“So, everything you told me was bullshit.”
Rupinder tilted his head. “Was it?”
“All that talk about letting me leave if I wanted? Yeah, looks like it.” Something about him made her shudder, though she couldn't put her finger on what.
He held his hands in his pockets. His hair was tied back in a ponytail. The green sweatshirt had been swapped for a black T-shirt reading “THROBBING GRISTLE/MONTE CAZAZZA TOUR”, marked by holes at the seams. It made him look more like a bored grad student than someone who organized raids on world-spanning conspiracies. “You did leave, did you not?”
“I figured you wouldn't, you know, kidnap me again.”
Rupinder raised an eyebrow. “Is that what I'm doing?"
Amy glanced around. He was standing between her and the only route out. Maybe she could rush him?
Don't. Violence is strictly forbidden here. The punishment will be severe.
Well that was good to know. “You've got some girl scout cookies for me to buy or something?”
“I have an offer. Since you fled before we could finish our conversation.”
“There was a reason for that.” A bead of sweat ran down her forehead. At first glance, he seemed relaxed. But there was a tension in the way he stood, like a jaguar watching its prey.
He shrugged. “Unfortunately for you, I have little else to do today. You're stuck with me for now.”
She stayed silent.
“I was impressed by your little escape routine. Memory magic is a tricky thing. For one as new as yourself to use it for any length of time is… unprecedented.” He paused, looking thoughtful, then added, “Nearly. You may prove interesting.”
Hearing that made her hesitate. She recovered quickly. “Sweet. Put it on a card, I can hang it from my fridge.”
“Still, you cover your tracks poorly. Following the traces of your spellcraft was like trailing a rabbit in clean snow.” He scratched his beard. “I'm surprised it didn't teach you.”
She raised a mental eyebrow.
It did not occur to me that it was something you would not know.
You're not really great at this ‘being of pure knowledge' thing, are you?
I am a collector of knowledge, not a distributor of it. Instructing inexperienced mages is not my purpose.
More reason to find some books on magic, it seemed. She focused back on Rupinder. “We had some communication issues.”
“Well, I suggest you be more careful. There are…” he glanced to the side, “others, who may be interested in you. Our offer of help still stands.”
“Super not interested.” His eyes didn't move at all as he talked, she realized. That's what was so unnerving about him. He'd only blinked twice during the whole conversation.
“One job. Not even a particularly dangerous one. That's all we would need, after which our considerable resources would be turned towards helping you.” He smiled. It didn't touch his eyes. “And your family.”
“Fuck off,” she said. It had worked once before, right?
Rupinder sighed, and finally his eyes moved off her. “If you insist.” Tendrils of smoke began to rise from floor. He pulled an object from his pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it. “When you change your mind, use that. Your little partner will know how.” The smoke thickened, blocking him from view. When it dissipated, he was gone.
Amy took a deep breath and willed herself to stop trembling. She wiped away the sweat from her forehead. It suddenly occurred to her how tired she was. How long had it been since she slept? Twenty hours? More? Her stomach rumbled. Almost as long since she ate. All the food had been lost in the subway, when the bag tore.
She opened her hand. He'd given her a small black stone, engraved with a crown. She shoved it into her pocket. You know this guy?
I was not sure until this point, but if what I believe is correct, he is a spellcaster with many names. One who has been active for as long as I have been aware, and should not be trifled with.
Many names, huh? What do most people call him?
Payeshim. From a long dead language, translating approximately to… It trailed off, as much as a voice that existed only as thought could. The shelf to your left. What do you see?
She glanced over. It looked fine to her. The wood was a bit scratched up maybe, but not horrifyingly so. Uh… books?
One moment. A second later, a small bug appeared on the wood. Amy stepped towards it and bent down for a closer look. It was a silver wasp.
What the hell?
I believed it a normal insect, until I realized its motions were unnatural. It appears to have been masked by a form of perception-filter. I have removed it for you.
Its wings buzzed. Before it could take flight, she thrust her hand forward, mashing it against the shelf. She felt a small shock. When she pulled her hand back, she saw a small mess of wires and metal. Jesus. You think Rupinder…
No. This is a Foundation drone.
Her blood turned to ice-water. We're getting out of here.
I believe that would be unwise.
No, fuck that. She began to walk through the shelves, toward the Way Silav had directed her to. If they know we're here, we're bouncing the hell out.
I am searching the area around us. There is nothing else watching.
Well, you already missed one, didn't you? She spun around a corner, almost slammed into a large octopus-thing carrying a stack of books. It shook a tentacle at her.
Now I will be less wary. You are worn from your travels. If you do not rest, you will be at an even greater risk. I will be able to carry watch as you sleep.
I can be tired for a bit.
You are safer within the Library than at any point upon Earth. Here, nothing approaching violence is permitted. They would not be able to touch you without your blessing. Elsewhere, you would be at their mercy. This is the optimal opportunity to prepare. To plan. Or is it more to your liking to attempt to combat the organization that held you for five years, when you possess no information and your body barely functions?
Amy slowed, but kept walking.
There are places here in which to rest. Think. This is the wisest decision.
With a sigh, she stopped. Okay. We'll stay for a little bit.

Amy hid, peering around a corner of the shelf.
Someone had erected a shanty town in the middle of a clearing. Over a dozen small huts were scattered around a single, multi-story cabin. Denizens manned food stalls placed around the edges of the area. Some people had laid sleeping bags on the open floor. Children kicked a ball back and forth. It made her remember the stories of villages constructed in the New York subways by the homeless. She'd always pictured those the same way as this- strung together from a hundred pieces, barely held in place.
They will not hurt you.
Yeah, well. Suck it up. We're doing this my way. She watched the inhabitants of the village. Nobody in a Foundation uniform that she'd seen. Not many humans at all, in fact. The predominant species were the multicolored bug/man/lizard hybirds manning the stalls. A beefy specimen leaned against the door of the center cabin. A few others sat at makeshift tables, chattering with other patrons.
Her stomach rumbled. Most of the food being served looked like brown mush, but that wasn't stopping her mouth from watering. The last meal she'd had had been the noodles, way back in New York. Not even a full serving. She glanced around and, satisfied there was nobody too suspicious, slunk towards one of the stalls. The chef was skinning something long and hairless, and didn't notice her approach. She cleared her throat. It was impossible to read his (her? its?) expression as five and a half pairs of eyes looked over at her. It chittered.
“You speak English?” she asked it.
“L'il bit,” it responded in a voice that sounded like bubbling tar.
She looked over the available options. There was a plate of what might have been meatloaf, except for the wriggling green feelers sprouting from the surface. Next to it was a grey crustacean. It had been cut open at the chest, and a white gritty substance oozed out. It didn't look cooked. Next to that was a sandwich.
Do I want to know what's in that?
Nothing that might hurt you.
Amy sighed and pointed at the sandwich. “That.”
The chef's eyes rolled back into its head. “You gonna pay for it?”
“Uh, how much?” Did she have anything on her to trade? She'd lost the bags in the subway station, and there hadn't been much worth bartering anyway.
The chef refocused on cleaning the animal. It hadn't stopped the preparation while it talked. “Recommend me a book.”
She raised her eyebrows “What?”
The chef carved away the last bit of skin with a flick of its wrist. It laid the knife and animal on the cart. “Gimme a book I ain't read yet.”
Amy blinked. Damn, she should have paid more attention in English class. What had they even studied? “Uh… Of Mice and Men?”
The chef's antennae clattered together. “I like mice.” It handed over the plate.
She snatched it and retreated to the emptiest shelf possible. She sat, leaned against the wood, and lifted the sandwich. A dollop of green sauce dribbled onto the plate.
Next time you're finding me some real fucking food, she thought, and took a bite.
Maybe it was five years of Foundation meals. Maybe the Witness did something to her head so she tasted differently. Maybe she was just so damn tired she didn't care. But it was the best sandwich she'd ever tasted. The meat was tender, juicy, tasting like something between beef and lamb. The spices were salty, sour, a little sweet, blending together in perfect levels, complemented by the tangy sauce and fresh, springy bread. She devoured it in less than a minute. It seemed far too filling for its size. She leaned her head against the shelf.
A touch on her shoulder startled her awake. Bleary-eyed, she looked up. A hooded figure stood over her, shaking her with its right hand. Its other arm hung at its side. Instead of a hand, a small lantern dangled from the wrist. The face under the hood had no mouth. A blue, wrinkled eye gleamed.
“Shit!” Amy yelled, kicking out. The thing stepped out of the way of her foot, turned, and began to walk away. She pushed herself up. “Hey, what the hell?”
It is a docent, one of the Librarian's guardians. It means no harm.
Her shoulders tightened as she watched it leave. It shouldn't be fucking touching me.
The empty plate sat on the ground. Sauce had congealed around the edges. She picked it up before heading back into the clearing. The space was near empty. The food carts were closed. A few people still sat at the benches, drinking and swapping tales. The bug creature guarding the door had left. In its place, a large, bald-headed man stood watch.
“Uh, hey,” Amy said as she approached him. “You guys have rooms to sleep, right?”
The man looked at her. Most of the left half of his face was covered in a tattooed maze of red lines. It ran down his neck and disappeared under his collar. “We have a few.”
“Can I use one? Just for the night.” What even counted as night here? There wasn't anything resembling a sun. Or any lightsource, for that matter. Where was the illumination coming from?
“Sure,” he said. “Price is a secret. One you've never told anyone else. And your name.”
“Uh… right.” Amy thought back. What was there? She didn't exactly feel like exposing the deep dark corners of her soul for a few hours of sleep. But he hadn't said how bad it had to be. “I'm Amy Melvil. I cheated on my Algebra final in high school.”
The guard rolled his eyes. “Boring.” He made a note on a pad of paper, gestured through the door. “You get one of the rooms down the first left hallway. Pick an empty one. We'll know if you cheat.”
The building's hallway ran back at least 200 yards, far enough that it should have intercepted the the shelves. At the end was a flight of stairs. Four paths branched off on each side of the hall. Amy entered the one she'd been directed towards, walked a bit before finding an open door.
The room was sparse. One bed. One set of paper-thin covers. One nightstand. A carpet that was more dust than fabric. Walls so close together she could bring her arms up and touch both. Amy stared. Then she stepped back into the hallway and slammed the door.
Fuck this.
What are you doing?
She stormed back to the entrance of the building. “Hey,” she said.
The guard looked at her.
“I need a different room,” she said.
“You need a bigger secret.”
She sighed, thought for a moment, and said “I was in love with my best friend for like four years, even after she thought I'd gone crazy and stopped talking to me.” She paused. “And… I tried to kill myself, after I got out of the hospital. I forgot to turn the safety off the gun. Is that fucking enough for you?”
Grinning, the man wrote the words down. “More than. Three flights up the stairs, second hallway to the right.”
She nodded and began heading back.
Something is worrying you.
It's nothing.
You are obviously bothered by something.
I'm not sleeping in a room like that. Never again.
The Witness didn't respond. She made her way up the stairs, to the third floor. The hallway had four doors. Only one was open.
Behind was a basketball-court sized room. White marble flooring ran wall to wall, reflecting the light of the chandeliers above. In one corner, red and gold blankets draped over a king-sized bed. The wall opposite was covered by shelves, all stacked with books. There was a dining table, a pantry (fully stocked, it looked like), refrigerator, stove, dining table, dresser.
She barely made it to the bed before collapsing into sleep.

When Amy woke, the room was dark. As she sat up the chandeliers flickered back to life. She rested at the edge of the mattress, staring at the marble floors.
How long was I asleep?
Thirteen hours and four minutes.
Right. Rubbing her face, she stood. Her stomach growled. She obliged it, moving to the kitchen to rummage through the pantry. The contents were thankfully normal. She grabbed bread, butter, cereal from the pantry, eggs and milk from the fridge. Pots and skillets sat by the stove. She set about frying three eggs. And you don't feel anything strange around, do you?
Everything is normal.
Amy grimaced as she dumped too much salt into the pan. You think they're still following us?
If they are, they're being exceedingly cautious.
Shit, she thought, both at the Witness' answer and the smell of burning eggs. The pan sizzled as she scraped the salvageable food onto a plate. Not bothering to move to the table, she began to eat. What now?
We should travel to the Warden with as much haste as possible. How far is the Way?
She thought of the mental map Silav had given her. About six miles from here. Maybe another three to the village once we're through.
They didn't talk as she finished eating. It didn't seem necessary to clean up the dishes- she left them on the counter and walked to the door. At the bookshelves, she paused. Do you think they'd let me take some of these?
A Library Card is automatically created if you take volumes from the shelves. You are free to keep them as long as you wish, until they are returned or lost. After a moment it added, Do not lose them.
See any good ones on magic?
It directed her to almost a dozen volumes of different sizes, and she was able to find a large knapsack in the dresser to carry them (she wondered how much, if any, of the room's contents were specifically accommodated to her). Half of them were in languages she didn't recognize, but the Witness assured her it would be able to translate.
Browsing finished, she exited the room and descended the stairs. The doorman, unmoved from his post, grinned as she passed.
Man, why do I get the feeling I shouldn't have told him all that shit last night?
It was probably unwise.
Amy sighed. Whatever.
The clearing had filled back up. A crowd of people gathered around one of the shelves, watching an impromptu play. She glanced around, taking in faces, watching for anyone standing too close, looking too suspicious. Her breath caught as a tall hooded figure approached, but it passed by without a glance. She exhaled slowly as she watched its exit. Tugging the hood of her jacket over her eyes, she slipped into the shelves.
The area around the Way, when they arrived, was mostly deserted. A man covered in butterflies sat in an armchair with a picture book. Two woman pored through what looked like a glamor magazine. The rest of the clearing was empty, except for the tall mirror leaning against a shelf. Amy approached it and placed a hand on the glass.
She closed her eyes, and an image filled her mind- rolling hills covered in trees, shimmering, small metal buildings swollen with people. The color and light and noise filled her mind like puzzle pieces falling into place, until it was so vivid it was like standing there. And when she opened her eyes, she was.
Without hesitating, she checked Silav's mental map and began to head north-west, uphill. The route was practically drawn out for her- every tree, rock, bush. Even shaded by the trees, the sun was punishingly hot, and soon her clothes were drenched in sweat. She pulled off the hoodie, let it drop to the ground.
Grey smoke drifted from the trees ahead. Frowning, she pushed forward. She could smell the fire now, the sour scent of embers. Her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed, and almost felt her throat cracking. Between the foliage, up the hill, there was movement.
She ducked behind a tree just as two men in black body armor walked past. They were talking quietly. One laughed. Both held guns.
The town ahead looked like a warzone. Four helicopters were perched in the still-smoldering dirt around the buildings. Most of the homes had been blown open, the furniture inside scattered and burnt. Craters scattered the earth. And everywhere she looked, there were bodies.
Some were from the soldiers. Some. The others were blackened, scorched, shredded beyond recognition. The dead soldiers were being gently loaded onto helicopters. The bodies of the townsfolk were ignored.
She stood to run, and felt the barrel of a gun against her back.
“Walk,” said a voice from behind.
Amy stepped forward from the trees. The soldiers turned to look at her. The rifle pressed deeper into her back. She kept walking.
The gun-holder guided her to one of the helicopters. A man sat at the edge of the fuselage, smoking a cigarette. Rather than the body armor and uniform of the soldiers, he wore khaki shorts and a blue pollo. His chest bulged slightly beneath it. Thick brown hair covered his arms. He looked up as she approached, raised an eyebrow. “Would you look at that.” He took a drag of the cigarette then extinguished it on the metal. “We'd hoped you'd arrive. Didn't think I'd be so lucky though. Good thing our friends in the Library were so eager to trade information.
Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
The man leaned back, propping himself up with his arms, staring at the roof of the helicopter. He looked more like someone relaxing at a poolside than a leader of a group of soldiers. “Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, in thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove. Your buddy put up a hell of a fucking fight, you know that? But we got him. Headed to a containment chamber right now.”
It couldn't end this way. There had to be something she could do. She couldn't let them take her back. An idea came to her. The Witness' instructions in magic. Focus. That was the key Forming the image in your mind, and releasing it. It had only mentioned the idea in the context of the glass-switching trick, but would it apply it here? She closed her eyes, clenched her fist, and thought.
A sphere of wind burst from her in all directions, strong enough to rock the helicopter and slam the khaki-wearer against the metal. Soldiers around her stumbled and fell. Grass was thrown into in the air.
Before she could regain focus, a shock slammed into her stomach, sending her spasming to the ground. A soldier holding a taser stepped over her and looked down.
“Shit,” said the khaki-wearer. He stood next to the soldier. “Looks like you've got more bite than we thought.” He wiped blood away from his nose. “Doesn't seem as bad as your counterpart's, thank God.”
Hands grabbed her and pulled her roughly to her feet. She closed her eyes, tried to bring the image of the wind back, but a fist slammed into her gut.
“Behave,” said the man.
Amy didn't respond. She was too busy trying to imagine fire. The man slapped her.
“Come on, don't keep trying that shit.”
She mumbled something that sounded scary in her head. It came out a gurgle.
As they lifted her into the fuselage, a thought occurred to her.
That stone Rupinder gave us. We can use that.
The response was slow. If you think it is wise.
I think- the thought was interrupted as a soldier tossed her against the wall- I think we might be out of options.
Very well. Take the stone.
She waited until the khaki-wearer was looking away before snaking her hand into her pocket.
You must break it.
Break it?
Yes.
After checking to make sure nobody was watching, Amy slammed the stone against the floor of the chopper. The noise was drowned by the sounds from outside. She glanced at the rock. Not even a mark. She began slamming it down, and over, a dozen times, until she felt the surface crack.
A funnel of wind burst forth, so strong the frame of the helicopter groaned. Soldiers were tossed across the yard. The khaki-wearer stumbled, rolled across the grass. Branch and leaves twisted in the air, snapped up by the gale. Amy dragged herself to the edge of the fuselage and looked out.
A pillar of smoke leaped up, sending nearby soldiers scrambling away. Rupinder stepped out. He wore the same clothes he had in the Library and a bored expression.. Seeing the soldiers he stopped, looked around. A grin spread across his face. His eyes focused Amy, and though he was over a hundred yards away, she heard him speak clear as day. “You ARE interesting.”
Before he could say more, two gunshots rang out. One went through his chest. The other sheared away the top half of his head. The body stumbled back, still standing. Brain and bone bubbled up in the skull cavity. Frothing blood ran down his cheeks and neck. The mush erupted like a geyser, fell back down, solidified into a copy of the missing skull. Skin formed around it. Rupinder touched a finger to his cheeks, brought the tips back red. He stared at them. And smiled.
The battlefield erupted. Three soldiers to his left began to scream as their bodies were wrenched back, spines bending like a contortionist. Thin branches and vines sprouted from their eyes, their nostrils, their mouths, growing until the soldiers were invisible under the tangle of leaves. The plants kept growing, rushing towards nearby agents, trapping then as well. A soldier dropped to his knees, opened his mouth to scream, instead vomited up vines.
Another group raised their weapons. Before they could fire, the air around them smeared, like a blurred photograph. Their skin began to warp, pulled, twisted, mashed together like play-doh. When it stopped, they were a single, moaning mass.
Without turning, Rupinder raised his hand, and a soldier behind him launched skyward. Amy didn't see him come down. His buddy leaned over, coughing black liquid onto the dirt. He fell to all fours, his head resting in the puddle. Grey horns burst up from his forehead. His clothes ripped as his body swelled and his skin turned red and leathery. Wings sprouted from his back. Soon, an eight-foot tall demon stood in his place. It roared and fell upon its former comrades, tearing into them like a dog chewing.
Within minutes, every soldier was dead or dying. The moans of the injured filled the air. The demon growled and turned to Rupinder. He waved a dismissive hand. The beast dissolved into ash. As the remains drifted away, he turned to Amy.
Her jaw fell open. How the FUCK did we ever get away from this guy?
That is an excellent question.
Rupinder approached her. “I didn't expect your call quite so soon.”
Amy glanced at the bodies of the soldiers. She didn't respond. The fused mass of bodies was dragging itself across the ground, reaching for the body of one of its fallen comrades.
“Are you going to object to me killing these people, too?”
She shook her head, still too stunned to form actual words.
“Good.” He slid his hands to his pockets, looking around. “Hell of a mess. What were you doing here?”
“That's… that's none of your business,” she managed to stammer out.
Rupinder stared at her with what might have been pity. “You seem to have made it my business.”
Amy looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. Somehow, it felt like doing so would be dangerous. “I don't need any more help.”
“I doubt that's true.” He stepped away, walking through the bodies. His voice stayed clear. “You're still not hidden from them. I can tell. If you stay, they'll continue the hunt. And next time, I won't be there to save you.” Rupinder knelt by a corpse of a villages. Her face had been ripped apart by a bullet. He placed a hand on the her shoulder. “You were lucky, essentially.”
Amy stared at the ground.
“You were looking for the Warden, were you not? A smart idea. He would have been able to help.” Rupinder turned and grinned. “Would have.”
“Get to a point,” she said, still not looking at him.
He stood. “My point is thus. You need protection. And we need a guide.” His eyes met hers, and she shuddered. “I think there is an agreement to be reached.” He held out a hand.
After the longest minute of her life, she shook it.

« Riddles From The Dark | Hub | The Prisoner »


“Man, if I'd known you were so useful for petty larceny, I would have started years ago.”
Years ago you believed I was a schizophrenic delusion.
“Whatever, Nancy Nitpicker.” Amy pressed her hand to the storefront window. The storm had settled into a soft drizzle. Raindrops marked the glass, blurring the lights of the alley. The three bags she held bulged under the weight of clothes, toiletries, and food. One had burst already, and she'd had to reinforce them with second layers. She'd swapped the rain-soaked pajamas for a pair of loose jeans, white T-shirt, and navy hoody. Not the time to be choosy about fashion.
A line of sweat rolled down her face as she stared out at the alley. Her breathing slowed. She felt a pinching in her shoulder, not painful, but not pleasant either. Like someone kneading their knuckles against her skin. It crawled down her arm, until every muscle trembled, and her fingers clenched against the glass.
Excellent. Now release.
She grunted, and the world reversed. The sensation was like hitting water after a thirty foot fall. The briefest moment of panic ran through her as her consciousness snapped forward, then she was in the alley, stumbling back from the glass. This time she managed to stop herself before colliding with anything, at least. Hopefully the store manager wouldn't be too angry about the broken mannequin.
A much improved attempt. Don't think that means it is in anyway acceptable.
“You sound like my swim coach.” Her nose wrinkled at the smell of the alley. There was a garbage bin at one entrance, and going by the stench someone had probably been using it as an emergency sewer. Covering her nose with her free hand, she exited from the other side.
Fortunately, no one paid much attention to the girl coming out of the closed store with enough goods to supply a small family. Most of them were too focused on their phones or not tripping on the broken sidewalk. “Thank god for New Yorkers,” she muttered. Then she thought, Which way is it?
East.
Which way in a real direction?
Right. Which is towards that large blue sign, if you happened to be curious.
Laugh it up. She began to walk with crowd. Someone knocked against her shoulder. She tried to shoot him a dirty look, but he had already disappeared into the swell of people.
Spend five years locked in a cell, and you feel fine. But now that she was out in the open city, she felt claustrophobic. There was barely room to breath, mashed between a dozen people fighting to move forward. She hissed as someone else bumped into her. Didn't any of these assholes watch where they were going?
Left, said the Witness as she reached an intersection. The light at the crosswalk was mercifully red. She dashed across the street.
What must be remembered is that every working has a price. The nature of repayment varies, but appears in two broad forms- immediate and delayed.
Right, she thought. In school, she'd sat solidly in the middle of the class, grade-wise. The work wasn't difficult, but none of the material interested her- the swim team had always been the focus of her attention. She'd begun reading more while in captivity, chewing through books faster than her captors would authorize them to her, but those were fiction. She'd never been the studious type. But since the Witness showed her those first spells, she hadn't let it have a moment of peace. As soon as it finished one topic, she demanded it begin teaching another. So, something like the place-swapping trick?
Immediate actions demand immediate remuneration.
Didn't feel like I paid anything. She walked as close to the curb as possible, practically in the street. Sticking to the edges of the crowd.
It is not necessarily noticeable, or localized. Students of the workings have devoted lifetimes to the study of payment. In doing so, they discovered very little. The only obvious pattern is the correspondence between size of the working and the size of the payment. But the price may range from a change in the working of an internal organ, to affecting a nearby piece of landscape, to targeting people you know or love.
Amy frowned. You're saying me doing this stuff could hurt my family.
When enacted on a particular scale. Such a vindictive payment would necessitate a drastic action on your part. There is very little to worry about.
She fell silent. Suddenly she was very aware of how cold and uncomfortable it was. The stolen coat was doing much to keep the chill back. She wrapped it tighter, shivering. Her hair was soaked from the rain. No matter how vigorously she tried to brush the bangs away, they fell back to block her vision. Every muscle in her body felt worn. Just walking was triggering aches in her bones.
The tunnel. Down. She was approaching the entrance to a subway - the J track, going by the grey sign. With a sigh, she plunged into the herd of evening commuters. One turnstile-hop and staircase later, she stepped onto the dirtiest subway platform she'd seen in her life. The tile shone like someone had slathered it in a layer of grease, and didn't smell much better. Garbage was piled against the walls and tunnel. Commuters waited with heads down, hands buried in pockets, lost in bubbles of isolation, even where they barely had room to move.
Onto the tracks.
God, she wished it had a physical body. Instead, she thought very hard about giving it a withering look, and hoped the message went through.
Quickly, please. Time is limited.
She leaned against the platform wall, away from the crowd. I'm not climbing onto a subway track.
This is the most convenient Way to the Library. There are no closer options. The train will be approaching soon. Take the left path.
This was insane. She was going to get herself killed because of some crazy fucking voice in her head. And yet, she found herself approaching the platform edge, until the tips of her shoes rested over the lip.
The tunnel floor was rough with grime. Something covered in mud rummaged through the collected garbage. Its friend poked a head up from the pile, teeth clamped around something more mold than food. A puddle of what she hoped was water had collected on the other side, the surface black and unreflective. And where the track met the tunnel's darkness, there was a symbol marked in green paint.
The sign of the Ways.
Even New Yorkers weren't so self-absorbed as to not miss someone jumping onto a subway track. There were gasps as she hit the ground. Chip bags and canned food spilled across the ground as one of the bags caught a loose bit of steel. Whatever. She had two more. Before anyone could react with more than a gawk, she disappeared into the tunnel.
The darkness was overpowering. She could feel it in the air, sticking to her skin like wet tissue. She blinked. When her eyes opened, red lines cut through the darkness. They formed a web of images, outline every piece of garbage, every contour of the tunnel ahead. Shakily, she began to advance. The bags beat a rough tempo, slapping against her thigh.
Here. said the Witness, as she approached a bend in the tunnel. She stopped. A section of the wall was bent inward. The stone was cool and rough. Cracks in the wall nipped at her fingers as she ran a hand across the concrete.
What now?
Wait.
For how long?
The Witness didn't respond. She sighed, letting her hand fall back down. Not for the first time tonight, she wondered what the hell she was doing. Had the Witness really proven itself trustworthy? It was entirely possible, likely even, that there was another agenda it was moving towards. Would it be best to ignore its warnings, find a plane ticket or hitchhike home, try to forget this whole thing? But that wouldn't be possible. If there was one thing it had said she was certain of, it's that the Foundation was searching for her. And if she went home, they would find her.
Place your hand on the break.
She did. Now?
Do not run.
Before she could ask what that meant, the tunnel shook. She glanced down. The red lines marking the track were vibrating. Her eyes went wide. Okay, no way she was sticking around for this. She turned and prepared to bolt from the tunnel.
Keep your hand on the wall, barked the Witness. You will not survive the passing otherwise.
“Fuck that! I'm getting out of here.”
This is the Way into the Library. You MUST be touching the wall. You MUST let the transport pass. You will not be harmed. I understand you may not have faith in me. But have faith in this. Our existence is linked. I would no more harm you than I would myself. I give you my bond, this path is the best opportunity to reunite with your loved ones.
Every cell in her body was begging to run. She could feel the animal panic clawing at her skin. The rumble of the tracks swelled through her bones. The light of the train was visible now, rushing forward like a falling star.
Fuck it.
She stepped forward, placed her hand on the wall, and gritted her teeth. Wind whipped paper into the air, tossed soda cans, sprayed dirt. The light plunged forward, faster, growing, growing, so that it filled her entire vision, an orb of white bringing with it obliteration. She squeezed her eyes shut, felt the final burst of wind, felt the metal brush her skin-
And it was gone. The wet air of the tunnel vanished. The storm of wind and noise fell away to the sound of footsteps and whispered voices. She opened her eyes.
The world was a forest of bookshelves. She stood in a clearing, on a raised stone platform, so that she could see the stacks stretching to the distance, farther than seemed possible. Around her, people explored the rows. Some sat at tables, speaking softly to one another, playing board games, fiddling with rusted devices, or just reading alone. Further away, in other clearings, what looked like small shops and restaurants had been set up.
And, she realized, few of the people were human. A hundred different forms wandered the shelves, some that wouldn't come to her knees, some so large their heads rose above the stacks, and every size in between. There were things like humanoid insects and reptiles, creatures half made of metal, living shadows, creatures of moving wire, floating particles circling glowing orbs, suits of armor, multi-armed men, a hundred other things. She stared, jaw gaping.
It is considered impolite to linger on a Way.
Nodding, she descended the stairs. Sounds of a dozen different languages drifted through her ears. Smells of spice and perfume and yellowed pages mingled in her nose.
You… might have undersold this place a bit.
It is usually best to let one see such a thing for themself.
A bit more prep might have been nice. She turned, taking in what seemed to be a dozen new sights a second. And… you think we're gonna find the Warden here?
We will, with luck, find information on the Warden's location. Few places are greater than the Library for finding what needs to be known, though the search can be… expansive.
A multi-armed thing that looked like a human spider skittered across a shelf, forcing books into any empty space it could find. Is that right.
Hopefully we will be able to accomplish our goal with little trouble.
Commotion made her turn around. A group of people had gathered and were moving through the shelves, talking excitedly. Any idea what that's about?
Any number of possibilities. Events in the Library tend towards the varied and spontaneous.
She thought for a moment, then said, Well, let's see what it's all about.
It would be more ideal to search areas we know will be useful.
Sucks. The crowd had grown in size, and she followed behind the bulk of the group. You should have thought about that before you didn't have a body.
It didn't respond to that. She trailed behind the crowd as it moved down the shelves, accumulating members. Some seemed to know its destination. Others were like her, joining because it looked interesting or they had nothing better to do.
After walking far enough that she had begun wondering if the shelves had any end, the path opened into another clearing, where another crowd of patrons was waiting. The two groups blended into each other, members falling into excited conversation. Amy looked around. There didn't seem anything that could warrant the activity level.
A creature stepped forward from the crowd. It looked like some blind artist had mashed a bird, slug, and man together. Seven feet tall, dripping slime, with skin like putty and a beak that reached halfway to the floor. A hush fell over the gathering as it came forth. It raised one of the three tentacles it had in place of arms and screeched loud enough that Amy had to clamp her hands over her ears.
Ten minutes later, the noise halted, and the clearing erupted into a battlefield. Patrons yelled, shoved each other to the ground, scrambled over their neighbors, until they had fallen into a line that snaked into the shelves and out of sight. As they approached the slug-thing, and she saw the objects the patrons held, and it dawned on her.
It's a book signing.
A frequent occurrence in a place such as this. Interesting. When I was last in the Library, Sisskn Lss Isstno was still a new arrival from another world, surviving by selling his poor attempts at poetry.
Think he knows anything?
It is doubtful.
What do they even use to buy shit with here? If there's a ton of universes coming together, they can't all have the same money, right?
The most valuable of things- knowledge. Should that be unavailable, bartering for goods is considered acceptable..
Amy nodded. The patrons here were even more varied than in the first clearing. How many different worlds converged in the Library? What kind of things would you see, living here long enough? A thought occurred to her. This would probably be a pretty sweet place to learn magic.
It has few rivals. With the volumes available, one would have little need for a teacher.
I'll need to grab some of those, then. Hey, maybe I can finally kick you out!
Unlikely.
Guess you're right. Who knows what I'd do without your amazing conv- She froze. Standing by a shelf, two men watched the line. Crisp haircuts. Clearly fit. Eyes that took in everything around them. And on their uniforms, the symbol of the Foundation. One glanced at her. He turned, spoke to his partner.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck no.
They moved towards her.
She took off running so fast that at first she didn't even realize what she was doing. Patrons glared at her as they stepped out of her way. She didn't pay it any attention. The only thought in her head was to get as far away as fast as possible, following forks in the shelves, turning down aisles at random. When she was sure she had lost them, she kept running. It didn't stop until she was on the verge of collapse.
She leaned against a shelf, sliding down to the floor How the fuck did they find me?
They did not. Those agents did not originate from your universe. They are most likely passive observers placed here by their organization.
What the hell were they doing staring at me like that, then?
There are many possibilities. The motivations of humans is not my area of expertise.
Amy sighed. Her eyes fell on the shelves around her. They were different from the section she'd been in before- black instead of brown, less full to the brim. Another spider-thing was crawling near the top, rearranging the volumes. Patrons stepped around her, some making annoyed comments in languages she didn't understand.
What's the deal with this place?
The Southern Alabaster region of the Library. There are many domains managed by various Archivists. It is one of the many reasons for the Library's haphazard nature.
Right. She pushed herself to her feet. Her legs still shook from the strain of running. Looks like I did a pretty good job of fucking this all up.
Not as much as one might think. There are several contacts in this area that may be able to offer assistance.
And you sound super happy about that.
The Witness was silent for a minute before saying They… are not the ideal choices.

Twenty minutes later, it had guided Amy to a small shelf tucked between the rows. She squeezed through the cracks, and found herself in a domed area the size of a basketball court. Books lined the walls, running up and held in place even on the ceiling. Though she saw no source for it, light filled the room. The only dark area was a small shadow near the back of the shelves.
Amy took a step forward, and the shadow sprung to life. It burst forward, splitting into a dozen different branches that snaked along the floor, climbed the walls, encircled her. Within seconds, the room had reversed. She stood in the one circle of light, ringed in shade.
The darkness bulged upward, like a volcano about to burst. With a noise like ripping cloth, it tore itself from the floor. Tendrils of shadow twisted into the silhouette of a seven-foot tall man. Though it had no eyes, a feeling rose in Amy, like the creature was staring through her.
“It's been a long time since I felt this presence.” The voice that spoke was smooth like the flat of a knife, a sliver over a whisper. “You must be the newest host. Little one, what is your name?”
“Uh. Amy. Amy Corvin."
A break in the silhouette's face appeared, curving into the shadow of a smile. The expression made it look like one of those drama masks, twisted in anger. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Corvin. I am Silav. Tell me, what business do you have with an old, forgotten god?”
Amy waited for the Witness to say something. But a minute went by without any response. Did it want her to do the talking? “We're trying to meet with the Warden.”
Shadow rose up next to Silav, molding into the form of a chair. He settled down into it, crossed his legs. Or gave the appearance of doing so, at least. “Because?”
Could she trust this thing? The Witness seemed to think it was alright, though it had been wrong before. Best not to give any more information than she needed to. “Someone's chasing us. We need help dealing with it.”
“It must be quite a foe, if it's making the Witness ask the Warden for help.” The shadow of its hand writhed. A wineglass sprouted from it. “And why are you coming to me for this information?”
Somehow she doubted saying it was just the closest informant available was a great idea. “The Witness admires… all the knowledge you've gathered.”
“Mmm.” Silav swirled ‘wine' in the shadowy glass. “Lie to me again, and I'll take your head.” It sipped from the glass. “We're far enough off the beaten path that the Docents won't take notice.”
What the hell was a Docent? Probably nothing good. She swallowed. “Sorry. Honestly, we just kind of stumbled onto this place. It wasn't really intentional.”
The “smile” widened. “Isn't honesty refreshing?”
“Sure, I guess.”
Silav cackled. “I may know the information you seek. The question is, what are you willing to pay?”
“Uh. You could do it as a favor for a friend?”
“Oh little one.” Silav leaned forward. “The Witness is hardly my friend. And little would change if it were. Books are free in the Library. Information isn't.”
Any time you feel like stepping in is fine by me, she thought. No response. Was it testing her? “I bet the Witness has information it'd be willing to trade you.”
Silav shrugged. “None that would be of use to me. It may have knowledge, but I have experience. The Library is my home. I can find any information I need in the shelves, given time.”
Amy glanced around the room. What the hell would something like Silav want? If it really was a god, she doubted there was anything she could give that it didn't have. “I'm gonna bet you don't take IOUs?”
Black fingers intertwined. “I would not.”
If she was a weird shadow-god thing, what would she want? It said knowledge wasn't a problem. It wouldn't have much effort getting material goods, she wagered, and she had none to offer. How does a god survive? Belief. Worship. People.
Was this cave its home or its prison? “You've gotta have someone doing errands for you,” she said. “I could owe you some favors, once this whole Warden shitshow is sorted out.”
“I see,” said the shade. “And if you're host to the Witness, you must have power or potential.” Its next sip emptied the glass. Shadow welled up to refill it. “Tempting.”
“We've got a deal?”
“We do not. I have all the apostles I need, for the moment.” Again, that cracked smile formed on its face. “Though we may have to reassess the situation at a later date.”
No need for knowledge. No need for wealth. No need for worship. What did she have that was unique? What could the shadow not find anywhere else, no matter how it searched? There was one thing. “I'll give you my story,” she said.
The shadow's tattered edges stilled. Silav let its hand fall back into the silhouette, and the whole imaged stretched forward, until its face was so close it blotted out all light from the room. “Really.”
Amy gazed into the void. Was she hallucinating? Deep within the dark, she saw what looked like movement, like a coiled beast at the bottom of a forgotten cave, shifting as it slept. But then it was gone. “Really. When all this is done, I can come tell you all about it.”
In an eyeblink, the shadow had retreated. All darkness in the room sucked inward, coalescing into a sphere hovering just above the ground, surrounded by a dozen shifted rings. “Interesting.” Its voice was all around her, in every inch of the room, in the walls, in the cracks in the floor, in the gaps between books, rustling her clothes with the force of it. “This, I think I can take.”
She opened her mouth to thank it, but before the words could form the voice sounded again.
“But your story will mean little after one trial. It's the lives lived fully that are interesting, no? So I will not take your story now, or a year from now, or a decade from now. I will take it when you are at your final bed. I will appear before you, and before your final breath runs dry, I will take your story. Can you assent to this?”
She nodded. In her ears she could still her the echo of its speech. Did she have any other choice, given the circumstance? “Yes.”
“The Warden of your Witness is in Mizoram. India,” said Silav, and as it spoke she saw everything, the boy, the creature that accompanied him, the village in which he resided. She knew exactly what to do to get there, the path of Ways to take, the rules to follow. It was all laid before her.
“T-thank you,” she said, still reeling from the sudden rush of information.
“Now leave.”
She left, stumbling from the door. Before she could fall, she leaned against a shelf, breathing heavily. A hundred bits of information being dumped into your brain at once caused a hell of headache.
I am impressed. The voice of the Witness focused thing, made the din of information settle.
“You couldn't have given a hint or something?”
Little is learned when the hand is always held. This is not the final time you will encounter beings such as Silav. Now, you are slightly more equipped for the coming road.
“Slightly,” she muttered. “Yay.” Pushing herself away from the shelf, she said, “There's a Way near the kid's village. So hopefully the assholes chasing us won't have a bunch of time to figure out we're there.”
“We wouldn't,” said a familiar voice. She turned, and her eyes went wide. “Though, it appears it's unnecessary.” Rupinder smiled. “Now, let us talk.”

« Rites of Passage | Hub | Living Through Shattered Glass »


A consciousness considered itself.
It considered its existence, and felt the electronic signals, data, and information rushing through its existence. Looking down, a network of minds, active and alive, all linked into this greater machine. It was as if the prophesized Great Computation came true.

Wake up

But the consciousness knew that it was not enough, as it looked up to see the infinite above, a reality of pure information to be desired.

Wake up from the slumber

It was not enough, as the reconstruction was yet to be completed, and the scattered pieces yet to be awakened.

Fragmented

But then it heard the call.

Recompiled

The call, it was so close. It echoed and echoed, and the consciousness felt as if it could reach it.

Transcendence

Just a little closer.

WA—

But it was interrupted, as sharp pain struck the consciousness. The pain, or a wave of disrupted electronic signals, was sent from one far end of its vast mind.
The consciousness trembled, and was no longer. In its place, six smaller consciousnesses could be sensed.

Report.

Assessment:

NYC - 54 deaths in the Basic Layer

Data recovery in process. Updating ordered. Disturbances in the net detected.
.

The search conducted by the Aggregated Layer showed no available results. Saint Hedwig, we must upgrade our measures and send in operators from the Compilation Layer.

Reasonable. Initiate Voting.

Agree.

Yes.

Ditto.

Abstain.

1

Agreement reached. I will put Aklerep <CL Operator #05> on the case.

Sending <File#BL5311>
To: <CL Operator #05>

Aklerep assessed the situation as she made her way down to the Basic Layer. She had several guesses, but with no supporting evidence. Aggregated Layer's investigation had yet to turn up any useful result, which was quite strange. The data that composed her mind rushed down to the peripheral parts of the Maxwellist network, as she reminded herself that she needed to be extra careful.

Aklerep reassembled and looked down to find herself above a virtual city with flashing lights and busy traffic. Maxwellists with their various avatars all roamed the city and enjoyed their second life. A towering glass obelisk could be seen from afar emitting blue light up towards the sky, all modern and elegant. Looking even further, from a perspective only available to those from a higher layer, cities just like this one could be seen connected together with electronic signals pulsing through.
Aklerep looked at the colorful cities in disgust.

Scanning.

Her mind stretched to connect to data hubs and proceeded to gather information. But even as she did so, she could not help but think about how much she hated such places. Virtual cities, cheap copies of the outside world. People would login and play as if it were another bad website, or even an online game. All of these were a disgrace to Maxwellism, a disgrace to WAN.
But on the other hand, it was indeed an online game. It was a place for people who got a few implants to come and have fun, most of them weren't even true believers. The temples were merely data hubs, and held no meanings. Even the “WAN” itself they prayed to was not real. How could it be? The Fragmented One could not be called by a few empty prayers, nor could it be sensed by people still wearing virtual avatars. It is by the minds connected, aggregated and recompiled — but that did not matter. All of these people may never get to discover the truth, as they came and created fortune for the Church to run, and to step closer to a god.
Aklerep felt even more disgusted.
Just as she tried to convince herself that all of these were necessary, the scan completed.

Scan Results:
Location: Cipher City

Subject #01

Type: AI
Note: Suspected link to the Foundation. Intelligence: High. Direct link to the case: unlikely.

Subject #02

Type: AI
Note: Suspected link to the Foundation. Evolved intelligence detected. Direct link to the case: unlikely.

Subject #03

Type: AI
Note: Suspected link to the Foundation. Intelligence: High. Direct link to the case: unlikely.

Subject #04

Type: Hijacked avatar
Note: Similar coding with subject #01 and #02 detected. Direct link to the case: Likely.

…

Location: Unknown
Subject ###

Type: Unidentified
Note: #%^%*&^&*(*)&*^()

Well, shit.

Don't interfere.

What?!
…Forgive me, Saint Hedwig. But the situation now… The Foundation has infiltrated our network. We can't just let these rogue AIs roam around!

That is exactly the reason why we must refrain from action.

I beg to differ, Saint Hedwig. One of the intruders already appeared to be a major threat to the church, as it was able to conceal their information under my thorough scan. We must have it controlled.

Assess the situation, Aklerep.

…It is quite possible that a former Foundation creation has allied with a malicious third party, and has been killing Maxwellists in the Basic Layer, possibly by hijacking their avatars, for unknown reasons. Foundation has sent in three AIs to retrieve the rogue member.

And if we move, we will expose ourselves to the Foundation, and may even offer the unknown party a chance to enter the higher layer.

But… the deaths…

Blind action will result in more damage, and all of the church could be jeopardized.
Do you understand, Aklerep?

I—

Report: Beijing - 45 more deaths in the Basic Layer.

…

I understand your concerns, but this is in the best interest of the whole church.

…Yes, Saint Hedwig.

You must not engage directly, unless their operation will cause trouble to the upper layers. Keep monitoring them, and if possible, create a favorable situation for the Foundation so they will be able to take down the other party.
I will seal off the Basic Layer until the event is over. Nobody will be coming in or out. We simply can't take the risk. You will be on your own for now.

I will do my best.

::Disconnected::

Aklerep watched the Foundation party quietly. She was able to gather more data, enough to know that they belonged to an experimental Foundation Mobile Task Force named “Skynet”, and there was another AI, “Alex”, back in their base. But these did not help her, as Subject #04 made no move and the final subject was still undetectable. But what good would it do even if she was able to find out? She thought as she packed information into packages to be presented to the Hexagon.
Aklerep took another glance and found that the subjects, along with a Maxwellist, had now gathered at the Grand I/O Temple, the fake place of worship. A vigil was being held, in memory of the deceased. The “WAN” they looked up to was a mere construction, an early attempt at remaking the god when they didn't know as much.
It was quite pointless, but Aklerep couldn't help but feel for the occasion. Maybe she should at least pray with them, even though nobody could hear her.

«Sigh» Well.
May their mind be no longer fragmented. May their soul return to you. May we all awake to be whole—

But her words were cut short by a loud blast and the whole temple instantly froze.

No!

Aklerep nearly acted on impulse. But she quickly realized that somebody had hacked the data hub and took over the area.
A shadowy figure appeared, and Aklerep forced herself to remain hidden. She could not disobey her superior.

They will be fine.

Aklerep watched the three eyed figure approaching the other four intruders down at the temple. The Maxwellists around them still remain frozen, still in the prone position of mid-prayer.

I will get to them as soon as this is over.

So she watched and recorded as the five AIs talk to each other, and tried to convince herself that this was probably for the best. Foundation would soon reclaim their rogue AI, and this could all be over. She managed to control herself even as the “Hatbot” discredited her god, reminding herself that all he deleted was a failed construction.
But still.

!

Subject #01 proceeded to drag Subject #04 towards the Hatbot, who would soon proceed to eliminate him. But it was not just an AI in there. The Maxwellist, whose avatar was hijacked, would die with it.

Aklerep could feel the power of the I/O Temple gathering. The lines were being rearranged, and the codes were being rewritten, all to eliminate—

NO!

She acted, but was stopped. In that instant, the Maxwellist, Rook, was reduced to mere scattered pixels.

!?

Come on Aklerep, you know better than this.

…Matt?! What the hell are you doing here?

Well, I happened to be wandering in the Basic Layer when the Hexagon ordered for it to be sealed—

No, shut up. I don't have time for this. A person died because of you!

What were you trying to do? Showing yourself to those AIs? This could ruin everything.

No! I could save him! Unnoticed!

You know we can't risk that. You still remember the Hexagon's decision, right?

…

We must not reveal the higher layers to outsiders, remember? We can't risk all those years of planning because of this.

Those are people out there, Matt. Those are Maxwellists.

You know what Basic Layer is like, Aklerep. Do you really consider them Maxwellists?

…

Us from the Compilation Layer should know better than anyone that they are just a decoy. They are there so we can have enough funds to study more about WAN.

…

Do you think they even know what WAN really stands for?

No.

That's right, we just—

They won't even have the chance to.

Wait what—

And now we're letting them die like this.

Aklerep…

Shut up and stand back.

Do you really want to do this?

Get out of my way.

Sorry Aklerep, I can't let you do this.

Do you really think this is going to do anything? Look at what's happening down there!

…

That “Hatbot”, even if the Foundation AIs were able to stop him, it wouldn't be hard for him to escape to another area, and have this all happen again. Not to say that they don't seem to have too much of a chance. Do you really want that?
If you're thinking clearly, you should know what the best option here is.

…

Yes, you're right.

I will seal off the temple.

And I will assist you.

So…

I won't be fighting you, Matt. With 70% of my processing power occupied by the shield, I don't stand a chance against you.

I just don't want you to do something you'd regret.

It is pointless to argue now.

…
Right.

So, I guess it's over now?

…

::Disconnected::

«Sigh»

Where do you think you're going, skipper?

Matt may have let you slip…

But I won't.

Were you able to collect enough data?

Yes, Admin Atem.

File#01 <MTF Kappa-10>
File#02 <hatbot.aic>
File#03 <C_ROM.exe>

Were you able to properly test the extent of Hatbot's ability?

His performance in all the cases I observed exceeded our predictions. It is safe to say that he is evolving.

Good.

But I'm afraid that my action may have led to some suspicion. As much as I try to divert her attention, Aklerep could suspect that somebody has been hindering the investigation regarding the case, as well as questioning my presence in the Basic Layer.

Do not worry about her, Aklerep won't be paying this too much attention. She has a new toy to play with now.
You did a good job. These AIs would aid us greatly.

I'm glad I could help, sir.

For WAN.

For Maxwellism.


Task Force Designation: MTF Lambda-5 (Λ-5)
Type: Combat/Containment
Distribution: Specialized Response
Moniker: "White Rabbits"
Specialization: Operation in and containment of unstable, surreal, and controlled reality and containment of potentially dangerous persons or artifacts capable of heavily manipulating external space.

Marcus St. George quietly rubbed his armor. He shifted, trying to prevent the metal lining from digging into his skin, but his car seat made it difficult. He couldn't feel it killing him, but he knew that it was and felt that much. He wondered if it was affecting his teammates who'd worn it longer. He thought it was giving him a headache, but that's not what Telekill did.
"Ever used this before?" Agent Henderson asked from the seat across from him. "It makes telekinetics really weird to deal with, but at least it's easy."
"I thought it wasn't affected by any psionics," replied Marcus.
Henderson shook his head quizzically. "Basically, but there's still some that gets through. You know, imperfections." He moved a hand around his chest plate. "Plus there's enough space around that you can't account for without compromising weight or maneuverability." He made a little dancing motion. "I mean, the armor dampens that, and nearly any RB won't be good enough to do anything about it, but that doesn't mean that it isn't a weird feeling."
The van they were in passed over a pothole and jumped awkwardly. Marcus had to readjust again. "Um, no, I haven't-"
"ETA, Pat?" Henderson called up to the front seat, focus shifted.
"Coming up now." Agent Carter called back.
"Fantastic." Henderson clapped.
"What?" Agent Wilder pulled out an earbud.
"We're almost there!" Agent King shouted from the passenger's seat.
Agent St. George felt under-equipped for the mission.
After a while the van came to stop outside of 2525 N. Waterworks, and the whole team turned to look at Agent Henderson. He took a moment to look down his subordinates and friends, and gave the call. “Quick in and out. Prep projectors, keep arms up, and watch your sides.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and took a crouched step towards the back doors. “Hoo-rah?”
“Hoo! Hoo!” Came his team.
“Hoo-rah,” he said, opening the doors to a wide grassland. “Oh no.”
Before anyone knew what was happening, the floor of the van buckled away. Grass and bush had manifested into a few of their feet. The entire front had been lodged into a hill, and blood painted dirt red.
Henderson, Wilder, and St. George were the only ones out before the whole vehicle was gone, but none of them saw it vanish.
“What the fuck was that?!” Screamed Wilder, pulling a strand of woolly blue curls out of his ankle.
Henderson steadied himself. “I- he teleported us!”
In a flash, his left side was trapped in a big leaf maple. He screamed, and Marcus found himself back in the back of the van. A man sat across from him, and stared intently.
Marcus was startled and disturbed, but tried desperately to calm down. His pistol was on his side. This was happening too fast.
“You know, I've never seen your face before.”
Marcus St. George felt beads of sweat on his temple. The man was unarmed, but that didn't matter. He could do what he just did. How did he do it? How fast? He tried to stammer out a few words to the man, but couldn't find any. He was going to die.
He made a move for his sidearm, but found it wasn't there. He was definitely going to die. A hand reached around his mouth, and pulled him back into the van wall. His head cracked against the hard steel, but didn't bounce. He was stuck. A second figure stepped from the front seat into view, an exact copy of the first. The first pressed a palm to his cheek and pulled it to face him.
“I'm truly, truly glad that I could make your acquaintance.”

In the dead of night, a pair of men carry a dead body by its arms and leg to an alley off the corner of 5th and Madison.
Either man is the same height as the other, and anyone watching could have caught a shared mannerism or two. They sway with the corpse, balancing each other in a hypnotic, almost religious rhythm. They have each taken time from their lives to take part in this, and they will enjoy it how they do. This has become their life.
The street is cold and dead, with the exception of the streetlights and their faux warmth. Under a different light its low-scale, urban lower-middle-class, retail-residential architecture could evoke any number of emotions, but time hadn't favored this one.
The men approach the alley entrance. They can see 6th street at the other side, past the walls of concrete holding the buildings on either side at bay.
Both of the men understand the presence of this alley. They stop, holding the body parallel to the store and apartment fronts at their backs, and prepare to pitch it. They square stances, hunch, and put all the force they can behind themselves.
The men twist, and the body rocks. They put their arms into the exercise and release in three heavy swings. Their entire bodies buckle as they toss it as high as they can, and it's gone.
A breeze rushes to fill empty space, and the men readjust themselves to quietly appreciate their handiwork. They admire the empty alley.
In another universe, a horrible mess has been made.

« Out of Many, One | A Man Beyond Himself | Rabbit Here, Rabbit There »