgusting vermin live in this arid shithole gnawing on my exoskeletal carapace. But you know, now I think about it, I suppose we should probably hide from the army of fascist invaders hunting us and besides, I've got nothing fucking better to do right now!"

Rufioh stares at you gormlessly for a few moments before giving Meenah a worried look. "Is he... is he always like this, doll?" Part of you knows you're being immature, but you're still too sore about being called a kid to care.

"Just ignore him, he's crabby 'cause he's sunburned. We'd love a place to hide if you know one."

"You can crash at mine for a while. I reckon we can fit you both inside Tinkerbull here, no problem." Rufioh gestures behind him to the salvage barge. Now that it's not hidden by the dust cloud you can see it's actually orange, with sections marked out in yellow and black stripes. What you thought was a crane is actually a pneumatic drill on the end of a robotic arm. The entire thing is badly damaged, covered in dents, rust and strange, reddish-purplish water stains. Stacks of rusted, mud-caked machinery are piled haphazardly on top of the flat bed of the barge. They must be centuries old but somehow they only look slightly worse than the barge itself.

"You named your truck Tinkerbull?" you ask, not even trying to hide the look of derision on your face. The dude's definitely a Nitram, alright.

"You know it. Don't judge her on the way she looks. She's been with me through so much it's unreal. Now come on, let's be on our way before you catch fire."

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

> ===>

You might be awkwardly jammed into the space behind the driver's seat, wearing a baggy pair of overalls that stink of sweat and engine oil, but you're too blissfully content to care. The moment you sat down, Rufioh handed you some human version of a portable hydration reservoir made out of metal, and you think it might be the nicest thing anyone's done for you in sweeps. Rufioh called it a 'water bottle', and while you haven't yet worked out the finer points of unsealing the device, the soothing coolness of the metal against your skin is all the relief you need right now.

You feel like the universe's biggest asshole for pitching a fit at Rufioh earlier. Now that you've had a conversation with the guy, you've realised he's actually pretty decent. You've therefore spent much of the journey sitting in silence, both out of shame and a feeling like you're intruding as Rufioh and Meenah catch up on sweeps of missed conversations.

"So they ain't gonna stop us or nothing when we go in?" Meenah asks. She's not actually looking at Rufioh. He gave her his portable communicator a while back, and she's been tapping out non-stop messages to the other clones while talking to him. You don't think she's ever actually used a communicator before, but you're impressed with how quickly she's taken to it.

"Stop being so paranoid," Rufioh says, eyes fixed on the distant walls of the city—Neo City, he called it—on the horizon.

"It's not paranoia," you say, "They didn't let us go without a fight. They're going to want us back."

"They ain't come for me or any of the others, and we've been on this planet for sweeps now. Uh, I think. Hard to be sure these days."

"But the Empire must have spies down here!"

"And a whole lot of use they are. If the Empire wanted to start the Third Invasion they'd have done it by now. Look, I've been in your shoes. I know what it's like, always worried someone's gonna come and snatch you. But you're safe here now." His mood suddenly darkens. "Wait, no, that's not true. Neo City ain't safe. But you don't have to worry about the Empire any more."

You spend some time thinking about Rufioh's words, rolling the water bottle across your forehead just under the line where your Crown touches your skin. You've spent your whole life until now living in the shadow of the Empire. What would freedom from that even be like?

"So what are you doing out here with all this junk?" Meenah asks, waving a hand at all the rusty, mud-caked machinery piled onto the barge."

"It's my job. I dig up ruined Empire tech from the Second Invasion and sell it in bulk to salvagers. The work's dangerous but it pays well and I don't have to talk to anyone else."

"It can't be from the Second Invasion," you say, tilting your head to look through the window at the crumbling, eroded bits of metal that were once spacecraft engines and laser weapons. "That stuff must be hundreds of sweeps old."

Rufioh just shrugs. "Blame it on the timeline being all messed up. I don't research it. I just dig it up and sell it."

"I can see why you'd do something like this," Meenah says, giving him a quick, proud glance. "You always did like to do your own thing. But how's it a dangerous job if you're just digging shit up?"

"There are terraforming nanobots up in the clouds," Rufioh says with a nervous glance at the empty blue sky. "The empire put them there back during the Second Invasion... Guess they wanted the planet ready to go when the humans were gone... 'Course, that didn't go the way they wanted, so they turned it into a weapon outta spite."

"Oh, I think I heard about that," Meenah says. "The Tyrian Rain, yeah?"

Rufioh nods. "A few drops of rain, that'll burn your skin and hurt like you wouldn't believe. If you get soaked, well... It ain't pleasant. Neo City's got those towers, so it gets off lightly when it rains... Out here, though, downpours can happen just like that. You wouldn't believe it now, but you get freak floods out here... Tidal waves bigger than buildings."

He looks so serious you can't help but roll your eyes. "Yeah, sure, evil rain. It can't be that big a deal."

"It ain't a joke... It can seriously mess you up. I've seen it turn people into monsters. Never saw anything like it before, never want to again..."

The somber dread in Rufioh's voice makes you involuntarily shiver. "Shit, that's kinda fucked up. Why would you even come out here if it's better in the city?"

Rufioh just shrugs. "What can I say? I got one taste of freedom and that was it. A city ain't no different from a prison cell if you can't leave when you want to. If I stay in Neo City I've gotta obey curfew and, like, that's barely any better than the labs."

"Curfew? So they treat everyone in the city like helpless wigglers?"

"It's nothing to worry about. If you're smart, it's easy to go where you like at night. I'll help you get to grips with it."

"Thanks, Rufioh," Meenah says.

"It's nothing. Us Alternians have to stick together. The humans don't much care for us. Guess you could say they try not to think about us at all if they can help it. We have to be self-sufficient."

"Well I don't need help," you say. "I just need to find someone who can get this piece of shit off my head.".

"Hmm, I dunno," Rufioh says, scratching his chin while he thinks. "Mituna pays a specialist to clean out all his ports and stuff. I'll see if he can put you in touch."

"Just get Horuss to do it," Meenah says. "He still tinkers, right? His sign's engraved all over your arm."

"Yeah, Horuss is talented, sure, but Crowns... that stuff's outside his area. Your think pan's sensitive. You don't want to mess with it if you ain't got a clue what you're doing. That can fuck a troll up."

You have to agree with Rufioh on that. You can still recall the pain from when earlier, when Meenah tried to take your Crown off and it felt like she split your nug in half.

Meenah thrusts the communicator under your nose, jolting you from that particular thought. "I'm all done," she says, "Go wild. I'm sure you've got people you want to talk to."

You thank her. When you take the comm you catch a glimpse of an unanswered wall of text. Judging by the cerulean colour and the sheer amount of it, it couldn't be anyone other than Aranea. Not that you've ever met her, but you feel like you already know her just from how much Meenah talks about her.

"You've still got some unanswered messages," you say, offering the communicator back to her. "I'm fine waiting."

Meenah doesn't reply or make any movement to take the communicator off your hands. She just groans, awkwardly shifting in her seat.

"They're all from Aranea," you say, shifting to stand on your knees so your head and torso poke up from behind the seats. "Don't you want to speak to her most of all?"

"It's... complicated," she says, nervously fidgeting with her hands. "The person I am now, that's not who Aranea wants to talk to. I can't just act like it's all fine after what I did."

"That's ridiculous, Meenah. Look at how much she's writing. She obviously wants to speak to you. She won't care about what happened in the past. It's what you do in the present that counts."

"Kar, just..." Meenah falters and she screws her eyes shut., pinching the sunburned bridge of her nose "You don't know what you're talking about. I know you just want to help, but you've gotta let me deal with this myself. Please."

You can't say no, not with that guilty look on her face. "Alright, fine. Just promise me you'll speak to her soon. I know if Gamzee—"

"Just fuckin' drop it already!" Meenah snarls, baring all of those sharp seadweller fangs at you.

Rufioh awkwardly busies himself with the barge's various dials and levers while you and Meenah glare at each other. None of you say anything.

Eventually, Meenah growls and turns to look out the window. You're not gonna convince her like this. With a sigh, you sit back down. "You're going to have to answer her eventually," you say quietly.

"Think I don't know that? Life ain't all rom-coms and clichés, Karkat. Sometimes awful shit happens and you can't just talk about it without hurting people."

You don't know what to say to that. Of course it's not true. It can't be true! But how do you make Meenah realise that?

You minimise Aranea's message, find the New Contact box and start typing in Gamzee's trolltag. This should feel good—you've been dreaming of this for so long—but it doesn't. You just feel sorry for Meenah. You can't get her guilty expression off your mind.

Whatever happened, it wasn't fair. You don't know what went on before you became her cellmate and you don't know why she stayed behind when her friends escaped, but it shouldn't matter. Meenah deserves a chance to accept it and move on.

You don't know how to make her see that but you're determined to find a way. She gave you your freedom. A bit of happiness is the very least she deserves.

Chapter Text

> Karkat: Operate the comm.

Chapter Text

> Trizza: Face the music.

Light-milliseconds away (but not many), on a different communicator back on the Battleship Condescension...

END OF INTERMISSION FOUR

Chapter Text

> Dream Joey: Escape.

You drift in and out of sleep like a ship on stormy waters.

It's a familiar sensation to you, but this time there's something different about it. You squint your eyes open, bleary and unfocused, and see a night sky unlike any you've ever seen above Neo City. Without the constant haze of light pollution, the sky is full of unfamiliar stars and the multicoloured swirls of distant nebulae. It's so beautiful that you lose yourself in the light, nearly oblivious to the swaying and rocking of your body or to the tall figure whose shadow looms over you...

Your sleepy brain connects the dots and when you realise you're not alone you wake with a start, your entire body clambering to get away from the figure. The world rocks with your movements, causing quiet splashing and the low, gentle murmur of placid waves.

"Relax," says the figure in a quiet, nondescript whisper of a voice. "Go back to sleep."

"Who are you?" you ask. "Where am I?"

You sit up and look around. You're lying in the bow of a little, wooden rowboat, so small that it doesn't even have a mast. Calm, black waves stretch to the horizon in every direction but you can't feel any wind or smell salt in the air. You're wearing the golden pyjamas that you wear in Prospit. When you reach your hands to your face, you can feel the edges of a domino mask—your mask—around your eyes.

The mysterious figure is sitting cross-legged at the stern. Tall and silent, his black, hooded robes obscure everything about him. You can only see one green, scaled hand that emerges from a sleeve, resting on an oar balanced across the boat. Behind him, high up in the sky, you can see a black marble of a planet, criss-crossed with veins of glowing orange. It emanates a dim glow, too faint to shine light onto the boat but bright enough that it dominates the sky. Even though you can't make out the shape of its continents, a strange, homesick tug in your heart tells you the planet is Earth.

The figure in the boat has sat silently as you inspected your surroundings, idly tapping the oar with sharp fingers that look almost skeletal in the dim light. You don't feel threatened by him. His body language is as stoic as a concrete wall, but something in the way he barely pays you any attention makes you think he's just as unenthusiastic about having company on this boat as you are.

Now that you've finished looking around you turn your attention back to him. His head raises ever so slightly as if acknowledging your attention. "I am Calvaria," he says in that slow, barely-audible hiss of a voice. He sounds wise and unfathomably ancient. "Welcome to the Beyond."

"The Beyond?" The word has a gravitas to it, an implicit capital letter, an importance that settles like an uncomfortable weight on your stomach. "Beyond what?"

"Beyond space and beyond time," Calvaria says. "Beyond breath and blood and light and life and every other thing in existence."

He rests the other green, skeletal hand on the oar, face turning to look out at the horizon. You sit and wait patiently for him to carry on talking. It's not like you have anywhere better to be if this is a dream...

No, of course this is a dream. How could any of this be real?

After a few moments, Calvaria speaks again. "I don't know what you're doing here. Until recently, another slept where you did."

An idea comes to you. "Did he... Did he have scruffy black hair and horns like this?" You reach your hands up to your head in what you hope is a good approximation of Xefros' horns.

Calvaria nods. "Why did you take his place?"

"I don't know," you say, shaking your head. "I've only met him once. I don't know where this is or how I got here or how I'm even going to get back."

"You're awake now. Maybe when you go back to sleep, you will return to where you came from."

"I guess," you say. You shift over and lie back down, willing yourself to feel sleepy. If only it was that simple. The boat's gentle rocking is peaceful and the night sky is beautiful, but you just don't feel tired. Eventually the boredom gets to be too much and you sit back up. "Urgh, this isn't working!"

Calvaria doesn't respond.

"How come you're here?" you ask. "Is this your boat? Are you going somewhere or are you stuck like me?"

"I am waiting for my niece and nephew."

You feel like Calvaria wants to say more. You lean a little closer and wait for him to speak again.

"Me and my kin are the last of our kind in your universes. The rest of us have already left to our new home, beyond the Beyond. I alone decided to stay and wait. I've never met my niece and nephew and I don't feel any 'paternal love' or whatever you humans call it. My kind don't form familial attachments. But I have experience of the awful things that can happen in your universes. That even one of us would be abandoned to that... I don't think that's fair."

You don't say anything for a few moments, trying to come to grips with it all. "What do you mean, the last of your kind? Are you some sort of alien?"

Steadily, placidly, Calvaria reaches up to his hood and pulls it back. As he reveals his face, his horrifying visage causes your heart to stop.

The face of Lord English, the terrifying spectre you've only read descriptions of, comes into view as you see green scales, a pointed, serpentine snout, red circles at the corners of the mouth, a partially open maw filled with long, sharp fangs.

But... wait. Something's not right. Calvaria has a serpent's head, true, but his eyes are black and empty, and there's not a hint of rapidly-shifting colour anywhere on him. His clothes are drab and boring, his frame is slender instead of muscular...

Calvaria isn't Lord English. He's familiar, yes, but for some other reason. He's... He's...

You recall Jude's ridiculous conspiracy theories and it all suddenly makes sense. "You're an Ophidian," you say, still too stunned from the reveal to do anything but stare gormlessly at him.

Calvaria opens his mouth slightly, showing those gleaming fangs. You don't know whether it's meant to be a smile or a warning, but it's still terrifying. "I'm surprised you know that term. It was mostly just used amongst my own kind. The few who knew of us in your universes usually called us 'angels' or 'cherubim'."

"So you're an alien, then?"

"In a sense. The few civilisations that knew of us saw us as gods, not mere aliens, and they worshipped us fittingly. To them we were wrathful deities of creation and destruction. But we were neither gods nor masters nor anything else. We were your universes' protectors."

"Were? Did something happen?"

"Petty squabbling. We schismed as we argued about what to do with the increasing chaos of your universes. We couldn't decide, so we decided to leave."

"What were you protecting us from?"

"Is it not obvious?" Calvaria stares out at the empty horizon. "Lord English. The Angel of Sudden Death, the Lord of Time, the Embodiment of Evil, the Great Cosmic Destroyer, the Eater of All... He goes by many names, none of them pleasant."

"So... what's going to happen when you leave? Is that when Lord English arrives?"

Calvaria shrugs. "I suppose so."

"What do you mean, 'you suppose so'? Lord English is going to destroy everything!"

"That's none of my concern. Besides, you won't notice our absence. We've been gone for several millennia already and you haven't noticed yet. Why would you start to now? No, your universes will be fine without us."

"Until Lord English shows up."

"Until then, yes."

"So? You can't just leave."

"Why not? Your universes are no longer my concern. If you are so worried, you should do something about it yourself."

"Wow, what a helpful response!"

Calvaria doesn't respond. Do Ophidians even understand sarcasm, you wonder?

The two of you sit in silence. How are you meant to just 'do something' about Lord English? You might as well 'do something' about the sun eventually going supernova in a trillion years. You'd probably have just as much luck with that.

Something else has been bugging you, too, but it's taken you a while to figure out what. "Calvaria, why do you keep talking about universes, plural?"

"Do you not feel it? In every waking moment, in everywhere you go and everything you do?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"The realm in which you live is fragmented. What once was one whole is now less than the sum of its two halves."

"I don't... I don't get it. Sorry."

"That is alright. You are only human."

You're about to ask for more clarification but Calvaria glances off towards the horizon in a way that feels very final, like he's fed up with this conversation. You rack your brains, trying to think of something, anything to say to get more answers out of him, but you open your mouth and absolutely nothing comes out.

This sucks. You never know what to say to people and you hate it.

You're distracted by an almost-imperceptible noise, just on the edge of your hearing. "Do you hear that?" you ask.

Calvaria glances over to you, as if he's not really sure whether or not you're talking to him. "I hear nothing," he says after a moment.

Strange. You could have swore you heard something—there it is again. You want to say it's just the noise of the wind, but there's no sound in this strange realm except for the gentle lapping of the waves against the boat. You stand up, close your eyes and concentrate.

You hear the sound again. This time it's much closer, a scream of pain and terror so loud your ears feel like they burst. The sheer force of it knocks you backwards, and you catch a glimpse of the stoic, unfeeling look on Calvaria's serpentine face as you open your eyes...

...as you open your eyes and stare up at the ceiling.

Which isn't strange at all.

Because you're home. In Neo City. In your bedroom. Where else would you be?

You can hear Jude whimpering in the bunk below. Nothing as loud as the scream that woke you up, but you can't bear to hear it. Whatever weird dream you were woken from vanishes like smoke as you swing your legs over the railing, drop down to the floor and reach out to shake him awake. He comes to consciousness in an instant, staring at you with eyes glowing a soft green.

He still has his Crown on. He must have forgotten to take it off. You want to think you would have reminded him to do so earlier but you were so tired when you went to sleep that you barely remember anything.

"Are you okay?" you ask, even though it's a stupid question.

He doesn't answer. He just stares at you for a few moments, clutching fistfuls of sweat-soaked sheets, his chest rising and falling as he gulps down air like he had been suffocating. "I'm fine," he eventually says. He rubs his eyes and reaches down to the floor to pick up his glasses.

"Do you..."

"No, I don't want to talk about it." He stands up, squinting groggily, and goes over to the computer. He pushes the on button and slumps down into the chair with the vacant stare of a shell-shocked soldier. As the monitor turns on, dousing him in white light, he reaches up to idly scratch at the point where his Crown meets his hairline.

"You know, you should stop wearing that thing while you sleep," you say.

He gives you a look somewhere between a squint and a glare. You know you're never going to get through to him while he's this grumpy, so you shrug your shoulders and head to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

You open the door into the hallway and see the bathroom door is still open, and that your Knight of Light outfit is lying on the bathroom floor in a messy heap. You rush over and snatch it up, kicking the door closed behind you. The lenses and mirrors embedded in the white and pale blue fabric clink dully against each other, lighting up the room with a soft shine amplified from the light overhead.

How tired were you yesterday to just leave this lying out? What were you thinking? It would've been just your luck if Pa had come home last night and seen this.

When your teeth are brushed, you take your suit back into your bedroom and stuff it in an empty drawer. You'll need to wash it properly, but... not now.

You sit on the edge of Jude's bunk and watch as he idly scrolls some website or other, the blood vessels in his eyes magnified by the lenses of his glasses. Apart from the flick of one finger on the scroll wheel he barely moves at all.

He's just tired, the rational part of your brain says, That's totally normal. You're fretting over nothing. But that rational part of your brain is being drowned out by the rest of it, which is fearfully fixated on the tinfoil hat of a Crown perched on his head.

How long has he been wearing that thing? Your memories of last night are still foggy but you're sure it must be getting on a whole day by now. You get a headache when you wear yours for too long so you have no idea how he does it, especially because he hasn't even inherited his Power yet. What if it's starting to having some kind of negative effect on him?

You have to think about that for a second, because you're not sure if 'starting' is the right word to use there. His paranoia, his fear of going outside, his obsession with all those outlandish conspiracy theories... Ever since he got that Crown, what started as minor personality quirks have become all-consuming and, frankly, heartbreaking to watch. You don't want to use that terrifying word, degradation, but how much worse does it have to get before you admit something's going wrong?

And yet you know if you try to talk to him about any of this, he'll get defensive and accuse you of persecuting him.

God, this is so ridiculous. He's your brother. You should know how to talk to him about important stuff like this, shouldn't you?

"Jude?"

"What?" he says, tilting his head a fraction of a degree towards you.

"Uhh." Okay, you have to be smart about this. You need him to realise he's using his Crown too much. But he has to bring it up himself. He has to feel like it's his idea. "What are you going to do when you get your real Power?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. Help people better."

"Are you worried about it?"

"Why would I be?" After a moment he turns and properly looks at you. "Oh, I see where you're going with this."

Wait, is this actually working?

"I'm not afraid of inheriting my Power," he says, turning back to the computer. "Don't worry. Kindness doesn't scare me."

You mentally kick yourself. "That's not what I meant–"

"But I'm not! Lots of people get away fine. I'll be alright."

It's all you can do not to pull your hair out from sheer exasperation. "Jude, just... shut up for a second," you say, getting up and walking over to him. "What I'm trying to say is I'm worried your Crown's hurting you. Sure, you're going to get a Power, but you don't have it yet. What if all these visions and nightmares are symptoms of something? I think you should take it off for a while and let yourself rest."

Jude gives you a look so grim and intense it catches you off guard. "Don't care what it's doing to me," he says, gripping the arm rests of the computer chair so hard the plastic squeaks. "It doesn't matter as long as I can keep helping people. I'm never going to stop, even if I have to tear my brain apart to do it."

"Wow," you say, because what else can you say to that? You know it's not an idle threat. He's stubborn and determined enough that he would totally do it. "Don't worry," you eventually say. "I'd never let that happen. I'd take your Crown off you before it gets that bad."

You wanted that to sound... you don't know, comforting somehow? Like the kind of tough, confident thing a big sis says so her little bro knows she's got his back. You expected it to fall flat, but you're all sorts of unprepared for the hostile look that flashes across Jude's face as he visibly shrinks back from you, clutching his Crown with one hand and shoving you away with the other.

"Hey!" you say as you stagger backwards, "What was that for?"

"You'll never get the chance!" he says, his voice cracking in a squeaky burst of betrayed shock. "Get away from me!"

"Jude, don't be an ass–"

"You're not getting my Crown! I won't let you try and stop me!"

"Calm down, Jude, I'm not going to-"

You don't get the chance to finish your sentence before he leaps up from his chair, shoving you towards the door. You're too surprised to stand your ground and you go flying backwards as your feet fall out from under you. You tumble into the hallway, barely hitting the ground before the door slams shut in front of you.

"Jude, stop being an idiot!" you shout as you clamber back to your feet. You try to twist the handle but he's holding it firm.

"Fuck! Off!"

You let go of the handle, staring at the door in a dumbfounded daze. When did Jude get such a foul mouth? For that matter, when did he get so tetchy about his Crown? You've had a lot of poor conversations with your brother lately—how many times have you urged him to go outside, after all?—but he's never reacted this dramatically to anything before.

His Crown's messing with his head. It's got to be.

You just wished you knew what to do about it. You don't want it damaging his brain any more than it already has done. But how are you meant to get it away from him now?

You think about somehow bursting the door open and catching him by surprise, but then what would you do? Rip the Crown off his head while it's still connected to his brain? You've made some poor decisions in your life, but even you would never do something that dumb.

God, you hate feeling so helpless. Once again—and not for the last time, you're sure—you wish you could ask your mom for advice.

Chapter Text

> Joey: Carry on with the rest of your day.

You spend the rest of the day doing... well, a whole lot of nothing. You practise some ballet, you watch a few episodes of Acorn's Shadow, you reread Callie the Zookeeper for the millionth time even though it's a kiddie little picture book you should've grown out of a decade ago. You think about making a sandwich for lunch, but one look at the dirty kitchen with muck-spattered surfaces stacked high with used pots and grimy plates puts that notion out of your head. Instead you fill a mug with lucky charms and milk and call it a day.

You're used to spending time by yourself, but the day goes slower than you're used to. Maybe it's because you'd be at school if it wasn't for the Tyrian Rain last night, or maybe it's because Jude still hasn't so much as poked his head out from the bedroom.

Yeah, it's definitely the second one. You mostly just do your own things but it's weird not to have him around while you do them. Besides, you can't help but feel worried about him.

Jude doesn't emerge from your room until two in the afternoon. You're halfway through a particularly grim episode of Acorn's Shadow when you sense a presence in the edge of your vision. You look around to see Jude standing by the door, staring down at the space between his feet.

"Um. Hey," you say, not quite sure how to break the awkward tension filling the room.

"Hey." He looks up, catches your eye for a split second, then looks back down again.

You don't know what's worse: the guilty look on his face or the fact that he still has that stupid Crown on.

The awkward seconds stretch on and on before Jude speaks up. "Uh, I wanted to apologise for earlier. Shouldn't have flipped off the handle like that. Wasn't necessary. Know you didn't mean anything by what you said."

Part of you wants to point out that he's still making it sound like it's your fault when he was the one who pushed you, but... what would be the point? You're both as stubborn as each other. You could argue until snow falls in the desert and not get anywhere. The only sensible thing you can do is ease off and stop making such a federal issue out of this for a while. You're not going to get through to him if he feels defensive.

Yes, you know it's irresponsible and that it's just delaying the problem for Future Joey to deal with. But you hate this walking-on-eggshells feeling between the two of you right now.

He's your brother. He's all you have in this world, really. You can worry about getting that Crown off his head later. For now you just nod and say, "It's okay. I'm just looking out for you. You know that, right?"

"I know." Another pause. "I know," he says again. "Sorry for overreacting. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, I'm fine."

Jude gives you a skeptical look that says You're just saying that so I don't feel bad, aren't you? Which you sort of are. You definitely aren't hurt, though, and you stretch your arms out to the side as if that somehow proves it.

"See?" you say with well-rehearsed levity, "Totally fine."

After a moment of deliberation he nods. "Alright, good."

And that's... pretty much it. Neither one of you is the kind of person who hugs things out, after all, but the tension in the air evaporates and that's just as good to you.

The rest of the day progresses uneventfully. Jude goes back to the computer and you watch cartoons until evening rolls in and tendrils of vivid orange stretch across the sky.

By now, most of your memory has come back. You're still drawing a blank on everything between entering the sewers and waking up in the trash outside Hippok's apartment, but you clearly remember Jude seeing the vision of a troll in trouble and you speeding off on the back of a SkaiaCorp truck to save him.

Halfway through a commercial break, Jude pops his head into the room and coughs to get your attention. "Dave wants to talk to you."

"Oh yeah? Is he running low again?"

"Dunno. Why would he tell me? He thinks I'm normal."

"I assure you, he does not think that."

"Anyway," he says with a huff, "He's on Pesterchum if you want to talk to him now."

"Might as well." You follow Jude into the bedroom and sit down in the computer chair. Head propped up on one hand, you idly read the message Dave sent to Jude as you wait for the system to log you out of his account and into yours.

You can't help but feel a little sad. It used to be that Jude was really close friends with Dave, and John and Rose as well. The four of them were always round here; watching terrible movies, playing video games, jamming in that silly little band of theirs. But then John disappeared and Jude got his Crown and became paranoid about everything. You used to find it annoying that they were always round here but these days you wish Jude just spoke to anyone else apart from you and his strange internet friends.

After a few epochs of waiting the computer logs you in. You open up Pesterchum and start typing. Nothing happens as you press the keys, and you spend five minutes trying to work out what's wrong before you look behind the computer tower and realise the keyboard's not even plugged in. Jude unplugged it to make way for his dumb text-to-speech microphone. You unplug it and chuck it onto his bed with a huff. Why does he even bother with that thing?

You turn to Jude, who's sitting on the unmade lower bunk, examining the index of a thick book of Alternian haemocaste signs.

"I was right," you say, "Dave needs more power-blocking pills."

"Makes sense," he says without looking up. What in that dry old tome could possibly be so engrossing?

You go into the kitchen, to the cabinet by the fridge. It takes a bit of oomph to open the second drawer down. Inside are two unopened pill jars. You hold one up to the light and read the label.

Ψ-blocker gemizolanine 0.2 mg
For Josephine Harley; take as directed
Prescribed by Dr Jake Harley

You're fairly certain that writing prescriptions if you're not an actual medical doctor is all kinds of shady. And is writing prescriptions for family members also frowned upon? Whatever. Your Pa is obviously so important to SkaiaCorp that he doesn't have to worry about things like that.

Not that it really matters. You've never taken a single one of these pills in your life. They're meant to suppress whatever quirk or mutation causes humans to develop Powers, pausing the prognosis of someone who's due to inherit, but when Pa took you and Jude to the SkaiaCorp labs to run the tests you'd already been helping people for months.

It's funny now that you think back on it, but at the time you were so terrified you would be found out and snatched away in the middle of the night. You were so scared of being found out you'd made all the excuses you could think of and even faked illness to try and get out of it, only for the bloodwork to come back with a false negative and the perfect alibi. After all, how could you be a Power when you're on medication to stop that happening?

In hindsight it's kind of weird how the tests misdiagnosed you and didn't even pick up on Jude's potential to inherit. Not that it would even matter. You tried to get Jude to start taking these a while back and he was very clear he would rather chew his own hands off than take a pill to suppress his Power.

Now you think about it, it isn't that weird that the test was completely wrong. If your Pa designed it, it's probably completely useless.

You pocket both pill bottles and head back to your computer.

You turn back to Jude. "All done."

"Right. Mind if I use the computer again?"

You swap places with Jude, idly flicking through the book on haemocaste signs while he logs you off and plugs his microphone back into the computer.

"Anything interesting in here?" you ask after a few moments of aimless page-turning.

Jude gives you a weird, appraising look. "Maybe. How many times have you read that book?"

"What, like, cover to cover?"

Jude nods.

"Never. There are billions of signs in here."

"Two thousand, to be precise. It's not definitive but it covers a broad spectrum of the haemocaste except for the fuchsia signs and the extinct lime signs."

"Extinct lime signs?"

Jude waves a hand dismissively. "They're not important. Just some trolls that died out millennia ago. Point is, that book has loads of signs, but you probably couldn't name one deliberately. So why were we both able to remember the Ariborn sign last night without having to look it up?"

"Well, I..."

Huh. Yeah. That is kind of odd.

Jude sees the baffled look on your face and leans out of his chair to take the book from you. "It's just a theory right now," he says in a familiar, conspiratorial whisper as he opens up the book near to the front and starts fanning through pages, "But I think someone's been subtly manipulating us in order to cause certain things to happen the way they want."

You can't help but roll your eyes. "Jude, be serious."

"I am being serious! Something weird is going on. You and I are just pawns in a complex, multifaceted plot. Don't know what it is yet but I think the Overseer is a part of it, whether she's aware of it or not."

You're about to object but something in the grim look on his face causes you to stop. Surely it can't be a coincidence that both she and Dr Scratch have the same method of knowing things they shouldn't? What if Jude's right? What if there is some sinister conspiracy behind it all? The thought makes your head spin.

"Okay then," you say, "Let's say I believe you," you say, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth.

"Wait, really!?" Jude asks, mouth agape, as astonished as if you'd suddenly sprouted a third arm.

"I said 'let's say'," you quickly repeat, "This is just a thought experiment."

Jude nods, a ridiculously serious expression on his face. "Still admirable that you're considering all your options. I know it's comforting to cling to stubborn skepticism in times like these but the fact you're willing to explore the alternatives is a good sign."

Wow. He's really taking this way too far. "Come on," you say with a sigh, "I'm just saying if there is a conspiracy, how does any of what happened last night connect to it?"

"Right," Jude says. Suddenly imbued with energy, he sits up straight in his chair and holds up a finger. "First point: the Lancer."

A chill runs down your spine. "I had no idea it even existed before last night."

"Exactly. It's a boogeyman, a spectre, a phantom. Just meant to frighten people. If it does appear that means you're involved in highly dangerous black ops or worse. The kind of thing the secret police aren't cleared to know about. And what did the Lancer want last night?"

"It was after Xefros."

"Exactly." The second finger goes up. "Point two: your new troll friend. His eyes were glowing purple last night. What does that mean?"

"That he's a Derse dreamer."

"Correct. Which correlates to what he was saying about using his Power to save the city."

"How is that related?"

"So, I have a theory—"

"—How many more theories are we going to be exploring tonight, seriously—"

"—That Prospit dreamers want to improve the status quo and Derse dreamers want to replace bad things with better ones. Well, that's the simplified concept. I think that's why we're more likely to go evil. If you lose track of what's right and wrong, you can justify all sorts of things."

"Not this again," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose. "First, that doesn't make any sense. Second, you're not evil just because you're a Derse dreamer. Loads of Powers in Team Charge are Dersites and they're not evil."

"Not my point," Jude says. "What if someone wanted the Ariborn to become a Power specifically so he'd become a villain?"

"That's absurd," you say, and then you remember Xefros picking Zebruh up and throwing him across the garage of the fire station as if he weighed nothing at all. "His Powers are really strong, though. If he was a villain, he'd be unstoppable."

"Wouldn't go that far, but glad to see you agree with me. You'd need to stick a few Umbral Stars in him to make him unstoppable. I believe that might be their goal."

"What do you mean?" you ask. You think back to your conversation with Dr Scratch and have to suppress a shudder.

"I mean what if the Powers That Be decided the Lancer isn't strong enough any more? If they want a Power to surpass Miss Miracle and all the other prime Powers, it only stands to reason you'd pick a strong one and enhance them further."

That... makes a shocking amount of sense. Sure, it might be a drastic, over-the-top sort of worst case scenario, but you can actually see it happening. This whole train of thought sucks. What is the world coming to when the things Jude says actually start to sound reasonable? "I hope you're wrong about this," you say.

"So do I. Which brings me to point three: the Overseer."

"Right. Isn't it strange how she knows so much?"

Jude just shrugs. "Not expecting her to tell us how her powers work. How she knows things isn't the issue. It's the nature of her source that bugs me."

"You think she's being fed false information?"

"Affirmative. From talking with her last night, I don't believe she's wilfully malicious. But if our hypothetical malign influence does exist, she could unwittingly be manipulating dozens of other Powers."

A window pops up on the screen. Jude whips his head round to stare at it, glaring suspiciously as lines of golden text show up on the screen.

"Speak of the devil," he says.

"What is it?"

He tilts the screen towards you. You can just about read the messages.

"0B is the Overseer, I assume?"

Jude nods. "Set this up last night while you were asleep in Hippok's apartment."

You raise an eyebrow. "You added her on Pesterchum? That doesn't seem very secure."

"This isn't Pesterchum, it's an encrypted client. I've analysed the source code and it all checks out. I couldn't find a single backdoor and I'm deliberately running it in limited access mode. Do you think I have noodles for brains or something?"

"Well, no, but... is any of that actually worth anything if the Overseer is omniscient? How do we know she can't see us right now?"

"We can't."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Not much we can do about that. She either doesn't have the power to look in on us, in which case we're safe, or she does and there's no point worrying about it because for all we know she's been watching us all day."

The two of you sit in silence for a moment as you try to wrap your head around this. The whole functional omniscience thing creeps you out. You wish you had more time to... You don't know what. Figure out a plan? You wouldn't know where to start.

Eventually Jude reaches out to grab his dictation mic. "Well I think we've left her hanging long enough."

"Hang on. Should we make some sort of plan before we talk to her?"

"I think for now we should just go along with what she says. If she wants to help we should co-operate in good faith. We know something's up so we can stay on guard. But we shouldn't do anything to make her suspicious of us."

"In case she really is getting her information from an evil source?"

"Correct." The stern, hyper-serious look Jude gives you is like ice in your veins. "If the malicious entity does exist and has evil intent, we mustn't catch its attention, whatever we do."

If Jude notices the flash of dread across your face he ignores it and presses the activation switch on the microphone.

Jude shifts the chair over so you can get closer to the computer. "You have a profile too," he says. "We're both logged in. You can use the keyboard."

You sit on your haunches next to him and reach out to the keyboard. With a feeling of apprehension like butterflies or wriggling snakes in your stomach, you tap out a message.

You just have to act like nothing's up. How hard can that be

Chapter Text

INTERMISSION FIVE

> Skylla: Prepare for a reckoning.

Mother grub's sake, you're so dang tired.

You've been awake since early last evening. If this whole 'imperial spy' brouhaha hadn't ruined any chance of a rest you might have had, Tetrarch Kanaya's message ordering your whole cell down to the rebellion's so-called citadel did. How are you supposed to sleep easy, knowing they might be onto you? If they were able to rumble Kuprum, who's to say they haven't rumbled you too?

Fozzer is obviously thinking the same thing. Ever since the two of you arrived at headquarters there's been a nervous tension in the air. As Marsti and the others headed off to the audience chamber, he and you found an out-of-the-way storage room where you wouldn't be eavesdropped on. You wanted to go over your alibis, patch the holes in each other's stories, that sort of thing. Instead you've been sitting in silence among the spare tables and chairs being stored in here.

Fozzer has been pacing back and forth for the past twenty minutes, nervously chewing at the sides of his claws and glancing at the door. Eventually it gets too much for you to take. "For Peytie's sake," you say, "Sit yourself down before you wear a hole in the carpet."

"How are you able to stay so calm, Skylla?" he asks, fixing you with a glum, dead-eyed stare. "What are we to do if they—"

You put a finger to your lips and he snaps his mouth shut. "They ain't gonna do nothing," you say, voice barely above a whisper. "Maryam and her useless advisors ain't suddenly gone and gotten more competent overday. Kuprum got caught, sure, but he probably did something reckless. Have you done anything like that?"

Fozzer shakes his head.

"Good. Then neither of us has anything to worry about. Kuprum ain't gonna tattle."

"I hope so," Fozzer says, perching on the edge of a table and moping like a barkbeast who's been scolded for jumping on the furniture.

For all your outwardly projected calm you're so full of panic you could scream. You never wanted to be a part of this hoofbeast shit. You couldn't care a whit about the rebellion or the Empire or any of the rest of it. If you had it your way you'd be happy to spend the rest of your life on a farm out in the middle of nowhere with just your lusus for company.

And yet here you are. The Empire has its claws deep in you. You ain't getting free until they're through with you.

You've just figured out what you want to say to Fozzer when the door bursts open with such force you both jump. A short goldblood with ordinary eyes, two pinprick horns and dreadlocks down to her elbows steps into the room. "There you are!" Spatha Gladio pants, struggling to catch her breath as if she's just ran a mile. "What are you guys doing, all the way out here? Quickly, to the audience chamber, everyone's waiting for you."

She doesn't even wait for you to stand before she darts out the room as quickly as she entered.

"Well I suppose there's precious little chance of us getting our story straight now," Fozzer says.

"Wouldn't'a done us any good if we had," you say. "Just gotta go in there and hope it goes okay."

Your bloodpusher is beating against the walls of your thoracic cage like a feral behemoth and the back of your squawk box stings like you're about to throw up. You ignore it all and follow Spatha's shadow through the building's twisting corridors.

The rebellion has picked some abandoned house of Earthling worship in South-2 as its base of operations. You step out into the vast main hall, where rays of orange and pink light stream into the room through large, empty apertures. The stained glass they once held is long gone and the sunset flooding into the cavernous hall is so bright you have to squint and shield your eyes.

If any artworks or relics once adorned the tall walls and high, vaulted ceiling of this room they're long gone, sold off to fund the resistance's various operations. At the far end of the room, beyond desks where trolls sit in front of terminals relaying messages and writing reports, the space that once might have held an altar has been repurposed as an audience chamber complete with five imposing, throne-like chairs at the far wall. Every time you see those gaudy things you wonder what the point of an anti-Empire, anti-haemocaste movement is if its leaders style themselves like monarchs.

Only one of the chairs has an occupant right now. Kanaya is sitting in the centre chair, a forgotten teacup resting on a dainty little table by her elbow. She's wearing a black top and a long, layered red skirt. The crown resting on her head is like a hundred spires of molten gold clustered together. The tips stick up like ceremonial swords and all the bases are melted together into a lumpy mess that looks like it's about to drip down her forehead.

Directly opposite her stand Marsti, Lanque and Charun. They turn to look at you and Fozzer as you come close. Charun waves at you, but you barely notice because you're looking over their shoulder as four trolls walk in through another door. You recognise one of the trolls as Kuprum, practically being dragged in by two burly guards as he staggers forward in a stupefied daze.

Kuprum still has his spiky metal Crown on and as he limps forward you see he's not got any restraints or shackles on him. What he does have is Folykl Darane, following close behind him with one hand resting on his shoulder. Her crown is a simple hexagonal band of iron like an oversized hex nut resting atop the matted tangle of greasy hair that falls into her watery, bloodshot eyes.

To see Kuprum in the state he's in—shoulders slouched, eyes barely open, each breath a laboured, ragged wheeze—fills you with such overpowering, incandescent anger that you struggle to control it. In your mind's eye you can see yourself marching over, grabbing Folykl by her disgusting, oily hair and pulling until you rip her head off, coating the walls in a spray of yellow blood. With your adult strength, you reckon you could put her in temporal shock before she even knew what was happening. It would be so easy.

You force yourself to bury that rage. Following Spatha's directions, you stand with Fozzer next to Charun and the others. Even from this distance the smell of body odour and mouldy food emanating from Folykl is unbearable. You clench your fists, breathe through your mouth and concentrate on maintaining your cool.

Spatha walks over to Kanaya and whispers something in her ear. She then goes to the far wall and stands next to a young tealblood with splayed horns and a fancy hairdo, who you faintly recognise as one of Kanaya's new crony advisors.

"You're all finally here," Kanaya says, straightening in her seat as she glances at each of you.

"Sorry we took so long," Fozzer says. "It's my fault. I don't deal well with grave and formal occasions like these."

"It doesn't matter," Kanaya says with a wave of her hand. "We're only just ready to begin now, anyway. Our investigation has been much less fruitful than we'd hoped, thanks to our traitor here." She gestures to Kuprum. You follow the movement but can't bring yourself to look directly at him. To see him like this, so hollowed out, eats away at you. No matter what he's done, he doesn't deserve this.

The others are just as unsettled to see him this way as you are. After all, you haven't spent this long working alongside each other to not view each other as friends. It's Lanque who speaks up first. "And what is it you've been doing to him that's taken so much time?" he asks, voice loaded with wary cynicism.

A grimace curls up in the corner of Kanaya's mouth. "We haven't been torturing him if that's what you're insinuating."

"How is that not torture?" Marsti asks. "You can't just turn someone into a husk because you think they might have betrayed you."

"Oh, he'll be... fine in a bit," Folykl says, her watery eyes looking over Marsti's head as she shows off rows of sharp, food-stained fangs in some weak attempt at a grin. It takes all your willpower not to run over and kick her in the acid bladder, and from the way Marsti glares and clenches her fists you think she feels the same way.

Kanaya either doesn't hear Folykl or chooses to ignore her. "It isn't a matter of belief, Houtek. I am beyond certain."

"How? What proof could you possibly have?"

The tealblood by the far wall clears his throat and steps forward. "If I may, Tetrarch?"

Kanaya nods. "Go ahead, Gorjek."

"Right." Gorjek takes a moment to straighten his collar, then takes a comm out of his pocket. From all the stickers on it, it has to be Kuprum's. "We intercepted communications from Maxlol's personal communicator last night between him and none other than the Imperial spymaster," he says. "He's encrypted his device, so we're still piecing together the full extent of this treachery. What we do know is that his message included a lot of sensitive information, including the names and signs of each of you and every guest at your safehouse."

"Hang on," Charun says, "So the Empire... knows everything about us?"

Gorjek flashes a smug grin that you want to scratch off his face. "Oh, it gets worse. We only tripped over this transmission by accident. It was unencrypted and we weren't the only eavesdropper. City Hall knows everything the Empire does."

Oh, hell, that's bad. That's beyond bad. On the one hand, it explains what the Lancer was doing chasing after Xefros last night—hell of a mystery solved and all that—but the idea that everyone at your safehouse, guests and all, is now known to the Midnight Crew is horrifying. Sure, you might be an Imperial spy, but you still care for your comrades. You'd never do anything to put the trolls you've come to view as friends at risk of disappearance.

Judging by his panicky, wide-eyed stare, Fozzer seems to be having the same thought. "Hang on," he says, a fretful tremolo in his voice. "Does that mean the secret police now know who we all are?"

Gorjek just grins even wider in response.

"I hope you see how serious Kuprum's actions are," Kanaya says. "The Empire knows far too much for us to hope to stay out of their notice now. If they or the secret police of this city ever decide we pose a threat to them, they're going to use every dirty trick they know against us."

"Well, fuck," Lanque says. "Why are we gathered here, then? Shouldn't we all be going into hiding or something?"

Kanaya shakes her head. "You'll all be dispersed to different cells while we try to mitigate this, but I had to bring you all here first."

"We believe Maxlol had an accomplice," Gorjek interjects. "Even though we aren't certain how much information has been leaked, we're certain it was far more than he could have gathered on his own. You five are the only other people with his level of access. It stands to reason that at least one of you assisted him."

"This is ridiculous!" Marsti shouts, "You can't seriously think any of us are traitors. We've been here since day one!"

"So has Kuprum and his betrayal is undeniable," Kanaya says. "Don't worry. If any of you admits to collusion with Kuprum we aren't going to harm you. Your memory will be wiped of our organisation and you will get no help from us when our uprising begins but you will be left in peace." She stops to take a sip from what must by now be a stone cold cup of tea and you have to concentrate on not rolling your eyes at the inane, amateurish theatrics of it all. "But if you don't come forward and we have to hunt you down the hard way," she continues, "We won't be remotely so kind."

The room goes silent as the five of you glance at each other, waiting to see if any of you is about to speak. To Fozzer's credit, his face doesn't betray anything. You hope you're doing as good a job at hiding your true feelings as he is, especially considering his earlier jitters.

Gorjek is about to step forward and say something when he's interrupted by a long, low gurgle from Kuprum. His shoulders shake and his body jerks as if he was waking from a nightmare. The pained groan that rumbles out of his bellowsacs doesn't sound like any noise a troll could make.

"Folykl, why is he moving?" Kanaya asks, "You were meant to keep him under."

"I don't get it," she says, "I've been... draining him all day... He shouldn't have any strength left in him."

As if to spite them both, Kuprum groans again. Eyes still half-closed, he tries to raise his hands to his face but they only get halfway up before falling back to his sides. He tries a second time, and a third time, and he finally plants them both on top of his head on his fourth attempt. With a final, gargling groan of exertion, he lifts both hands and smacks himself on the top of his head so hard that he drops.

With a shout of alarm Charun steps forward to help Kuprum up but one of the trolls who had been guarding him pushes them away. The other yanks Kuprum onto his feet. Whatever Kuprum did was enough to jolt himself awake. Eyes wide open and faintly glowing with indigo and yellow light, a fanged smile slowly widens across his face as he looks around the room.

"Hi, everyone," he says.

"Good evening," Kanaya says as she stands up off her throne, ice in her voice. "I imagine you must be wondering where you are."

"Eh, not really." Kuprum shakes his head. "Buncha guards, rest of my cell looking all serious, whatever-her-name the energy sink... I can make a few guesses. I see Dammek isn't here."

Kanaya crosses her arms. "He's indisposed and your cell is under my authority. Now I don't know how you've managed to achieve lucidity but you've picked a good time to do so. You've jeopardised our entire movement. Do you have anything to say to yourself? Maybe you'd like to tell us the names of your accomplices?"

"Ehehehehehehe!" Kuprum's laughter quickly breaks down into an exhausted wheeze. "LOL. I can't believe you think I'd co-operate with your dumbshit rebellion."

Anger flares across Kanaya's face as she steps closer to him. "And what makes you think the Empire is any better? They may have promised you all sorts of rewards for sabotaging us but I assure you, you won't like what they really have in store for you.

"ROFL. You really are hopeless. Implying I don't know exactly what happens to all the good little goldbloods who fight for the glory of the Empire! I know exactly what's coming my way and let me tell you, I am, sincerely, thrilled!

"Then I hate to disappoint you, because helmsmanship is quite a way off for you. What's actually going to happen is this: you're going to rot in the Chamber of Nullification until Dammek and I uncover the rest of the traitors you've been working with. I hope you're prepared to be down there for a long time."

"Ehehehe. Don't worry, Kanaya. You'll be seeing me again real soon. This rebellion is doomed. I know it, you know it, everyone in this city knows it! I can't wait to watch everything collapse around you. It's going to be so based."

"It won't be based on anything. Dammek and I will galvanise this city into a utopia. We'll soon see if there's any room in it for people like you."

"LOL. You couldn't galvanise your way out of a cholerbear's oozing, cavernous gaper."

Kanaya rolls her eyes. "If you're trying to shock me by resorting to vulgar profanity, know you're going to have to try much, much harder than that. Get him out of my sight."

Tailed by Folykl, the two guards drag Kuprum back the way he came, his breathy giggles echoing down the corridors. When he's out of earshot, Kanaya walks over to her comically tall throne and sits back down. "So," she says, "Now that you've seen the state of mind our primary traitor is in, do any of you have anything to confess?"

None of you move at all. Out of the corner of your eye you see Gorjek scan you all with an appraising look. If he has any suspicions he keeps them to himself.

After a moment of tense silence, Marsti clears her throat. "With respect, Tetrarch," she says, words dripping with venom, "If you think any of us would betray the rebellion, your paranoia's getting the better of you."

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence it's Kanaya who blinks first. "Noted," she says. "I hope your faith in your comrades is well-founded."

"It is. I'd trust these guys with my life. Even the ones I don't like have proven to be reliable." You can't help but notice her eyes flicker in your direction as she says that. "Shame I can't say that about everyone in this movement."

It only lasts for a split second but you can't miss Kanaya's frustrated snarl. "Do you think I enjoy doing this? I'm not trying to persecute your cell. I'm just trying to keep this rebellion going."

"And I wish you all the best of luck with that."

The look of caustic annoyance on Kanaya's face is astounding. "Fine. You've made your point. Now get out of here, all of you. Gladio will be in touch with your new assignments. And don't think we won't be watching you all."

The five of you are escorted out by Spatha. As you walk through the maze of corridors to the exit, you begin to realise why Kuprum didn't let you in on any of this. He must have known shit would go down and wanted to give you as much plausible deniability as he could.

You just wish you understood why he'd leaked all that sensitive information. There's no way leaving it unencrypted was an accident. There are only two possible reasons: either involving the Lancer and the secret police was all part of the Empire's plans, or Kuprum is playing triple-crosser. Each option worries you just as much.

When the five of you leave the building and step out into the sunset, you all head across the street to take cover in the shade of an overturned billboard.

"Well I guess... This is going to be it for a while," Charun says.

"Pity. You've all been tolerable companions," Lanque says. Despite his blustery demeanour, you can sense the sincerity in his voice.

"Oh, don't talk nonsense, you two," Marsti says. "I bet you five boonies Dammek hears about this and undoes it all by tomorrow. We work too well together for them to split us up."

"And you'd actually agree to work with me again?" you ask, unable to hide your surprise.

"Like I said in there, I think you're a dumbass but I respect you. Most of the time. When you're not being an arrogant chutestuffer." She gives you a playful punch to the shoulder before addressing everyone. "Trust me, guys. Give it a few days and we'll all be back together like nothing ever happened."

"So you don't believe there's a traitor in our midst?" Lanque asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Pfft, right, of course not. Obviously that self-important tealblood pissant is scaring her to make himself seem more useful than he really is."

"But what about the transmission they caught?" Charun asks. "And Kuprum said all... that stuff about what the Empire would do to him."

"I don't buy it. Sure, he can be a foul-mouthed weirdo but I don't think he'd betray us all just to become a helmsman. The Empire only has one ship left and its helmsman isn't going anywhere any time soon. It just doesn't make sense."

"So... you think he was framed?"

"One hundred percent. He's a little shit but he has a good heart. He'd never betray us."

Oh, Marsti. Your naïve loyalty is going to be the end of you.

END OF INTERMISSION FIVE

Chapter Text

> ===>

It's been a few hours since you and Jude talked with the Overseer. Night is beginning to fall, the oranges and pinks of sunset morphing into the dark blue of twilight. Neither of you has bothered to get up and switch a light on so you're both just chilling in your bedroom in the dark. The only light in the room is coming from the cold glow of the computer monitor but you've found an angle to get enough light to read by.

Jude has finally taken his Crown off. He's been rubbing his forehead and squinting for ages, and the first thing he did when he took it off was leave, come back a moment later and take a swig straight from the spout of the water filtering jug he keeps by the computer. If you go look in the medicine drawer in the kitchen you're sure you'll find an aspirin missing, but you're not going to push your luck and say anything about it. You're just glad he's finally taken the damn thing off.

After a little while you find yourself reading the same sentence over and over again so you get up and put the book back on the shelf. Your mom's old heirloom is sitting next to it so you grab that and sit back down on the bottom bunk. You twist it in your hand, admiring the way the red and green swirl in the middle shines and how the details on the snakes surrounding it catch the light.

Jude turns the computer off suddenly, plunging the room into darkness. You can only see his silhouette as he swivels in his chair to face you. "Joey," he says, "Can I talk to you about something?"

His trepidatious tone of voice immediately has you worried, but you try to play it cool. "Sure. What's up?"

"I have a theory about the Overseer but I need you to promise not to make fun of it."

"Why would I do that?"

You can tell Jude's giving you a fed-up look without even being able to see it. "You never listen to anything I have to say. No matter how many clues I discover or how much research I do connecting them, you just call everything a conspiracy theory and act like that means you can ignore it."

"Yeah, I've been thinking." Oh, boy, you can't believe you're about to say this. "After everything that happened last night, I don't know what to believe any more." Jude stares at you like you've started speaking in tongues but he doesn't cut you off so you continue. "After seeing the Lancer I just don't know what's still safe to dismiss as fake."

"Right to think that way," Jude says, pausing to take a sip from the water filter. "Skepticism is healthy but you have to remember sensibility and normalcy are just smoke screens that sinister agents use to disguise their clandestine activities."

"So, wait, you're saying your conspiracy theories are ridiculous, and that's on purpose?"

Jude deflates a little bit when you say that. "Ridiculous isn't the right word. But the Powers That Be know smearing the reputations of those who know the real truth is the simplest disinformation tactic out there. If their critics are treated as fools and pariahs the greater public will do the rest of their work for them."

You can't help but raise an eyebrow. "So you're a critic of the Powers That Be, now?"

"I would be if anyone took me seriously."

"C'mon, Jude, it's not that I don't take you seriously. It's just, where does it end? If the homicidal death robot is real, does that mean the evil, time-travelling AI is too? What about the mind-control chemicals in the water, or the nanobots replacing people with clones, or the technologically advanced aliens?"

"Joey, please, they're called Alternians."

"No, you dweeb, I mean all that nonsense about the Ophidi—" Like a flash of lightning, you remember your dream from this morning: the boat, the ruined Earth hanging in the sky, the serpentine alien at the oar.

"Joey?" Jude eventually says. "You kind of left me hanging there."

"God damn it!" you groan, burying your face in your hands.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I met an Ophidian last night. In my dreams."

Jude's eyes go wide. "You're sure? It definitely wasn't a normal dream?"

"I don't know. It was so strange. We were sitting in a rowboat on this huge ocean and the Earth was hanging in the sky, all broken and burning. He talked about how there used to be two universes or something? The only bit that made sense was he was waiting to take his niece and nephew away before Lord English arrives."

As you've been talking, Jude's eyes have gotten wider and wider. You finish speaking and as silence hangs in the air he comes over to sit next to you. "No doubt about it. You really met an Ophidian," he says. It's a statement, not a question. He already fully believes the nonsense coming out of your mouth. "An actual dream visitation. I'm so fucking jealous—"

"—Why are you swearing so much all of a sudden?"

"Don't you see how big this is? The last person to speak to an Ophidian was some Alternian prophet who lived thousands of years ago. For them to reveal themselves to you now, after nothing but silence for so long? That's huge! No, it's bigger than that, Joey, it's large!"

"He didn't want to speak to me. I think he spent the whole time I was there annoyed I wasn't Xefros."

Jude tilts his head to one side. "Why would he be there?"

You shrug. "I don't know. Apparently he was sleeping in that boat and last night I took his place or something."

"Much too convenient to be a coincidence. See what I mean, Joey? You and him meeting last night can not have been an accident. Something sinister is going on."

This is too much to take in. You lean backwards until you're lying flat, staring up at the underside of the top bunk. "Is this what it's like for you? Just constantly being bombarded by weird stuff all the time?"

Jude nods.

"How are you not just... totally overwhelmed by it all?"

You tilt your head and see the folder next to the computer, stuffed full with all the newspaper clippings, dream journal entries and other pieces of so-called evidence Jude's collected over the years.

Maybe that was a stupid question.

Jude stands up and puts his hands on his hips. "I get it," he says in a clipped tone that sounds totally rehearsed, "It's frustrating, having what you viewed as real upturned so violently. I know what that's like."

You roll your eyes and sit up again. "I'm not going to become a conspiracy nut over this. Just... I don't have any idea what the hell's going on any more."

"Okay, how's this for an idea: twenty four hours of unconditional belief. Just one day where you approach everything with a view of, 'If this is real, what are the implications of that?'. Just for twenty-four hours, that's it."

"I can't promise unconditional belief," you say, "I can just about manage open-mindedness. That's all you're getting out of me."

Jude nods. "Copy that. It'll do. One day of open-mindedness. So... where should I begin?"

"You said you had a theory?" For a moment you wonder if this is going too far off the deep end, if encouraging Jude's conspiracy theories is just going to make things worse. But if more and more strange and implausible things are going to happen you need some kind of advance warning.

"Right. Yes. Actually ties in with your extraterrestrial visitation quite well. So, considering the Overseer is obviously an Ophidian—"

"—Wait, what?"

"Joey, come on, think about it for like five seconds."

"But she's a troll. I saw her in my dreams. She has horns and grey skin and everything. She can't be an Ophidian."

"Whatever. Probably a disguise. How do you think she has all that mystic knowledge? The Ophidians were shepherds of the threads of time and causality. Coincidence? I think not."

"What? I don't... That doesn't make any sense."

"Come on, Joey, you said you'd be open-minded."

"I'm trying, alright! It's way harder than I expected when you're claiming the Overseer is some kind of alien."

"The city's full of 'some kind of alien'. Why is it so surprising that there are more out there than the one kind you've met before?"

"Look, can't you just start with something small? Ease me into this. I can't keep up with your mile-a-minute conspiracy brain."

Jude lets out this weary, belaboured sigh, as if you were making the most unreasonable demands ever. "Alright then, come on." He stands up, goes to the window and raises the blinds, filling the room with soft blue light. You stare out at the jagged skyline of the city bathed in its neon glow, with the monorail line snaking between the buildings and the looming spectre of City Hall Tower in the distance, pointing up to the sky like a nail hammered out from under the earth. "Here's an easy one for you," he says, "How do you think this city survives?"

"Uh... Well the Battleship doesn't have the resources to mount another invasion and we don't have the fuel needed to get ships up there. Can't have much of a war if we can't get in range of each other."

"No, no, more literal than that. Who grows the food? Where does the sewage go? Where does all the steel for the buildings come from?"

"It's all under the city," you say slowly, waiting for the inevitable and underwhelming reveal Jude's working up to. "There's mines, hydroponic farms, water purifiers; that sort of thing."

"Have you ever seen any of them? Ever met a single person who works down there?"

"Jude, where are you going with this?"

"This whole city is an experiment!" he shouts, throwing his hands in the air with such force he staggers backwards. "None of this is real! It's a grimy, depressing concrete maze and we're the dosed-up rats stuck inside!"

"That's—"

Don't say impossible. You've got to try and be open-minded.

"—Depressing. But why would anybody build a whole city just to experiment on people?"

"Thousands of possible explanations. A sociological experiment about inter-species relations or about the way people react to tyranny and despotism. That's not even getting into the question of what the chemicals they're pumping into the air and water do."

"What's the point, though? Earth is just an asteroid belt and the Alternian Empire is a single ship and a bunch of planets full of feral trolls. If this is all just an experiment, who could possibly be benefiting from the research?"

You expect Jude to object to that but he just smiles up at you. "Now you're getting it. These are the questions worth asking."

"You mean you don't know either."

"I have a hunch." He tilts his head toward the window. "Look out at the city. What do you see?"

You stand up and walk over, pressing your nose to the glass. "Um... Nothing. Just a whole bunch of buildings. I can see the industrial park, the West-2 tenement blocks, City Hall Tower—"

"Bingo. City Hall Tower. The one thing you can see from anywhere in the city. Do you know what a panopticon is?"

You step back from the window and shake your head.

"Imagine a prison made up of thousands of cages stacked on top of each other in a circle, forming a cylinder miles high and miles wide. Now stick a tower in the centre and put the warden's office at the top. The warden has a telescope so they can surveil any prisoner they please whenever they like but the prisoners never know if or when they're being watched.

"And that's what you think this city is?"

"Affirmative."

"So... Say you're right. Say this city really is a prison and City Hall is full of scientists experimenting on us. What does that actually mean? What's going to happen to us when their research is done?"

"Couldn't say. But if City Hall and the secret police are involved—and they definitely are—it's something big. Your encounter with the Lancer was probably just the start of something we're not prepared for."

"We most certainly aren't. I don't think we're even ready to help the Overseer save people from the Kindness, let alone deal with your evil prison theory."

"We'll be alright. The two of us can do anything as long as we stick together."

You can't help but smile at that. "Wow, that was so cheesy."

"Cheesy but true. Are you worried?"

"A little. But I guess I knew this had to happen some day. We can't be small-scale heroes forever. I think I've always known we'd have to graduate from rescuing lost children and getting cats down from trees some day."

Jude nods. The two of you share a quiet moment standing by the window, staring out at the city as it winds down before curfew, sharing this great and important secret with each other.

Heroes. You don't know if you're ready to become a proper, capital-H Hero. But, in a way, this is your duty. There's no point in having your powers if you're not going to help people with them. As scary as it might be, you've always known you'd have to stop running away from that destiny one day.

And then there's the Kindness. Even if what the Overseer said was wrong and the Kindness isn't pushing their victims into temporal shock, you're not letting Jude get hurt by those fanatical, bloodthirsty thugs that follow after them. You'd do anything to keep Jude safe, no matter the cost. 

"I love you, Joey," Jude says, distracting you from your thoughts.

"Where did that come from?" you ask, trying not to sound surprised. You turn to look at him and oh, God, there are tears in his eyes. Neither one of you is the kind of person who hugs things out but what are you meant to do, just stand back and watch him cry? You reach out and pull him in, stroking his back and the top of his head in the most soothing way you can as sobs wrack his body.

Your heart breaks a little for him. You can't imagine what goes through his head. Sure, he can be annoying sometimes, but he's just a kid.

You're a little too tall to rest his head on your shoulder so you just hug him harder. "It's okay, it's okay," you say, "I love you too, forever and ever."

Eventually his tears fade to sniffles. "I just... I just..." His voice still hitches and it's a struggle for him to get the words out but you wait patiently for him to speak. "There's something terrible out there, Joey and it's coming right for you."

"I'm sure it's going to be fine—"

"—No, it isn't!" He buries his head in your shoulder. "I can't stop seeing it. Oceans of blood and death, the end of the world happening on a loop over and over again. Even when my eyes are open, it's always right there. And you're right at the centre of it."

"Oh, Jude..." You hug him even harder. "I don't care what you see in your visions. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to either of us."

"But—"

"No, shut up. It's going to be fine. I'll make it fine."

If your heart wasn't broken before then it definitely is now. The poor guy. Only thirteen and seeing so many horrible things all the time. If his prophetic visions of doom and suffering are starting to blur together, it's no wonder he's so scared for you. No matter how fervently he wants to help people, he shouldn't have to suffer like this.

You don't know how you're going to help him or how you're going to convince him that things aren't as bad as they seem in his visions. All you can do is hold him close and reassure him that it's going to be okay. If you keep it up, maybe a little bit will get through to him.

All the same, you can't help but shake a similar feeling of dread: a tiny, fearful voice in the back of your head. Don't get used to this peace and quiet, it says, It's not going to last for much longer.

END OF ACT ONE

Chapter Text

ENTR'ACTE ONE
"I'll gather my far-flung thoughts together."

> ===>

Chapter Text

> Calliope: Think back.

It's been a few hours since you spoke with the Knight and the Seer. You imagine it must nearly be night in Neo City now. Oh, what you wouldn't give to witness the sunset for yourself and watch the orange and pink sky morph into dark blue twilight.

You're so excited to finally be working with the two of them. Their potential is so exciting it makes you giddy just thinking about it. Under your tutelage the two could display talent beyond compare; the kind of talent you desperately need to reverse this hopeless situation your game is in.

You just hope they're a little more receptive than Miss Miracle. For all the good she does she's such an irritating bloody nuisance! You love her dearly, of course you do, but her constant suspicion rubs you the wrong way. Would it do her any harm to just trust you once in a while? Maybe she could even come to you for help right away and not wait for things to get bad?

Unlike her, the Knight and the Seer seem to trust you implicitly, which is a problem in the complete other direction. They didn't really question anything you said earlier, and you're worried that it's a bit of a rookie mistake for them to make.

But then again they are just rookies. They're only children. You have to remind yourself of that.

At least they didn't ask you that one annoying question: "If you're omniscient, how am I supposed to keep my identity hidden from you?" You swear you've had to make up so many answers to that question you could scream. Sure, it's one of life's uncomfortable little truths that you have to lie to people once in a while if you want what's best for them, but the fewer lies you have to tell the Knight and Seer the better you'll feel. Besides, what does it matter if you know who they are? If you don't say their names out loud, if you don't even think them, what's the practical difference to not knowing them in the first place?

While you're still at your terminal you might as well send your brother a message for when he wakes up. He never lets up with his so-called 'smack talk' so it's about time he tastes his own awful medicine.

You're about to start typing when an incoming message distracts you.

Well that was a worrying conversation. You hope the Empath's fears don't get the better of him. You don't think he's at any risk of transformation, not if it's been this long and he hasn't started experiencing changes. But still, you imagine he must be in quite a nerve-wracking predicament. And to not have anyone else to talk to about it...

You suppose you didn't do him any favours by absconding from the conversation the way you did but the quicker you left it, the less likely you were to divulge anything you didn't mean to. You have no idea what La Bête Noire is or what it's doing to people and that worries you. It's one great, big, spreading hole of darkness at the centre of your omniscience. You simply mustn't let anyone else know the true extent of it, not until you've got everything under control, or else there will be nothing but chaos – both in Asclepius and among all the inhabitants of Neo City.

Oh, right. You were going to send your brother a message before you got distracted.

Chapter Text

> Doc Scratch: Receive your guests.

Chapter Text

> Trizza: Run for your life.

There's nowhere to run.

You know the hunticulators will be watching every inch of the Battleship Condescension. You know there will be archeradicators guarding the drop pod bays and ruffianihilators stationed in the hangars. Worst of all, you know none of that will matter if you can't shake the threshecutioner squad off your trail. Not only are they armed with nets and sickles to capture you—and if they have to induce temporal shock a couple of times, it will be your own fault—they also have a camera crew in tow, eagerly waiting to record all the humiliation you'll go through. They'll cut the best bits together, mix it in with some footage of your upcoming trial and execution and broadcast it all on a special episode of The Cull Factor for the captive audience of trolls aboard the ship, who are being worked up into a voyeuristic, bloodthirsty frenzy by the other shows on the airwaves.

You know all of this because long ago, before you fell entirely out of the Empress' favour, you were The Cull Factor's executive producer. That was back in the days before that cueball-headed pain-in-the-globes ruined everything, when you would stay awake for nights coming up with more and more sadistic ways to disgrace those who incurred the Condesce's disfavour.

Somehow, you never imagined you'd be on the other end of the process. It would almost be ironic if only it wasn't so fucking unfair.

You've been running for the past few hours, sticking to rarely-used areas of the ship and doubling back on yourself to evade your pursuers. You can't run forever, though, so you take a chance and head towards the genetics labs. Nobody's going to be there, not after the mutant-blood and the Armina clone wrecked the place, so it'll be a good spot to hunker down and come up with a plan.

It doesn't take long to reach the familiar bulkhead door. You slip inside and shunt the wheel handle into the locked position. Now that you've got a few minutes of safety, you lean on your double trident and catch your breath, peering out at your surroundings through the sweat-drenched hair that's fallen across your face.

The atrium you're standing in was once neat and pristine, with lots of glass walls and advanced scientific tools arranged on rows of desks. Now it looks like the set of one of those corny slasher films, the kind that are so schlocky that their short, truncated titles only run on for seven or eight sentences. The glass has all been shattered and the desks have been smashed to pieces. The only machine still intact is the sequencing terminal, whose thick, chitinous exterior was too difficult to break. All the others have been crushed into meaty piles dripping with luminescent ichor. The doors to the holding pens have been burst open and the stairs leading up to the offices have crumpled under some heavy weight. The huge, floor-to-ceiling vidscreen on the opposite wall which once broadcast all the mandatory propaganda briefings now displays nothing but static. A large stain of black ink spreads out from the lower-left corner, centred on a metal pole that's punctured the screen. Runny, yellowish bile from the puncture wound drips down the length of of the pole onto a puddle on the floor.

Even though you never wanted to be here, seeing this place in such an awful state makes you want to hurt somebody. You put so much hard work into this operation and the filthy mutant ruined it all. If you ever see him or the fake Armina again, you're going to make them regret not obeying you. After all, this entire mess is their fault. They should have just accepted their place and submitted to your tests.

As much as you try to clear your head and think of an escape plan, you can't help but be distracted by your anger. You're almost glad for the distraction when something moves in the corner of your vision. You huck your double-trident at it, not caring who or what it hits.

"My, my. That was uncalled for, Miss Tethis. You could have hurt me, had I not known it was coming."

"You!" You whirl round to face Doc Scratch, who's standing in front of the wall to your right with his arms folded. Your trident is embedded in the wall, still wobbling from the force of the throw, inches away from his large cueball head. "Are you just here to gloat some more? Is that it?"

"I do enjoy pointing out your mistakes, but I have a reason for visiting you. There is one last piece of advice I wish to impart."

"Yes, because I'm so eager to hear more of your hoofbeastshit." You march over and yank your double trident out of the wall. It's lodged in there pretty tight. You have to grip it with both hands and plant a foot on the wall to get any leverage at all. "The only reason I'm in this mess is because I did what you said, you asshole. I bet you're feeling pretty smug about all this."

"Of course not," Doc Scratch says. "Smugness would imply that I am glad about your circumstances."

"Oh, don't you dare pretend you haven't been waiting for this to happen since day one."

"Do not misunderstand me. I am definitely pleased about your predicament," he says, gesturing at the ruined lab, "But smugness would imply there was ever any doubt that events would unfold in this manner. This was all an inevitability."

"Here's what I think about your inevitability!"

As you yank the trident out of the wall you swing it right through his head. It passes cleanly through his holographic form and he just chuckles. "Hoo hoo. You knew that was futile."

"Yes, but I thought it might at least make me feel better."

"Then you can add that to your growing list of mistakes."

"My mistakes? This is all your fault! I was the heiress-apparent before you showed up! All those fuchsia-bloods displaced when the timeline broke and I was the one Her Imperiousness chose! I was supposed to challenge her for the throne and you ruined everything! Listening to you was the only mistake I made!"

You turn on your heels and march over to the one intact machine in here. Doc Scratch stays where he is, raising his voice so you can hear him. "I have ruined nothing. It has all been your handiwork and you have plenty more ruination left to go."

"Yes, of course, because things couldn't possibly get any worse than they are right now." You sink your claws into the machine's soft underbelly, ripping apart a gaping wound and exposing its nervous system. You plunge your hand in, rip out the wires connecting it to the rest of the ship and plug them into your portable communicator. The device shivers to life in your hand and the screen lights up.

For a few moments while your comm reboots, there's blissful silence. "This is not my last piece of advice," Doc Scratch says after a few moments pass, "But I want you to stop running and face your pursuers head on."

"Oh, of course, right away. I can definitely hold my own against three fully-armed thresh knights."

"I never said anything about holding your own against them. If you fight them head-on, they'll do grisly things to you."

"Then why on Alternia would I want to fight them?"

"Because when they broadcast the footage of your slaughter, The Cull Factor will pull the highest ratings it will ever achieve." Even though Scratch doesn't have a face, you can hear the smug grin in his voice. "It will be your last chance to achieve that unfulfilled dream of stardom you once sought."

"Go pail yourself," you bite back. "Anyway, I'm not running. I'm just figuring out a way to get through this without losing my carapace." Your communicator finally boots up and you open Trollian straight away, ready to dash off a message to Marvus that you've been formulating in your mind for a while.

Doc Scratch waves his hand in the direction of the huge vidscreen and it flickers to life, bathing the room in light. Marvus' head and shoulders are framed by the monitor, talking to a microphone grub somewhat obscured by the black splodge of damage in the corner of the screen. The logo at the top of the screen says: 'The Cull Factor Live Interview!'.

"So tell us about Trizza," says an off-screen interviewer with a repugnant seadweller accent.

"Aw, shizz, whadda question," he says with a lazy grin, "Where to even begin wid her? I been knowin' her for a while now an' I always knew she'd fuck summin' up. I jes' never thought it'd be summin' this big, y'know?"

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. How dare he! Marvus was the only troll you considered a friend. After everything you've done for him, how can he have the unrepentant gall to backstab you like this? On a live broadcast, no less!

You block Marvus with a furious swipe and search your contacts for someone else to troll.

With a flash of static, the channel on the monitor changes. You look up from your comm into Pelial's face, festooned with gold: her piercings, her eyeshadow, even a fang or two. For a moment you're flattered that they're running smack talk about you on more than one channel, but that feeling quickly curdles to resentment when Pelial puts down the cup she was drinking from and finishes answering the question.

"Arr, she be a miserable scallywag, nae matter 'ow ye look at it. She always 'ad this right cocksure attitude, axin as if she be the most important troll on the whole ship or somethin'. Truth o' it is I ain't ever met anyone who's quite so incompetent an' thinks she's such 'ot shit! I reckon we shoulda culled 'er sweeps ago. Coulda unthawed someone who can axually do their job right and given 'er bunk to 'em."

How dare Pelial say something like that for the whole ship to hear? You know you're not the most amazing troll aboard this ship. You'll readily admit that. But you've spent so much effort clawing yourself up above all the other worthless cretins on board who have the gall to think they can compete against you. Pelial, more than anyone else except Marvus, knows the struggles you've been through. She has no right to act like you're some incompetent braggart.

Fuck, you can't believe you're holding back tears. Did what she said really get to you that badly? How pathetic. None of it was even true. You don't care if she actually believed what she said or if she was just being fed a line, and it doesn't matter. If she thinks she can say stuff like that over the airwaves, she can go fuck herself. Aaaaand blocked!

Every time you get ready to message someone, Doc Scratch changes the channel to show that person saying awful things about you. Acquaintances, colleagues, ex-quadrants; it's like they've gathered up everyone aboard the ship with something nasty to say about you. There are even interviews from a few people you've never met before: the highlight being when Orphaner Dualscar himself calls you a "feckless fuckin' cretin'", which you would've been stoked about in literally any other circumstance.

Eventually the endless stream of shit-talking becomes overwhelming. You stop trying to contact people and just watch the horrible show Doc Scratch is putting on for you. Even now he's still standing by the wall with his arms folded, watching your reaction to the interviews with smug satisfaction. Just when it becomes too much to bear and you're about to shout at him or snarl or do something, the channel changes again to show an adolescent troll with tall, antler-like horns, wearing a black hoodie emblazoned with the purple Capricer symbol, a face full of immaculate, greyscale clown paint, and a pair of shades perched on his forehead that give the camera a clear view of the purple flecks in his eyes.

"Trizza might have been royalty but I always knew she wasn't no sister," Dammek Pekari says, his stilted mishmash of formal speech and juggalo vernacular as irritating as always. "Actually, she was the vilest motherfucking bitch-ass profaner out there. She would say the most blasphemous wickedness to me when she thought no-one else was around. I won't repeat them, but they were things I could never imagine coming from the lips of someone with such pure, unsullied blood as hers."

"So you're excited for her to be punished for what she's done?" the interviewer asks.

"She deserves it all, but no. Whatever punishment she faces at mortal hands matters little in the eyes of the Mirthful Messiahs. I've conferred with the Grand Highblood on the matter, and he reassured me that her spirit is doomed to walk the joyless lands for all eternity. There's not a single ride on the Dark Carnival that could absolve her of her sin, nor is there a single angel up in the heavens willing to sully itself by destroying her soul."

"Oh, give the religiosity crap a rest!" you shout at the screen. Dammek doesn't even believe in all the Dark Carnival nonsense, which just makes his denouncement of your soul all the more infuriating. Not only is he a hypocrite, but by invoking the name of the Grand Highblood he's just unleashed an army of feral clowns and crusty jugglers loose upon you. You'd bet your last caegar no such conversation ever took place. After all, everyone's so scared of that ancient, decrepit purple-blood. Who would risk their neck to corroborate what his favourite protégé said?

Doc Scratch changes the channel with another wave of his hand. This next interviewee is seated on a tall throne and her features are enveloped in shadow, but you know exactly who she is from the tall arches of her horns, the voluminous centuries of hair that spill down her back and the kilo of solid gold jewelry that hangs from her body in the form of rings, necklaces, piercings and amulets, sourced from thousands upon thousands of centuries of Imperial domination.

"Now you'd betta listen to me when I say that girl is a mockery of everything it means to be a fuchsia-blood," Her Imperious Condescension says. Even pre-recorded, the clipped fury in her voice fills you with an almost unstoppable urge to take a knee, and the anger directed towards you is like a palpable aura of malevolence that fills the room.

The Condesce pauses to drink from a golden, jewel-encrusted goblet at her side and then shifts position, resting her feet on the back of a lowblood wearing an ill-fitting iron muzzle that draws maroon blood where it cuts into their head. In her new angle, leaning indolently on one of the throne's arms, you can just about see the onyx-coloured skin of her proud, ancient face. The virulent, burning disgust in her body language makes you want to retch in fear. "I saw promise in her once, after my expected heiress died in the Earthling Conquests and the broken timeline coral-ed all the other fuchsias here. I thought she was ruthless and cunning enough to do something special. I even thought she might be a bad beach like me. Really, it turns out she was nothing but a dumb bitch."

You can only watch in mute horror as the Condesce continues, "I won't shore up any moray her mistakes. She needs to be taught a lesson and I need to show every other sucker on this ship who thinks they can get away with mediocrity that I won't suffer bottom-feeders in the ranks. When my threshecutioners bring Trizza to me I'm going to kill her so many times, in so many painful ways, that she's going to regret ever being hatched." She looks straight at the camera and it feels like she's looking straight into your soul. "So stay tuna'd, everyone. You're in for one shell of a show."

"I'm fucked," you say, "I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm so fucked! And this is all your fault!" You whirl round and jab an accusing finger in Scratch's direction. "I should never have been doing lab work like some dirty indigo! I should be living in luxury right now, bathing in my rightful fame and clout, with attendants to my every need and droves of mewling lowbloods to feed to my lusus! And yet here I am, running for my life from the Condesce! Argh, I wish I'd never listened to your lies!"

"I never once lied to you, Miss Tethis. I may have insinuated certain outcomes that I knew you would not make happen, but everything I said could have come true for you. The fact that none of it did is irrelevant."

"You never said anything like that before! How is it not lying to keep stuff like that to yourself?"

"What you are trying to describe is commonly called a lie of omission, which does not actually exist."

"Cut the shit, Scratch. You lied. You've been lying this entire time. Don't talk your way around it."

"Miss Tethis, you are being unreasonable. I have limitless knowledge at my disposal. It would be unfeasible to explain every aspect of every topic of conversation. If you failed to ask the questions which would get you the answers you needed, you only have yourself to blame."

"Let me get this straight. I didn't ask questions you knew I wouldn't ask, and that's somehow my fault? How can you say that and pretend everything wasn't rigged towards my failure from the beginning?"

"Haa haa, hee hee."

You're about to snarl at Scratch when a voice from outside makes your entire body seize up in fear. "She went in here!" shouts someone. The bulkhead door behind you resounds with a metallic clang and you damn near jump out of your carapace. "Locked. Where are the other exits? We have to cut her escape off."

"She could take a maintenance chute," says a second voice, "But the only ones that don't open out onto this level go down to the forsaken zone."

"Fuck that," says a third voice.

"Agreed," says the first voice. "If she wants to get possessed, that just makes our job easier. She's probably not that stupid, though. Grab the drill and crack this door open. Helmid and I will wait to see if she pops out anywhere—"

The ground lurches suddenly as the ship quakes around you. The sound of buckling metal straining against the vacuum of space cuts through the air. Gravity flickers off for a second, and as you float through the air you hear it, barely audible amongst the wrenching and tearing metal. A tortured, anguished scream reverberates through the ship's hull, echoing away into nothing. The sound is the desperate, furious wailing of all the lowbloods who died in stasis when the forsaken zone at the bottom of the ship flooded. Their spirits are now trapped down there in a tangled weave of psychic fields, stuck in an eternal nightmare, unawake and unalive.

As gravity switches back on, you realise what you have to do. When your feet touch the floor, you march over to a toppled pile of scientific equipment in the far corner of the room.

"Well aren't you brave," Doc Scratch calls after you. "A normal person would call you suicidal for venturing down there."

"What, are you worried for me?" you ask. You quickly rummage through a detritus pile until you find a containment pod. It's nothing fancy, just a cube of thick glasteel with a lid that opens up with a twist, but you're going to need it where you're headed.

"Of course not. I know what is about to happen. I have yet to impart that last piece of advice, after all."

"You can take your advice and stuff it down your chute, Scratch."

"No, I think I shall just wait until we meet next."

"So you did just come here to gloat."

"I never said otherwise."

"Yes, you—rrgh, this is such a waste of time!" You stride over to the maintenance hatch in the corner of the room, and smash the cover off with a swing of your double trident. A single rung ladder descends down a narrow chute into impenetrable darkness. "The only 'next meeting' we're going to have is the one where I find your real body behind all the holograms and stick you like a pincushion."

"If that helps motivate you to escape, then by all means continue to think so."

You just have to ignore Scratch. If you keep responding to all of his ominous, omniscient-sounding boasts, he'll stall you until the threshecutioners get through. You drop your trident down the chute, stuff the containment unit under your arm and climb down the ladder into darkness.

★_★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

> ===>

It takes thirty seconds of climbing for you to hear the double trident hit the deck at the bottom of the chute. You climb for so long that your arms are aching when you finally arrive at the forsaken zone. The disused corridor you step out into is littered with debris and rusting metal, with broken, unlit luminescence orbs hanging from the ceiling by their tethers. It's completely dark down here, but your vision is adapted for the lightless ocean floor and you have no trouble finding your way.

You walk the familiar corridors until you reach a doorway choked by warning signs you don't bother to read. The corridor that should be on the other side is missing, replaced by a drop into a vast and cavernous expanse filled with salt water. When the Earthlings bombarded the Battleship during the Second Conquest, it was these levels that took the brunt of the attack, transforming the whole lower third of the ship into an artificial sea. You dive in, letting your instincts take over. The shock of cold water is a welcome relief from stuffy, recycled air and the sensation of salty water rushing through your gills is a welcome one, even if it tastes like rust and old blood.

It's been a while since you were last down here, but you quickly gather your bearings and dive to the bottom of this artificial cavern. Down here, the jagged piles of broken machinery and buckled metal create a sort of artificial reef. You glide through tunnels that were once corridors, caverns that were once circuitry banks and submerged grottos that were once crew quarters. If you close your eyes and ignore the slow, rhythmic tapping and creaking of damaged infrastructure, you could almost imagine you were on a diving expedition, exploring the coral reefs around the lagoon where you grew up.

When you hear that strange, hypnotising sound, somewhere between a drowning gurgle and a blubberbeast's sonorous song, you know your first destination isn't far. You stop for a moment, clutching the haft of your double trident as you steel yourself to the sight that lies up ahead.

When you round the corner, the tunnel you're in opens up into a wedge-shaped cave. The ceiling in the far end has collapsed in on itself, and you can see one one small patch of Gl'bgolyb's flank pinned beneath, pierced by the sharp end of a pillar that snapped under the weight of a cryo tank. Her white skin has swollen and bloated from infection and decay, wisps of fuchsia-coloured blood billowing like smoke from lacerations and puncture wounds. A quartet of vestigial beaks snap open and shut, too weak to make the sound of the Vast Glub that destroyed the Empire and too blinded by centuries of pain to stop.

Looking at the awful state of this ancient, majestic beast is... Whatever. You don't care about her. Why should you? She's just a dumb monster. You push down the happy memories of the wrigglerhood you spent with her, of the peace and safety you felt when you snuggled up to her in a nest of her own tentacles on the lightless ocean floor, of the tender way she would stroke your tiny forehead with her gargantuan feelers. The bond you had was in another time, on another planet, in another life. Any sense of sentimentality you still have is nothing but weakness. Even if there was something you could do for her, you need to focus on escaping this ship, not feeling bad about the pathetic state she's in. Maybe one day you can think of a way to set her free. For now, your immediate goal is reaching the abandoned hangar hidden amongst the ruins.

But before you do any of that, there's something you need from Gl'bgolyb.

A small, spiky orb floats out of a wound on Gl'bgolyb's underside, followed by another from a puncture on her flank. They would almost look like dark purple sea urchins if not for their shadowy, gaseous appearance, their spines stretching out into elastic feelers to lick at their surroundings. The two Umbral Stars float through the water towards you, their feelers grasping out for your heartbeat. You unseal the containment unit you brought from up above and swim over to collect them, dodging their feelers with a well-practised corkscrew and catching them inside the unit. You slam the lid back on and inspect your two prizes as they ricochet around in their cage.

For all the use these things have to a Power like you, it's an agonising task to absorb one. You hope it doesn't come to that but you know you'll need every advantage you can get to escape this ship. You'd rather be prepared, just in case you need them.

Something sharp slices through your calf and you bite down on a scream, hissing a spray of bubbles. You look down to see a shadowy tendril wrapped around your leg, connected to just one of the many Umbral Stars that floated out of Gl'bgolyb's numerous open wounds while your back was turned. They've formed a dark cloud that drifts towards you with surprising speed. You cut the feeler away with a swing of your trident, tuck the unit back under your arm and swim away as fast as you can. The remnants of the feeler are still tied around your leg, sending spasms of excruciating pain every time you kick yourself forwards, but you can deal with that when you're back on dry land.

You swim away from the cloud of Umbral Stars without looking where you're going. Your only goal is to get away from the swarm as fast as possible. The corridors start to look a little unfamiliar, and you quickly realise you're completely lost, swimming through a flooded maze of corridors you've never even seen before. Still, you can't let yourself panic. If you don't keep your head, the swarm will descend on you. That would be suicide, or something close enough. You need to find some dry area of the ship where you can rest and wait for the swarm to dissipate. It doesn't matter where. Anything will do. You just need to hope you don't run into a dead end first.

Just as you start to worry that you'll never find your way out, the corridor you're swimming through tilts upward at a sharp angle. You aren't expecting it and swim horns-first into a wide staircase that climbs up out of the water to a set of wide, black glass doors. You suck down a lungful of stale air as you splash and clamber your way out of the water, throwing the containment unit ahead of you.

Holding your double trident by one of its heads, you bend down and carefully stick one of the tines beneath the feeler of the Umbral Star curled around your leg. Now that it's out of the water and drying up it's starting to contract, slicing through your flesh even as you try to rip it off. You grit your teeth, bite down on a scream and push through the pain with all your might until the feeler loosens its grip. With a flick of your trident, it splashes down into the water where the other Umbral Stars have gathered in a dark, seething mass.

Shit. You're not going back that way any time soon. Not that it would help: you'd be just as lost as you were before. Rather than sitting around until the swarm disperses, you need to find some alternate route to the abandoned hangar. You stand up, cursing under your breath as the pain in your leg flares up. The bottom of your right legging was sliced off by the Umbral Star, and blood drips down your leg from a fuchsia-coloured ring of lacerated flesh. It might hurt to stand on it, but you need to get moving before the threshecutioners realise where you've gone. They might not know about this place, and they're more scared of the ghosts and the Umbral Stars than you are, but that doesn't mean they won't catch up with you if you let them.

You pick up the containment unit, the Umbral Stars inside sloshing around in the water. A press of a button opens up a lattice of tiny perforations on the bottom of the capsule. As water pours onto the ground the Umbral Stars dry up and retract their feelers. After a moment, they've transformed into rocky, fist-sized lumps, coloured such a dark purple they're almost black. They're still dangerous to touch bare-handed, but you'd probably be safe if you were wearing thick gloves. You tuck the considerably lighter containment unit back under your arm and head up the steps.

Without any power, the black glass doors don't move when you get close. You have to prise them apart with your hands. The room on the other side is just as dark as everywhere else down here, but your night-adapted eyes make out a slimy, nightmarish chamber beyond them. The walls, floor and ceiling are covered in slick, squirming fuchsia-coloured tentacles that writhe and undulate, leaking pink slime everywhere. A walkway of red metal extends from the door to a terminal in the centre of the room, and just beyond it is a thick, sturdy pillar of tentacles with the body of a troll entwined and tethered to it. The body is wearing a pair of thick goggles with cracked lenses and a yellow jumpsuit studded with electrodes. Its arms and legs are pulled back behind it, disappearing beneath the mass of writhing pseudopods around the pillar. A metal plate is firmly clamped to its skull, wired to the ship by a mass of tentacles so thick they obscure its horns from view.

You're looking at a helmsman's station. You thought this room was destroyed like the rest of the forsaken zone but this place couldn't possibly be anything else. And because this is the Battleship Condescension, that's not just any helmsman integrated into the ship...

That's the Helmsman.

You take a tentative step into the room, overwhelmed by awe. They said the Helmsman died during the Vast Glub. If it's still here, why is the Battleship hanging uselessly in orbit above the Earthling planet? Its Power could tear the fabric of space-time apart like wet tissue. You could eradicate the Earthlings in seconds!

You realise why that hasn't happened when you reach the end of the platform. The Helmsman is dead. Its limp corpse hangs motionlessly from the tentacles mooring it in place. Its eyes are open but they're just empty sockets, burned out from severe Voidrot.

Well, at least you solved that mystery. What a shame. You could've utilised the Helmsman's Power. Still, if the tentacles haven't stopped moving, there might be a little juice left in the system. If you can power up the terminal, you might be able to get a map of the sector. Even though it won't reflect all the damage that's happened, some way of getting your bearings would be invaluable right now.

You press a few buttons at random on the terminal in front of you and the screen lights up in a garbled mash of illegible symbols. A fuse blows with a pop and a shower of sparks and the Helmsman's body jerks to life, arcs of red and blue energy emanating from its temples and zapping across the room. It opens its mouth and issues a dry, hoarse scream that amplifies through every system in the room into a deafening feedback loop that shakes the room and pierces your auricular sponges like knives. As the Helmsman screams the ship quakes around you, the sound mixing together with the harsh crack and groan of buckling metal.

This is the sound you've heard in the background of every shipquake. There were never any ghosts... or, at least, there was only ever one.

After a few moments, the Helmsman stops screaming as a coughing fit overtakes it. It retches and splutters, yellow saliva dripping down its chin.

"You are still alive," you say.

As the helmsman's body takes deep, croaky breaths, it lifts its head and glares in your direction with empty eyes. The terminal's screen flashes red, then blue, then white, and words appear in the distinct red shared by all the Battleship's systems.

Chapter Text

> ===>

You stare up at the emaciated body of the Helmsman hanging limply from the tentacles mooring it to the ship, its thorax softly rising and falling as it pants for breath. "You're looking rather rough, Helmsman," you say.

The screen of the terminal in front of you flashes again. You lean on your double trident and glance down at the red text blinking across the screen.

You didn't think it would recognise you. "How do you know who I am?"

"How are you even alive, anyway? They said you died when the Vast Glub happened, that you fried your think pan to save the rest of the ship."

"Because you want to 'make her pay'."

"Who's death are you talking about?"

"All that 'master of the universe' stuff doesn't sound like hate to me."

"Why? What did she do to make you hate her so much?"

At first you're not sure what the Helmsman means but it becomes obvious when you think about it. Your knowledge of history might be fuzzy but everyone in the Empire knows the story of the first (and only) uprising against the current Condesce's rule. The examples she made of the conspiracy's ringleaders were brutal even by modern standards and the Helmsman was one of its highest-ranking members.

"You're talking about the Signless Sufferer's rebellion, aren't you? I guess that makes sense. You were pretty close to him and his movement, after all. Well, whatever. The original Kankri's rebellion is nothing but ancient history now."

A snarl flashes across the Helmsman's face. Red and blue electricity crackles around its skull as all the tentacles in the room writhe and clench up, twisting in your direction. You don't know if there's still any sort of consciousness left in its body or if it's just having some sort of automatic reaction to the anger of the ship itself. Either way, this is the most lively the Helmsman's physical body has looked since this conversation started.

You can't help but grin at the Helmsman's arrogance. "Oh, won't you? I'd love to see what your 'or else' is. You can't do a thing to me. I can say Kankri Vantas was a weak, naïve fool who deserved everything he got and there's nothing you can do about it. I can say he died like a coward over sermons nobody remembers any more. I can say I wish I'd been there at his execution so I could've watched him die myself and–"

The Helmsman's body screams again, tensing so hard that its back arches, struggling to pull away from the tentacles holding it in place. You cover your ears to block out the din and take a step back from the terminal as it erupts in sparks. The entire ship buckles again. You don't know if it's stronger than all the other quakes or if it just feels worse because you're at the epicentre, but the ship feels like it's about to rip itself to pieces.

With a meaty squelch, the Helmsman's body rips one shoulder free of the tentacles. You expected to see an arm but it ends just below the shoulder, capped by a bulky machine wired to the pillar by more tentacles. As the cable-tentacles attached to its helmet slacken and its head lolls forward, you realise the reason you couldn't see its horns is because it doesn't have any. Its entire scalp from the forehead back has been carved away. What you thought was a helmet is actually a section of missing skull and epidermis that's been covered with an electrode-studded plate.

Eventually the screaming stops and the Helmsman descends into fits of coughing and dry-heaving, its head and the remains of its free arm hanging limply.

"How pathetic," you say, shifting your double trident so that you're holding it with both hands. "Look at you. You're nothing but a husk. You might have been powerful once, but all you can do now is scream like a wriggler having a tantrum.

The Helmsman just glares at you. Acting on a hunch, you step off the metal walkway and onto the writhing mass of tentacles covering the floor. "You should know your place, worm. I'm the fuchsia and you're just the disgusting, tepid-blooded slime on my shoes."