Containment Day Blues (worm/ SMT)

11:58 PM
The night before the Quarantine

BONG

…

BONG

…

BONG

Haoyu takes a slow, small step in time with each beat of the massive drum that he can hear somewhere further in the truly cavernous ritual chamber. With walls of bare stone, slick with condensation, and the shallow pools of water that seem to be scattered randomly across the chamber, the young member of the Azn Bad Boys isn't sure if the room was intentionally crafted, or if the Ring of Gaea found a natural cavern deep beneath the Community Center that they have been working out of.

It doesn't matter.

BONG

Haoyu takes another step, struggling to keep himself from shivering. The chamber is cold and dark, with only the dim flickering light of candles lining the pathway that he must walk. The cold is made worse by the fact that the only thing that he is wearing is a thin medical gown, one already damp from the previous steps of the ritual that he is going to be partaking of tonight.

When he was first told of the ritual…

Well, Haoyu didn't quite believe it. A means of gaining power. Power enough to take on even Lung himself…

It should be impossible, and yet…

BONG

Power.

BONG

The offer was tempting.

BONG

Haoyu hadn't yet turned 18. He wasn't yet a man. And yet over the last near two decades that he had lived, there had only been a single moment when he had any small sliver of power.

An intoxicating moment of freedom - The power to choose for himself, to stride forwards towards the future that he wanted…

Only for that chance to be snatched away again.

BONG

When Haoyu was young, the boot that settled across his throat was his father's. A useless shitstain that lived off of beer and cheap ramen. Back then, it was Haoyu's duty to clean the house, to cook the meals, to do the laundry, all the things that his mother supposedly did before she died giving birth to him.

And should that small child fail to live up to expectations?

BONG

Haoyu's father was fond of the belt. He was fond of the switch. He was fond of his fists and feet if push came to shove.

And they often did.

That place was not a home. It was a prison. It was hell.

BONG

At least, until the moment when push came to shove just a little too far.

Even now the memory is fresh - The stench of his father so close to him, the warmth of the man's blood as it splattered across Haoyu's arms, bathing his hands red. The weight of the knife when it sunk into his father's chest.

He hadn't meant to do it.

BONG

It had been an accident.

Not that it mattered.

Because just like that, Haoyu found himself free for the first time in his life.

BONG

At least, until the men that his father worked for arrived.

Then the chains returned. The bonds were harsher, even if the pain was softer.

He killed one of the Triad's enforcers, and now he owed them.

Not just for the death.

BONG

But for all his father's debt as well.

Now when he was out of school he was running, running, running, running.

Carrying packages from one safehouse to another. Running drugs, delivering messages, carrying weapons.

On and on and on.

BONG

Every minute that he was late his pay was docked.

Every day that he was still in their service the interest on his father's debt continued to build.

BONG

The triad owned the parts of town that Haoyu lived in, so there was no escape in the people around him. He couldn't run to any of the other gangs, they all hated the triad more than they hated even the nazis.

He would have been killed on sight.

BONG

At least, until the Dragon came around.

BONG

The Triad fell, and Haoyu had thought that he might have finally been free. Until the Dragon called for him.

There was no saying No to Lung.

BONG

And thus, yet another yoke, wrapped around his neck.

Haoyu continued to run, delivering messages and packages from one side of the city to the other. Lung's tribute was less than the Triad. Yet, the punishment for failure was far worse.

Haoyu still remembers the sound of sizzling meat when one of his neighbors decided that they weren't going to stand for Lung's bullying anymore.

He remembers the smell.

BONG

The boy knows, intellectually, that what he is doing here is stupid.

At worst, the Ring are likely to sacrifice him to whatever dark insanity led to them painting sigils of blood on the naked body underneath the hospital gown that he wears.

BONG

But there is still that tiny whisper. They promised him power.

Power enough to stand up to the Dragon.

Power enough to fight off the Empire.

Power.

BONG

They offer freedom.

BONG

If they do have some way of making him into a Parahuman, then all of this will be worth it.

He will be the one with power for once.

BONG

He will finally be free.

BONG

Finally reaching the edge of the altar in the center of the Ritual Room, Haoyu continues to follow the instructions that were all but hammered into his head over the last six months. He stalks around the edge of the altar three times, counter clockwise.

Finally, two of the attendants approach, and with care not to smudge the bloodied symbols covering his body they take the gown from him.

Leaving the boy naked as the day that he was born.

He lays down on the altar, staring up into the darkness of the cavern above.

From somewhere in the distance, the chanting begins. Words that he does not recognize. No language that he has ever heard.

The chant repeats, over and over and over. The sounds twist, pitch crawling upwards, the voices speeding up as they incant more and more.

A figure wearing a wicker tengai hat approaches the altar. The Tengai, which seems almost more like a basket than a hat, completely hides the identity of the priest overseeing the ritual, but Haoyu almost hopes that it is the same man who approached him about first visiting the Gaean Community Center.

The figure raises their hands, one empty with palm towards the heavens, and in the other a syringe.

The figure chants, just the same as all the rest, in that same language that Haoyu has never heard before.

The beating of the drum speeds up, faster and faster and faster still.

BONG
BONG
BONG
BONG
BONG
BONG
BONG

Then. Silence.

Before Haoyu has a chance to understand what is happening, he feels a sharp pain in his chest.

The syringe has stabbed through the center of his chest, something glowing and green slowly sinks into him.

Everything hurts.

Burning.

PAIN.

"Ohm Mani Padme Hum." The words of the chant sound somehow clearer than they did a moment ago. Something more is happening, something is changing inside of Haoyu.

He writhes, filled with yet more pain, but the pain is changing. The words are changing the pain.

Fighting against the pain, Haoyu tilts his head forwards, trying to see more of-

Glimmering light is shining through his skin, moving up from each of the different sigils written on his skin towards a point somewhere close to his neck. Close enough that he cannot see what is-

The light fades.

BONG

The sound of the drum hits him hard, and something strange happens.

Light.

Different from the lights that filtered through the sigils. Without thinking about it, Haoyu heaves an arm upwards towards the ceiling, only for his arm to shift and warp. Then split apart, and a long blade lashes out.

The warping changes continues further. Without thinking about it, he stumbles up and off the altar, the changes still changing him.

"Rise, Haoyu." The priest says, stepping back and away as the young man's form finally starts to slow and stabilize.

He tries to speak, but the only thing that slips past his bared lips is a hissing growl.

"You have gained power. You have gained strength. But what you have now is not enough. Should you wish to defeat the one you call Lung, the Dragon of the Bay - Then you must go forth."

Haoyu doesn't understand.

Right now, the words themselves mean nothing to him. He wants to leap forwards, to strike at this fleshy thing. To eat. He hungers.

But the chanting is keeping him contained. He cannot raise a hand against the masked figure now.

"When the sun rises, the Bay shall become your hunting grounds. There, within, you shall find Demons. Beasts. Take them down."

All at once, the chanting stops. Before Haoyu has a chance to move, the whole of the chamber echoes with words.

REND.

Feast upon your prey. There is no other way to survive. The only way to escape this hunger is to kill the Demons known as BEL.

Face them. Consume them. Take the Might of Bel for your own.

Ascend the Throne.

Become the Bel King.

As the echoing words of the chanting masses fades, Haoyu feels his strength fail. He drops to his knees in front of one of the many pools of water. For the first time, illuminated by the candle light, he sees what he has become in the reflection of the water.


Then… he glows, and the shape of his new self falls away.

There in the water is the same weakling Haoyu once more. With only one change.

On the side of his neck, directly over the jugular is a mark.

Indelible proof of that which he has become. More still, what had moments ago been mere noise are words now.

He knows what he must do.

Kill the Bels.

3:40 AM
Day One of the Brockton Bay Quarantine

Standing out in the chilly early morning air, Carlos Samuels sighs as he looks out across the cars parked in front of his house. This is it.

This is the last moments of his team.

Because all but one of them are leaving him. Hell, Missy's already gone.

Her parents had no interest in letting their daughter say goodbye before they left.

Despite that, Carlos is still the leader of the Wards, for whatever little that is worth now, so he rubs at his face, trying to rein in that quiet sadness dancing at the edge of his thoughts.

This is it. The last moment that the Wards are together, even if it isn't all of them.

He has to be brave now.

Putting on a brittle, fake smile, he turns to the rest of the team. "So…" He starts, trying to think of something to say. Some way to bring them all together, even as the world tears them apart.

None of the others are smiling…

Dennis isn't smiling. The team's clown is treating this as seriously as anything that Carlos has ever seen, and with a sigh his fake smile falls away.

"Man… I'm gonna miss you guys." Carlos admits quietly. Chris puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to give him a consoling look.

"Hey, don't say it like that. We're not disappearing for good, you know. Once…" Chris's words trail off for a moment. There are things that the Wards shouldn't say when they aren't in costume. Just in order to protect their own identities…

But it seems that now isn't the time for that. There doesn't seem to be anyone around at the moment, but even if there was, all of the Wards other than Aegis and Shadow Stalker are going to disappear from the Bay.

It's only going to be Sophia and Carlos from here on out.

"Once the bossman handles the problem, then the walls come back down, and we'll be back." Chris says.

Before he has a chance to say anything more, Dennis is there, slamming into both boys, an arm around each of their shoulders as he pulls the other two in close. "Yeah, man. I gotta feeling you'll be seeing us sooner than you think."

He winks at Carlos, then to Chris, and Carlos has no idea what he means by that. They might be trying to make him feel better…

But despite the way that they are trying to make him feel better, Carlos knows that none of the other Quarantine sites have been opened back up. Each of them are still sealed in order to keep whatever threats have risen up inside of them.

Brockton Bay is unlikely to be any different.

Once the walls go up in a little under half an hour, that will be it.

Carlos very much expects to live the rest of his life inside these walls. The one thing that he hasn't been willing to even put to thought are the worries he has about how long that life might last, trapped with whatever S-ranked threats are going to be here.

But no-

This is not a time for him to be worrying about what is going to happen from here on out. The whole point of the team meeting up like this was to make sure that the members of the Wards getting out aren't worried about what happens to the rest of them.

Something made thankfully much easier by the fact that the only two members staying behind are Carlos - whose family have lived in the Bay for generations now, and are going to continue to live in the bay until there is not a drop of their blood left on the earth - and Sophia…

Who, honestly, the rest of the team couldn't really care less about.

Sophia has only been a member of the Wards for two months now - More than that, the only reason she's a part of the team at all is the fact that she had been caught after pinning some guy to a wall with a crossbow bolt.

She seemed to have thought that the guy was a member of the Empire, but… Well, he wasn't. He was just some guy.

Sophia was… Well, to put it bluntly.

She was kind of a bitch.

Rude, blunt, with little care for the job, constantly insubordinate, and she only seemed to care about things so far as they affected her.

Thankfully, she's not here either. Mostly because the rest of the team leaving 'doesn't affect her'.

Thankfully, it seems that both Dennis and Chris are in… relatively good spirits. Which just leaves Dean. The richest member of the Wards stands off to one side, separate from his friends, and separate from the adults going through one final check to make sure that they haven't forgotten anything.

Not that it would matter if they did, there just wasn't time to go back for anything else.

Dean stares down at the phone in his hand, sliding it open and closed, over and over again.

"Hey… Dean… You okay?" Carlos calls out, and Dean startles, nearly tripping over backwards.

"Wha-ye-yeah." Dean finally mutters as he shakes his head, dropping the phone into his pocket. "Just… thinking."

"Dude." Dennis says, sidling up to Dean. "You gots to stop worrying about that. I know you wanna call her, but it's like four in the morning. Call her after the sun comes up."

"...You haven't read up on what all is going to happen, have you?" Dean asks, his tone flat and listless. "Communication through the wall is… restricted at best."

"If I don't talk to her now, then I probably won't have another chance. But at the same time… The Director said…"

"Come on, Dean." Chris adds on, "We're going to be fine. The Bay is going to be fine. It'll be inside the walls, and that sucks, but there isn't any way for us to get the city outside of the walls. We just need to focus on what we can do. Which is making sure that our families get outside the walls before they go up."

…?

Wait a second, there was something about the way that Chris said that which almost sounded like… But no.

No. There's no way that they could be doing that. Once they get past the checkpoint they aren't going to be allowed to turn around. If they get out now, that's it. No coming back. At least until the walls come down.

Even if his friends had a plan, there's nothing that they could do to get back in.

But… if they did have a plan, then it would at the very least make them feel a bit better on their way out.

"Boys!" Dean's mother calls out, waving over towards the Wards. "We're all stocked and ready. Come on, We've got to go."

Dean sighs one last time, pulling himself free of the other Wards. "You heard my Mom, guys. See you around Carlos, if the walls ever come down."

"You too, man." Carlos quietly says, wishing that there was something that he could do to cheer his friend up. But there's nothing more that can be said as the cars pull away from the house.

Things are quiet.

He's alone now. The last of the 'Real' Wards. There is a part of him that wants to stay up, to keep watch until the dome comes online, and he is sealed away from the rest of the world… But it's still stupidly early in the morning.

With that Carlos Samuels, the Ward known as Aegis steps back inside.

Outside, the seconds tick on by, one after another, a steady stream of passing moments as the minutes march on by.

Until something shifts, barely noticeable so early in the morning. A subtle wave of shifting colors creeps across the sky, further saturating the night. The dark of the sky seems darker, and the bright gleam of the stars glows brighter. The colors beyond the doom deepen and become more than they were - The grass beyond the edge of the barrier is not quite literally greener.

The Quarantine Dome has been activated, the heavy defensive walls rising up to block off the roads into and out of the city, and Brockton Bay has been sealed away from the rest of the world. Trapped in an unending quarantine that waits for the defeat of an unknown threat before it can be unsealed back into the world.

If such a threat is even coming.

---

But mere moments before the walls activated, the air above a towering skyscraper started to warp and bend, light twisting and tearing. Space warped, time bent, and the distance between two points became null and void.

One figure tumbles through the gap, followed quickly by two more, and as the saturated wall of color rises across the sky, one final figure leaps through with a harsh shout of pain.

MIssy Biron clutches at her arm, applying pressure to the long gash that just ripped through the edge of her shoulder as she hurried the others through. They hadn't been quick enough, and she was the one to pay the price. Gritting her teeth she turns to the others.

"You were late." She growls out as Dennis darts forwards, already ripping a strip from his shirt to wrap around the slash.

"Yeah… Sorry." Dennis mutters, throwing a glance over towards Dean. "Someone was moping and didn't want to come with us to the Bathroom."

"I might have followed if you'd told me-" Dean starts to complain, before he shakes his head. "There's no point in worrying about that now. Missy, can you get us down to street level?"

Despite the grimace on her face, Missy laughs. With a wave of her other hand, the air warps, colors and shapes warping as the light is twisted around impossibly. The uncostumed capes move quickly, first down to the ground and then crossing the city itself. "So… What's the plan?" Missy asks. "Head to the HQ? The Rig?"

"No." Dean mutters quietly. "At least not yet. They tried to get rid of us. They made it so that we couldn't say anything to anyone about the city being sealed off… The PRT betrayed us. Betrayed the Protectorate. Abandoned the city and turned on everyone - even the troopers. The Piggy might have been trying to help us, but she did so by throwing everyone else under the bus. Let's go - The church of the Messiah is only a couple of blocks from here. They're a church, so they have to have medical supplies. We can figure things out after we get Missy's arm cleaned up."

Missy frowns at how her friend is describing the Director. Sure, Missy doesn't always agree with what Piggot has done, but…

Well, to be frank, Missy did a bit of digging, and every other time that a city ended up Quarantined like this, the Director ended up getting out. Piggot didn't.

Missy is almost certain that Piggot gave up her ability to get out in order to make sure that the Wards had the chance to leave. Not that any of them were going to abandon their homes, but Dean is…

Angry right now. Something that Missy isn't sure how to handle from the boy that she has a crush on. So for the moment she won't say anything. Just keep on going, at least until they have more time to plan.

---

6:15 AM
Day One of the Quarantine

Clara Schafer tries her best to contain the excited, cheerful giggles that are threatening to slip past her lips as she follows behind the youth pastor for the Church of the Messiah, Father Freude. Despite her best efforts, she doesn't entirely succeed at keeping quiet.

It's just…

She's been Chosen.

…Admittedly, she isn't entirely sure what the Choosing is, but she knows that the rest of the youth congregation were quite jealous that she had been selected. Clara has only been a member of the Church of the Messiah for a little under six months now, ever since Mister Anders started to suggest to her family - and the rest of the right kind of families - that they should check the church out.

He was, as he almost always is, right to do so.

Because the church building itself is pristine in a way that Clara doesn't see in many other parts of the bay. Despite being well into the worse off parts of the city, the outer walls are all still as white as snow, without any of the ordinary inner city graffiti or gang tags that she's become unfortunately accustomed to. The walls of the interior aren't quite as pale, aided by a soft blue trim that keeps the purity of it all from straining Clara's eyes. It isn't just the architecture that shows itself to be righteous either - The church is filled with all the right kind of people, just like Mister Anders said it was. The kinds of people who get it.

The church understands that the Bay has been infected. There has been a sickness in the blood of her home since before Clara was born. She grew up surrounded by the sickness that has been spreading through the veins of the city, poisoning the workforce and diluting all the hard work of good, honest people.

And they don't just understand the nature of the problem either, the Church is actively working to try and fix things. Admittedly, they aren't the kinds of things that Mister Anders seems to approve of, bu-

"Don't fall behind now, Clara." Father Freude calls back, and Clara blinks. She…

"So-sorry!" Clara calls ahead as she realizes just how far behind the pastor she had fallen while lost in her thoughts. She breaks into a quick jog to catch up with Father Freude. "Father…? I was wondering…" It feels a little wrong to try and ask a question of the Father…

Her own parents had made it very clear that children are to be seen and not heard. It just isn't her place to ask questions, but still… There is so much about being chosen that she doesn't understand.

The pastor settles a hand on her shoulder, smiling down at her. "My dear child, it is my job to answer questions, to help guide you towards your place in the world, you don't ever have to worry about asking me anything. I will always be willing to listen."

Clara nervously chews on her lip, still not entirely sure if she should be asking this - if she is allowed to ask this… but she needs to know. This isn't the first Choosing that she's seen, but…

"What does it mean to be Chosen?" She asks.

"What does it mean…" Father Freude repeats, his head tilting to one side as he thinks. "Right. You've only been with us for a little under half a year now, correct?"

"I think it will be exactly six months next week." Clara confirms.

"So that would mean that this is your second Choosing, then. I suspect that you asked Isabella and Miram about the Choosing?"

Clara nods. "Yes sir, but they simply laughed and said that I would understand when it happened to me."

"A common enough sentiment among the youth here at the church." The pastor notes with amusement. "But one that makes sense. Because explaining what it means to be Chosen is all but impossible. It means something different for each and every one of us. Being Chosen is an honor, even more so the fact that you've been Chosen so early into your time with our congregation. A true showing of the hard work that you've put into our community. The choosing takes place every other month, where a few of our own are given the chance to have a private meeting with the Madam. Some simply speak with her, others are given gifts, some are blessed, while others are allowed to partake in the creation of a miracle."

Blessings? Miracles?

Clara has only briefly met the Mother Superior of the Church of the Messiah a few short times, and only in passing. Madam Maria spoke with the youth studies group that first day that Clara had joined the church, leaving the group just as Clara herself was arriving. She also gave a sermon during the service that day as well. Beyond that, the beautiful leader of the Church of the Messiah often joins the choir in singing psalms at the end of the service, but those are the only times that Clara has seen the very busy woman.

"When you say a miracle…?" She starts to ask, struggling to find her words. It is strange, saying what she thinks is normally so easy, but there is an air of importance to the church, something that weighs on Clara's shoulders, making her second guess her own thoughts.

"It depends on the person." Father Freude admits as he stops in front of a heavy stone door that Clara has passed by nearly every time that she has walked to or from the youth group. She's never really thought about the door, other than noting how different it was from the rest of the building the first time that she saw it.

The youth pastor reaches into his shirt, pulling out a necklace that has three keys on it - one in bronze, the second silver, and the last gold. Father Freude inserts the golden key into a slot in the middle of the door, and with a heavy click it opens to reveal a narrow hallway that quickly turns back on itself and down into a stairwell.

The pastor leads on, and after only a moment of wondering if this might be a mistake, Clara follows after. The stairs are longer than she expected, the first flight having stopped at the same floor where the youth group meets each week, but then continues on down. Deeper below the church, further down than Clara had any idea existed.

"For instance," the Father continues as he leads Clara into a part of the church that she had no idea existed, "the first time I was Chosen was only a few weeks after I broke my leg in a motorcycle accident. Madam Maria… Well, you can call it a miracle, or a gift, or a blessing, but she healed my leg, good as new. My brother, who had been Chosen a few months prior, had been told to go to a particular gas station on the other side of the bay at a certain time and to order a certain number of lotto tickets. He won a thousand dollars. And Miss Anna, on the third time that she was Chosen, was given the gift of song."

…Clara is quiet for a moment, turning what the Father is saying over in her head. It isn't that she doesn't believe that what he is saying is possible… But now she's starting to worry-

Father Freude sighs, shaking his head. "I know that we live in an age of Parahumans, where people believe that everything unknown can be explained away by little growths inside of people's heads which grant them abilities unlike anything that we've seen in our history… But the powers of capes are limited - sure, plenty can fly, and lots of them are real strong, and there are those with weirder powers too, but unless you are Eidolon, then you only get the ones that you get… You can't change what you can do for every person."

While that is true, there is a part of Clara that still worries that there might be something Parahuman about all of this. "I wasn't…" She starts to say, but the rest of the lie catches in her throat.

The pastor chuckles, shaking his head. "It is, unfortunately, understandable that people worry about such things. And worse still, there is nothing that I can do to allay your fears, other than asking you to keep an open mind. And if I can ask that, then I might as well ask for just a bit more - Don't just enter with an open mind, but that you go into your meeting with the Madam with your eyes open, your ears listening, and your heart questioning. I have mentioned conversations, blessings, gifts, and miracles among the things that the Madame may give you. There is one other thing. A trial, but I want you to know that I believe that you can handle anything the Madam might set before you on your path, so long as you stay true to yourself, and to the teachings of the Messiah."

"I…" Clara starts to say, before Father Freude steps off to one side, next to another heavy stone door. "Thank you."

"Of course." He says with a smile. "But I am afraid that this is where I must leave you. The Madam Maria is beyond this door, and while I may turn the key, you are the only one who can open the door." The pastor says as he holds up the bronze key, and placing in the lock at the center of the door.

Clara takes a deep breath, shaking off her fears and worries. This isn't the time, nor the place for such things. Firming her resolve, the young woman places a hand on the door, opening it with a slow creak.

Stepping through the door, there are two things that immediately catch Clara's attention.

There is, of course, the Madam Maria herself, sitting on a chair that might be better described as a throne.

But it is the second thing that pulls the majority of Clara's focus - In the center of the room there is a long medical table, set directly between Clara and the Madam. An unconscious dark-skinned man has been sprawled out across the length of the table, his chest rising and falling in sporadic jerks. The stranger is shirtless, but Clara can't see much, given the way that his chest is covered by a layer of blood stained bandage held in place by wrappings of medical gauze.

The Madam stares at the man for a moment before her gaze lifts up, locking eyes with Clara. "Clara. Good. I was unsure if you would accept the Choosing. Sit."

Clara… She isn't…

She doesn't…

There is a chair on the close side of the table, so that the injured man is between her and the Madam.

Why…?

What…?

All of Clara's thoughts have been thrown into a jumble.

She has been raised to see people like this as the sickness infecting her city. The spots of oil staining the lives of kind and good hearted people…

But this man is injured. Badly.

He is bleeding, he is hurt. So badly hurt that he isn't even conscious.

Clara was raised to be a good person. To be a kind person. To help others when they need it.

She was raised not to offer help to the wrong sorts of people. To ignore the homeless and the destitute.

This man is the kind of person that she was taught to ignore.
This man is the kind of person that she was taught to help.

Her mind is turning at odds with itself, and she doesn't know what to do. What to think. She just…

But she was told to sit.

All things have a place. All things in their place.

Doing what she is told is easy.

So Clara sits.

She tries to keep her gaze on the Madam, but her eyes keep trailing down to the bandages across the man's chest.

What… What is this?

Why is he here?

Who hurt him?

Why isn't the Madam doing something? She doesn't know exactly what that something should be, but surely the leader of the church knows what that something should be. Because if something isn't done, then this man is going to die.

Right in front of her.

"I…" She starts to say, words failing her in a way that they only do here in the church. This… This is a person.

And right here and now it doesn't matter if he is the very sickness that is twisting the city into chaos - Because Clara is just a girl. She's never seen someone die before. She hopes she never has to see someone die.

This is not a choice made of care - not truly. More a choice made of fear. Clara has never seen an injury as bad as this before, and it scares her.

This is scary.

Death is terrifying.

"Is… Is he going to be okay?" Clara asks, unable to turn her gaze away from the suffering in front of her.

"No. Unless something is done, and soon, this member of the Merchants will die." Madam Maria says simply.

He's… A member… of the Merchants.

That means that isn't isn't just one of the people that her father says the poison infecting the lifeblood of the city, but he's also one of the people that her mother says are to blame for the decay of the Bay…

And yet…

She's still scared. Still terrified of seeing someone die in front of her.

"Sh-should we…" Clara starts to ask, licking her lips nervously as she struggles to keep herself from staring at the dying man. "Call an… ambulance? Or a doctor? Or… Something?" Her voice is shaking, and Clara doesn't know why.

The Madam raises an eyebrow at Clara, "Were you not raised to believe that it would be better to let him die?"

She's not wrong, but at the same time…

"I… no. No. Sitting back and letting someone die, no matter who they are, is wrong."

And just like that, some of the oppressive pressure in the room lightens as the Madam nods, a soft smile blooming on her face with a strange radiance that shines despite the lack of light coming from it.

Clara feels as though she has been weighed. Measured. Found acceptable.

"Then, we shall help him." The Madam says, rising to her feet and stepping in close to the table. "Approach."

Clara doesn't know what is going on, but she is going to do as she is told.

"Lay your hands on the bandages." There is a tiny moment of hesitation… A fear that her father instilled in her rearing its head, but the Madam is here, and there is something about the beautiful woman that makes Clara feel like she is safe. "Now, repeat after me: Eléēson Hēmâs Dia."

"Elle eson hamas dia." Clara tries to repeat the words just the same way that the Madam said, but she can tell that she isn't saying it right. "Eleeson Hamas Dia." No.

That still isn't quite right.

"You're close. Try one more time." The Madam says, placing her own hands over Clara's. "Eléēson,"

"Ele- Eléēson," Clara says, still stuttering over her own tongue.

"Hēmâs,"

"Hēmâs," The words are coming a little easier to her now, in part because of the way that she is focusing, but there is something else. A soft tingling across her palms, and there is light. The glow is pale and dim, barely visible in the ordinary lighting of the room itself, but Clara can see it still. Her hands are glowing.

At some point, the Madam pulled her hands back, leaving it just to Clara. She doesn't even try to repeat the last word of the prayer.

"Dia."

The glow in Clara's hands builds, a shimmering golden light that spills past her palms, most of the light sinking into the man, but some of it flutters and dances about. She might not be able to see the injury, but all this time there had been a tightness to the man's face. Pain.

And once she offered her prayer, the pain seems to have disappeared as his face goes lax, peacefully sleeping once more.

"A wonderful first step." Madam Maria says, as Clara pulls her hands back, staring at them, wondering if…

"Eléēson Hēmâs Dia." The prayer slips past Clara's lips with ease, and she can feel that same warmth there in her hands. No glow, but… A flex of focus, a shift of thought, and the light comes again.

"Careful now." The Madam says, having crossed around the table while Clara was distracted. "You have only taken the first step down this new path. Calling upon miracles is like a muscle." Her words are soft and kind, even as a headache starts to bloom in Clara's skull. "You have only just learned to flex this muscle, and overworking it will only cause you pain, but it will also allow you to grow. Take these."

The madam presses a tin into Clara's hands. "Blessed drops. If you develop a headache from using your blessings too oft, then take one. They contain the nutrients your body needs to help strengthen your soul. Now, before we continue…" She turns back to the unconscious man. "Diarahan. Ahamarita." With barely more than a wave of her hand, the Madam does… Something. The first prayer felt much the same as the light that came from Clara's hands, and the second feels… Similar, if different.

"Your father is a follower of the Empire." Madam Maria says, her words without judgement, praise, or scorn. "He wishes that you will follow in his footsteps, but just like the rest of the Empire he fails to understand the truth of things. The Empire is… wrong is too harsh a word… Misguided."

This conversation is going in a very different direction than Clara expected, given what she just did. If her father ever learned about this…

"The Empire understands one of the great truths of the natural world. There is an Order to things. A place for everything and everything in its place." The Madam Maria continues to explain. "Yet, not only do they not understand their own place in things, they try so hard to push things out of their place as they try to put things in their places. They see the world as a great temple, with them as the bell that rings atop the highest tower. They see the people unlike them as being the ones at the bottom of the tower - the foundations from which their glorious empire is built. Yet, instead of pushing themselves to strengthen that foundation, to give to those lesser than them, they act to crush the very foundations. Tell me, Clara, can a tower be built on a swamp?"

"No." What Madam Maria is saying makes sense. A scary kind of sense, because it means that everything that she has ever been taught is wrong… But some of these things are things that Maria herself has thought at times, even if she pushed those thoughts away, afraid to admit to them.

"Truly, it makes sense that they are in the wrong, after all the Empire is ran by a man."

Eh?

Just like that, the whole conversation has taken a turn that Clara is less sure about. So far everything that the Madam has said has made sense… but this…

"Think of it, there are a great number of groups in the Bay. The Parahuman Response Team, the Empire, the ABB, the Merchants, the Faultline Mercenaries, the church itself. Of these organizations, which of them have avoided making things worse for the people of the bay?"

"...Well, the PRT says that it is trying to help people… and the Church…"

"Indeed." Maria says with a smile as she resettles into her throne on the other side of the table. "But also the Faultline Mercenaries, who you may have never heard of, much because they refuse to work in the city itself. It is the orders of their leader, Faultline, that they do not cause chaos where they live. And would you look at that? Faultline is a brilliant woman. Director Piggot has worked herself into everlasting sickness as she tries to make the city a better place for all the people of the city, and we at the church are led by yours truly."

It is… organizations led by women who have avoided making things worse.

Again, the Madam makes sense.

"I want you to join that list, Clara."

…What.

"Things are about to become difficult for the Bay. I have been granted a vision by god. We are about to face a terrifying ordeal. The people of the bay, not just the people of our church, not just the people of the Empire, but all the people of the Bay are going to need someone who will look out for them. Someone who will protect them. Who will guide them. A shepard for the flock. A new Messiah."

…Clara… She sits there, unsure of what she is hearing. This… This isn't what she expected of being Chosen. She…

She's just a highschooler. She's not someone important. Not someone who…

Before Clara has a chance to think any further, she feels a soft hand on each shoulder.

Glancing away from the Madam, Clara looks to each side of her…


There is… What Clara could only call an angel floating to either side of her.

"I know that what we are asking of you is a lot, Clara. That this is more expectation and responsibility than you've ever had in your life, but we here at the Church will be here to help you. To guide and protect you. This is something that God believes you can do. So will you join us in saving the world?"

…Being asked like that, being offered something like this.

There is really only one thing that Clara could possibly say.

"Okay."