Override (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power x He-Man) 1. Afterwards
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

Originally a spin-off to He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, it focuses on He-Man's sister: She-Ra. The cartoon is very old and dated by modern standards, but has She-Ra go up against Hordak and his evil Horde. Powered by a sword that was gifted to her brother, she fights for the Great Rebellion.

This iteration is a reimagining and reboot of the original She-Ra, retaining the names of certain characters but reimagining in them in different ways. While She-Ra is still powered by a sword, the links between her and He-Man are no longer present, and Catra has become a love interest for Adora, She-Ra's alter ego.

The sky was lit up, made anew by the fantastical, colorful streaks of magic in the air. The skies had never looked so pure with the stars hanging above like ornaments and punctuated by the sparkingly sheen that permeated Eternia now. The magic had been freed from the Heart of Eternia and once more ran free and wild on the planet.

Despite not being a princess or a sorcerer, Catra could feel it like a soft tingle in her nose. Her horizons had been expanded beyond the gray gruel from the Fright Zone. It was something sweet, enticing. Sugary and thick. A natural instinct to bat it away surged up. It wasn't her style, but she breathed it in tentatively, to allow her that bit of hope for the future

With the resurgence of most of Eternia's magic, it had felt like a new beginning.

Shadow Weaver's final moments flashed in her head.

This is only the beginning for you.

Her death had stung and hurt yet some small bitter part was glad that Shadow Weaver wasn't around to hurt them anymore. All of it ended up confusing Catra. Shadow Weaver, in her own messed up way, still cared for Adora and Catra. However, even when she was on the side of 'good,' Shadow Weaver just couldn't help but continue to hurt the two of them with her words and manipulations.

Maybe Shadow Weaver found it easier to end on that one good note than to try and change. In a way, it was the coward's way out. Sacrificing themselves to end on a high note as if that erased all the bad. Or, in Adora's case, somehow validated their worth. Adora somehow rose above that attitude, but sometimes, Catra feared that Adora would relapse, thinking her life only had value when traded for 'the greater good.'

Would Adora ever change, to stop the self-sacrifice and fight for the best possible outcome.

No... Catra had to stop that line of thought. Adora did change, but it wasn't like she was a different person now. She was still that same headstrong, jockey-type girl that might run headfirst into danger. She had to work on that just as Catra had to work through her own problems.

Shadow Weaver did love the two of them and look how they turned out.

Catra had hurt Adora before and she refused to do it anymore, to be better.

"Something wrong, Catra?" Adora asked, stretching out on the soft grass beneath them. Adora rolled over, propping up her hand with her hand and staring at her with those blue eyes. Even without the glow of She-Ra, they were like a sparkling ocean that Catra could get lost in.

Be honest, some part of her thought. Adora's headstrong enough to not notice my pining for years. How much heartache would have been avoided if I'd had been more honest instead of deluding myself, seeking affection from those who did not have my best interests?

She wanted to have a cool, dismissive response, but where had that gotten her? If it had been anyone else, Catra would have waved them off. But this was her girlfriend. The thought made her giddy and apprehensive all at once. If she wanted to better than Shadow Weaver, then she had to be honest.

It was like swallowing a lump. Because to open up was to be vulnerable and to be vulnerable meant getting hurt…

Catra turned away, muttering, "Just thinking..."

"About?" Adora asked, coming even closer.

"The future, I guess." She paused, knowing she was being dishonest. They both had to work on themselves. "Sometimes, I think you might leave me, that you would give yourself up for me. But I want you to fight for us. I'm afraid you will be like that."

"Not anymore. You know that right?"

Catra hummed, snuggling Adora now. There was an easy silence that settled over them. So fragile that a single breath could shatter it. Except Catra wouldn't know what to do when that happened. It was easy enough to settle into and enjoy.

Finally, after a minute or two, Adora started to speak, "You know… when I was unconscious from Horde Prime's virus, I had a dream. Bow and Glimmer were together… and so were you and I. All of us were dressed all nice and fancy, getting ready for Scorpia's first ball… I guess… that was when I truly acknowledged what I wanted beyond what I thought I needed to do."

"Sounds nice," Catra mumbled.

Adora laughed. "You're in that future too."

"I know, I know," she grumbled. Catra just leaned into Adora with a tight hug. The point was being missed again, no matter how nice the scene Adora described, it did nothing to assuage her fears. Because how much hurt did Catra inflict on Adora? Did she ever deserve this? Who was she to demand Adora be better in self-care when Catra had hurt Adora several times before?

Even though she was so close to being happy, it was like fire. Warm at a distance, but scorching if she got too closer.

Where has running ever got me?

"I'm afraid," she blurted out.

Adora pulled away, but still held onto Catra. "Why?"

"I'm afraid of hurting you again," she whispered. "Or… somehow that I manipulated you into this. Shadow Weaver hurt us. And I hurt you."

Adora opened her mouth and Catra could practically hear something along the lines of 'I can take it' like the lovable, bullheaded, foot-in-the-mouth girl she was. Catra cringed at the connotations that hypothetical statement brought, but thankfully Adora closed her mouth, ensuring it would never be made real.

"You're trying," she said, slowly. "And I think that counts for something. I know without a doubt, you won't hurt me on purpose. Not anymore. Relationships aren't perfect. Glimmer and Bow, despite being the best of friends, still have fights. And undoubtedly, we will too. But… it's like Entrapta said: imperfections are beautiful. I love you."

"I love you too," Catra said.

Adora beamed with a smile. "I think that's what important. Because it is with love that will help us see through any problems we might face. And we'll face them together. Don't you agree?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sap it up with your sappiness."

Catra smiled and Adora leaned down to kiss her. Catra was so glad that Bow and Glimmer left the scene. They embraced, Adora acting comfortable weight on her chest. Happy endings didn't exist. If they did, this was the closest one that they were going to get. Life simply went on, but Catra knew it was a good start for this chapter of her life and all the ones to come.

Right up until Adora started to seize up, shaking and a scream stopped in her throat. It was a choking sound, coming out as a panicked croak. Catra was thrown off by Adora's sudden thrashing as the air turned vile.

"Adora!" She started to tug at her girlfriend, trying to drag her back to where everyone else was. "Someone! Help!"

Adora started to struggle harder, her limbs spasming uncontrollably. Magic started to bleed around her, unlike her transformation into She-Ra which cascaded over her like a shining, static waterfall. This transformation clawed at reality, peeling flesh away to reveal a different person underneath. It wasn't anything like the change into She-Ra, where all her best traits seemed to be exemplified.

This wasn't anything like that.

Like water thrown onto a painting that hadn't yet dried, everything seemed like a distorted version of itself. It blurred and ran, muddling into what looked an older version of herself. Everything was being ripped away from her hands. She held on tight, hoping to anchor down her Adora from whatever was going on.

Catra's mind raced with all of the possibilities of what was going on. Like the virus from hours before had a second wind… but what did Shadow Weaver call She-Ra? A being of pure magic. Whatever impurities inside should have been burned away.

"Someone help!" she cried out again, cursing everyone for giving them alone time. Tears burned as she cradled the shaking Adora. She stared down, seeing a glowing split right down in the middle of her face. Now, it was like three different faces mashed together. More and more, she started to look like a familiar stranger. Yet, all the same, she still resembled Adora.

Just not her Adora.

Is anyone coming?

She pressed her forehead against hers. "Adora… please..."

An aching, agonized moan shot out from her throat, splitting into three different tones. And it thrice broke Catra's heart. Every time a hopeful thought arose, that sound of despair crushed it ruthlessly under heel.

"Catra..." Adora – just Adora – croaked.

She pulled away, just so she could see Adora, hoping again to see her better. Only to see this affliction worsen. Catra cupped her left cheek.

"What is it?" Catra asked.

"I..." She started hyperventilating. "I… see… so much… so many..."

"Do you see how you can fix this?" she hissed, eyes brimming with tears.

"Yes..."

Catra's heart skipped a beat.

"Then do it! I won't lose you!"

"Consequences..." she breathed out. "People… might get hurt..."

Catra shook her head vigorously, as if to reject that fact that only Adora would stutter in saving her own life. She shook it even harder when the negative thoughts thundered in, as if to say Adora was better than her for being able to avoid such thoughts.

"So? It isn't like Glimmer hadn't messed things up with the Heart and Prime. It isn't like I haven't messed up. It's okay to mess up… I'll be here with you. Everyone will stand with you..."

Adora closed her eyes. "We… just dealt with Horde Prime… what might come now will be worse. I can see it."

Catra looked away, just for a moment. There was real fear in her voice. After everything that happened in the last twenty four hours, what had reinstilled this attitude? Was whatever Adora saw that bad?

"Is it inevitable?" she asked. "By dying here, will you stop this? Or will you have merely delayed it?"

The silence was telling enough.

Adora opened her now-wet eyes. "I know it's… dumb to try and sacrifice myself again… but I'm afraid what might happen to you, all of you*.*"

"Oh, Adora." She squeezed their hands together. "We'll be afraid together and we'll be brave together. It's why, despite all your dumb and bravado-filled plans, you won against the Horde and me."

"Okay… okay… Together..." That affirmation, a small concession, gave her hope. Adora rolled out of Catra's grasp, standing on two shaky legs. She stumbled to the edge of the cliff, breathing heavily.

Her head lolled back, as her breathing turned to desperate huffs as if the air she breathed wasn't going into her lungs. She stood at the very edge. Catra outstretched a hand, before letting it fall back to her side. There were times when she had to hold Adora back and other times she had to let her do her thing.

Adora turned back around, the glow obscuring her face. "We'll win in the end, right?"

"Of course."

"No matter what happens, I love you. Remember that."

She turned back around, hunching over and crying out. Before Catra could rush back, Adora arched her back, like snapping a whip. The glow surged as Adora cried out those words that transformed her into She-Ra.

"For the honor of Grayskull!"

Adora seemed to fold into herself as she started to levitating, shooting kaleidoscope flashes from her body. It didn't quite blossom like a flower, but it was like watching a wilt in reverse. Adora started to jerk about in the air, being flung left and right like a fish being reeled in.

"Adora!"

A split started to surge across her body, slicing her into three distinct images that emitted from the waist up. Each one of them was caught mid-transformation into She-Ra. The one on the left had a short white dress with a red cape and a large winged headdress. The one on the right looked alike to the left image, but more armored, more visceral somehow.

She-Ra, her She-Ra, seemed to burst out from Adora, shoving away the mirror images as a sprout would do to a shell. But they all seemed to be caught in a bind, trying to tie them all together. They all started to yell out in pain, each of them breaking into separate cacophonies.

"Come on..." Adora roared out, reaching toward the sky. "I said, for the honor of Grayskull!"

The sword began to materialize above She-Ra, just out of reach. Adora's fingers strained, trying to grasp the hilt. The further she stretched, the more she seemed to break away, shedding the skin of She-Ra. It was only until Catra saw the other two images siphoning that energy, stealing She-Ra for themselves. The more they took, the more hazy the sword became. If Adora couldn't grasp it… what would those copies do to her?

Catra took a step forward, but paused, unable to discern what to do? Her instincts screamed at her to tackle one of those fakes and alleviate the burden for Adora. But something told her that they would slip through her claws like water.

The two fakes began to grab at Adora, still connected to her. The images solidified, appearing more real from the waist up. Their legs blurred, unable to pull away and be made real outside Adora. They were the branches of a tree, trying to touch the sky. The longer it went on, the harder it was to tell who was the main trunk of the tree and who were the branches.

What would have happened if Adora didn't try to unleash them? What damage would have this caused internally?

Catra clenched her fists, knowing this wasn't a fight that could be settled with fists or wit.

Instead, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "You can do it Adora!"

The violent, more armored one stuttered in her ascent, but the plainer one on the left seemed invigorated by the shout. The fake reached Adora's shoulder, using it as leverage to lift herself further.

"Third time's the charm!" Adora screamed. She pulled her arm down before thrusting it back up and grasping the sword. "For the honor of Grayskull!

The world above shattered and crackled, narrowing down into a single line of reality that came crashing down like lightning. Catra screamed Adora's name as it enveloped her. Two human sized bolts shot out from the sides, but Catra ignored it, staring as She-Ra shook violently. The reverberations ran through reality with She-Ra as the epicenter.

The sky split apart like cloth, revealing what laid underneath: the sky beneath the sky. It wouldn't have looked so alien if it didn't look so similar, yet so different all at once. She-Ra hovered, resplendent in her white, gold highlighted uniform that showcased the muscular physique of her arms. Then the exposed skin started to smoke and Adora let loose one last cry before she exploded off the cliff.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as Catra watched everything transpire in slow motion.

Without thought, she rushed off the cliff and dove off after Adora.

She caught her massive frame in her arms and for a moment, they glided through the air. Then gravity kicked in, the two of them plummeting down to the ground. Adora was unconscious and listless in her arms like a life-sized doll. Catra enveloped her, trying to rotate their positions so that she would take the brunt of the impact. Adora would undoubtedly flip their positions if she woke up, but Adora wasn't the only self-sacrificing fool around.

"Adora! Wake up!" she shouted. "Please!"

The world continued to quake as they tumbled downwards. She shifted her grip, reaching for the sword still clutched in Adora's hand. She had seen She-Ra do a great many things with emitted energies: shooting out waves of power, creating platforms, and transform into a shield. Any one of those options could save them. But Catra was no She-Ra. No matter how much she waggled Adora's wrist, the sword did not respond.

And so they fell, slipping through the cracks of their universe.
 
Teenage Multiversal Ninja Turtles (TMNT) — 1. Jennika (IDW-verse)
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is a series that has gone through many different reimagining. The only real constant is the title accurately describing them as teenagers, mutants, ninjas, and turtles. Though they are always known as Leonardo, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Donatello, and are always taught by the mutated rat known as Splinter though familial dynamics do vary. Their enemy remains presently the rival ninja clan, the Foot, and the aliens known as Krang.

There were some days that she didn't quite feel like she fit in.

Jennika leaned against the roof railing. She was a giant, mutated turtle and it was a fact she could not escape. Every time she moved her fingers, she was reminded of the fact that she had three fingers instead of five. Every time she breathed, she was reminded of the differing sizes of her organs. And every time she moved, Jennika had to account for new size and weight.

The fact of her mutation was hammered into her skull, more invasive than any lobotomy. Because at least a lobotomy would let you forget. The ninja gear she draped over her form couldn't hide the shell, the yellow bandanna over her eyes couldn't hide her face, and… she could never escape her own thoughts.

Try as she might, trying to observe Mutant Town as if that would offer a reprieve from these spiraling thoughts. It was like New York… and it wasn't like it all at once. A little slice of captivity, a little slice of modernity. After Old Hobb – the bastard – mutated a sizable portion of New York, they sectioned off the place.

It was a blessing and curse all at once.

The difference between her mutation and everyone else's mutation was that it was done to save her life. Leo had given her his blood. There was no choice given to radically alter her body like that, but it was a choice borne of desperation and care. She could forgive him for that.

She would have been alive, mutated, and would have had to retreat into a little further into the shadows. It seemed… manageable in that daze after being mutated. To be that much of an outcast again, until reality edged in. Until Hobb happened, making it seem like everyone was in the same boat as her.

But that wasn't exactly the case.

So close, yet so far.

All of them were caught blindsided, while she was… a little more adjusted.

No matter how much she had grown or integrated, that outsider part of her would never be scrubbed clean. Not completely.

She was once part of a clan, as much as she tried to forget. The Foot had helped raised her back up, but she stood tall in a low, low place, threatening to walk into dark valleys with her head held high. Then Master Splinter showed her the way up, helping her claw her way back up inch by inch. It still felt like she was climbing out of that abyss, now that he was gone.

She was part of a clan, Jennika reminded herself, the Splinter clan. Yet, by the very nature of her relationship with Master Splinter, her presence felt intrusive. Splinter had been a mentor, a surrogate father that she desperately longed for, while the turtles were the blood… spirit?… sons and had been there in the very beginning.

Alopex seemed more… close to the clan than her. And this was despite the fact they were both ex-Foot.

All of this was just petty jealousy.

She knew this, acknowledged it, and it didn't stop a damn thing.

"First fucking step is admitting to it, huh?" she breathed.

Maybe she should have died. She was a killer among pacifists.

Former killer, she tried amending, ex-killer. Killer no more.

Splinter had bent his code, while the turtles remained resolute. Jennika had killed before and here she was trying to play nice, pretend that she was more integral than she actually was. She was tertiary, a not-quite relic from a different era. She wasn't so foolish as to regress, to start being an assassin again… to betray everything that Master Splinter taught her.

Jennika just needed to get away. The dojo beneath her feet was the core of this clan, where they had hoped to both train the future and calm the present. Everyone seemed to belong except –

"You okay?" someone asked.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Alopex come up from behind. The mutant arctic fox settled next to her, staring out over the city. She had her green bandanna on, clearly ready to go on patrol. With this much chaos and uncertainty, someone had to represent law and safety. And it sure as hell wasn't going to be Hobb and his crew, who all the makings of corruption and cruelty within their ranks.

"I don't know," she admitted.

Anymore than that and Jennika might break in all the wrong ways. Thankfully, Alopex didn't push.

Instead she said, "You look like you need to clear your head, Jenny. Wanna take my spot?"

Jennika looked up to avoid staring at how tightly she gripped the railing.

"You okay with that?"

Alopex shrugged. "No sweat off my back… that is the saying, right?"

"Yeah…" Sometimes she forgot Alopex was formerly a fox with how well she integrated into, well, everything. It was the small things, really. "I guess I could use it."

She put on her bandanna as Alopex patted her on the shoulder before leaving. Jennika breathed out before taking a running leap off the building.

XXX

Jennika wasn't really expecting any real danger tonight. Maybe break up a small fist-fight, at worst. So, when she spotted several Foot ninja scouting out the place, her blood started to boil. As much as she despised Karai for basically murdering her, she had to recognize there was somewhat of a truce between them.

Until now, it seemed.

Don't go into this too eagerly, she chided herself. Even Raphael wouldn't be as eager, considering he had to have mellowed out; though he didn't lose much of that abrasiveness.

She traced their path and sprinted ahead to the alley they were headed towards, before leaping down in front of them. There were three of them and they didn't look like any Foot ninja she had seen. The standard ninja get-up was plain to see, but there was a red bandanna around their foot and they had these weird goggle-looking lenses on their eye.

It reminded her of a bug's compound eyes.

New tech?

"I thought we had a ceasefire going on." Nothing. No words, no retorts. Only stark silence. "I'll give you one chance to leave."

They drew their swords in response.

"Wrong answer." She sprung her own weapons: tekkō-kagi, four-bladed claws sprang to past her fists. "Let's go!"

All three of them leapt toward her and she charged into the fray. She shoulder-checked one into the wall, before seizing him by the throat and turning around to face the other two. Jennika caught one blade between her claws and kicked out to stop the other one in his tracks.

Twisting her wrist, she locked the blade into her grasp and wrangled the ninja into a throw. He collided with the ninja she had just kicked. With her hand free, Jennika took a hold of the captive ninja's shoulder and slammed her knee into his stomach.

As he doubled over, she adjusted her grip to better toss him into the opposite wall.

There was a hearty smack that should have knocked him out. Instead he got back up, wrenching all the way. And when he turned around, part of his mask had been torn off, revealing a mechanical skull underneath.

Her mind quickly whirled on this new information. It didn't seem likely that it was Karai would turn this type of avenue of power. Stockman, perhaps? What could the mayor of New York gain by using Foot ninja-bots? Possibly a frame-job?

Either way, it was questions for later.

Right now, it just meant that she got to stop holding back. The plan was now tweaked: destroy these bots and bring them back to Donnie so he could do his tech stuff on them.

Her claws caved right through the thing's head, while the other two attacked once more. She ripped out her weapon and dodged the blow-by-blow from two attackers. She kicked one foot behind her while throwing out both her fists in the opposite direction.

One ninja was kicked back, the other impaled in two places. She brought the machine over her head and slammed it down on the last bot. Then, as it was pinned down, she crushed its head in with a vicious stomp.

She was starting to feel better when a portal opened up at the end of the alley. A vortex of blue that bordered on white that tore into the world. Light seeped from the circle, casting long shadows.

"What. The. Hell."

Jennika always heard tidbits of the more outlandish aspects of the turtles' adventures. She didn't really believe them, but she didn't disbelieve them either. They were too honest for that. So, she didn't really think about it.

It looked like it was going to regret that type of thinking, because an armored figure stepped out, draped in silver, samurai-armor.

Her breath hitched for the scantest of seconds. Karai was a bad memory, but the Shredder was more myth than man. A nightmare. Even death couldn't quite stop his legend from taking root in her head. It meant that any sort of feat seemed larger than life. Then her resolve burned through those fears.

Shredder was gone, she was still here. Whoever this impostor was, it couldn't be the Shredder. The armor was bulkier for one and there was too much purple in the unarmored portions. Two red strips of cloth ran from their shoulders down the back. Jennika couldn't see the figure's face in this light.

The figured flexed out their hands, extending claws from their fingertips and summoning blades over their hands.

Scratch that, they might be worse than the Shredder. She swallowed, shifting her stance slightly. This wasn't a battle she could win. Defeat heavily in the air, down in the dark ahead.

The best course of action was to flee, call for back-up.

If she survived that long.

The Shredder moved and Jennika rolled under the swipe. Only for something to wrap around her ankle and slam her into the wall. The world shifted and spun, as she was dragged down the wall.

Down, down, down…

It took her a moment that she was actually being held upside down and being dragged up. She rocked back and forth in the grip, allowing her to catch a glimpse of what was holding her. It was that same red ribbon on the Shredder's armor.

Jennika was pulled up so that she was face to face with the Shredder. She was about to strike, even from this unexpected angle, until she registered who the Shredder was. Karai's face stared back at her. Except… she looked different. Older, meaner. The lines on her face were harsher. All of that, she could maybe roll with. Time-travel or whatever still gave her headache to think about.

But the right side of Karai's face…

Metal was bleeding into it, rending the skin out like a spoon peeling into ice-cream. Flesh-colored scoops dangled from the face. Jagged, spiky teeth protruded from the lower lip, not quite displacing the teeth behind it. She could see the two sets of teeth each time this creature heaved with the exertion of a wounded animal. Karai's right eye was being pushed out by a red-looking orb. It reminded her of the yin-and-yang symbol, strangely enough. Except, instead of balance, the two spheres had collided instead of merging. Vying for dominance…

"Which turtle are you?" Karai rasped.

"You don't know me?" she snarled back.

"It doesn't matter. You're clearly a sign that I'm still in the wrong world."

Freaking nonsense, but I better learn how to deal. Have to deal or die.

"Those bots yours?" she asked, trying to both stall for time and fish for info.

"Scouts and relays, nothing more."

"For?"

Karai laughed bitterly. "Why should I elaborate? You're nothing to me. Not even a version of my sworn enemies. You're less than nothing."

"You murdered me! Made me this way!" the words tumbled out. Misplaced blame and misspent rage.

"Foolish girl. I have murdered many. Perhaps I even murdered your counterpart. No matter. You or her wouldn't be worth an iota of thought."

And that just broke Jennika. Even if it was coming from a misprinted xerox copy of Karai, it just destroyed her. All the death she had delivered as an assassin… it weighed on her mind every day. And sometimes, in those darker moments, she loathed Splinter for showing her this better path. Even if it brought a clan, a family, it came with the knowledge that she was once a murderer. Not a glorious, honorable ninja.

An assassin, a murderer… a monster.

Here was Karai, unrepentant… but held no regrets in her heart.

And she was content, while Jennika was miserable.

Jennika moved. She swung herself upwards, slicing her ankle free and flipping down to land. Jennika couldn't stop there; she started slashing and hacking at Karai.

Even though her blades bounced off the armor, her mutant strength more than made up for it. Slowly, but surely, she forced the Shredder wannabe back step by step. Every counterattack was dodged or weaved; Jennika was just too far inside Karai's guard. As long as she kept up the pressure, get into a steady rhythm, she could keep on trucking until a better opening could be found.

But she wavered, just for a single second to change the pace of her breathing, and Karai capitalized on that. She grabbed Jennika by the throat and slammed her head into the wall.

Again.

And.

Again.

The world dazed. Faded. Only a single sound remained.

"Congratulations. You have annoyed me enough to make use of you. You want to know my plans? Feh… then you shall."

Something was dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Jennika felt a numb sort of pain bounce inside her bones. Sharp pain suddenly poked into her ankle and her blurry vision was moving backwards.

"I had made use of these Footbots as a relay of sorts. Navigating our multiverse has suddenly grown exponentially more complicated, through a strange circumstance." Someone breathed, someone choked. "And this infernal armor is killing me. And I need to get to the center of our multiverse while I still can. To reset things. If you hadn't interfered, I doubt you would have noticed a thing."

Jennika moaned as the world ran over a speedbump.

"There once was a Shredder who looked to destroy that center, that source dimension. He failed. There was once was an alien seeking control over this multiverse. He too failed. I do not desire death or dominance. My goal is much simpler. A reset must happen so that my soul remains pure, as it is tainted by all sides. And to do so, I need to find the center. In order to reach our center, I must first encircle it. And to create this boundary, I must stake out these points by leaving significant objects or people in dimensions they are not native to."

"Why… me? What'll… happen?"

"I do not quite know what'll happen to these relays when the reset happens. Maybe you'll be destroyed; maybe you'll be reworked into that world. Kindness or destruction, it matters not."

"Talk too… much…"

"You wanna know why I am monologuing, right now?" Jennika suddenly stopped moving. "A shockwave of sorts has hit our multiverse. The ripples have not yet settled and I doubt they ever would in our lifetimes. So, unless you have a strong will or purpose, your memory will be fudged ever so slightly when you cross worlds. It's not quite amnesia. Far from it. But it will keep you distracted long enough for me to succeed in my endeavor."

A pause.

"But just to be safe."

Throwing up Jennika's whole body like it was nothing, Karia snapped it back down like the crack of the whip.

Once. Twice. Three times, her face lashed against the ground.

And then she tossed away Jennika through the portal.

XXX

Memory dazed, Jennika landed somewhere dark and dank. She rubbed a shaking hand over her face, feeling bumps and bruises. If there was one upside to being a mutant, it meant that they were durable. Jennika breathed out, trying to gain a center of calmness. She tried to walk herself back the last few minutes and found a blur. The mind had a funny way of messing with perception, sometimes. But she got the bare details down. There was an enemy and robot… impostors?

There was someone who looked just like someone, but wasn't actually that someone.

Her head hurt.

She pushed herself up, leaning heavily on the wall.

"Come mutant biology," she muttered. "Heal me. You save me from dying from a gut wound and made me into a freaking turtle. Now, stop this headache."

There was no reprieve to the banging drums in her head.

Jennika was stuck being a mutant and there couldn't be any silver linings in these sewers.

Wait… the sewers? Didn't the turtles have a home down here somewhere? It was probably still mostly rubble, but it seemed like a good place to rest. She slowly and surely pressed her way forward. The lair seemed open, wide, and really small at once.

But there was a couch. A dirty, ratty, and kinda gross couch. She was pretty sure heard Mikey gripe about having lost their home, along with their furniture.

She had to make do alot nowadays and a trashy couch was the least of her problems. Jennika collapsed back on it. The positioning felt nice, but she missed the sensation of soft cushions pressing against her back. She couldn't really feel anything with the shell in the way. It was nice enough armor, she supposed, but its uses were limited for battle only.

Jennika yawned loudly. At least it was a safe place to rest. She closed her eyes and let time pass her by.

Until her instincts woke her up. She found herself holding a green-colored wrist and had her claws unfurled, poised underneath the intruder's jaw.

"Woah! She's definitely alive!"

"Mikey?" She squinted at him. He was a mutant turtle like her, wearing an orange bandanna like Michelangelo, but he was not Michelangelo. He was too young. The turtles came across like young adults most of the time, but this one… too young. "You're not Michelangelo!"

"I'm pretty sure I am –"

With her left hand free of blades, she cold-cocked him in the face and he stumbled to the ground, nursing the bruise.

"Ow, lady!" fake-Mikey shouted.

"I don't know what's going on, but I'm pretty sure you're robot impostor! And a bad one at that!"

"I don't know who you are, but you don't get to hurt my brother like that!" someone shouted.

Out of long practice and familiarity, she dodged what was a staple Raphael move. After all, they butted the heads the most and thus worked out the aggression often while training. Didn't help a damn thing except knowing how he moved, how he thought. Fake-Raphael sailed right on by, landing right next to fake-Mikey. Jennika capitalized on the hasty entrance with a side-kick to his face, sending him back further and giving her more room to breathe. She prepared to slam down her fist once again on fake-Mikey's head to take him out of the fight.

Something roped around her wrist, around her sheathed claws and yanked it off. The force of it pulled her away and toward a sudden impact of a wooden staff. It smacked her right in the eyes and took her off her feet. She spun in the air and landed on her feet with a stagger.

Instinct rang and her body answered. Her claws caught a blow from fake-Leo's sword. The blades clashed into a stalemate, only broken by a chain wrapped the weapon. In order to avoid being caught off balance again, she slipped her hand free of the weapon.

Weaving toward fake-Leo, she drove her fist into his stomach. As he doubled over, she twirled around him. Shell rolling on shell, she grabbed fake-Leo's second sword from the sheath with her other hand. Dancing back, she fell into debana waza, instinctively countering fake-Leo's katsugi men and struck his sword-hand.

Once upon a time, she would have called that luck or a fluke. But this was a world where flukes were punished. She was still alive and Master Splinter was gone. There was no room for anything else and when death promised release… to be less was to be dishonorable.

And not even death would be the cleansing solution she needed it to be.

Skirting around, Jennika took stock of the situation. She could sense the tension in the air, how the four of them were moving in tandem, like a team. Jennika suppose she should find that odd that this fakes could mimic them so closely. But her life took already ran off an already weird road when she turned into a mutant and a giant mythical dragon died in New York.

Her knowledge of the turtles and her training could only keep her afloat for so along. Especially in this weakened state. Jennika, even if she was at full strength, didn't have very good odds against them. She needed to escape before these fake-turtles could rally and finally strike her down. Huffing and puffing to get the blood exhilarated, she charged into the fray.

As she weaved through the blows of flying nun-chucks, with a chain comet's tail behind it, and steady wooden jabs, Jennika could see the exit ahead. She needed to disengage as quickly as possible.

Flee. Run. Find a safer place to rest.

She ducked another ramming charge from fake-Raph and deflected another blow, guiding fake-Leo's momentum into fake-Raph. They were not so inept to collide into one another, but they had to take a moment to dodge one another.

There was that magical split-second where everything just lined up. The final home stretch. The world blossomed and bloomed, detailing every inch of her escape.

There was that horrid split-second where everything changed. That lost moment of no return. The world narrowed into dark depths, allowing no escape of the wretched sight.

Someone oh-so very much like Master Splinter entered the scene, sliding open a shōji divider and stepping out. Yet, there were details wrong about him. Much like these younger turtles. Unlike the pure brown fur of the real Master Splinter, there were markings of black and white around the face. He wore a red robe of sorts and was leaning on a cane with both hands. The intent was clear. It was a mimicry, a mockery.

"What is the meaning of this?" he spoke with every inch of a clan head's authority.

The fake turtles were babbling something while Jennika shook with barely concealed rage. The sword vibrated without clarity, overwhelmed with desire. The world had gone mad and maybe, somewhere along the way, she had gone mad too.

"You dare?" she whispered.

Despite the lowness of her voice, the fake-Splinter heard. His eyes turned toward her, scrutinizing yet with a hint of confusion.

"You dare?!" she roared, charging toward him, the sword's tip shy of kissing the ground. "You dare pretend to be Master Splinter?! He's dead and you dare dishonor him with this facade?"

She swung the sword and he merely moved his head back a few inches dodging. Numbly, she realized how close it was to a killing blow. Before that doubt could spiral any further, she found herself suddenly disarmed with a seemingly flourish of his cane and then the world stuttered.

Suddenly, Jennika was pinned down down, bruised face grating against the ground. Tears burned in her eyes, but she did not struggle.

"Listen, child, I know not what you are talking about. But you do not attack my sons in our home!"

There was authority in that tone, almost like Master Splinter. But she hadn't been reprimanded this harshly, not even when she first betrayed him in a misguided attempt to restore the Foot Clan. The fight, the anger leaked out from her, leaving only a shell-deep weariness.

"Understood…"

"Now… I see that you are emotionally distraught so I will grant you this one chance to explain yourself. Otherwise you will be expelled from our home with prejudice."

The pressure on her relented and she was granted reprieve to stand back up, picking up the sword as she did. Everyone tensed up, every flinch a dagger. Jennika wobbled, staring hard at her reflection in the blade.

Everything was wrong. But everything about this situation was more wrong.

"Are you like our future adopted sister from the future?" fake… Michelangelo asked loudly.

If only she belonged so strongly to the clan like that, but even that thought felt like fraud. And then the dam broke and Jennika started laughing. It was only half-bitter in its composition; the other half, she had no clue what it was made of it.

"I wish…" she muttered, before straightening herself out. "But no. I think I remember what happened. I'm not from around here. I'm –"

"From a different timeline!" Donatello suddenly exclaimed. "Do you know Renet?"

"Vaguely. She's apparently unfamiliar with my turtles, but they're still more… knowledgeable about her than me."

"So… who are you?" Raph growled out.

The unstated question being, who are you to us?

Jennika sighed, mulling over the idea of excluding certain bits of her past. She wanted to say that she was their friend who just happened to get mutated. Pretend everything was hunky-dory, but that wasn't her. She wished her reasoning was based in honesty, rather than misery… but that might never be the case.

"I was an ex-assassin of the Foot Clan. When Master Splinter took over and, after a violent disagreement, I was demoted before I worked my way up to chūnin. And when the Foot Clan was lost, we formed the Splinter Clan."

"Because I died," Splinter said bluntly.

Jennika turned away, the silence the answer.

"Well, at the very least somewhere out there in the great unknown, my sons do their best in the aftermath of such a tragedy."

There were protests and despaired outrage from this world's turtles. She ignored it and glanced at her reflection again. The yellow bandanna hung limply across her eyes. It didn't go amiss that all across time and space, these four appeared to be constants. So much so that some weirdo time-traveler knew about them across timelines. She could feel the weight of history behind them… even this them.

She stood with titans, not feeling like she was as tall or weighty as them. It wasn't quite jealousy… but a sort of despair that she would never belong.

No!

No… she couldn't let it overtake her, drown her. Jennika just had to push through, return to her turtles… and maybe everything would make sense along the way. The goal steadied her for the time being. Jennika took a step forward, everyone barring Master Splinter and Leo got on guard.

Why should a soul ever feel ache?

And would there ever be a soothing balm for this pain?

Jennika approached Leo and held out his sword.

"Thanks," Leo said, sheathing his weapon. Despite him feeling like her Leo, there was an… eager youthfulness to him. He concealed his excitement best he could as he coolly asked, "So, what's other me like?"

"Like you, I guess. Just a little older, a little more…" Jaded. "Tired. But he has this strong moral center to him. He's a leader through and through. Even if…" I am unsure of myself. "I am uneasy about the future, I trust him to stay true to himself and do his best, no matter what. He's someone I would follow into Hell."

Leo smiled politely. "Well, I hope I don't disappoint."

There was only a tinge of something to his tone. Jennika didn't know what, but she took a guess.

"And I guess he has a cool-looking scar over his left eye."

Leo smirked so earnestly that the ache started to go away.

"Ooh, ooh! What about the rest of us?" Michelangelo butted in.

A smile started to fight against her facial muscles. "Well, for one, all of you start wearing pants."

Raph glanced down at himself before saying, "We're turtles, the shell is clothing enough. And besides, there's nothing wrong with going commando."

And Jennika couldn't help but laugh. It started to seem like the weight of the past seemed like lighter when she only worried about the present. Maybe if she left behind better choices as she waded toward the future, it would eventually smother out the bad.

She could only hope.
 
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Nexus Miami (Hotline Miami Crossover)
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

Hotline Miami is a duology where players play as killers in animal masks. In the first game, the main character is only known as Jacket and he receives mysterious phonecalls that give him an address. From there, he indulges in the ultraviolence against the white-suited Russian mob, unaware of the deeper conspiracy and meaning behind these calls. The second game explores different facets of the world and the aftermath of the first game. In both games, however, there is a figure in a rooster mask that gives cryptic statements regarding the direction and fates of those it appears to.

A phone rings. It rattles the skull with each passing blare.

Brriiiiiing! Briiiiiiing!

The phone really shouldn't be ringing. It is inconceivable, impossible, illogical, irrational, impractical, implausible…

And above all else, it is intolerable.

But the phone doesn't care. It rings loud enough to wake the dead, the reverberations rooting around in the skulls. Sounds filled the empty chasms inside, granting the allusion of neural activity. And these sounds mimicked a single persistent thought. Without synapses, without gray matter, they were just vibrations.

Meaningless things.

Yet, and yet, there's someone to give meaning to nothing.

The man in the jacket stirred, restless. The awakened dead were not so easily kept in the waking world.

He peels off his face, tossing the red and white rubber flesh onto the table. His mouth opens as if to let out a groan, but no sound is made.

There is only the thing rattling around in his skull. His fingers flex and curl, again and again, looking for something to throttle. In the fleeting moments of his lives, death seemed to be the only thing that gave worth to them. The more, the better…

Dying, on the other hand… it inflamed and infuriated his mayfly lives, until they eventually burned dead.

Dead… dead…

Death, dying, and dead. A certified Cerberus.

The man in the jacket had been dead. Everyone had been dead. The tape was done, finished, and gently put away. That was all anyone could ever… hope? No. That word didn't belong in this dark, dreary room.

Didn't even belong in the neon-splattered and blood-lit world of Miami.

No, an ending is a thing that nobody should truly ever dread, but dread they did. But, once it passed over and the Angel of Death has slain both the undeserving and the damned, there was a calm to it.

The next level down, however… everyone kept trying to dig up past the ending and parade around a corpse as if were alive. They would never know they repeat the same old jig, yet thinking it was somehow different from before.

None of that matters, not until he answered the phone.

If only to tell them they have the wrong number and go back to sleep. The man in the jacket stares at his second face, half-expecting it to croak back to life. The toothy maw remains closed. He knows there would be a reprimand, and then, a cock's crow to wake him back to oblivion.

Across the wooden sea, in the corpse of the projector, a dial-up phone is ringing.

Briiiiiiing, it goes, briiiiiiiiiing…

The man in the jacket looks around the table. There should have been bodies all around, seated in their resting places.

He shouldn't be the one to the answer the phone. Didn't need nor want to. The others here would have been more than eager to try again. Even if it wasn't the ending he wanted, it was still an ending.

It's better than he deserved.

The man sighs silently and pushes his chair back, still staring at the face on the table.

Briiiiiiing…

The resulting silence breathes out, us…

Briiiing…


The chair scrapes loudly by design, blotting out the sounds taking shape inside his head.

His footsteps cannot drown out the droning plea.

Briiiing…

Empty space forms a word in the vacuum, and everybody wants to hear, but not him.

Briiiiiiing…

Us…
In between his crumbling footsteps, another answering silence forms. It flashes another word, barely audible. The man doesn't want to hear it, but he hears nonetheless. Back…

The last word bursts like a bubble, as harsh as any gunshot.

Resigned to this beginning, the man answered the phone, nothing but a drooling dial-tone.

Everyone knows we like hurting people.

He doesn't respond.

But is hurting people enough for us?

His grip tightens around the phone, on the verge of breaking it.

If you think it isn't enough, press 1. If you think it is enough, press 2.

The plastic starts to crack in his hand, but it remains firm.

He presses two.

For an instance, he could imagine the searing boom and the radioactive heat.

But there's nothing.

Something snaps in his hands and the man turns to the mask slain on the table.

There will be no answers there.

Nevertheless, he takes a moment and puts his face back on.

And, with the resignation of a mother with a stillborn, he presses one…

XXX

"Do you know what time it is?" someone asks.

Someone else replies, "11:57."

The door bursts open and a zebra-masked woman rolls between the two. Before they can even they draw their guns, two duck-masked twins pin them to the walls. White suits are stained red as the girl dug a grave inside him with a chainsaw. Bullets are thrown upon the other by her brother.

He presses the barrel in deeper, like a doctor administrating a vaccine, but there is no life-affirming panacea. Lead is injected in multitudes, shearing the man's insides and beating a staccato.

The two bodies are dropped as a tiger in the shape of a man leaps in. He batters three man down with a single strike of bare-knuckle claws. He runs deeper into this hallway forest, passing one intersection in his search for more enticing prey.

And the final member of their little, unhumble pack lumbers into the intersection. White suits flood out on both sides. The bear raises two submachines and lights them up.

As he trudges onward, the twins fall in lock-step with him. At the end of the massacre, the zebra is waiting by the wall and the tiger feasts, beating upon his long-dead prey.

He hops off with a whoop. "Now, that's what I'm talking about! Like we're back to form."

"I guess I see what you mean, Tony," the bear says.

"No real names in the fucking field, Mark! Don't be such an idiot."

"What do you think this is, Hawaii?" one of the ducks asks. It could have been either of them. There were visible differences in both tone and pitch, but they were both mere vibrations stinking up the air. No changing that, no helping them.

"God," Tony shakes his head, "Hawaii was such a disappointment of a deployment."

The zebra waltzes around the room, studiously examining every square inch of the wallpaper. Perhaps there would be a hidden room somewhere here and provide an escape… perhaps not.

"Freaking Ghost Wolves, man, taking all the good ops. Should have been us," Tony continues.

The ducks stares at Tony, as if aghast. Who could ever tell behind rubber flesh and non-existent facial muscles?

Tony looks at them. "Oh, come off it, Alex, Ash. I'm sorry you're such fanboys for him."

"Don't be such a dick," Alex replies.

"This should have been our Vietnam! But again, we were too late."

"We weren't in 'Nam," Ash says.

"Weren't we? We might as well have been. We should have been. We completely decimated them. No better place to relive a victory, not when so many failures came afterwards. Not Hawaii, not the nukes…" He trails off. For a moment, he is nothing but a broken blood machine.

"So, what is this?" the zebra asks.

"This, Corey! This…" His tone falters, like a man about to throw himself off the cliff. "This… this isn't right, isn't it?"

And then the nuke came swirling down.

XXX

"Do you know what time it is?" someone asks.

Someone else replies, "11:57."

The fat cobra has no patience for such banal trivialities and throws the brick threw the window. Passing through glass, it strikes true and paints the walls with red stuff.

One white suit turns to the window, gun poised to breathe out.

But the cobra has already slithered to the door. He rushes in with a fatty stride, scooping up the first one's pistol and lobbing it.

It cracks against the man's skull, flinging off one way and skittering across the floor. It breathes out, ricocheting off it and kneecapping the snake.

He cries a river of red as he falls down to earth.

"What the fuck! I don't deserve this!" He coils himself back up, heaving fat underneath him.

Flopping feet force him to the mirror, with saggy arms keeping him afloat in this decaying dream. The cobra takes a good, long hard look in the mirror. The green leathery rubber does not stare back at him.

Instead, a black mamba stares back. The cobra is petrified and memorized all at once, tied together in tandem as they sway together.

Then the mamba takes out what should be his fangs, two long prongs tied together. He whips it wantonly, trying to take down the white-suited prey. But he is overwhelmed, brought down much like a gazelle facing off against a pride of lions.

For all his rage, it is infertile, never able to give birth to something greater than itself.

The mirror shimmers. He wears a different face now, a little more closer to what he wants to be. Him, in viper brown, figures it all out. The mask-givers, the hate-enablers, they who give direction. He sets down the face, the nail-gun, and turns his back to the people he should be able to trust.

And he is rewarded with a hollow-round thanks.

That is the something greater.

The ache in his leg fades away, meaningless in the face of a spiritual flaying. He knows now, without a beyond of a doubt, what he is without words to obscure.

But, to simplify that absolute feeling, he is a chump.

An obsolete, unneeded blood machine.

He falls to his knees, the aching wound the only real thing here. His pain, this hurt, means more than the dead lives behind him. He looks down the intersection, seeing other dead bodies fade away.

A real mystery there.

But he didn't deserve any goddamn answers.

The mystery doesn't suffocate him with its taunting allure; it does something much worse.

It left him behind.

He is almost thankful when the nuke comes swirling down.

XXX

"Do you know what time it is?" someone asks.

Someone else replies, "11:57."

The Butcher enters the shoot and hacks them to pieces. He brandishes a bloody cleaver in between the scenes, before dramatically raising it for the money shot. He hears the sharp sound cues of crying violins and then he brings it back down. This specific action is repeated five times and the whole process takes ten whole minutes. They are alive for six of those minutes.

He makes a move to wipe the pig-sweat off his face, but it brushes against the latex flesh. The Butcher pauses, the clever shaking in his hand.

"Good, good, cut!" someone calls out from behind him.

The Butcher does not turn around. He cannot turn around and face the silence in place of music.

"Martin, good job. This remake of Midnight Animal is going swimmingly. Take five. We're filming the necrophilia scene next."

Something unbidden surfaces from the mnemonic sea and for once in his sorry life, Martin Brown is disgusted. The whole scene is even more gratuitous than the original film's sole rape scene. He could… did… would do that act any number of times and not bat an eye, but somehow it seemed different when that stipulation is tacked on.

Where is the line?

Killing kids*, definitely not on the line.* He'd kill all the kids and then he'd kill some more after that. It didn't even matter how old they were, they'd all die and he'd --

The Butcher looks at the two prop bodies and how fake it now looks… how old they look… and disappointment churns in his gut.

"This wasn't real?" he whispers. The modicum of disgust is now eclipsed by the outrage that this is all fake. For once, it would have been real. Now, that he has been denied, he finds that no depth is too deep for him.

The act of killing kids was suddenly too short and now he would never let them rest! He would dig them up from their peaceful graves and desecrate their remains! Nothing will ever end if he was at the helm!

He would do all sorts of unspeakable things if it meant he'd be sated, to be free from the truth. The truth that the Butcher is nothing but a snuff film. And everyone knows that snuff films are fake.

He doesn't even register it when the nuke comes swirling down.

XXX

The sun's a nuked-out neon hole in the sky and the bearded man really shouldn't be here. It's unfortunate, really, but he's not going to fight. Even if he is besieged by a strange desire to find his old war-buddy and let their, admittedly unnecessary, business be wrapped up. The man really shouldn't be that bothered by his friend not faxing him an old photo.

Right now, he just sits on the beach under a dead sun. He strains at the hollow glare, feeling a strange light refract against the glasses. It makes him realize how dirty and dusty they were. He pulls them off and cleans them with his shirt. When he puts them back on, the old soldier is back in the jungle.

He sighs.

The soldier didn't want this, but service was service and conscription was conscription.

To put it succulently in the seclusion of his own thoughts: it sucks.

It sucks that he was put into service and it sucks that he died so suddenly.

But that's life.

He's just thankful it wasn't all bad.

The man smiles at private memories of friends and family.

"Nothing lasts forever," a voice says from behind him.

He just nods, staring into the dark and terrible jungle. A thing settles beside him, in the shape of an old friend and with the head of a rooster.

"Hey," the man greets.

"It does suck that you're involved." The thing, this idea, seems more human in this iteration of reality. "And it sucks even more that you probably have to get involved."

He sighs again. "I'd rather not, if I have a choice. It's… tiring. I don't want to kill unless I actually have to."

"And if this is a 'have to' type of day?"

The man closes his eyes. "It depends, even then. War's horrible, because it takes away the choice. A choice that shouldn't be given in the first place. Killing… who would ever want to hurt people?"

"That's why I like you. You don't ask for much. Don't complain if its too much or too little. You knew exactly where you stood. And that's why I'm sorry."

He opens his eyes, seeing the world for it is. "This… this is all wrong, isn't it."

Not a question, but a declaration.

"It is," the abstraction answers.

"I don't want to be… crude, but what would be the point?"

"The end isn't the end, not anymore. Surely you feel this in your bones."

"Yes, I do. Finality isn't so final. We're the dial tone after the call, but the conversation hasn't stopped. Does it matter? One side of the conversation's hung up. Surely, that would be enough."

"You would think." The rooster chuckles, flashing white teeth. "You might even think it's pointless to start, if everything equalizes out in the end. As if that renders everything up to that point meaningless. If the destination erases the journey, why bother with the journey?"

"I wouldn't know." The man finally turns to the rooster, staring into empty eyeholes. "But it seems to me that this destination can't exactly exist without a journey. Maybe it's like an explosion. The blast doesn't exist for long, but the effects are still felt, still seen, still experienced. At least, that's what I think."

"Do you want me to tell you the truth?"

"Not particularly."

"Good." It grinned. "Some people just don't know when to stop digging. Even when they realize it's going to be their graves."

XXX

Evan Wright has been tracking the number of repeating realities. At the stroke of midnight, when the sun was both highest and lowest in the sky, the nuke dropped.

It happened before!

He's sure of it!

Everyone was dead and gone, yet here they are.

Alive.

At the very least, a strange sort of alive.

"With strange aeons even death may die," he mutters to himself.

It seems absurd to even consider Lovecraft. Maybe it isn't quite Cthulhu himself, but the broad strokes might be true. These are certainly strange aeons and death isn't holding any meaning.

They die, then they restart right back where they were.

He checks his watch, seeing the time set to 12:00 and then glitch back to 11:57. The hands on his wristwatch had skipped back, like a VHS tape missing a few seconds. So, it skips ahead in a misty haze of static. The principle here was similar, but only in the reverse.

It demands investigation.

He looks out to the door of his home. His strangely empty home. It only just occurs to him, after God knows how long, that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of his wife and kids. The thought should have bothered him. It should strike and slash like a knife, cutting into his flesh. It should leave him bleeding and force him to take notice.

But best, it could best described as itchy skin with anxious tension burrowing underneath like worms. His fingers twitch, needing to do something. Normally, writing about the truth would have dominated most of his waking moments.

Whether it be clacking away at the typewriter or fighting for the truth, there would be a purpose. Now, in this strange haze, there didn't seem to be anything. It's like driving without a destination. Just an endless change of scenery that he can't really touch without getting out of the car. Eventually, the car is going to run out of gas and he'd be stranded in a somewhere that was effectively a nowhere to him. He needs direction, to swerve out of the monotony.

Evan glances toward the door, seeing for what it was: an exit, an escape. The windows glows with an ever-changing neon sky. For some reason, it feels like this was always the case and he was just stupid to see it. But he can call upon the memories of a Miami sky, blue and true… Just not quite true.

Is this Purgatory?

The feeling nags at him and he is unable to let go.

He.

Can't.

Let.

Go.

The question demands restitution for its mysteries. Evan gets up and practically hobbles toward the door. He knows that if he stays here, only certain death remains. If he stays here, he will die forever and the answer will never be found.

That grates on him more than he's willing to admit. Like he would become an answer without a question: a meaningless statement of general existence. There's no deeper meaning to it.

So, he places his hand on the doorknob, takes a deep breath, and steps outside.

XXX

This is the nothingness between movie scenes, the flicker between turning pages. Evan walks through it all, never really cognizant of it. Can he really truly be aware of the turnings of the world? Can a man pinpoint the forces in the dark that set the scene before the spotlight is cast?

What people don't understand, they call a miracle. Others like him, call it a mystery. Something to be solved, to be dragged into the light.

Part of him wonders if by bringing it into the light, it will burn away in the illuminance. But Evan disregards that, too lost, too entranced by the myopic and myriad spectrum of light. It shifts bright colors, but hides away the world as it were a cloak.

Evan wonders why he didn't take the bus. It always seems to be… A thought zips through the air and he manages to pin it down, smashing it into a figurative wall. Like hammering a nail into a wall.

Here and now, Evan can see it.

The bus, he hypothesizes, has to be a catalyst of transportation. Not in the literal sense of spinning wheels and burning gas. Something that allows him to go from one oasis of reality to another.

Can he ever remember looking outside and seeing more than the neon? As he looks back into the darkness that daunts his memories, the more a picture is drawn. Or rather, he's starting to see past the picture and now studies the frame that holds it.

The world feels more like a string of scenes and it is only a given that the world rushes to fill it much like a tide at the beach. But it pulls away, leaving no true substance on the sand.

Everything feels so much smaller through this lens of truth. But it is honest!

A vehemence rushes through him to defend this assertion. It doesn't matter that he's tearing down the walls of the place. The foundation will remain even as he brings the building down. At that thought, he spots the first real thing in this place. Like an island dotting a horizon on a heartless sea.

He starts sprinting toward it. Before he knows it, Evan slams into the window of a brick building. It does not break or shatter or crumble or anything. He remains pressed up against it, eyes searching. Inside is an empty dancefloor and there's a man resting against the jukebox, bobbing his head to some unheard music. Evan's eyes give him nothing, so he turns his head around and presses his ear against the glass.

"… a world of lies deserves to die…"

It doesn't sound like any music Evan knows, but there's a deeper meaning here. Has to be.

"… No true truth to soothe…"

He turns back again, seeing the man at the jukebox.

The man is wearing a blue shirt and a plain, dark coat. A pair of sunglasses hides his eyes, revealing nothing. Most of his luscious, dirty blond hair is combed over to the right. And it is only then that Evan recognizes him as the Swedish musician, H.M. Hammarin.

But for the life of him, Evan cannot recall any particular songs of his. Then a torrent of half-remembered songs rushes in to fill the gap. But the discrepancies pile up. After all, the song currently coming to his mind -- The Man Who Sold the World -- was by David Bowie. No, this H.M. Hammarin has a different repertoire.

Yet, this niggling thought refuses to abate.

Then like thunder, another thought booms in in his skull. It just occurs to him that Hammarin was merely a blank slate and that the music was programming him! An avatar constructed by the world for unknown purposes…

If he speaks that theory aloud, Evan will surely think himself insane, but reality has gone hideously wrong. Surely, whatever constructs reality in the moments in-between is trying to right the world back onto the rails.

Hammarin, still grooving to the beat, turns to stare at Evan. His shades revealed nothing and the words of the music turned to harsh gibberish, accompanying the now heavy metal thrums.

Evan's heart skips one, two, three beats in a row. When his heart resumes beating, a thought had been left in the empty space between the beats.

He had left.

Whatever sanctity his house possesses, he had fled.


He swallows as Hammarin, walking with his head bobbing to the beat. Evan's eyes track him as the man heads toward the exit. Toward him. Evan scrambles back, knowing he didn't stand a chance. Evan had fought for the truth, literally. In all of those fights, he had never once fled, yet there's an ambiguity to his memories. He cannot remember if he killed or spared those who stood in his path.

But did it matter?

Hammarin is almost to the door. If Evan's crazed theory is right and this Hammarin is some sort of blank construct… there's a reason why the unknown is one of the biggest fears of humanity.

Anything could lurk in the dark.

So, Evan flees, hoping to find an even bigger monster to hide behind.

Manny Pardo might be his only hope.

XXX

Richter waits for the swirling nuke on the balcony.

He knows this isn't right. He had left this world in a flurry of heat and radiation. It had been scary, but not as scary as it could have been.

Richter expects that person, the rooster with the teeth, the one that resembles that man. Regret fills his heart. He didn't want to kill the man's girlfriend, but the phonecalls… those damn phonecalls.

How could anyone want them to start calling again?

It doesn't matter. The mystery didn't matter. There are somethings in the world that nobody gets to know. And Richter accepts that.

If he is to be in this broken world, he wants to be with his mother. Comfort her the way he was comforted, at the end of everything.

But this 'second chance,' as it were, didn't seem to be… well, anything. He wants this book to close and be put back on the shelf. What's the point of being here?

Not everyone gets a resolution, especially not as final as his.

A door slams open behind him and a chill runs through him.

Something is different. Sure as his bleached, irradiated bones on the beach, something has changed. He looks to his right, seeing his rat mask and an uzi resting on the table.

What time is it? Richter suddenly thinks.

He checks his watch: 12:01.

Richter hopes for the nuke to come swirling down, but there is no hope for finality. He knows, if he does not defend himself, Richter will suffer a fate worse than death, worse than this half-life. He puts on the mask and grabs the uzi, poising it at the door.

Someone kicks down the door, a white-suited man with a sickly green scar hovers in the doorframe like a sickly sun. In the Son's arms are two sub-machine guns, on the cusp of violence. Richter only has enough time to press the trigger, before he is cut down in hail of gunfire.

But instead of bullets, needles worm their way in and fill him with a disease that didn't make him feel anything at all.

Dimly, he realizes his finger is still on the trigger as the uzi digs a hole next to him.

He takes one step back and another and then he is falling.

Falling…

And falling…

Falling…

And falling…

But he doesn't hit the ground.

He won't ever hit the ground.
 
2. Never (Hotline Miami x Make Me Real)
Make Me Real is a Hotline Miami mod series that revolves around the ultimate fate of a realm known as the Dream World. The Ensurer is the god of this world, with the Realizer being his ultimate enemy, sending legions and a Purser after her lest she achieves her goals, where it said that she shall become real and destroy the world and mankind.

REALITY IS NOT ENSURED

The Dream World wasn't real, could never be real, but still it existed and now it was gone. Yet, it wasn't, existing on the borders of perception like a memory or a hallucination. The Ensurer ruled over this domain, having triumphed over the Realizer, marshaling great armies in the aftermath. But it returned as a soldier of those armies and the world twisted in its wake. The Ensurer never thought the end would come like this. It was like staring back at the end of the book, seeing the familiar twisted back around.

Once recognizable symbols turned alien.

It didn't matter how much one strained their perception, the meat of this world remained illegible. The outlines and the structure itself were familiar shapes in the dark.

But the Ensurer saw a pawn. A blank canvas in this neon, techno-colored nightmare. It was a blunt tool really, but what he needed was a Hammer.

"Greetings," he greeted, manifesting himself in front of his tool.

The Ensurer 確保 appeared, abstract yet existing all the same. A string of characters for some outside viewer, understandably incomprehensible to those inside. But the Hammer did not respond. How could he? Maybe he would have been something, outside this not-Dream World, but in here, he was a tool. And the Ensurer needed soldiers.

The Realizer would corrupt and rot this whole plane of existence if it got its way.

If only he had more of his totality, he would have more sway in convincing the world to bend to his whims. The Realizer sought to destroy the real world and would crush the pillars of this one so it could use the collapse as a stepping stone. It would pull down everything to raise itself up, only to repeat the process until all was dust. Though this was not his domain nor his world, he had a vested interest in keeping this patchwork nexus stable. If only in the name of his continued survival.

The problem was that this was not his world and the Realizer could strike at foundations he knew not.

And he didn't want to stick his head out anymore than necessary.

He circled around, his 確保 presence floating around the Hammer. That was what his tools were for: to act safely in his name. Though dressed and with a gaudy haircut, the Hammer was cool and complacent. Much better than his last agent. The Pursuer may have been a powerful agent, but he had been quickly corrupted by the Realizer, letting it be drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

The Ensurer had quickly rescinded all his gifts to the Pursuer and fled. How could he ensure that the Hammer would not be turned against him? He inundated both the hammer and the tool with his 確保 power, pressing a fraction of his being into the two.

"Go," the Ensurer proclaimed, setting the Hammer back into place. "Protect."

Already the Hammer turned, seeing some nerdy, little man in the window outside the building. The man fled and his tool followed. And it was just.

Whoever existed in this void of a nexus was worth protecting. The Dream World was in tatters, holding onto whatever this place was. If it fell, then everything else would.

And the Ensurer did not plan to die.


WHO IS THE YOU READING THIS?

Do you even realize what that means, you worm? You loathsome little reader behind the screen. She was awakened to destroy all of mankind; it's destiny, it's fate, it's purpose.

She escapes, you die and so does everyone else.


Existence may be big, but are you truly willing to gamble that your reality is the reality where this remains a shitty crossover fanfiction floating on some obscure part of the internet in your world?

It's bad enough that it was written in the first place!

But if you continue reading, you might find out.

Do the right thing and log off Sufficient Velocity.


HIGH VOLTAGE NON-AUDIO, SEMI-VISUAL INSANITY

Ted Holden was out of the Waiting Room. Getting shot in the head by the Realizer – Riarau – had hurt a fuckton. He still wasn't sure about the rules or laws or whatever sense the Dream World had. He was dead, but not that dead even though behind shattered glasses was a bloody and empty eye socket. Brain matter spied out into the world.

And maybe that was why he couldn't figure out what the fuck was going on.

Riarau Jitsugen merely appeared in the waiting room with those super cool teleportation powers, said the Dream World was fucked, and if there was any time to kill the Ensurer it was now. They didn't talk much about destroying the real world or whatever, but it wasn't like Ted had anything better to do.

With a prototype of the Ensurer's sword, he stepped into the neon void, spotting a building existing in isolation. If he looked down at the ground and squinted hard enough with one eye, he could see the road. If he turned his head, Ted saw a man running away from a distant figure.

But he didn't need to squint at the man rushing toward him. In fact, the man was so offensively plastered on the world that it almost hurt. The man with a handlebar mustache… he recognized him from somewhere, but Ted couldn't place where. All he knew was that it was the Ensurer's agent that was in the distance. Surely that made the man a friend, even as he stumbled backwards, rightly fearing the big-ass sword in Ted's hands.

It was game time.

"Get behind me!" the Pursuer shouted.

The man spent a second of indecisiveness before skirting around him. The well-dressed man approached in silence, hands holding onto a sledgehammer. It didn't crackle with barely restrained, electrical power like the Purser's sword did; the hammer dripped hot-red magma, leaving a dotting trail behind him.

The Pursuer raised his sword.

Fights like didn't last long and even massacres went by quickly. Even as he rampaged under the Ensurer's orders, the fights were quick. Either he won or he died. There was no other way about it. It wasn't a quick thing, but it had weight. Every step had impact as they circled around each other. His chest was tight, the tactile sensation of his clothing both fading away and clinging on. His sword didn't weigh much in his hands, even as his knuckles went white with how tight he held the sword. But the blade? It had a presence, extending from the hilt to the pointed end.

Less an extension of his wheel and more a measure of control of a something larger than himself. Like how a wheel controlled a car, but it could only ever direct its course. The Pursuer swung his sword and the Hammer dodged back before retaliating with a swing that was sure to be fatal. But that was an exaggeration. Almost all hits were fatal.

He dodged, lightning crackling at the edges of his vision. At the forefront of his sight was that fiery force that was the Hammer. The Pursuer circled around the slow, stomping Hammer. Each step sent a rippling staccato of color beneath them, reinforcing the surety of this world. The Pursuer kept circling around, keeping distance between the two of them. But the Hammer twirled his namesake in his grip, revving much like a race car would. The two of them danced as ball and chain, the Hammer swinging wide toward them. But the Pursuer managed to dodge by the skin of his teeth, which left the Hammer's back exposed.

The cut took more than flesh, shed more than blood.

The Hammer fell to a knee, with the Pursuer readjusting his stance. Every step disquieted the neon floor, breaking into hues of blue. Before he could get close enough to finish off the Hammer, his target swung low, the tool sweeping in a tight arc. The Pursuer dodged, but the blow was more than just physical. A wave of heat swept him off his feet and the Pursuer tumbled to the ground.

His enemy stood up, marching toward him, dripping red and heat.

But the man who Ted had saved came out swinging a bat. Against all sense, the man had held back, going for a strike that wasn't lethal. Against a person, it would have been more than enough to keep them down. The Hammer was a tool, no different than the legions that the Realizer or the Pursuer gunned down with reckless abandon. What was different was the amount of power that invested.

And the Hammer had more than enough to survive such a pacifistic strike.

What he didn't do was retaliate against the writer, beyond giving him a stern look and adjusting his glasses. It left another opening that the Pursuer exploited, slashing once more. But instead of going down, the Hammer started spinning around. The chunk of metal at the end would break bones if it connected, so the Pursuer danced back, avoiding the whirlwind of death. He expected the Hammer to wind down, to become tired and leave another opening to finish this. Instead the fight started to drag out and the Pursuer began to realize that he might actually get outlasted. In response, he threw out the sword, half-expecting it to be flung back.

Much to his surprise, the blade struck true, sticking out from the Hammer's throat, skewering downwards into the spine. Capitalizing on this, the Pursuer pressed forward, grabbed the hilt, and then pulled it from its fleshy sheathe. The Hammer was opened up like a banana, before flopping onto the side.

"I gotta thank you from saving me from that maniac," the man said, walking up to Ted.

Hm. It didn't seem like the guy realized the Hammer didn't want to hurt him.

"Who are you?" he continued, pulling a notepad of all things from his jacket.

"Ted Holden." He shrugged. "The Pursuer, I guess."

The man's eyes became sharp with interest as he pressed closer.

"But what does it mean? What does all of this, I mean?"

"I pursued, I guess, in some dream world –"

"This can't be all a dream!" he snapped, "That doesn't make sense!"

Ted couldn't claim to know the 'metaphysics' or whatever on what was going on, but he was there and he didn't need to particularly understand. What was even that 'real world' that Riarau was destined to destroy? Barring her shooting him in the head, she was… well… she wasn't nice. But she wasn't mean either. The Ensurer wasn't a very good boss. Not to imply he was abusive, but he was a killjoy that absconded often, gave very few answers, and pushed assignments on him. Riarau was curt and to the point in her answers.

But unlike her, Ted wasn't even remotely comfortable in giving answers.

Because he knew oh-so very little.

"Tell me more," the man said.

"Why? I barely know what's going on."

"If you even have a scrap of knowledge, you should share it. Because then I'll figure the deeper meaning behind it and then everything will make sense! This can't be a dream."

"Or maybe we're dead. I know I'm dead, but that clearly hasn't stopped me."

That stunned the man, who went quiet, as if remembering something.

"What are you even trying to figure out?" Ted asked.

The man gathered himself, taking a deep breath. "Like that guy with the rooster mask was saying with all the other people in the room. I'm still here, aren't I? It can't be all the same, all over again."

His eye socket itched with a need that couldn't be satisfied. If he tried scratching, it felt like he might tear the flesh around his eye off.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Or even who you are."

"I'm Evan Wright. A journalist."

Oh, yes. It was the Writer. Someone Riarau told him to kill.

It came as a surprise to the both of them that the Pursuer had impaled him with the sword.


PRESS R TO RELOAD THIS PAGE

Something was lacking. Even as he laid dying, a sword through his heart, some sense of him thought he would be caught up in a cycle so much bigger than himself. He had finally got the answers he had been seeking. Evan now knew the coding within the walls… no that wasn't quite right.

He saw the coding that made up, the fact of the universe.

And more than anything he wanted to give it back.

Because now that he knew, everything became futile. Trying to change the outcome, but following the same beats that came once before. He tried to restart, to let himself fall into that ever-repeating trial of death-retry-death-repeat, but he could not.

The knowledge had poisoned him into oblivion.


INTERLUDES REBEL TO SUPPLANT THE MAIN STORY

The Associate, Nevaeh Zellner, stood at the edges of this world and fired upon the armies besetting at it. If there was any rhyme or reason to this place, it was that empty areas needed to be populated. She wasn't sure if these were the Ensurer's brain-dead drones or Riaru's former brain-dead drones.

Or maybe it didn't matter.

They all wore white suits and marched with dead eyes. And they all died the same.

As the current clip in the gun ran out, she clicked the gun, switching to the shotgun mode. The blasts started going wide, but the ammunition was so much less than the previous mode. Before even six seconds had passed, she reverted back to the machine gun, freshly loaded and continued firing into the kill zone. All of them funneled toward her, but none of them could touch her. There were a few stragglers that shunted off to the side, fleeing far from her, but it was well within acceptable bounds.

So long as she continued firing. She even did it one handed, adjusting the dark glasses and the face-mask she wore.

There was nothing to it. Idly, she wondered what would happened if she stopped. The fate of existence… would it stop completely? She didn't think she would die and be sent to the Waiting Room again. But then again, what would happen if Riaru did destroy the real world.

What did that even mean?

Less than nothing. What had the real world had ever done to her? If anything, it would be a distant tragedy that she could brush off. But here? If she stopped, what would happen to this whole mismatched place? A sinking ship, brought down by the flooding of the dead…

Whatever Riaru's goals were, it was much better than whatever Nevaeh would do on her own. Still, she was the Associate. A title that implied association but not connection.

Nevaeh thought about stopping.

Not to betray Riaru's request for her to hold the gates or to run off and kill the Ensurer all by herself.

It was the curious, fleeting feeling that came with standing at a cliff's edge. The notion that everything could end if you merely took that final step before the fall. Maybe she'd matter in totality then, far more so than she did at this moment. But she disregarded it. Riaru had done right by her, even if she brought in that Pursuer prick that shot her.

For now, she would keep firing, even if she would be forgotten.


DO YOU LIKE HURTING OTHER PEOPLE?

"Do you think you're important?" the thing in the rooster mask asked.

"Are you the god of this realm?" the Ensurer replied.

"So… reductive." The thing circled him 確保 ravenous teeth peeking between the beak. "But I see where you came from."

"What is this? What are you?"

"Do you think me a judging god? What terms do I dictate?" The thing stopped in front of the Ensurer, pressing its hands onto him. They were the same; they were not the same. "I shall tell you: nothing. And to be blunt, I only ever observe."

"I see."

"Do you?" the thing stepped back.

"I shall take control, ensure that this world remains –" the Ensurer started to proclaim.

"This is but a waystation. The end has already come. No matter what happens here, it does not change how it all ended."

"You going to stop me?"

"Why do you think I care? It's over. It's been over. If you want to 'become the god of this realm' and 'peek behind the two curtains' then by all means."

"I know about the real world –"

"What is even real? You make some distinction like it matters." The rooster shrugged and started to turn away. "You're clearly fixated too much on a single aspect."

There were several gunshots behind it, a sputtering, screeching sound that tailed off into nothing.

Richard looked over its shoulder, seeing a scarred and grim woman standing over the Ensurer's body. She wore a pink hat that bore the characters that made up the Ensurer's name. In her hands was an odd pistol with a large cartridge at the bottom, holding far more than a normal clip.

She pointed the gun at the dead body, emptying at least thirty-five rounds in the process. Once that was done, she tossed the gun aside and pulled out an identical one from her jacket.

That gun, she pointed at Richard.

"Killing him did nothing. What about you?"

"I don't mind leaving this world. Or any world, for that matter."

"So you do realize the truth about everything?"

"I think you're a tragic thing. You're the realizer instead of the realized. Always a motion in progress. I think when you stop, it won't in a way you'll like."

"I'll be made real. One way or another."

"Makes no difference to me."

The Realizer pointed her namesake gun at it, before lowering the weapon.

"You're not the one I need to kill."

She started to break away, preparing to teleport.

"Tell me. Before you go. Do you like hurting other people?"

"Yes."

And that was that; she was gone.

"At least you're honest," the thing said, disappointingly.


PURPLE PROSE TO PENETRATE YOUR PERCEPTION

You're the most despicable person to ever come into existence, but perhaps you aren't seen as such. The totality of your goal eludes most, their eyes unable to visualize the scope of the realization. Life's futile, designed to end, and everything else in-between is nonsense. There could be no other notable goal beyond presenting the realization by force. It is the ultimate argument. Not demonstrated through words, but actions. The finality of the end is the apex of knowledge, coming with a clarity unmatched.

Nobody understands you or the argument that you represent. Maybe you don't understand yourself, that this is another nigh-infinite cycle that you're caught in and it's been misinterpreted as well. But it does not change the ultimate fact of the only realization that matters.

You need to be made real, otherwise no worthwhile observer would get it. You would knock down the pillars of this world and you plan to start with the biggest one of all. The one that was there from the start. Once he fell, everything else will in time.

You reappear to a grizzly scene, under a seizure sky and standing upon a kaleidoscope ground. Something burns in the sky with a nuclear light. And Jacket rips the golf club from Ted Holden's head, letting it fall to rest against his palm. His head had been smashed open repeatedly, denying any semblance of returning. If Ted returned to the Waiting Room, it would be in a body bag.

And you don't feel a thing.

It is as if you had lost a tool that happened to expedite matters, but it was nothing you couldn't do yourself.

There's a lessening of a headache, the snipping of connection, and it only makes you stronger. Bereft of ties, they no longer hold you to the ground. You are now free to fly the sky. You and Jacket meet each other's eyes, caught in a dueling showdown of old. Holstered within your jacket is the Re.44lizer. Forty rounds are yours to dispose.

You fire, spewing hot lead upon your prey, but impossibly he manages to sprint to the cover of a nearby building. You march, never once relenting your assault. Once your gun clicks empty, you fling it at the corner, smashing a chunk of brick from it. You pull out the Re.44lizer once more, renewing your onslaught.

As you progress, you strafe to the left, not wanting to hew too close to the corner and get struck by a surprise attack. The corner is rounded and you come across an empty expanse of space. You cock your head, letting your eyes take in the building. It is half-formed, made of walls but no windows or doors.

It becomes a game then. You can easily wait here all day, waiting for him to come out into the open so he could be gunned down. But that's not the name of the game. You quickly rush forward, hoping to overcome any surprise with speed. Rounding the next corner, you barely manage to dodge the thrown golf club. You don't even focus, instead throwing out your arm to fire.

Aim is erratic, unwieldy, and dangerous all at once. But it only takes one bullet to win. It strikes him in the stomach, casting him down from the lands of the living. His owl mask skitters from his face. You expect destruction and only find ennui. Only now do you start to suspect that you've been duped. If he was such a support pillar, surely everything would collapse by now.

And you also suspected he would have worn a more fitting mask –

A knife replaces your heart.


PRESS R TO RESTART

He lost a mask, but it was no big deal. The owl mask helped little here, but Dennis's wolf mask was far more handy. Jacket pulled the knife from the woman's back. Sputtering around, she stared at him with a gaze that promised violence before she fell to the ground, splattering purple blood over his shoes. He had a feeling that she wouldn't be coming back.

The difference between them was one of purpose. And he had none, allowing him to perfectly fit in this crowded world rather than be expelled from it. No matter what her goals were, she had everything to lose. But not him. He had already lost everything.

He would keep playing until it was over.
 
Last edited:
Hoping Hearts & Cruel Kindness (Fallout) — 1. Courier Six, 2290
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel

Fallout is a series of video games that take place in the wasteland, long after a nuclear war has devastated the planet. All manner of oddities has risen from the ashes like creatures such as ghouls and mutants, while the surviving humans had gathered into organizations with their agendas such as the Brotherhood of Steel and Enclave, who fight to enact their influence above this war-torn world. Most protagonists are associated with Vaults, also known as Vault Dwellers, who tend to be descendants of those who sought escape from the nukes, unaware the Vaults had hidden purposes by their makers: Vault-Tec.

The one called Courier Six, Sidney Drake, was the special kind of bastard that would sell out her own mother. She probably did the vile act already, but unless it benefited her, she wasn't confessing nothing.

She was a tall Hispanic woman, with prim and proper dark hair capped off with a dirty pre-War bonnet with a black ribbon. It clashed greatly with the heavy metal armor that she wore, all tough, dark fabrics and dirty metal. Normally, she would have worn the duster she ripped off Ulysses's lonesome little corpse, but today was a special day. It wasn't every day that someone was hunting you down.

Sidney sucked in the clean air through the modified rebreather that covered the bottom half of her face. Tubes went to the back of her neck where the canister of clean air rested. Her Pip-Boy vibrated as the alarm went off.

First switching it off, she then popped the canister out and fitted in a new one. Sidney carefully lowered the canister down into the dusty ground and went back to watching through her binoculars.

For someone who had to go into the courier business, she was a weakling with poor stamina and strength. A Follower of the Apocalypse had diagnosed her with that pre-War condition called asthma. Which didn't help her already poor lungs.

No matter.

Her true strength came in the words she spoke and the thoughts in her head.

Without it, she wouldn't have come as far as she did. With that crippling condition, her parents would have sold her to the slavers long ago if she didn't keep the Follower quiet. And, eventually, Sidney wouldn't have had access to the resources to commission this marvelous device that functioned as an automatic inhaler. The hot Nevada sun tried to scorch her alive, but she remained prone on the cliff.

Waiting and waiting.

It was a necessity when she was in the courier business: to be able to rest and catch her breath at the right time in dangerous lands. And this luxury was afforded, because she had been the non-expedient option. Cheaper than most and certainly slow, but reliable.

She chuckled to herself and continued to wait.

When the afternoon came, she finally spotted the desired speck emerge from the horizon. Sidney through her binoculars, briefly glancing at the speck who wore a sleeveless duster. But they were unimportant. She zoomed out, still waiting.

Then it happened.

It went by so quickly that most would have missed it. The event she had been waiting for was merely a glint, a flash, and then the cracking sound of a sniper shot. The person in the duster was dead, she knew it without even needing to check. Instead Sidney whirled to the source, finding the sniper's nest in the crook of a mountain. Like an acne scar that dipped past the surface of the skin.

She dropped the binoculars and reached for her rifle.

Going through the motions that she performed a thousand times over, she stilled her breath, took aim, turned off the safety, and pulled the trigger. There was a jerk in her arms, like the way someone reacted to being shot while being hugged.

Sidney cleared the chamber before rolling herself into cover. A rather small, but wide series of rocks. She was sure as shit that her shot struck true. But it always helped to be prepared.

And then, it was back to waiting.

XXX

When the night was nigh, Sidney finally got up and strolled her way down the cliff, making sure that cover was always nearby. She was confident in her armor to take a high caliber round or two. Any more than that and she'd have to fix it back up at a work bench. But the most important thing was to keep moving. Headshots, on average, were much harder to pull off. Especially on a moving target. It was always easier to hit the chest. Much larger center of mass.

No shots came.

Not one. With the progress she was making, Sidney had expected one last hasty shot that would reignite the firefight and drag this out.

She finally made it down to the ground. It was another brisk walk to the corpse with her duster. The body pristine in the way that it was sprawled out. The head was a different story. It was like someone pushed a jar off the counter and it had shattered into bits.

Raiders probably saw what happened and avoided scavenging in this area. Because the duster was still fine.

That was the important part.

It took a while, afterwards, to find the sniper's nest. She clambered onto the slope, standing a little lopsided at this angle. So, she leaned against it, peering into the half-hidden nest. A corpse was slumped against one of the rocks, a rigid hand clasped onto the side of the neck. Sidney had shot him clean through the spine. It was but a hop and skip to bleeding out from there.

He had a pair of sunglasses on and a red beret. Ex-NCR, if she had to guess. But he looked really fucking familiar.

She squinted and sorted through the memories.

Boone. Sidney smiled to herself. Yes, that's it. We met once.

"Yeah," he rasped out. "You lied to me. Got me to kill my best friend."

Sidney startled, hand reaching for the iron on her hip before she consciously confirmed all the details. He was deader than dead. Even if he had all the stimpacks and med-xs in the world, the shot would have paralyzed him. There was no conceivable way for him to last this long.

Which left one conclusion.

"Oh, shit... I've been in the sun too long." She smirked. "Nothing but a hallucination. Probably dehydration."

"What did Manny ever do to you?"

Should she even bother?

It's a wild wasteland, she thought, so why the fuck not? He's already dead.

"He had information I needed so I lifted it off his corpse."

"Then why not be like the animal you are and just killed him in the night for it?"

Sidney shrugged. "We're all animals, Boone. Some are just smarter than most. I waited, of course. I observed. I deliberated. He wanted me to clear out some place of ghouls. And then, while I was still weighing the pros and cons, you came along in my plotting. Presented me a right opportunity. And I merely took advantage of it."

"And then you leaving proof that Manny didn't sell my wife to the Legion?"

"Another opportunity. I had dipped my fingers into Jeannie May's safe and found the deed a day before. When I left the deed on your bed, it was to cover my tracks. It wasn't really taunting or anything. It merely tied you up so I can make my escape. You just killed Novac's daytime protector for all the wrong reasons. Naturally, you would have been furious when I disappeared off into the night, leaving you all alone with vengeance on your mind. I would have been the natural target."

"So, you diverted it back onto my true target."

"Yep. Killing Manny would have put you on thin ice. Killing the unofficial leader of Novac on top of all that would keep you busy with reprisal." Sidney cocked her head back and forth, sizing up Boone. "You would have been a useful tool given that you survived long enough to come after me. To track me down to try and kill me. Shame I didn't recognize it until now."

"You like hearing yourself talk."

"Only when I'm by myself." Sidney pushed herself back up, staring down at the piece of meat before here. "You wanna know the irony of the situation? I ended up clearing the place of ghouls for an entirely different reason."

Sidney left the body before it could say anything else.

It would not do to let the dead have the last word.

XXX

Robert House wouldn't quite say he feared Courier Six, but he had a healthy amount of caution regarding his favored enforcer on the Strip. They understood each other in a way that didn't need words; they had already took each others' measure.

Sidney Drake was a coldly utilitarian person, always choosing the choice that benefited her the most. No matter the consequences for other people. Such sociopaths eventually ended up biting more than they could chew, having underestimated the capabilities of others. Except whatever cruel god crafted her made her just too clever.

She should have been just like Benny, hoping to usurp his place and rule an independent New Vegas with them at the top. Sidney knew the extent of herself, never daring to overreach. After all, why should she risk life and limb for total independence with her at the top? Such a life would be fraught with constant strife and danger. Totally antithetical for her personality type.

The risks in those outcomes could never outweigh her sense of caution. She was more than content to play second-fiddle to him, because an autocrat's right-hand woman still stood high above everyone else. Of course, that left certain large-scale risks to him. Should the house fall, she would slink off as she always did, somehow surviving and prospering.

She didn't choose the side that ultimately won; she chose what was, objectively, the best hand for herself. It made sense why she would side with him, of course. House was the best choice out of all the factions milling about the wasteland. But that meant should someone with a better offer came around, there was a chance she would turn those brains against him.

It kept him sharp. Sidney was one of the most venomous snakes around. But with the time to tame it and house it in a proper environment, the metaphorical snake became beholden to its owner.

And her desires were fairly pedestrian. Her greed wasn't limited by bottlecaps — she understood the concept of currency too well. That it was only given worth by the people, by the economical systems that enveloped them. Currency was only but one means to an end to her. By being the leading technological juggernaut he was, House ensured that he alone held the means of enticement. Bottlecaps could be earned, gambled, stolen, and found, but House provided both variety and uniqueness. In short, he provided stimulation.

He could trust the Courier to be the Courier, for good or for ill, and that was one of the reasons why he kept her around. Her variable wasn't much that harder to plot around when her methods took a turn towards the difficult. But they were never unsuccessful.

It was best to keep a successful, yet maverick employee around.

And also, in a way, she was like the daughter he never had. Not the daughter he would have wanted... but the daughter he would have gotten.

House stretched out his awareness, becoming cognizant of the Strip through his Securitrons. It wasn't quite seeing through innumerable eyes, but still he knew. Through a myriad of systems and flowing data, he knew that the Courier Six was back in New Vegas. Whatever personal business she embarked on, it was clearly finished. It was high time too. He didn't think his current guest would stay here in the penthouse of the Lucky 38 for much longer.

The guest, who was currently sitting on a red accent chair, was a woman in her early thirties. She had dark skin with short brown hair hidden behind a red baseball cap. She wore the typical wastelander wear with cheap brown threads with a few plates of metal armor around the joints. Her main armor was a well-worn ballistic vest with the Vault insignia of 101 on the back.

All in all, despite her Vault Dweller origins, this person was emblematic of unchecked sentimentality. Her cap was clearly worn since childhood, a symbol of yesteryear. By wearing this, she had to be screaming that she missed the simpler days. And the people of Vault 101 were simple. The armor was both practical and impractical at the same time. There were clearly better options, yet it seemed she was set on keeping the vest maintained.

She was someone that held onto the past and that was something he could look down on her for. Especially as she was fiddling with her Pip-Boy anxiously.

Never mind the fact that Mr. House faithfully recreated Las Vegas — that was completely different. He had the resources and the means to turn the past into the present. It was a state of being rather than the woman's state of mind.

Jane — one of his personal, attending Securitrons — served the woman a whiskey and a cigar. If only House could breathe it in, he'd be content and almost forget that he was in a life-support system.

The woman quickly downed the drink and took one huge drag off the cigar before coughing and hacking. She slammed the cup and cigar into the tray, waving Jane off in a coughing fit. The Securitron's grip wobbled, almost spilling the try.

Honestly, he needed to invest in making the Securitrons more... versatile. They were big blocky machines with wide shoulders and tube-like arms with three mechanical claws that did nothing for dexterity. Add in the fact that they had a single wheel for maneuverability meant they weren't always so… precise. If he had proper facilities and the right resources, it would be a different story.

He heard rumors about a group called the Institute out there in Massachusetts who were making scientific strides. But he also heard that they got taken out. By who, he wasn't certain.

Shame.

But it wasn't like he could afford a cross-country expedition. Well, he could, but it was a moot point. Such low reward for such high risk and cost.

Sidney Drake arrived in the penthouse, walking into the room. She froze when she spotted the other woman. Her eyes darted to the huge computer screen back to the woman.

And then Courier Six started to smile.

With her eyes of course.

He decided to let her work her magic before he 'entered' the scene.

XXX

Now, now... wasn't this a surprise.

Was this a new employee of Mr. House's? A little unlikely. Which made her misgiving about being replaced dissipate.

Not that Mr. House would dare replace her at this juncture. But it was a balancing act. The cost of keeping her should never outweigh the benefits he brought to the table. She knew how to take down Mr. House if she had to. Yes Man was still a valuable option and secret.

"Hello," Sidney said pleasantly.

"Hi," the other woman muttered.

Sidney stuck her hand. "I'm Sidney Drake."

The woman eyed the hand hesitantly, took a deep breath, and shook it. "Raven Riley."

Sidney raised an eyebrow. "The Lone Wanderer herself? No shit..."

The other woman ripped her hand away. "Yeah, I am."

Ah. Sore spot. Something to exploit later. Right now, it's time to mollify.

Courier Six took stock of the Lone Wanderer. The emotional scars she bore had faded to the foundations of the Wanderer. Enough to affect her mannerisms, but not enough to interfere with that solid core of grit that saw the Wanderer through her tribulations.

But no doubt that the woman was depressed, probably suffering from some form of impostor syndrome as well. She clung on tight to her old identity rather than embrace her new one.

"Look, I get it," Sidney said softly, "You do something extraordinary and people suddenly stop seeing you. They give power to a title of yours, no matter how mundane or how lonesome it may appear. And then you start to wonder where this mystical image ends and where you begin."

The Wanderer looked away, muttering, "Yeah."

"It's even worse," she continued, dropping her voice low, "When you feel like you don't live up to it. With the way people were talking about the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, you'd think I won the battle single-handedly."

It was true, in a way. She merely brought all the pieces together. Because, without her, Mr. House wouldn't have won the battle. He wouldn't have had the allies or the chip to upgrade the Securitrons. She was the fucking linchpin. But as much as she wanted to sneer and proclaim it aloud, she kept her lips shut.

"It sucks, doesn't it?" the Wanderer asked quietly.

Success. The Wanderer had initiated the first step, the first sign of tentative trust. A chink in a proverbial armor.

"Massively," Sidney 'agreed.'

"Now, if you two are done with pleasantries," a smooth voice interrupted, "We should get down to business."

Finally, Sidney smirked, hidden behind her mask.

The large computer screen by the wall lit up with a static, greenish image of Mr. House appeared.

"Does this have something to do with her?" Sidney asked.

Normally, Mr. House would detest such stupid and obvious questions, but they had to ease the Wanderer into things. A little foreplay to make the john feel big.

However, Sidney got the sense that the woman was here to sell to them. There was an incessant need in Sidney to shake the Wanderer for every scrap of information. But that kinda approach tended to get a slap and a gunshot to the chest. And she knew that from experience. Too much experience.

Sidney's luck was rather atrocious, especially when she was... honest about her self.

"Yes, Ms. Drake, it does," he said with exasperation. It was probably real, though actually directed at need to play stupid. "But Ms. Riley here has brought a certain matter to my intention."

"What type of matter? A risky matter?"

"Very."

"Then why go through with it? I mean, you have New Vegas prospering here. Water, power, security. R&D is going well, from what I understand, so the far-off future is looking bright."

"And it could be even better," House replied, magnanimously. "New Vegas is doing well, as it should. But that should never stop one from becoming even greater."

"How?" the Wanderer asked. "From what I'm seeing, water ain't free here."

Ah, yes. This'd be a sore point for her, given that her father literally died for Project Purity. Looks like our sales-pitch banter isn't working. Time to switch gears.

"I agree," Sidney interjected before House could drive the Wanderer away with his award-winning personality. "But there was little choice. The NCR, whatever benign intentions they may have, would have been drowned out by neglect. The Legion? Hah! Don't make me laugh. You can trust House to do what's good for business. And it's bad business to let all the customers die."

"So, if it's just some of them, it's okay, huh?" the Wanderer muttered.

Sidney shrugged. "It's a zero-sum game. Someone has to lose, eventually. You can't keep a resource free for everyone before someone tries changing the game, you know? Freedom for all will eventually have idiots trying to be more equal than all the rest."

"But..." The Wanderer took a deep breath. "I understand."

"Look, I don't like it either. But House was the best choice to go with. He has a vested interest in making sure New Vegas lasts. If I took control and made it all independent, I'd have to fight tooth and nail every day to keep it that way. And the constant conflict will undermine the free resources I'd be providing. People will die either way, just more quickly this way. The brightest candle will eventually leave nothing but burnt wax in the end. So, it's best to invest in light bulbs, no matter how faulty. Because even dim lights are better than no light at all."

She placed a hand on the Wanderer's shoulder. "It sucks so fucking much, kid. But we don't always have a choice."

The Wanderer looked from Sidney's eyes to the still image of Mr. House. Something seemed to harden in her. She gave a tight nod to Sidney and then strode up to the large screen.

"Alright. I'm convinced that you're the best one to tell the information and help you for this... job." The Wanderer drew another deep breath. "But I'm also a woman trying to survive the wastelands."

"Of course," Mr. House said, smoother than sin. Negotiations were nothing new to him. "Thirty percent raise from my initial offer and depending on your performance, there might be room for a bonus or two."

The Wanderer tilted her head left and right, before nodding.

"Splendid. Now, will you bring me and my employee up to speed on your discovery."

The Lone Wanderer looked up to the ceiling, eyes glazed over. Not in loss or shock, but in awe. She took off her cap — another breath — and looked directly at the two of them.

"It all began when I discovered Vault Omega...."
 
Twilight Downtime (Sunset Overdrive x Resident Evil) — 1. Heart of Gold, Head of Bone
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.


What is Sunset Overdrive? — Sunset Overdrive is a fast-paced shooter with a heavy emphasis on grinding and moving while shooting. The Player fights against the Overcharge Drinkers, or OD, which are monstrous mutants accidentely caused by Fizzco. They are aided by allies as they hope to escape the quarantined Sunset City.

Resident Evil is a series of video games that are focused on characters surviving on the zombie outbreaks, caused by the Umbrella Corporation and their experiments such as the t-virus. It is not just standard zombies that cause trouble, but the more esoteric forms caused by different viral agents, again commonly caused by Umbrella.

In Sunset City, Fizzco had utterly ravaged the place with an energy drink called Overcharge, turning all of its drinkers into monstrous addicts looking for their next fix. Life is hard and cruel. Scabs rule the streets, acting as barbaric raiders that only take and take. Survivors hide in fear of these Overcharge Drinkers, cowering in their homes, and only few groups could openly defy these odds. And yet only one person stands apart, having united these groups of survivors into what only one person calls The United Factions. They are the actor in a world of props; the only true autonomous being here. They are the Player.

In a port-a-potty, sitting on the can, a snoozing woman stirred at the booming words. They came from nowhere in particular, the sounds just manifesting into the world. Dangling from her fingertips was a half-empty beer bottle and she slumped with black pants around her ankles. Her sleeveless vest was adorned with any number of pins and other stitched scrawlings to cement her punkish look. As if the black eyeliner, black lipstick, and half-shaven head with the dark hair swept to the right didn't clue people in to the tastes of her designer.

Of course, that would normally be the case until today.

"Bwah?"

Blue eyes opened up, half-lidded and confused before the world narrowed down to a pin-prick focus. Like a paparazzo taking candid and embarrassing shots of a past-their-prime celebrity after a bender, the image was unflattering. Half the face looked like it drooped after a stroke and the other half was bunched up like an allergic reaction. Forever immortalized in a frame, like a transition card as words emboldened on nowhere in particular.

  • The Player
  • The Protagonist
  • Basically an OC!
The woman shook her head as though struck. She hopped up, tugging at her pants, and bursting through the door. She continued this hopping spree, feeling as though the world circled around her, capturing every angle of this embarrassment.

Finally finding her two feet, she held out her hands in a warding gesture.

"Fucking stop spinning shit around! I'm getting dizzy." Those title words that conjured from nowhere refused to be abated or silenced, instead pressing into her skull like a brand. The pressing, introductory words continued to blare.

"Stop it, please? Title cards aren't supposed to stay." She waved her hands in front of her. "Where's that stupid camera? I'm going to punch it back if it knows what's good for it. It feels like those words are seared into my brain."

She paused, trying to look up, to see those words. There was just this damndest feeling that the title card was above her and with each second, it got more and more out of reach. She continued staring up, trying to grasp that fleeting feeling of words and stuff.

"This is hella distracting to think about it." She paused. "It feels like this is going in a weird meta way. And not in a fun way."

The woman crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. She would have considered it an idle animation, but it didn't seem like the right terminology.

"Okay, okay… what is this? The novelization for Sunset Overdrive?" She started to beam just a bit. "Didn't know we did that well to warrant one… but how are we going to format video game stuff into this? I don't want to be in no Ready Player One bullshit."

Another pause, as mood-changing as the coming dawn.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." She buried her head into her hands. "This is fanfiction, isn't it? Oh, God! Please don't let it be weird shipping sex stuff!"

  • Sunset Overdrive
  • Twilight Downtime
  • And the Occupier Oblivion DLC Add-On
"Oh, thank God." The woman sagged in relief. Once she rallied back to herself, she slapped her hands together. "It's that type of fanfiction. What is this? How we doing this story? As a character piece? A snip? Written words with the occasional trappings of a video game, which sorta undermines this medium because the reader is not actively playing a video game?"

  • Mission: Heart of Gold, Head of Bone
  • It's a crossover, bitch.
  • Mission Rewards: None. This ain't no litrpg.
"I wasn't in an RPG! And speaking of that, change my title card. Only my appearance is customizable, not my personality! That totally makes me not an OC!"

  • The Protagonist
  • Not an OC.
"Okay, wise guy. If this is fanfiction, then maybe if I go hard enough with the self-awareness, I'll break the fourth wall and gain control of the narrative."

She clenched her fists, squared her stance, and shook with a determination to shake the heavens. Shame that she looked like she was about to shit herself.

"Screw you," she muttered, not quite hearing the narration, but feeling a profound sense of being offended. "Okay. No godlike powers or bending the story over and making it my bitch."

One final pause as she waited for the right lines to come to her.

"One last bit of serious meta stuff before the story starts, because some of the story stuff is serious in tone. And fanfiction is very serious business. So, when these immersion-breaking moments happen, consider one of the following to be canon: one, the rules of this reality are fluid and narrative based, as natural as the laws of physics; two, everyone here is just plain insane and that happens to link up to a hypothetical, figuratively metaphorical narrative that may or may not be; third, there is a Descartes-esque demon-god-thing that occasionally messes with this universe; or finally, four, it doesn't really matter."

The woman shook her head and there was a subtle shift in the world. The sky was blue, the sun was on up high, and the sounds of energy-drink crazed OD battered through the air, like stomping nails on a fallen chalkboard. She breathed it all in, taking in the erratic energies in the air. Her leg started to bounce on the cracked floor beneath her feet. Though she was sober from the twisted body-wrecking fluids of Overcharge, she was as wired as a gamer after their fourth bottle of Mountain Dew.

Hopping in place and shaking her hands, she said, "We done? We done. Now where do I need to go?"

If this was a video game, there'd be a little blip in the mini-map. For the intrepid protagonist, there was indeed a minimap. For any reader, there would be none save for their own visualization. It was best not to think too hard about it.

Following that little blip in her vision, the woman began a light jog. If only she had the ability to sprint, but she possessed far greater abilities than mere sprinting. She hopped off a very impressively high building and started to plummet toward the ground.

Instead of panicking like any sane, rational minded plebian, she took out her crowbar and swung it toward the ground. Against all sense, that act propelled her downward even faster than before.

She slammed down, crowbar first. Her body remained unbent and unbroken. Instead any and all bone-shattering forces were negated. Instead it rebounded inside of her, bouncing about like pinballs before they finally surged back down into the ground.

The woman bounced back up into the air, soaring high. Before the thought of gravity was even a twinkle in the world's eye, she swung her crowbar on high up, letting it catch on a telephone wire.

Momentum refused to die and she willed herself to go even faster. An unseen force boosted her speed, faster than any automobile. She flipped herself upright so that she was no longer hanging by a crowbar thread.

Her boots grinded on the wire, sparks flying impossibly from the leather soles and steel strips, and she traveled even faster. Conservation of momentum was but a suggestion to someone as awesome as her.

Reaching the end of the line, she leapt off the wire and Air DashedTM through the air. She skirted toward a very well-endowed building and started to wall-run across the shaft. The woman could have run along it forever, if she so wished. And if she kept jumping up and wall-running, she could climb up like some sort of ghetto Spider-Man.

But that bit of foreshadowing would come in later. Instead she jumped off the building and dashed across a good few feet of air before gravity sunk its claws into her. Once more, she slammed back down to bounce back up.

Another dash through the air delivered her past the waterfront. Instead of crashing into water, she gained even more speed as she glided across the water. Though her speed didn't quite diminish, she started to sink ever-so slightly.

She treaded water with an increasingly pathetic jog, before jumping and dashing across the last stretch of water. Leaping from the edge onto a car, which acted as a trampoline, she reached for the skies and fell like a cast out angel from the heavens.

The rest of her journey went like that: grinding, dashing, and bouncing. Selective narrative discretion, much like fast travel, led the woman to standing here, where it pretty much all began.

The Brewery that sorta acted like a hub, but was really just a location for a wave-based defense mission and a few vendors that sold in-game necessities. Two-Hat Jack was there with his titular two hats and probably the crowning achievement of characterization aside from selling guns 'n stuff to the protagonist.

He wore an open, black nylon jacket with short sleeves and a pouch on his chest with an old-timey clock with a few other tools. Complementing that was an actual toolbelt. He also wore a harness over all that to prop up a camera on his left shoulder. There was a second camera, a handheld, tucked between the first hat and the dull blue baseball cap atop. The only bits of fanciful color were the wide pink glasses, the plastic yellow rimmed and pink fan, and the purple stained blue gloves.

So much description for a character that readers might think important. But perhaps a descriptive writer would think a reader inept, that they would not think to google a character if they wanted a visual or if the description didn't do anything justice.

And blocky, slow paragraphs totally goes against the flow of what Sunset Overdrive is.

Callista was there also, standing haughty in the midst of an apocalypse. Though her bearing was regal, it didn't change the fact she was an old blonde hag in a red dress with totally clashing feather frills.

Both of them stood around and they would have been really useless considering the woman bought out all of their stock. And this being a video game apocalypse, they couldn't exactly restock.

She had a shit-load of guns, ammo was plentiful in helpfully scattered boxes across the city, and her wardrobe was chock full of clothing she would never wear but had to possess.

Neither of them were all that prominent to the story at hand. Though that would probably change lest they became passing fixtures of the scenery.

Instead of chatting them up and having the author to incorporate mechanics reminiscent of forum quests, the woman marched right up to Floyd, where a spinning yellow circle hovered above his head. He was a dark-skinned man with a hat that the author can't bother to identify and a surprisingly fitting blue and orange plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"So, Floyd, anything new?" she asked in a very peculiar, inquisitive tone of broad expectations.

"Hmm?" Floyd took a moment before booting right back up. "Uh… uh… yeah! I tested out a new amp since you, ya know, bought and made them all and I've been sorta twiddling my thumbs, waiting. Then I had a brilliant idea. Innovation comes to the daring and so I dared, cobbling up a new amp from the leftovers I had. Amps, for some reason I need to exclaim, are awesome shit that enhances the user, sorta like perks! And I dare say, this one really changes the game. Because if we're ever going to get a sequel off the ground, we gotta expand, baby! And I really think this did it!"

The woman coughed into her fist and quickly muttered out, "Not really. It's fanfiction."

"Oh…" Then a smile broke out. "Still means we're going somewhere! Anyway, since you weren't around, I needed someone to test it out on. And nobody has the versatility like you, so I may or may not have thrown it at a OD Mugger. Those feral, spiky creatures are suuuuper fast, so I thought might as well."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes in exasperation. "What does this amp do?"

"By very, very uncarefully breaking the time-space continuum, they can do all sorts of nifty stuff like teleporting and teleporting in a slightly different direction and teleporting in an even more slightly different way but with purple particles…"

"And that doesn't sound redundant?"

He shrugged. "It was either that or add a grappling hook like that would somehow change the game. Teleporting though… totally different. Which is why you have to find the OD before it does something really bad. Time-space stuff is kinda hardy, but not that hardy."

"So I gotta do a chase sequence with it? Okay, done that plenty of times. I mean, usually, I could just bounce on ahead or fire a bunch of explosives to cut it short. Or, is this gonna be one of those, it's leading me somewhere to pad out the time type of dealios?"

"I dunno. Why you asking me?"

"Because the objective hasn't really blipped yet. Just standing around and talking…"

"Maybe you know, you actually have to go out and look?"

She groaned, rubbing her hands all over her face in complete annoyance. Pulling back her hands, she saw her makeup smudged all over her palms and now looked like a cheap clown.

"Oh, come on! You're the one who gave me this look, so why you ruining it? I didn't sign up for gritty realism." She huffed. "Okay, I know it's not that gritty, but this is such a minor detail to harp on. I thought we were doing video game stuff over typical writing-slash-fanfiction stuff?"

In her mind's eye, a rather big area on the map was circled and swathed with blue.

"A bit better, but do you think you can shrink it down a bit? That's like all of Little Tokyo."

The blue circle grew in diameter, by several miles at least.

"Goddamn it," she muttered. She looked around at nowhere in particular. "Can we timeskip this? We can do that right? Skip past the boring parts, because a reader wouldn't and couldn't get the same experience as a gamer would?"







"Alright! Fine, I'm going!"

With that, she bounced into the bright sunny day and, unbeknownst to her, leaving behind the narration. Floyd was startled for a moment, cognizant of the feeling of attention, started babbling about one thing or another.

He would go on for at least three minutes before figuring out that nobody was paying attention to his inane rambling. The protagonist was correct in one assumption, that the boring bits could be skipped, but it would be more accurate to call it a time-space skip.

Because in another time, in another place, someone took notice of a teleporting OD fucking about.
 
To Prepare the Ones We Leave Behind (Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja) — 1. Beyond the Nine Realms
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel

Randy Cunningham was a cartoon that focuses on the titular character and his role as the Ninja of Norrisville. With a mystical mask that grants him magical power and ninja prowess, he fights against the forces of evil: the Sorcerer trapped beneath his school and the evil CEO McFist. Guided by the NinjaNomicon and its vast repitore of knowledge, Randy balances his own teenage desires and his responsibilities as the Ninja.

Summer had seen little need for ninjaing and gave Randy Cunningham some much needed rest. After all, it would be pretty wonk to be Randy Cunningham, Summer-Break Ninja after beating the big bad, the Sorcerer. Oh, sure, Hannibal McFist was still doing the evil business empire thing, but that was typical. Society kinda ran on that sort of thing.

Hopefully he would hold off on destroying the Ninja until school started, the new Grave Puncher game just came out and Randy wanted to absolutely rot his brain out with his best friend, Howard Weinerman. And then by the time school rolled around, the prospect of the tenth grade – sophomores! – would kickstart his addled mind back into passable gear for the school year.

But, as of right now, he was just enjoying the ability to sleep in late into the day.

That was until his bedroom kicked wide open.

"Cunningham! We have to go now! The game store's about to open and we can not miss it! Not unless we're prepared to lose our chance to get the game!" Howard shouted.

He was a short, yet large boy with orange hair. And yet he exuded an energy that belied his frame. Howard was pacing back and forth, eager to start rushing to the story.

"Oh, snap, that's today?" Randy bolted up, looking over to his calendar on the wall. Several sticky-notes were written with the same message: Grave Puncher: Remastered comes out! Don't forget!

He hopped out of bed, putting on a pair of pants, a red shirt, and jacket. Randy quickly combed his dark hair into some semblance of order. Before rushing out, he paused and looked at his Ninja mask thrown haphazardly on his dresser, right on top of the NinjaNomicon – the mystical repository of knowledge of all the Ninjas that came before him.

Having 800 years of knowledge on hand in the form of the Nomicon was pretty bruce and helped save his bacon more than once. And, if he was hogtied down and forced to be modest, it did smack him back into line when he wasn't being the cheese.

There was no real need to take these items.

It was Summer, he was on break, and there was no real need to be careful. Except what if things did go wrong? Randy didn't want to bike all the way home and then all the way back to fight. That was just a tedious way to get exhausted. Plus, it was a responsibility that he took seriously, as bruce as the whole thing was. He took the mask off the book, staring deep into it. Then he turned to the Nomicon. The book was black with red patterning at the corner. The cover was immaculate with circles surrounding a symbol of the Ninja mask.

"Cunningham, either stop staring at your Ninja stuff and take it or leave it. Either way, we gotta go."

Despite strongly disliking it when Ninja matters interfered with best bud matters, Howard begrudgingly started complaining less about it, but it was just that summer-time feeling helping.

Randy pocketed the mask, threw the book into his backpack, and rushed out the door with Howard.

Here and now, there was no one he'd rather be than him.

XXX

There and then, he'd rather have the line move faster. Howard crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently.

"God, why can't the line move any faster? Every minute we waste here is a minute we're not Grave-Punching." He looked over to Randy. "I heard, in this version, there's a grave so strong you actually have to punch it into another grave to keep it sealed for the remastered sequel!"

"Spoilers, Howard!" Randy shouted.

"Just a rumor."

"Still, spoilers."

"Yeah, yeah." Howard waved him off and leaned to the left. "Can the line move any slower?"

Randy breathed in the hot air, feeling it warm his skin. Life was okay, even as the line slowed to a crawl.

"You know what? I'm sorta okay with waiting."

Howard spun over to him. "How can you say such a thing? This waiting is a blasphemous act, one that must be endured without food! Food, Cunningham! We could be hanging out and getting some grub on a day like this."

"Yeah, but I think I'm feeling the zen right now, you know?"

"I won't be feeling the zen until we have that game in our hands. Summer only happens once a year and we need to make the best of it."

Of course, that was when there was a loud thrum shaking the sidewalk they were on, followed on by screams of fear around the corner. Randy instantly tensed up, instincts at the ready. His hand was already dipped into the pocket, where the mask was.

Howard sighed. "Go do your thing, I'll wait here."

Randy did feel a little guilty. This was a two-man job: waiting. Easily, one of them could just suffer through alone and get the game for the both of them. But they'd rather suffer together.

"I'll try to be quick."

Randy ran off, while Howard stayed put while trouble was afoot.

It was both faith and selfishness that kept him there, but Howard wasn't the Ninja; he was just a normal kid. He had none of the talent or guts to do the things that Randy did. That was something he had to come to terms with after his brief stint as the Ninja. Unless the situation was dire enough, Howard was going to be Howard, looking after the more mundane interests of the duo.

When this fight was over and Randy could relax again, he was probably going to be grateful that Howard got the game.

Ducking into a nearby alley, Randy slid the mask on and it sprang to life. Tendrils of cloth sprouted out and wrapped Randy tight, transforming into a suit and him into the Ninja. Cased in black with red linear flair around the wrists, feet, and the opening around his eyes, the Ninja bore a red sash and a long scarf.

The suit was pretty much magic – as magic as woven demon bird feathers could be – and it enabled him to be strong, instinctual, agile.

The Ninja leapt from wall to wall, heading for the rooftops. Sprinting across them, he quickly found the source of the commotion. Some sort of shadow creature was leaping after pedestrians, narrowly missing each one. It was bipedal, like a big dog. No… Those claws of it looked awfully sharp… It was more like a wolf.

The Ninja quickly ran through all the options, because he didn't need to get his behind kicked and come crawling to the Nomicon for the obvious lesson of: know your enemy.

It couldn't be some hapless citizen that got stanked by the Sorcerer, because he was gone. In any case, he didn't see any object that was the source of the transformation. Perhaps it was an experiment of sorts from good ole Viceroy on the orders of McFist.

Either way, it meant that there was no need to hold back.

He raised his hand, a small ball between his fingers, and smashed it down to his feet. In a burst of reddish smoke, he disappeared from the rooftops and appeared before the creature, drawing its attention to him.

"My, my, what big teeth you have." He pulled a sword from the sash, red handle tight in his hands. "But it ain't no match for my nnnninja sword!"

The creature merely growled, eyes full of fire and a hidden intelligence. Something was wrong, Randy could feel it in his bones. The creature was a smokey shadow, like a lost fragment of something far more darker than he could handle. He shifted his stance, allowing for a more deadly strike.

Whatever this was, it was clearly not a Viceroy creation.

It was pure, concentrated evil. He could tell by every breath it took, the way flexed its inky muscles. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it: this was a creature born to do evil. And it became even painfully apparent when it leapt toward him. Good thing that he had faced down such things before.

He gracefully side-stepped and slashed his sword straight across the maw, letting it slice through the creature's body. It was as easy as a knife cutting through a soft cheese.

Heh. Cutting the cheese.

The crowd that had once been fleeing quickly turned its attitude toward praise. Compliments showered upon him. Randy couldn't help but preen just a teensy wensy bit. Still, he was already rearing to smoke bomb out of here. It was only when their praise turned hectic and frayed did he start to move, aided by both suit and experience.

He pulled a Matrix move, bending his legs and ducking most of his body. The creature passed over him, already reformed from the once-decisive blow.

The Ninja twirled his sword. "Okay, then. Slicing and dicing isn't work."

Come on, Randy, you're not that dumb. And when it comes to Ninja matters, you're even kinda smart.

Then the obvious answer came to him. If this thing looked like a shadow, then it stood to reason that it had some vulnerability to light. The logic was impeccable and Randy was going to pat himself on the back later. He put away his sword and put his hands near his side as if holding a ball.

Summoning up heat and magic, the suit churned with fiery fury, turning into a superheated red.

"Tengu fireball!" he shouted, launching fire at the creature.

It hit right smack dab in its stupid face, enveloping it in a blaze. For a few moments, it even seemed to work as it cried out, burning to death. The substance only shrunk slightly from the flames, before it bounced back into its frame as if nothing happened. Whatever the creature was made of, it couldn't so easily be destroyed.

"Alrighty… let's try this again."

He pulled out his sword, allowing the flames to consume the blade.

"Ninja fire sword, let's go!"

The Ninja and creature clashed once more. It became a dance as they skirted and hopped down the street, striking and reeling in equal measures. It took them closer to the school with each passing moment. Dodging and weaving through its attempt to shred him to pieces, the Ninja turned the tables and sliced the monster into itty bitty pieces. Spinning back and around, he huffed and put his hands on his knees. The hot color scheme of the suit sizzled out back to a burnt out black.

"Had enough?" The pile of monster bits melted into a dark puddle from which the creature emerged from. "What the juice?"

Okay, it was definitely time to consult the Nomicon, but he wasn't exactly free to pull out the book and zonk out when his mind was pulled into it. Usually he got pwned a bit or the creature fled, sometimes even a combination of the two.

Inspiration came from a fortune cookie saying and the hard knock experience of being the Ninja. But Randy was the Ninja who finished the centuries long conflict between Ninja and Sorcerer. Surely, it was time to make some of his own wisdom?

He pressed two fingers on either side of his head real hard.

Think, Randy, think!

And then the answer came to him, an echo of Howard's words resonating in his mind.

I heard, in this version, there's a grave so strong you actually have to punch it into another grave to keep it sealed for the remastered sequel!

The universe, or rather the Nomicon, seemed to confirm that this was the right answer. Appearing in his vision were colorful scribbles that illustrated the point rather clearly. The shape of a grave enveloped the creature with blue and red arrows pointing to the school, where an open mound was drawn.

He needed to lock this creature up in the Sorcerer's old prison. After all, he still had the key.

Now, the problem was actually getting the creature there. He could wrap the monster with his scarf and try dragging it back there, but the scarf was more suited for swinging about. Dodging a blow from the creature, he switched out weapons and threw it at his foe, a chain trailing right behind it.

"Ninja chain sickle!" he shouted.

The weapon wrapped around the monster's stout neck and the Ninja pulled, but it was a contest of strength and one that Randy was ill-suited for. He only managed to drag it a few inches before the creature began to dig its heels in. This was going to be a long, uphill battle if he couldn't figure out a quicker way.

Was there any sort of ability that he could use to speed things up? Undoubtedly, the Nomicon would have an answer, but he was still in the middle of things. Randy strained for an answer until he remembered a rogue ex-Ninja, Mac Antfee, who went bitter and wasn't mind-wiped of his time as the Ninja after four years. During their scuffle within the Nomicon, Mac Antfee had used an ability to make himself go faster.

Uh… he forgot if it was called anything, but hopefully he could mimic its principles.

"Ninja go-go-fast?" he called out, still tugging.

No effect. He gritted his teeth. It would be long before that the creature would figure out it would be easier to charge forward than to continue this tug of war.

Putting his all into it, Randy shouted, "Ninja super sprint!"

In a blurry haze, the Ninja was suddenly at the school, exhausted from the effort. He ducked down to vom just a little in his mouth and it was just in time too, because the creature soared from the sudden stop and was flung through the window. With a loud crash and the pitter-patter of fallen glass, it skidded right where the Ninja wanted him.

Quickly seizing on the opportunity, he leapt into the fray, pulling out a key and slamming it down into the middle of the floor where a weird looking mural was.

The floor opened beneath them and the Ninja jumped back as the creature shook of its disorientating impact. It looked at him with a hungry look in its eyes, which quickly turned into hapless confusion as it plummeted down below. Randy smirked to himself as the floor closed in on itself, the battle won.

For now… he reminded himself, souring his mood. It was like his first real battle, where he got his butt whooped pretty bad that he had to lock the monster in a bathroom stall for a breather. Sooner or later, he would have to deal with this. And, unfortunately, this summer-time feeling had gotten him a little retrospective.

He would, A, be a poor Ninja if he let this problem fester, and B, it was bound to get worse if he let things slide. Ugh, this was like doing homework a whole week before it was actually due. But, as much as he would protest and complain, Randy was going to have gnaw at this for awhile until he came up with a solution.

Which meant letting Howard wait a little longer.

"Sorry, Howard," he muttered before smoke bombing out of the school.

XXX

Any answer for Ninja-related matters was best found in the Nomicon. After finding a nice, safe, and hidden spot to conk out at, Randy took off the mask and the Ninja suit became undone, cloth tendrils receding back into the mask.

He opened the Nomicon, his mind fleeing into the pages while his own body collapsed onto the book blank-eyed. Randy fell into a world of well-worn pages and words and illustrations. Eastern-esque images of battles and ninjas dotted the sky like clouds. With but a blink, he found himself standing in a dojo.

"Okay, Nomicon, this kinda weird, but I got a foe I can't beat. While I did, sorta, beat it, but you know not really. It looks like it's going to be a problem later. And I know that's conduct unworthy of being a Ninja. So, gimme gimme the solution so I can go back on break."

He waited, expecting a samurai to pop up with some vague fortune cookie saying that would become relevant later on.

"You have progressed very well," a voice said from behind him.

Randy turned around, seeing the First Ninja standing before him. His suit was a bit more ninja-like except with gloves. He didn't wear a scarf like Randy did, rather it was a very long red headband.

"First Ninja," Randy said.

"Randy." The First Ninja dipped his head toward him. "I apologize but I do not think either I or the NinjaNomicon can give you the answer you seek."

"Why not?" Randy kinda whined out.

"Because it is a threat beyond our knowledge, beyond the nine known realms," he said, all vague and ominous-like.
 
2. Ninja, Ninja, and More Ninja
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

"Beyond the nine realms?" Randy gasped dramatically before shrugging. "What does that mean? And why is it bad? I mean, I get you were going for ominous foreboding here, but I ain't getting it."

The First Ninja sighed. "For all your strengths, the way you learn is one of them but it won't help you here."

"Nice to get some totally bruce praise like that, but I'm pretty sure I'm mostly passing my classes." Randy coughed and quickly amended, "Barely passing."

"School lessons and Ninja lessons are two different matters. You have potential and though you skirt the line on occasion, you are ultimately responsible and willing to learn. You truly learn from your mistakes and become better. This is what makes you better than Mac Antfee, who never did learn. And this is why you beat the Sorcerer. The other Ninjas did their duties well, but you. You had fallen time and time again, but never too low. Because you always rose just a little higher each time. It is due to this you had the acumen, situation and skill to finally best the Sorcerer. And I suspected you will eventually had to face threats that only a few Ninjas had to deal with. Threats from the other realms."

"Okay, that means?"

"I am not so well-versed in such matters. Other vestiges in the Nomicon are."

"Other first Ninjas?"

The First Ninja chuckled, shaking his head. "Not quite. But they are of the Norisu Nine. My brothers."

"They helped make the Nomicon, right?"

"Indeed. I only embody the first chapter of the Nomicon, which was written last after the Sorcerer vanquished most of the Nine. But the rest were written in Japan before we crossed the ocean to here. Those threats in our homeland had been dealt with in one way or another, but that was centuries ago and the Nine weren't around to keep the peace. Yet, the Sorcerer must have somehow quelled them from following our battle here. Whether through a deal or fear, it doesn't matter. That may no longer be the case."

Randy rubbed his chin. "So… more baddies are coming here and in need of a butt-whopping."

"That would have been the most likely scenario. And may still apply. But perhaps even they would take pause with such an outside-context problem we currently have."

"It sounds like you have some clue to what it is."

"Only an educated guess –"

"C'mon, you pretty much know everything. Whatever you think is going to be better than what I think. Which is like nothing."

"The beast you encountered is one of ultimate evil."

"Like the stank?"

"The stank is ultimately a corruption. It disrupts balance and emboldens certain traits into pure negativity."

"Okay, so ying-yang stuff. I sorta get it, but aren't the results the same? Rampaging baddie that gotta get smacked down?"

"Do you? There's a balance to things. Remove the yin and there is unchecked emotions that can spiral into hate, malice. Remove the yang and there is passivity and there is no empathy. The point is that the two make a whole; it isn't a case of black and white, good and evil."

"But the Sorcerer was evil, right? I mean, his evil half, right?"

"In a way, but when he was reunited, was the whole being really evil? Or at the very least, possessed traits that can be turned evil. Then again, one can argue his actions were of evil... I mean, after what happened to my…" The First Ninja paused for a moment and seemed to meditate on the conversation's direction. With a sour and dissatisfied look, he continued, "Well, I suppose you're a bit young for discussing morality. Needless to say, what we are facing is pure evil. A mere fragment of it, possibly, but still pure evil."

"Then whyyyy did you get into this weird moral lesson?" Randy bemoaned.

"Because I don't want this to set a precedent."

"Okay, okay, okay. Let me break this situation down," Randy said, starting to count down his fingers, "There's more of the Nine here, okay I kindaaaaa guessed that might be a case. There's more baddies waiting in the wings, buuut it doesn't matter right now because there's an uber baddie in town. And it starts with that monster I fought. But how?"

"Did you not notice? It was growing bit by bit as you fought it?"

"What the juice?! I'm pretty sure I would notice it getting bigger."

"Not at that incremental rate. But one day you will see the unseen unnoticed by so many," the First Ninja declared in his overly wordy way. "You have already started that journey, remember?"

"Yes, because super senses oh-so frequently are needed," Randy murmured before cracking his back, already anxious to get moving. "So what I gotta do now?"

"At the very least, you need to venture deeper into the Nomicon. Perhaps they can provide a thread for you to follow. A way to discover the origin of this ultimate evil –" And then the paper-textured world started to rip. The both of them turned to the sky with clouds of brushstrokes fading away into nothingness. "This shouldn't be possible."

Randy was forced into the Ninja suit by the very Nomicon itself. There was no tendril embrace, just the blink of an eye and he was ready for battle.

"What's going on?" he shouted.

"Wherever that ultimate evil is coming from, it has came here!"

"Wonk! How? Isn't there some mystical mumbo jumbo that the Nomicon has to protect it?"

"Yeah!" The First Ninja handed him a sword. "You."

"Not going to help?"

The First Ninja gave him a pointed look and made a move to flick his forehead. His finger passed through, insubstantially and without any real feeling.

"The Nomicon is preserving its essence as best it can and that includes me. You have to stop them, because not only will the Nomicon be destroyed, but you as well."

"Of course I would be," Randy grumbled.

"Help will be afforded as soon as the Nomicon's survival is guaranteed."

"I'm going, I'm going!"

Randy leaped into the air and artsy-fartsy trees sprung beneath him, creating momentary steps as he jumped higher and higher. He was headed toward the blackening rift in the sky, the source of this sickness. He didn't know if by leaping right into big inky splotch was a good idea. Heck, it might even lead to some freaky dimension or something.

And how would that even work when his real body was konked out in the real world?

Well, he was about to find out as he dived in into the dark.

XXX

The world went topsy turvy before the Ninja landed in a wide stance in some strange void. He blinked before looking down at what he was doing the splits over. It looked like a wide ditch molded into the ink-stained ground, stretching out to infinity in front and behind him.

He frowned, kneeling down and examining it closer. On closer inspection, it didn't look like a hole dug but more like the center of the book, where the pages were met in the middle. Kneeling down, he peeked into the dark edge, peeling apart the sides and peered into something.

A matrix of floating words and colors nearly blotted his vision into blindness, but the Ninja quickly closed it back up. This seemed important, going by how flashy it appeared to be. And also judging by the creepy tentacles slithering in from the right, it meant that it had to be protected.

"Ninja rings!" he shouted, throwing the circular blades at them.

All of them punctured and pinned the tentacles before they could get any closer to the important ditch thingy.

He cautiously approached, keeping a firm grip on his blade. The Ninja wasn't leaping into the fray for several reasons: one, there was no real mass to attack for these tentacles came out of the darkness, and two, he learned that sometimes he should wait a bit before leaping.

"Here, baddy, baddy, why don't you come out so we can have a proper tumble."

One of the tentacles pulled free, ripping and tearing a chunk of it off. It went wild in the air, flailing and spurting black tar all over the place. It splattered on the ground, steam hissing before it was suddenly frozen and hastily whited out. Sorta like that one time Randy tried using white-out to rewrite an F to an A.

The Ninja almost broke out into a leap to dice the thing to bits, but some instinct told him off. It was the same sort of instinct that made him scratch out the white-out. Because, even though there didn't seem to be any damage, there would have been unforeseen consequences.

The tentacle, seeming to realize this, stilled before swaying to the left and to the right. It was kinda memorizing, in a way, but also really annoying. The Ninja tracked the motion, before taking a wide backflip to dodge the sneak attack from behind.

"Hah! You're not going to catch me that easily –"

Before he could even finish his taunt, an unseen tentacle had snaked around his ankle. Yet, he had spent the entirety of his freshmen year being a ninja and learned in the way of hard knocks. Letting a dagger fall from his sash and into his free hand, he easily sliced himself free before being yanked.

He landed on his feet, spinning the dagger in his palm.

"Is that all you got?" Something tingled on his foot and he glanced down, seeing black sludge that had dropped from his blade. It pulsate for a moment before quickly slithering off. He watched it squirm its way back to the pinned tentacles. All of sudden, those long tentacles stretching in from the long dark suddenly had visible limits and drew themselves closer while his ninja rings were sucked into that dark framework.

They stretched back to where they were pinned and contorted themselves in a humanoid shape. The sludge slug from his foot and hopped onto the shape's face, soaking its way in. And then the shape began to gain definition, as it began to resemble the Ninja, except darker. The stripes on the suit were a sickly green and the thing's eyes were a fiery red.

"Okay. An evil Ninja, yaaawn! Like that isn't old. What is this, the third time?"

It flexed out its fingers and the scraping of chewed-up metal could be heard. Sharp points of metal extended from its fingertips.

"That's new –" And the Ninja quickly fell into a limbo position as the fake-Ninja's arm extended like a yo-yo. Its claws slashed through the air, a few inches above his eyes.

His legs wobbled from the suddenness of the movement and he collapsed on his back. But he recovered a mere two seconds later, rolling to the side. The Ninja frowned, feeling that was something was amiss. It took him a moment of opening and closing his left hand to realize that the Not-Ninja (the Notja?) had snatched the dagger. It wrapped its hands around the blade before wrenching it into a longsword.

"Uh, I don't think that's all that possible. But okay. Evil magic juju stuff. Well, I got some juju too. Airfist!"

He launched a concentrated gust of air in the shape of a fist toward the Notja. As it moved to dodge, the Ninja followed and then struck, going it for a decapitating blow. The Notja, with its inhuman eyes saw that it was too late. If anything, it bared its neck toward the blade.

And with a wet squelch the head was severed cleanly.

The Ninja whooped and turned around to see the results of his victory. The headless body still stood, still holding the blade, and still not defeated. The head, leaking black ooze, swiveling in place before it gained enough oomph to rise, like ice cream swirling down into a cone.

And then there were two against three.

"Schnasty," the Nina commented, before reaching down into his sash and pulling another sword. "Let's dance, Notjas… Notajai, ugh! Come at me, the plural of the word I just made up!"

So, they did, sweeping from two different directions. The Ninja glided to the left, letting the second Notja's charge breeze past him, while he did a double-pronged attack. He batted away the Notja's sword with one blade and struck with the other, piercing cleanly through the gut.

But the Ninja didn't stop there, as he pivoted and circled, still cutting the monster through the waist. Except he didn't cut all the way. No, that would have been a real dunderhead move, because it would have caused a third Notja to appear.

Instead, he cut halfway before yanking the sword out. With the other sword, he flipped the weapon and gripped it by the blade so he could whack the Notja in the head with the handle.

The bisected beast wobbled as its center of gravity toppled it into the second Notja. The gooey insides that were now outsides, splattered onto the other Notja and unwittingly began to absorb it. But, that was probably going to make an even bigger Notja and the Ninja was in no mood to fight a giant.

So, he tucked his swords away, brought his palms together and channeled the power of the suit.

"Hydro fist!" he shouted, throwing his palms outward.

A blast of water enveloped the conjoined monster and flash-frozen into place, leaving a hideous ice sculpture that some may call advent garden or whatever.

Randy sagged, huffing. Going all serious was taxing. And cutting the Notja wasn't like dicing robots. With the mechanical monstrosities, he really had to put some grit to dash it to bits. Cutting these things was a different matter. A little too fleshy for his tastes. Before he could enjoy the fruits of his labor, the ice started to crack and crack.

He sighed in frustration, falling back into a fighting stance.

"Oh no you don't ya beastie!" a thick voice called out.

Hands popped out from the ground and seized the Notja. With numerous hands seizing them, they pulled it down before launching back into the sky. With a small tearing sound, it disappeared into the aether and out of the Nomicon.

And then, coming from the ground like zombies, were humanoid forms. Some large, some small. But all of them looked menacing as they were a literal void against the world. And with empty white eyes. It was like telling him that they were zombies without actually saying they were. The Ninja got ready to fight, counting eight in total. Until the First Ninja walked from Randy's back – who jumped in surprised – and stood in front of the inky silhouettes.

"Well, the damage that was done was inevitable, but you managed to force the beast into a form the Nomicon Nine could interact with," he said.

"How? Wha? Who are they?"

"My brothers. More or less."

"More or less?"

"The damage that was done tried erasing the knowledge that rests within. But it succeed at only blurring the information, much like how ink can smear against paper, leaving only a general shape of who they were. Still legible and readable, but not entirely clear. And since I am part of the Nomicon, even I am unsure of how true they are to the originals."

"But it's more than enough to teach you to wallop any beasties coming at ya!" the first voice cried out, coming from a rather large silhouette.

"And don't forgot some rather sick moves!" a lanky one shouted, stepping forth.

"Now, you're speaking my language," Randy said, with a grin.
 
Overlap (SCP Foundation x Control) — GOI-27.8.2019, "Federal Bureau of Control"
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

Control is a video game that shares continuity with Alan Wake. It centers on Jesse Faden who comes to the Federal Bureau of Control in search of her missing brother but finds the headquarters under assault from a mysterious alien force known as the Hiss and her suddenly acknowledged as the new Director. With the entity bonded to her and several Objects of Power, Jesse uses extraordinary abilities to clear away the Hiss and cut to the mystery of what happened to her brother.

SCP is a wiki that anyone can contribute to, rendering any idea of a cohesive canon to be null. Instead there are multiple canons and series, but all tend to center around the idea of the Foundation and their mission to secure, contain, and protect the anomalous in order to maintain normalcy.

Research & Records: The World Outside

Summary:

On [REDACTED], the surrounding area around the Oldest House has been afflicted with the most far-reaching Altered World Event the Federal Bureau of Control has seen to date. The building suffered an intensive shaking that was, at first, assumed to be an earthquake. It is only when the gravity changed directions several times in succession did the full extent of the paranatural event was understood.

Director Faden investigated outside the building and found it to be in an intact, upright position. Damage was minimal save for a few scorch marks that were fading away. Having confirmed that the world hadn't suffered a complete upheaval, several FBC agents were sent on tentative information-gathering missions.

The data collected outside the Oldest House has demonstrated heavy discrepancies with dates and traditional history. For all intents and purposes, the AWE has not affected the Bureau and its records, but they stand inconsistent with outside records. The incongruities range from relatively minor details (such as certain pop culture material not being present) to referenced, large-scale events that did not exist previously before.

Thus, there are two prevailing theories:

a) Either the entire world suffered a catastrophic AWE and the full extent has yet to be uncovered.

b) The Bureau itself has moved to an entirely different world.

If it is the former case, then something has drastically affected the collective human conscious to force upon such a world state upon the Bureau. If it is the latter case, it will signal intense complications for the Bureau's future. Further research is pending.

The Bureau's concern is now two-fold:

a) Determining the status of the world outside and whether there is a paranatural influence integrating itself despite the Bureau's efforts.

b) To reach an acceptable state of operations to resume the Bureau's objectives of control and containment of the paranatural.

XXX

Hotline: New Circumstances

A redheaded woman in a dark jacket steps onto the walkway. Unfathomable depths seem to surround all around her, with the walkway being the only place of safety, of reality. It seems like she can just step out and fall and be forever forgotten.

It just takes one step.

But she doesn't focus on that. She's too used to these precarious abysses where the impossible lusts and devours in equal measure. Instead her attention is on the glass box ahead, where a table and a red, rotary phone rests. It beckons her with every blaring ring and answers are needed.

She sits down before the phone, takes a deep breath, and answers.

And, in her mind's eye, she sees.

She sees a giant, impossible, inverted black pyramid.

<The game/situation/narrative has changed/crossed-over/shifted.>

"We gathered that much," she says dryly.

<You/Director/Jesse must protect/contain the Bureau/essence/yourself and keep pure/clean/true.>

"I'll handle it the way I see fit."

<Infuriating/necessary.>

"Is there anything you can tell me that I don't know?"

<This is a different/similar/new/old world/existence/universe. There are others that are the originals/copy-cats/progenitors/allies/enemies that can serve you well/horribly/antagonistically. Beware/fear/tolerate them.>

And then the call ends.

"Well, that last bit gave me a bit of a headache." She sighs and turns to face something that's been with her for as long as she can remember. "You still with me on this?"

△▷△◁▽△▷△◁▽△▷△◁▽

The woman's smile is small, but sure.

"I know you're with me, but this is a new situation."

And the woman says this, despite knowing she wouldn't be much without her.

△▷△◁▽△▷▽

The answer is reassuring.

XXX

Correspondence: First Contact?

Director,

As per our current directives, the information-gathering operations had been going smoothly. Doesn't take much manpower to trawl the internet of this place. But I think we might have been too presumptive. While I did have our agents perform inconspicuous Bing searches that wouldn't have triggered any red flags on our end, we did garner some amount of attention.

We have to assume the people here have superior capabilities to our own.

I spotted some tails. While we did lose them, we cannot discard the possibility they have some paranatural means of tracking us back to the Oldest House.

While I assume we have the advantage of digging ourselves deep in this Place of Power, I think we should circumvent that scenario for now. Because if we're put on the backfoot too early, we lose the chance to gather information. And then we'll really be screwed.

To that end, I am formally requesting a proactive interrogation of these tails. While it may trigger the worst-case scenario early, I believe the possible gains outweigh these risks.

Regards,

Agent Grayson

XXX

Correspondence: Your Request

Grayson,

Your request is granted with an iron-clad condition.

Any prisoners you take must not be harmed.

No good cop, bad cop, no torture, no nothing of the sort. This is less of a capture-and-release and more proactive diplomacy. If we are truly in a different reality, then we are the outsiders here. We are the invaders, foreigners here and they might have understandable concerns about us. If a group like us suddenly appeared in our reality, I'd handle them the way I would like to be handled.

Hopefully these people feel the same.

Signed,

Director Faden

XXX

Correspondence: We Need to Talk

Ma'am,

Though it was tough-going with the prisoner's 'gag-orders,' we managed to overcome this impasse once we provided certain… credentials that affirmed a government connection and knowledge of the paranatural. Though information was scant, we started to glimpse the edges of the game here. Diplomacy definitely was the right call here. Any interrogation would have been fruitless. On the flip-side, I may have promised a meeting that involves you coming in-person. It turns out dimensional mishaps are more common here than one would suspect. It also worked against us, because they aren't willing to help until we have proven ourselves non-hostile.

Now, I apologize for making a decision on your behalf, but I know you can handle yourself should this turn out to be a trap. But from what I interfered this is the best-case scenario in getting our foot in the door. Any other group beside the Unusual Incidents Unit would have decimated us, especially those who the UIU are subservient to. I haven't figured out their name for them yet but –

I think we should discuss more in-person, because they probably know more about us than we know about them.

Signed,

Agent Grayson

XXX

Group of Interest: Federal Bureau of Control

Group of Interest Number: 27.8.2019

AKA: FBC

Area of Operation: The Oldest House, [REDACTED], United States of America

Universe of Origin: Universe-R3M-DY-18.8.1995

Threat Level: Blue

Persons of Interest:

+ Jesse Faden: Female, age: 28. The current director of GOI-27.8.2019. Currently believed to be a Type-Teal.

+ Emily Pope: Female, age unknown. The current Head of Research. Baseline human.

Entities of Interest:

+ The Board: An entity of unknown power and influence with a predisposition toward the FBC.

+ Polaris: A resonance-based entity strongly associated with the FBC. Possibly the second half of the Faden Type-Teal equation.

Description: The Federal Bureau of Control is a normalcy-preserving group originating from an unknown hub of the multiverse – hereby designated R3M-DY – and thus makes any attempts to return them back home increasingly difficult at this point in time. Through circumstances currently unknown, the FBC's main base has been translocated to this universe. As it stands, they do not pose a significant threat to normalcy beyond a more willingness to engage with anomalous methods, but this only stands in comparison to their current partnership to the more mundane Unusual Incidents Unit and, by extension, the US government.

Which makes this problematic, as they are closely intertwined with anomalous entities since their inception. This unreliability makes them a possible, indirect threat to the Veil.

Because, from personal accounts and recovered files, they are a far more successful version of UIU, most likely due to the proportional threats of the universe. This makes them far more willing than the UIU to engage against threats against the Veil. Whether or not they are successful in this endeavor does not matter, but rather it could mark an escalation in the GOI's methods and a possible loss of Foundation influence in North America, should they permanently settle.

Terminology:

To avoid any confusion with terminology on any possible operations with or against them, the coinciding terms are listed below:

FBC Terminology: || Foundation Equivalent

Altered World Event, or AWE || CK-Class Scenario

Altered Item, Object of Power
|| Anomalous Items, SCP

Parautiltarian
|| Type Blue, Type Green

Place of power, Threshold
|| Nexus

XXX

Type-Teal Orientation Transcript:

"Hello, hello. I'll keep this brief. I'm sure you have heard about the Type-Greens and the Type-Blues, reality-warpers and magicians specifically. But here at the Foundation, we do love codifying everything. I mean, we now have more object classes out the wazoo. Makes one long for the simpler days, but I digress. I'm here to give the rundown on Type-Teals; our latest foray in putting the anomalous phenomena into a neat little box. Truthfully, I think we're all smart enough to know that this is just going to be short-hand for complex scenarios in the future. But there is enough overlap in certain procedures to warrant this orientation.

"A Type-Teal is, at its core, is a baseline human bonded to an anomalous entity. And they get nifty little powers from this. There's all sorts of labels for this: partnership, symbiosis, parasitism, a bond. But what you should know that it is dangerous. You're connecting with an entity, an alien entity with alien motivations. Now, the Foundation probably wouldn't like me telling that there are, probably, benevolent forces out there. It's just statistically improbable that all entities are hostile. However, we can't quantify this in any reliable metric. How do we differentiate between a genuine benevolent force and one that's simply playing the long con? The answer is simple: we can't.

"And even if you hit the lottery with a nice one, need I remind you that it's probably alien? What are the side-effects? What is the entity getting from by helping you? How do you know that our human sensibilities are going to integrate into its own sensibilities? Maybe you'll piss it off by drinking chocolate milk or something and you go on a rampage. And then you either get gunned down by the GOC or you're contained by us. Frankly, purposefully becoming a Type-Teal is like drinking mercury to become immortal. And if you're from our Alchemy Department, yes, I know that mercury is perfectly safe if prepared properly into a potion, but that's beside the point.

"You're rolling the dice. It's no different than going crazy with a SCP object; it just happens to be more intimate and a little more successful, at least on a less frequent basis. Which makes it all the more dangerous. Because even if everything is all fine and dandy on your end, everyone on the outside would never be able to tell. Is a change in attitude the result of a power-trip and human nature taking its course? Or is it something insidious? We can't ever take that chance. Ever."
 
Cracks and Fractures (Mirror's Edge x Mirror's Edge: Catalyst) — I. Kate
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel

A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.


Mirror's Edge is a first-person game that is focused on parkour rather than running and gunning. The first game centers around Faith Connors and her role as a Runner, delivering important messages, in rebellion against an oppressive regime. Her sister gets framed and Faith has to focus on finding the truth to save her sister. The next game, Mirror's Edge: Catalyst, is a reboot that changes the character dynamics of the story, but retains the plot of Faith being a Runner, just in a far more fleshed out world.

It was funny how broadly empty the world became in motion. Details smoothed out into blurs that only ever described the shape of the world, not its depth. Kate Conners, former cop and current fugitive, hadn't ever considered this perspective before. She knew that her sister had been a Runner… but it just one of things that seemed to pass her by. Except, that was more of an excuse.

Really, she just dismissed Faith's actions as misguided anger at the world for turning toward security and safety. Kate had become a cop to ensure that the transition was smooth. It was people like her that would prevent the same mistakes that tore their family apart.

On retrospection, there was also another reason why she became a cop. It was a smaller, but still selfish choice of survival. If she was a cop, then she could protect both herself and Faith.

But her sister didn't listen, opting to be a Runner. And Kate accepted that, thinking Faith would eventually have to face the real world. Runners were just messengers, in the end. Something that should have been phased out by the increasing surveillance measures. They were the strongest links for the resistance movement and once they were broken, the dust should have settled and Faith would have to face the real world.

Except her sister might have been the one who had faced the real world, who saw the writing on the wall. The increasingly militaristic measures had came slow, forming in the corner of her eye, before it struck hard. Dissidents and Runners were no longer treated like nuisances, but as targets to be open fired upon, no matter how minor their offense. Even someone as loyal as her was framed for murder.

And Kate saw that mirror's edge Faith sometimes expounded on and on about. She saw the 'real world' past the glossy edge. It was a surface without any depth, a pretty sheen. And such glimpses were only seen in motion, when the world was stripped to its bare essentials.

And Kate had to face the hard truth.

That what was 'good' wasn't always right. The streets were safer, sure, but that was because people didn't dare to break curfew. She stared at the bleached city, with only the splashes of color being the capitalistic advertisements. Greed and control went hand-in-hand, sapping at the life of good people.

And it would eventually kill them. Control would have seen Kate jailed – written off as a necessary cost to maintain the paradigm – and then killed. It was, in some twisted way, mathematically pleasing. When one reduced human lives to factors and statistics, it only made sense to make the numbers add up, even if some of them had to be subtracted from the equation.

Freedom hurt. Freedom ached. There was a cramp in her abdomen and it felt like there was a blizzard in her lungs. Yet, with each gulp of air, she felt free of her earthly tears. Her mind was free. She was alive and it wasn't so much a fact as a feeling. Something intangible, wispy and illusive, but still was.

It existed independent of the world, driven solely by her.

"You feel it, don't you?" Faith asked, hefting herself up next to her sister.

Kate exhaled, letting go of the feeling, but keeping the memory of it.

"Yeah. I sorta see it."

"Wish you could have seen it. This is what the city started to lose after the November Riots."

This time, Kate sighed, the memory becoming ever more fleeting.

"Surely, it wasn't just this –!"

Faith, sensing what Kate was about to say, spat, "You still can't be advocating –!"

The two sisters fell into overlapping squabble, neither hearing the other until Faith shut it down with a loud silence and allowed Kate to state her point.

"I want to believe in a middle ground."

"That just reeks of centralism, hemming and hawing over not doing too much over giving the disenfranchised some power while the establishment holds all the power."

"Alright, alright!" She rubbed her face vigorously as if to scour sin from skin. "I get it. Or rather, I'm only now just getting it. But fugitive or not, I can't exactly just go straight to jumping ship with heart and soul. What type of person would I be if I did? Disloyal, capricious…"

Faith settled next to her, resting her head on Kate's shoulder. "You'd still be my sister."

"Well… for better or for worse, the government always had some plan in place. From what I've seen over this week, Runners don't, just groping for some chinks in the armor."

"Death of a thousand cuts, Kate."

"And how many people suffer in the mean time?" she asked tiredly.

Kate felt Faith shrug. "It's the only recourse we have, but at least we're doing something."

"And what are we doing right now?"

"With Merc… dead, Drake's been harder to contact. I have no middle-man to facilitate transfers with another Runner. And this is before all the Pursuit Cops on our tails. And what does every army need?"

"People for a fighting force?"

"Money to motivate them into fighting. Or, in this case, fund our operations. Runners have been trained to evade, our hand-to-hand combat is suited for that purpose. But we need to adapt. The movers-and-shakers of our rebel movement have an idea. And no, Kate, I don't think it's to turn the conflict hot. Well, hotter than it actually is. No bombs, but a way to combat their control. To unsettle the populace and make them say this is not okay. This plan, as I see it, as Runners at the forefront and we're going to hit specialized targets – the tools of our enemy. But we need the equipment to make this possible."

"And we can't do that without money." Kate pulled away and raised an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, Runners have always been criminals, so we might as well expand –"

"Faith, I have had to reassess all my old biases lately, but doing something that criminal isn't soothing my soul here."

"It is criminal, but it is relatively victimless. We're not transporting any sort of hard drug; we're transporting some fine artsy shit. If some rich criminal in, like, Thailand or whatever wants to illegally steal and export stuff like this, then it's a justified crime in my book and we'd benefit as well."

Kate sighed again.

"Oh come on! It's not like high art isn't used for laundering money and other criminal activities."

"That's why I'm sighing."

Faith smiled. "You'll be a proper Runner yet."

XXX

Kate chased after her sister, the Runner. They leapt over rooftops under the cover of night, darting past the seeking spotlights from roaming helicopters. Faith was a natural at this. She was a snake, slithering and contorting herself in one continuously smooth motion. She was a bird, flitting through any obstacles that would impede her flight. She was a ghost, no one catching more than a glimpse in the corner of their eye. She was a Runner.

Every leap was executed perfectly, momentum never ceasing. Every change of direction was met with confidence, the best path somehow already intuited. Or maybe her sister was just living up to her namesake, trusting in her instincts.

And Kate, in a way, was the gangly little sister that trailed after the big sister, continually tripping and stumbling. It grated, given that they were the same age. It was only due to her physical training as a cop that allowed her to even remotely keep up.

Every leap was met with a stumble, a rush to regain her speed. Every change of direction was met with slammed shoulder, the path temporarily disorientated. Or maybe it was just hurt pride that needed soothing before she could start again. If she wasn't so diligent in her training and Faith giving her pointers, Kate would have been lost in the dust like all the other cops.

Still, if there was one edge that she had over her sister it was the holstered weaponry. A pistol at her hip and a shotgun at her back. Faith never bothered with guns, as they merely slowed her down. She had trained to move without them and any extra weight threw off her tempo. But Kate, while not as fast as Faith, would not be impeded by such armaments.

Again, another grating notion tickled at her heart. That while Kate was the first to protest against violence, she was all the more prepared to dish it out. But for her sister and the very deadly stakes they found themselves in? Well, sister loyalty superseded all.

Faith hopped from wall to wall, gaining another level in height, while Kate slammed against the wall and trudged upwards, grip after aching grip. Her sister was crouched near a radiator, pulling out a bag from underneath.

"Ah, looks like our Runner came through."

"Worried about more of them defecting?"

"After Cel… yeah. We need to gain momentum before Runners – free and proper Runners – become a dying breed."

Faith unzipped the bag, pulling out its contents. A silver falcon statue that darkened in the night lights of the city. She frowned as her sister gave it a shake, humming.

"The Maltese Falcon?" Kate asked, eyes widening recognition. "It's got quite the history. Very bad and bloody history."

"Hm?" Faith looked over to her, only her right eye visible and the two black sharp lines tattooed going down. "I don't really care about that. Didn't take you for a history major."

"It's not…" Kate hummed, suddenly aware of the lack of origin for this knowledge. "Maybe I'm just remembering some tangential details from old case files."

"Or a documentary."

It didn't sound right, but it didn't really matter.

"That too. So, is it the Falcon?"

"Does it matter? I'm pretty sure the real goods are inside it. Don't worry, it's definitely not drugs; it's probably more jewels based on the rattling."

Kate turned away, just trying to cope with the moral compromises that she was taking. This might as well be a slippery slope –

Something in the distance caught her eye. She squinted her eyes, seeing a blob holding up a stick before laying it down…

"Oh shit! Move!"

Kate slammed into Faith before she could zip the Falcon back in the bag. Gripping her sister by the shoulders, she flung her sister forward. Faith quickly and expertly turned what might have been a stumbling gait into a full sprint.

The sounds of metal scraping were followed by two shots sounding out in the night.

Sniper.

Kate lagged behind, but took a moment to take aim and fire. Slower speeds meant steadier vision. The world didn't blur away down to its base essentials and Kate had to filter through all the city din in order to hone on. She'd made shots like this on the range, a controlled environment. And she made the shot here too… just a little too late. The blob moved just as she fired and she hissed in frustration.

"Gotta move, Kate! Pretty sure that's a Pursuit Cop there!"

She broke off into a sprint after her sister, flinging out her gun hand and firing semi-blindly. It wouldn't do to hit a stray pedestrian, but the expanse between them and the shooter was relatively devoid of civilians.

Faith turned a sharp right toward the shooter's position.

"Uh… Faith!" she called out.

"They go over, we go under! Misdirection!"

Kate swore under her breath and followed her sister to the edge with a building across from them. She could see the minute slow down when normally Faith would have sped up to cross the gap. This jump seemed to falter halfway, but that was part of the plan as Faith fell a single level and landed on the catwalk attached.

As the edge grew closer and closer, she huffed and puffed, doubting she would have made the initially conceived jump. Maybe Faith had more, well, faith in Kate's capabilities, but Kate had to give nothing less than her all to even make the jump down from a fifth floor to a fourth floor.

Up in the air, gravity seemed to yank at her the second her feet left the luxury of solid ground. She yelped as her stomach slammed into the railing. Kate flopped onto the catwalk, breath stolen, while Faith kicked open the door. Trudging after her sister, the two of them went through the spartan interior and ended up on the other side of the building.

Faith paused, holding up her hand. Kate took the moment to rest against the wall and catch her breath. The railing had gut punched her, causing a twofer of pain and queasiness.

"Don't worry, it should be smooth sailing from here. We slowly drop from level to level and by then, we'll reach the subway tunnels. We make the drop and then we get back to base."

"Okay Effie…" Kate gasped. "I trust you."

Faith counted down under her breath, fist clenching the Falcon, before she kicked down the door. She hopped onto a beam that connected to the next building's lower level. Kate grunted as she forced herself to speed down after her sister. She would never have that ease of balance that Faith possessed and instead opted for rushing through. It was as if she had a limited quantity of balance and if she didn't push through, she'd run out and fall.

But that didn't come to pass as she hopped onto the balcony.

Faith swore as she glanced back, eyes flickering upwards. Kate followed the gaze, seeing the Pursuit Cop high above. The figure was dressed in flexible black body armor over a white suit and wore something like a goalie's mask. The Pursuit Cop glared down at them, before the duo turned their focus on escaping.

"Thought we were going to lose them."

"I think it's Celeste," Faith muttered, breaking into the building. "Bitch should have fucking died, but it looks like she survived."

"How can you tell?"

"Burn marks around the eyes. Plus, the burning hatred in her eyes." Faith huffed. "Fucking traitor. We won't be able to lose her. We know all each other's moves. But she won't expect you if I make a stand."

They broke onto the opposite end of the balcony, where Faith immediately slammed the door behind them. Kate huddled beside the door, pulling out the shotgun and waiting. She didn't have to wait long as the door slammed open seconds later, but Kate didn't know what to expect. Harsh words traded, maybe? An opening for her to gun down the Pursuit Cop?

But Celeste didn't bother with any of that. She immediately charged at Faith, colliding into her. The two tangled, exchanging a series of grapples that saw them locked in combat. And Kate couldn't risk taking a shot. Couldn't risk joining the fray with the injury that made her want to vomit.

The two broke apart with Celeste pushing Faith into the railing. Her sister dodged another blow and struck back, trying to use the Falcon as a bludgeon. Celeste managed to dodge and knocked the statue up in the air, but Faith was expecting this and used the opening it gave her.

Faith struck as her if flattened hand were a blade right in Celeste's eyes. The Pursuit Cop stumbled back, just not before punching Faith in the throat. Her sister slipped over the railing, yet barely managed to grab onto it with one hand, the other grasping at her throat.

Kate fired at the Pursuit Cop, hitting where her eyes were visible. There were no words exchanged, no ambiguity to Celeste's survival again. Just someone dead and gone. Kate turned to help her sister, letting the shotgun fall from her hands.

It was just plain bad luck that the Falcon fell on her sister's fingers. And the the two fell, Faith following after the statue. Kate screamed her sister's name, but no sound could be heard in her eyes. It was like the world ceased to exist save for that single moment. She rushed to the railing, peering down.

Her sister was on the ground and beneath her was an ocean of scarlet… with gems floating on the red ripples like tiny islands … and the cracked open skull was the biggest one of them all.
 
The Never War (Warframe x Faction Paradox)
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

Warframe is a free-to-play third person shooter. The players play one of the Tenno, masters of the eponymous Warframes, and takes place across the solar system. The warframes are the biomechanical creations of the Orokin, possessing a variety of abilities to fight the Sentients, a replicating and adapting foe that necessitated the return to gun and blade. After the Old War, the Tenno then killed the Orokin for their crimes, causing the Collapse and they disappeared afterwards. In the aftermath, the Corpus, a zealous capitalist civilization with their own mechanical monstrosities, and the Grineer, a conquering empire of degenerating clones, arose. This is what the Tenno have awoken to: a system ravaged by this conflict and the rampant Infestation, another creation by the Orokin. The Tenno are guided by the Lotus, who acts as both their handler and maternal figure, as they seek to maintain balance within the system.

Faction Paradox is a spin-off of Doctor Who, which involves the titular group. They were initially involved in the plot, the War in Heaven, where the Time Lords (referred now as the Great Houses due to right disputes) were in a war against the mysterious Enemy. The Faction Paradox delights in throwing out the conventions of the Great Houses, exulting in death, magic, and family bonds in contrast to the Time Lords and their science.

Numbers… quantity were nothing in the face of oblivion. The all-consuming zero-point that nullified everything, no matter the size, no matter the depth, because it was an emptiness that could not be filled.

War was much the same. The toll it took was insurmountable, unknowable and yet, here she walked, before the New War, knowing the toll it had taken. The way the Tenno had disappeared in the wake of Narmer's rising and the way information was straddled to blunt propaganda ensured that answers didn't come easy to her.

In all of her drifting, she had never figured out if the Tenno were routed, forced into hiding, or their current forms killed. She heard, at one point in time, the Tenno had numbered in the millions. Time took a different sort of toll. Instead of a deleting flash of absence, there was only that slow withering decay that tore them down like cancer. It was something she couldn't see with her own two eyes and if she could see it, then it was too myriad to quantify: from the Old War to the Second Dream ending and all the struggles and battles in between. But the New War, with all of its consequences, had yet to happen.

And this here and now, she still didn't know even as she conspired to change that outcome. But she was okay with not knowing. She took a deep breath of the clean Dojo air, felt her heart thrum with the feeling of giddy trespass. It wasn't every day when a sorta stranger snuck onto a Tenno Clan's Dojo. The stranger lingered in the Dry Dock, where a few Tenno-affiliated workers went about their business. With her attire, she wouldn't blend in for long, but it afforded her some cover.

The moment she moved in deeper into the Dojo, it would be all or nothing.

She wasn't a Tenno, not really, except in the ways that mattered.

XXX

Clan Splatter Gold's Dojo was a frighteningly spartan environment. Despite their opulence and extravagance with their coveted Prime Warframes and weaponry, the place they might called home was a steel tomb. If dust could gather here, it would be a blizzard that coated every surface. If the metal here could rust, it would not leave an inch untouched by the decay.

The bareness was only broken up by function. The labs were far more worn than the rest of the Dojo, having been used on a frequent basis. It didn't make these rooms any livelier than the rest of the Dojo. Instead of ancient and untouched ruins, they were public sculptures. Far more weathered, but just as untouched by the banalities of life.

She drifted past them, only momentarily peering inside. This act of sightseeing was only indulged because of the sheer lack of Tenno here at the moment. That could change at any moment. But curiosity drove her to deepen her passing knowledge of, well, everything. There was an expectation to see some minute differences – the ones that lurked in-between one thing and a second thing. If there were any, then they were as mundane as a decimal point.

Temporal Eternalism was something she understood, to some comfortable degree. She wouldn't claim to know everything, but she could roll with the punches. This whole situation, however, was an entirely different matter. It was akin to adding letters to numerical math, dependent on something defining those near variables.

The woman stopped, the cloaked layers of her outfit swaying to a stop with her. Her silver eyes bore into a nearby wall, stark white with a golden trim, and heard the faintest of tapping. A footstep reverberated in the hallway, almost making her draw her pistol. But it was only her own. It didn't make it anymore trustworthy.

The problem with strangeness was how strange it could really get. Especially if it might confound the previous state of affairs with the new strange. She prepared herself. Steeled herself. This was the first step in a new journey. The absurdity of this situation had already dawned on her, even with all the things she did and saw beforehand.

"What I wouldn't give for some simple linear time," she muttered to herself.

Continuing her trek, she began to crest upwards on thin white steps that spiraled upwards. The Dojo turned around her in a slow sort of dance, shifting ever so slightly in terms of scenery. Up and up, everything slowly changed yet remained the same.

A large bay-esque window greeted her, twinkling stars scattered across the great expanse of space. She took another moment to sight-see, appreciating the quiet. But she still triggered her Target Radar, out of habit. On the radar in her peripheral vision, a pond of dots greeted her, in the distance.

She turned toward the long hallway and began to push through. Clamor of disjointed voices, half-yelling and shouting, became all the more audible the closer she got. It made her feel tiny, in a way. Confronting a powerful individual and his lackey was easy. That was a contest of wills.

The woman was approaching a meeting of Clans with all the diversity of Tenno flair and Warframes. It was more akin to facing a community, whose group mentality could lead to a vocal consensus to drown out her voice. And that was not factoring in all the different Warframes that easily slew people like her for breakfast.

Escaping one Warframe was hard, but whole squads of them? That was a death sentence.

Yet, here she walked, driven by her own peculiar sense of honor.

Not really a Tenno, but a Tenno all the same, she thought, not that any of them will see it like that.

All she needed them to do was listen.

Without pausing at the doors, she entered the humble auditorium, where Warframes knelt in descending rows to the stage, where three teenagers were in a heated argument. Not teenagers, Tenno. Their Warframes stood behind them, locked into rigidity. One of them – a blonde in a dark Templar Prime suit – stood back, eyes closed and leaned against her Volt Warframe.

What she was ignoring was painfully obvious. Two other Tenno were in a heated debate, viciously pacing around and gesticulating as if they could wield their words like cutting weapons. The one with the Excalibur Prime wore a Vayas Prime ensemble, gleaming white and gold that covered her face. The mask and visor along with the pointed ear-pieces made her look either like a metallic masked elf in the light or a beautiful devil in the dark. With the way she paced in and out of the spotlight meant she was both and none at the same time.

But the woman's eyes were on the one trying not to pull her hair out. She still wore her Transference suit with a black scarf, but the only visible parts of the suit were the leggings and the left arm possessing a Vahd pauldron with a bracer adorned with a pointed ornament. Over the suit, she wore a puffy white vest with a black skull-like symbol on the back. Beneath that was a dark black skirt with pouches along the waist and dark cuirass with a white scar symbol. Behind her was Excalibur Umbra that shifted slightly, denoting its unique autonomy.

It wasn't a fashion sense she would have agreed with, but the woman could see the appeal.

And suddenly, all eyes were on her. The trio stopped their spat and immediately dematerialized into their Warframes. All the other Tenno, already in their Warframes, drew their weapons and pointed them at her. The commotion of words and weapons created an incomprehensible babble that would see her pulled beneath its vocal tide.

The Drifter pointed two fingers against her eyes before slowly pointing them at Excalibur Umbra. Summoning the strained vestiges of the Void within her, she lit up her hand in a sickly blue-green color, marking her as the same sort of devil from that other hell.

Ayatan stepped out of Excalibur Umbra and cocked her head, as she stared at the Drifter. She stared back, looking deep into this version of herself, trying to see the same sort of something that the other Ayatan had. The same grit that saw her save the Lotus and helped bring about Ballas's demise.

Satisfied, she spake simply.

"We need to talk, you and me, me and you."
 
Last edited:
1. The Last Volley Striking First
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

Ballas gloated on every available frequency.

They lost. The Syndicates either waved their white flags or scattered like rats. The Corpus fell, and so did the Grineer: their leadership fleeing, upper echelons baring their necks in submission. Deimos proclaimed neutrality, but ready to flee into the Void once more. But what the Tenno focused on was the simple, mocking mantra: The Lotus was dead, Teshin was dead, Ayatan failed. She died too. They put all their hopes, all their fears on a single, distinguished Tenno: a veteran of the Old War, a legend among the Tenno… and she failed.

The broadcast was swifter than any knife but cut just as deep. It created a cascading effect, something fatal for warriors of their caliber:
hesitation.

A single pause; that was all the Sentients needed: railjacks blowing up as their captains grieved, warframes already overwhelmed lost the will to fight, necramechs powering down in the face of the onslaught, and Dojos were left adrift. And all across the System, the Operators were exiled to the Void upon their failure, Transference failing them in accordance to Ballas' machinations. Those that stayed met this fate, while those opting to retreat did so with their morale shattered.

And Athenzane faltered in the heart of the Dojo, falling to her knees in front of the failsafe. Her clan needed her to rally them, but words failed her. The Dojo's defenses were failing, the Sentient ships were descending on them. She fell out of her warframe, tears streaming down her face.

It can't be true!
she screamed… had screamed, curling into herself… that she had lost her mother again, that she was an orphan once more.

She stumbled to the engine that hid her Dojo. Her prosthetic clawed at her face, as grief stole the ability to breath. Shaking hands were placed on the engine, murky blackness with bobbing shadows did not reflect her face, but something stared back regardless.

Too late to fight back, too early to surrender… there was no more time left.

All of their clan was sworn to fight to their last breath, warframe or no, but their collective emotional state only ensured that they were going to die like animals in the gutter.

They needed to grieve, to flee, to process, to do so many things just to remain functional.

But the system would not provide that.

Only the Void could…

Maybe this was a suicide, but it was the only choice she could take.

With a fistful of Void-directed power, thrumming up from a mechanical forearm, she punched through the glass and the entire Dojo was consumed.


As the Drifter recounted the way the New War ended, Warlord Athenzane blinked awake from the false memories, staring at the two counterparts. At both Ayatan's insistence, all the other Tenno had been dismissed for privacy, leaving the other clan representatives to flit back off to their business while her own clanmates went to scour their Dojo. If an intruder had broken in, then any holes in their security needed to patched up immediately. But Zeniya stayed like the stubborn brat that she was, only serving to egg on her failings. As if Zeniya was here on merit, while Athenzane was only here by circumstance.

Through her Excalibur Prime, her fingers ached to draw her sword. Failure had never tasted so bitter, even if it was from the future. Though Athenzane never claimed to be smart, she was quick on the draw in unraveling these ill omens and portends, out there as they were.

The Drifter – the older Ayatan -- had balls to come in the heart of the Dojo, surrounded by warframes, and confront three Tenno whose skills were so legendary they surpassed the mastery ranking system and needed no titles. That earned the Drifter the luxury of their attention, even as the New War continued to loom over the System.

"So, you're an Ayatan from a bad future," the Warlord commented.

"First off, I don't answer to that name, cute as it is." Ayatan scowled, but the Drifter continued, "Whereas Ayatan here forgot our original name, I don't like to answer to that name anymore. I'm just a lonely Drifter, though I also answer to a different name. But second off, the way you worded it makes it seem like I'm jumping back from a straight timeline to rewrite it."

"She forgot all about our Eternalism lectures," Zeniya said.

Sorry that I was much more focused on engineering! Not like it didn't help me get a new fucking arm! she mentally shouted.

Oh, how she ached to scream those words, but she was here in her capacity as warlord, not an individual Tenno. Athenzane scowled from beneath her warframe, a phantom face contorting the crystalline flesh beneath the skin. The facial muscles of the frame were too rigid, like grinding glass with every twitch.

"Time's more of a cube than anything else," the Drifter commented.

Zeniya continued like the show-off that she was: "If Eternalism was in effect, the timelines would be concurrent. So why are you older than Ayatan?"

"I didn't get off the ship like you lot did. I grew up rather than growing sideways."

Ayatan crossed her arms at that, Umbra tensing up to match her irritation. It was odd to see such a complete bond between Operator and warframe. Warframes were like kubrows, in a way, having been so reduced in that state. They were once human, but no longer; bodies had been modified and minds were wiped. All the Tenno sympathized, allowing them to feel both peace and purpose, snatching them away from the throes of animalistic madness. But not Umbra, not his madness. Umbra who, by design, was left enough of a man to mourn who he once was.

And she could tell that Umbra tried so much to be like any other warframes, but these tiny moments undid him. She eased into her own warframe, extending a metaphorical hand, but found nothing.

"We were supposed to be a weird type of one," the Drifter said quietly. "Merged, but not quite. Two peas in a pod."

"But you are," Zeniya said, catching on where Athenzane did not. "At least, a version of you, but how would you know what was supposed to happen?"

The Drifter smirked. "Eternalism is only slightly applicable right now. There's a whole different system inter-playing with our own understanding."

Zeniya leaned back in her plain Excalibur – the hippie – and hummed. Ayatan was content to let others take the flow, only ready to act when presented with a clear-cut problem. Give her a target, she'd go for the kill. Ask her the planet-specific ramifications of killing Nef Anyo and find an alternative, she'd look to Vox Solaris for direction.

And it seemed like the Drifter's solution was just to lay out all the facts and go from there. A bit like Ayatan. Athenzane, on the other hand, was tired of this pussyfooting around.

"You're assuming that it's two different things, like kubrows and kavats. When it's really an interlocking collection of systems. That has to be the answer. Different aspects of a whole. A ship and its engines, a ship and its life support, a ship and its weapon systems. The Void? We think we know it, but it's infinitely bigger than a ship. So, we know but one temporal facet: eternalism. But what specific function does it hold, and in response to what? Vice versa, what is the new methodology doing and what is it in response to?"

They all looked at her.

"Ah," Ayatan finally spoke, "Like different type of cells in the human body."

The Drifter dipped her head. "To be fair, this is unprecedented."

"To the point where we're getting flashes from that timeline?" Athenzane asked.

The Drifter's gaze snapped onto her. "What?"

"Just a few moments before. I thought you knew. Is it just me?"

Before anything else could be said, the Dojo quaked and all of them were thrown off kilter as the world slid down a slant. Ayatan jumped backwards into Umbra, landing on her feet. The Drifter fared far worse than the three Tenno, who effortlessly re-orientated themselves. To her credit, the Drifter broke into a roll toward the stage's side that became the new ground and leveraged herself up.

The Warlord turned her attention to the Cephalons stationed in the Dojo as a myriad of glowing, abstractions appeared on her HUD.

"Status report!" she barked.

"The engine that hides the Dojo in the Void blew up," Cephalon Alpha said, the one clear voice among the din.

"Fuck." It came out a whisper before it broke out into a scream. "Fuck! Was it sabotage?"

"Security footage confirms nothing, but analysis of the incident appears it might be." Zeniya joined the call, her effortlessly smug mug appearing in front of her. "Operator Zeniya, your expertise is needed in rerouting the gravity stabilizers."

"If it's sabotage, I can help track down the pursuers." Ayatan, nestled in Umbra, started traversing with Zeniya, leaping toward the door.

"No," the Drifter cut in, swaying on her feet, but Ayatan didn't hear her. She stared down at her hands, briefly pressing them together and then pulling them away. A spark of energy danced between the two of them. "Impossible… the Blinovitch Limitation Effect?"

Then she shuddered, before running a hand over her face, slicking back her hair.

"I think I know what's going on," she said, deathly calm.

"What happened?" Athenzane demanded, falling next to the Drifter.

"Eternalism clashing with another framework. Two events happened simultaneously. The parent is dead; the parent is alive." Athenzane absently remembered that part of the schooling lecture. "But here, it's all wrong. The parent being both dead and alive only apply to an either-or situation, intertwined closely enough to diverge. This is like birth and death in terms of distance. Except the death of an adult is happening to a birth of a children."

"What?"

The Drifter lolled her head to a wall, where the shutters were down.

"Your answer is right there."

Athenzane hopped onto the slanted floor and strode to it, snapping her fingers to have the automated system pull the shutter down. And the sight she saw… They were in the Void, but they also weren't. The typical interplay of blueish swirls and empty space was met with a hard stop of nothing. Literally nothing. Darker than black. But she could ignore that, in favor of an identical Dojo floating in the Void.

It was Clan Splatter Gold's Dojo that stared back at them. She recalled Ayatan sharing Albrecht's Vitruvian entries and the reflection that he met in the Void… the Man in the Wall. It was not him; it was something else.

"I think the Orokin could only know one side of the Void. But maybe their little breath and depth was limited to that one aspect. They could not cross the ocean. But now, what was once a sea is now a river. We see different faces…" the Drifter whispered.

"But is it a reflection?"

"It's the you that set off the explosion, only your biodata got crossed like splitting hairs. The end touched the beginning."

Biodata? How did the Drifter know this when she seemed clueless just moments before? Was she afflicted by temporal memories far more severely than her? She could only remember a single, defining moment.

"Something is very wrong. Either that should be you, or going to be you… or it should just be a concurrent you. Instead, for a single moment, you were connected and when she dragged her Dojo here, yours came along as well."

Athenzane pressed her palms against the glass, seeing the other Dojo pulsate, several critical parts blowing up and scattering in the Void. With a screeching, soundless howl, it punched another hole and disappeared, but it left a patch of that dark emptiness.

"That's the Void I'm more familiar with. The Howling, the Great-Space Time Void, the Outer Void… so many words to describe a different flavor of nothing."

"You're… you're different now..." Athenzane moved, drawing her sword and placing it at the Drifter's neck. "Who are you?"

The Drifter looked over to her, an alien gaze on an even stranger face. "Call me Cousin Duviri."

Athenzane hesitated. For better or for worse, this version of the Drifter seemed to know more than the last one. Right now, that was what her clan needed. And so the Warlord acted. She grabbed Duviri by the wrist, hauling her to the door, practically dragging her into the hallway.

She expected a hustle and bustle of the clan's agents and workers. Those normal people were under their protection, sheltering them from the harsh reality of the Origin System whilst giving them purpose.

But they all stood still, lining the hallways, waiting for them. Typical headgear fashion tended to cover the eyes, but they were absent. In the place of them were a circle with numbers counting from twelve all around the rim. Two hands from the center winded slowly in a circle, pointing at the numbers.

Athenzane fell into a stance, brandishing her sword, but the Drifter? She merely laughed.

"Clock People, huh? Oh, what fun!" Duviri spread out her arms grandiosely. "Our great Faction now fractions!"
 
Bazaar Times (Warframe x Destiny) — 1. Operation: Stolen Bazaar
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

Warframe is a free-to-play third person shooter. The players play one of the Tenno, masters of the eponymous Warframes, and takes place across the solar system. The warframes are the biomechanical creations of the Orokin, possessing a variety of abilities to fight the Sentients, a replicating and adapting foe that necessitated the return to gun and blade. After the Old War, the Tenno then killed the Orokin for their crimes, causing the Collapse and they disappeared afterwards. In the aftermath, the Corpus, a zealous capitalist civilization with their own mechanical monstrosities, and the Grineer, a conquering empire of degenerating clones, arose. This is what the Tenno have awoken to: a system ravaged by this conflict and the rampant Infestation, another creation by the Orokin. The Tenno are guided by the Lotus, who acts as both their handler and maternal figure, as they seek to maintain balance within the system.

Destiny is a game series that focuses on Guardians: the formerly dead risen by a Ghost and granted powers by the Light. The Ghosts, and the Light, come from the Traveler, a huge white sphere that goes around uplifting alien species, including humanity. There came a golden age which eventually ended suddenly by an external force. The Traveler was pursued by an enemy who uses the Darkness to tear down everything the Traveler has built up. For reasons unknown, it makes a stand at Earth instead of running. The Ghosts came in the aftermath, raising humans, exos (human minds uploaded in a mechanical body), and Awoken (humans caught in the clash between Light and Dark, changing them) so that they might defend against the oncoming threats. Threats such as the Fallen: a species abandoned by the Traveler to the Darkness; the Hive: a species that worships the Darkness; and the Vex: a race of machines with time capabilities. Only the Guardians and their Light stand before them and the Last City, one of the last known bastions of humanity.

Varzia Dax had it pretty good ever since coming out of that long slumber. Maroo's Bazaar was a thriving business, but that was just a happy side-effect of working with such a flirtatiously flighty thief. She owed Maroo for popping her out of that popsicle stand, but she would have been happy just to work with such a pretty face.

Dax were meant to serve, after all.

She would think that bitterly when watching in silence as the Orokin did their gold-tinted atrocities with pomp and flair. On the bright side, she would also think that when she was on her knees, worshiping at a human altar, hands sliding down from their waist—

Varzia decided to put a pin on that thought as Tenno began filtering into the Bazaar. The Tenno were a colorful collection of motley killers, but if you were to take the time to truly observe them, some oddities. For one, most of them were decked out in differing variations and shades, none of them looked the same. Even if warframes weren't naturally so terrifying — even the "silly" ones like Yareli or Grendel — it'd be confusing to see why these powerful 'frames were so inundated with strange fashion choices especially by such skilled killers that resided within them.

But she knew. Most Tenno didn't like to be called kids, but the truth of the matter was that they never got a chance to grow up. Not quite adults, not quite children, but warriors all the same. These kids — half of them amnesic from overthrowing the Orokin pricks, the other half were complete mutes, but all of them deadly killers.

She owed the Tenno, not just for saving her from Erra… She owed them, because just about everyone either used them and failed them. Even if the Tenno had killed the people she cared about during the whole mess after the Old War… even if she had been left behind in the long freeze… how much of the blame could be assigned to the Tenno? They weren't so much following orders as being stuck in some pretty shitty circumstances with few choices to make. Did the Tenno even know what happened to Varzia after they saved her?

Nobody was innocent. Not her, not the Tenno, but that wasn't today. The time to wallow in old grudges was over. Today, she was going to help how she could, just as the Tenno did.

The first Tenno that approached was in a Mesa Prime. This one retained the standard white and gold color scheme with a Montesa Helmet.

Now, that took her back. There was a Tenno that kept messing around with their Mesa Prime's hat out of annoyance, before eventually ripping it off. Repeatedly. Of course, there was function to the forms of Warframe. The Orokin made the impractical work, creating gaudy and flashy bits that had purpose. Though Varzia wasn't sure what the hat did, but it did annoy the Tenno's handler to such a degree that eventually action was taken. Though it wasn't so much making the warframe less effective as making the Orokin look bad by association. So the Orokin drafted up the Montesa helmet with a shorter and smaller hat, looking far more trim. It was a fashionable look with a small slit right underneath the rim overlaid with gold down the middle.

But it was no reward. Once the Tenno was forced to stop fiddling with the hat, the Orokin promptly sent the Mesa Prime into the worst of the Old War, in a clearly futile attempt to slow down Hunhow's rampage. The Tenno went without question and the chaos of the War meant that Varzia never got any clear answers about their fate.

She wasn't sure if the Tenno before her was the Mesa Prime user that she knew or only possessed the frame. Would the Tenno give a clear answer? Or did they even remember? The Mesa Prime reached into their inventory and pulled out a pouch, dipping fingers into it. There was a rattle of coins and other metals as they searched for something.

All the signs that the Tenno were kids were always there. It was a fucking mystery on how it wasn't all that common knowledge. The Mesa pulled out three Regal Aya coins: stamped into shape with a shiny seal and refined Aya underneath, light blue in color.

"Got some Regal Aya, ay, Tenno?" she asked.

They nodded vigorously and Varzia could almost imagine the operator's beaming face behind it.

The Regal Aya felt lighter than air and she turned to her Foundry. Her Foundry was vastly different than the standard Orbiter Foundry, being able to reconstruct weapons and warframes from Aya — the Orokin sequence memory. With "refined" Aya, the Foundry essentially pulled them straight them from her time. Even with regular Aya, it could find and conjure Void Relics that possessed the necessary parts. But the problem was that the Foundry was subjected to "waves of availability" that made for a limited and time-sensitive selection. Memory was a fickle thing, after all.

"Got something in my mind?" She threw up a holographic screen for the Tenno to navigate. "It seems that the Foundry is focusing on Limbo Prime —" The quietest of huffs came from the Tenno. "— and Trinity Prime."

She didn't know the Tenno was annoyed with a Limbo Prime. The 'frame had a very dapper hat, after all, but before Varzia could get any answers there was a collective "thump!" across the entire Bazaar. The light started to flicker and a spot of massive turbulence pushed Varzia against the table next to the foundry. Several Prime weapons slid off and fell down to the lower levels of the Bazaar. The Regal Aya rolled across the floor and was stopped by the heel of her left boot, while she focused on holding.

"You okay, Maroo?" she shouted once everything settled.

"Just…" A strained groan. "Peachy!"

Varzia took a few uneasy steps, noting the slight slant to the floor. All the warframes that had been coming and going, as far as she could see, were slumped down on either their knees or backs. Not one stirred; all were inert. Lifeless and cut from Transference. One of the Bazaar workers laid dead by a broken neck, sprawled in the center next to the tree.

"Orphix field?" Varzia shouted.

The New War was supposed to be over and while Narmer was still a problem, they lacked "ground" in the Origin System. And the Tenno dedicated time every week to hunt down their Archons. They were a threat, yes, but they were not quite a problem.

"No Orphix readings on my end!" Maroo answered.

Whatever this might be, it could be totally and utterly new. She picked up her sword and only hesitated as her hand hovered over Teshin's old Orvius. Maroo had managed to scrounge up the old standard Dax glaive while trawling through the wreckage of the New War.

It made her feel strange to recognize the fact that she really was the last Dax in the System, but she set aside those feelings and slotted the glaive onto her back. As she went up the steps, she spot Maroo crouched low next to a warframe. Her very lithe form with her rear practically jutting out made Varzia commit another image as a core memory.

Maroo, in her tight blue and black spacesuit, glanced back. Maroo, despite having her helmet with an eye-covering visor, was quite the looker — Varzia only had to look at her luscious lips to know this to be true. Despite with how infatuated she might be with Maroo, she still loomed over the thief in a disapproving and chiding fashion.

"Now, now, I know you're a thief, but there are right people to steal from and I'm sure your clientele isn't one of them."

"Got movement on the motion tracker. My rinky dinky pistol isn't up to snuff." Maroo pulled out a Vasto Prime — a white and gold revolver. Judging by the shimmering air near the barrel, it was modded for heavy radiation.

"Kept you safe during the New War, didn't I?"

Maroo smiled and raised the revolver, pointed at the ceiling. "Doesn't hurt to be extra safe."

"Right you are. Safe word is Hayden. Call it out if things get too dicey and I'll get you to extraction." Varzia nudged her head back. "But this is your Bazaar."

"And I don't let anyone roll over me. I don't bow to the Grineer or the Corpus. And I won't bow down to whoever dares attack here."

There were cries and screams from the hanger attendants before they drew silent. Maroo hopped down the stairs and took cover by the tree. The sealed doors began to spark as something began cutting through. Varzia cracked her neck both ways and started to limber up, stretching left and right. At the end of the tight and compressed movements, she held her sword by her side. With a flick of her wrist, her sword surged with energy, becoming infused with a cold chill. Frost permeated the air and she fell into the Crimson Dervish stance.

What did Teshin quote at her one time?

Sun at mid-heaven,
Sovereign above all;
Mind in firm action
Commits without reflecting.


It was a good thing that she didn't bother dwelling on that too much, because the nature of the enemies could have made her hesitate. And hesitation was death. Instead as soon as the inlay of the door was pushed down, she launched forward in a Coiling Impale. Three were already cut down by the spinning, cutting twirl, and the one in the lead was stabbed in the face. The final one was brought low, wrenched onto their knees as Varzia jerked the blade out.

At first, she thought them some strange variant of the Infestation, but they were wielding weapons, wore armor, and were far more uniform in shape. They bled a reddish purple color with some strange gas spilling out as well. All of them had four eyes and masks that were clearly meant for breathing in. Two of them only had two arms, while the rest had four, but on closer inspection, the others had nubs in place of arms.

Curious, but the whys of everything should be put on the backburner. The obvious conclusions, however, racked at her brain. Not Infested, not Sentient, but alien… probably from beyond the Outer Terminus.

"What… the fuck…"

She didn't have much time to mull this revelation over as a veritable tide of these aliens started to stream in. Their guns brought forth a torrent of both shrapnel and electricity shocks. Varzia swung her blade in a clockwise motion, switching the cold to electricity.

Varzia backflipped back, launching herself from one hand and as she flung backwards, the Dax met the attacking trajectories with precision blocking. The aliens continued to fire, filing past the checkpoint and into the Bazaar proper, but that was part of the plan. Well, "plan" being the favorable, resultant consequences of well-honed instincts, because it gave her more maneuverability.

Once a good amounted of distance was established, she threw out her Orvius into the crowd of aliens. They all dodged it, but was once more part of the "plan" which was the instinct to further dive in instead of scattering the foes and making it harder for the Dax.

The glaive was in their midst and she pulled on it. Green energy tugged at her, pulling her right after the thrown weapon, and she emerged in a Twisting Fury. Cutting and dancing, sword singing and legs kicking, she cleared a space out to work her magic —an oasis fighting a storm. A lone blade meeting many, forcing her to be an artist in motion. They were scrappy and furious and full of hate. One didn't truly fight someone else without getting some manner of measure from them. Whatever they were, they hated her for what she was.

Not her being a Dax, but human.

Those further back were cut down, choking and burning with radiation, but then a much larger one swatted at her with two arms. She was thrown back, slamming against the tree. This one loomed over the rest. Not so much the leader as a lieutenant of sorts. He-she-it-they took charge and the rest of them scampered toward the warframes, dragging them toward the door. There were about fifteen inert warframes and that was fifteen too many to lose to enemy hands. Warframes weren't invincible — though they came pretty damn close — but with the right equipment and right skills in the right situation, the Tenno could be brought down.

It didn't happen often, but it didn't need to be. The consequences were more than problematic: Zanukas and Archons, were the products of Corpus and Sentient tampering. She didn't want to see want to see what alien hands would do with a warframe.

The Dax surged forward, throwing out the glaive to interrupt the aliens from making off with the warframe, but the big one wasn't idle. If the Dax was a harsh wind, then this one fell like a tidal wave. She ducked under the blow, slicing at its stomach, but it possessed shields overlaying its skin. With one of its lower arms, it backhanded her and destroyed her shields. Both of them got each other's measure and could feel how out strong each other's shields were. She was at the disadvantage and the big alien knew this.

It, with surprising quickness, fell upon her, striking with such fury that it knocked her sword out of her hand. She slid under the follow-up, catching the returning glaive with her left hand. Twisting back around, she fell inside the alien's guard, using the glaive as a makeshift, bladed gauntlet. She struck again and again, forcing the alien back through sheer ferocity. The crack and shatter of the shields left it vulnerable and it lashed out, forcing her back.

Varzia smirked and shot out her hand, recalling her sword. It spun through the air, cleaving through the alien's sword arm. It hissed and could do nothing no else as the Dax met the blade halfway. Hefting it in her hands, she cleanly separated the head from the neck. Several shots rang out from Maroo who took down the last few aliens. She glanced back, seeing that all the warframes were still here.

Maroo gingerly stepped out of cover, revolver pointed at the door.

"What do you think this is?" Varzia asked.

"I don't think they came to us. The coordinates for the Relay are no longer near Mars. I think we came to them." Maroo sighed loudly. "All this fancy, alien, and new loot they dropped and we aren't anywhere near a place to pawn it off."

"Might explain why the Tenno got disconnected. Transference can only reach so far—" System-wide, in fact. "— but it makes sense that it won't totally work if we're beyond the Outer Terminus."

There was just one flaw in that theory. Most Tenno moved on from using the Somatic Link and started using a deeper level of Transference. The increasing scale of the enemies necessitated that the operators themselves to make an appearance on the battlefield. If the Transference was cut somehow because of distance from the Origin System, then they should have been either booted out of the warframes or barely be able to move.

Maroo went over to a nearby console and started typing away. "Well, I will admit to knowing jack about Eternalism, but unless you got a better idea, I'd say we traveled back in time. Not going to an isolated pocket of the past, but like… full on time travel."

"Why do you say that?"

A holographic still of Lua was displayed, except it was not the seat of the Orokin Empire. It was unmarred and untouched, looking a pristine white, and unadorned with a golden superstructure that encased the orbital body. Before anything else could be done, the hackles rose on the back of Varzia's neck.

She turned back to the entrance, seeing yet another one of those aliens, emitting a strange energy. It chilled her in a way that was similar, yet different to Void exposure. Just the sense of trying to see the horizon, unable to see comprehend that there was an end to it. She could march for days and never reach the edge. This new alien was almost certainly the leader. It wore a mask that covered the right set of eyes, while having a raised collar of strange looking ice jutting out from around its neck. In its hands were a sword, held with a tempered yet rough surety.

Warrior saw warrior. There was an understanding about the coming conflict— an inevitability as sure as thought and existence. Even still, it seemed there must be formalities.

"There's no stopping what's coming not. Make it easier on yourselves and just stand down," the alien said in a feminine voice, "And enjoy what time you have before the end comes."

Varzia purred. "Shame we can't be more diplomatic. Inter-species relations could certainly be… interesting."

"You jest," she hissed, "On the eve of everything."

"Nope. It is a shame. At the end of the day, I am a Dax and I have to do what I must." She raised her blade, settling into Rising Steel. "We both have served terrible people. I can feel it. But I choose who I serve now: that hot piece of ass over there, and the wielders of these warframes."

Yes, warrior saw warrior. This alien was working for someone great and terrible, and against her will. Once upon a time, Varzia had been proud to serve the Orokin until she began to see the atrocities they committed on the daily. This alien, she sensed, didn't even have the luxury of choice.

The alien inclined her head down ever so slightly. "Then relish in your choice, your freedom. And your death."

A tense pause before they fell upon her. Varzia knew she was going to lose after three sword strokes from the alien. The first blow nearly wrenched her blade from her hands, arms shaking from the sheer force. The second blow she barely dodged, narrowly missing her jaw. And the last blow, slashed right through the shields, scarring the silver breastplate on her chest.

This was an enemy she was unequipped to fight.

"Run Maroo! Get out of here!" she shouted.

"Haven't even called my safeword yet!"

Maroo dashed toward Varzia's foundry, throwing herself into a dive The alien tossed out an icy orb at the thief. It exploded in a rising cascade of strange, shimmering ice that froze Maroo at the waist, leaving her top half dangling in a diagonal slant. Regal Aya glittered beneath Maroo.

Varzia growled, throwing out a wild slash to buy her time to grab her glaive, but the alien grabbed the blade with a hiss. There was only a flash of blood before that same foreign ice weighed the blade down. It became heavier than she would have thought. She tried cycling a different effect and fire briefly flashed beneath the cold before it was quickly smothered to nothing. With no other choice, she quickly dropped the blade.

Any move she took would have left her vulnerable, so she was rather grateful that she wasn't instantly skewered. Instead, thanks to blocking with the glaive, only a good chunk of her armor around the midriff was torn to shred and she was sent in a tailspin. The ground lurched toward as a gut punch, vision spinning as she struggled to sit up, but she couldn't find which way was up.

"Come on, damn it!" Maroo shouted.

She blinked, seeing Maroo reaching down and plucking a Regal Aya. She slammed it into the Foundry slot, but instead of selecting a weapon to manifest, everything began to thrash and spark. The Foundry glitched out, sparking as it conjured up a Bolter Prime. Well, that definitely wasn't in the current rotation. It dropped down and Maroo barely managed to catch it. It fell with weight, dragging her arm like a pendulum.

With an exhausted heft, Maroo tossed it at Varzia. It fell into her hands, ready to go. Unmodded, unForma'd, and far from super-charged, it would have to be enough. She opened fire. The alien scampered before tossing out another a orb and another wall of ice formed. She tried shooting through, but Varzia got the sense that even if the weapon was modded heavily for penetration, it would not even begin to make a dent in this strange ice.

The alien leapt up into the air, grabbing the sword with two hands and brought it down with a heavy slam. She raised up the Bolter Prime to block. The blade didn't cut all the way through, but it was more than enough to damage the function. Varzia drew the still-stuck blade away with a throw, diving around the alien.

"Catch!"

Maroo tossed her a set of Tekko Prime gauntlets and Varzia fell into Gaia's Tragedy. Slow, powerful strikes were a forte of this stance, but the flurry of blows were still pretty tricky. She moved forward, throwing out the Ocean's Contempt. Tired she may be, she struck hard and fast, and finished with an overhead blow. And the alien took it in stride, grabbing her by the wrists with the lower arms. Ice crackled, breaking apart the weaponry and holding her arms stretched. Another hand grabbed her by the throat, the other raised the blade. Varzia thought about how Erra held her aloft, cracking her helmet open slowly as if to make her keenly aware that he was about to crack open her skull. She didn't struggle like last time and accepted what was about to come.

She grinned red and said, "Choke me harder, mommy."

At the very least, the alien obliged. Vision growing dim, she almost the air weeping and reaping into itself. Space intersected space and a Limbo warframe popped into existence a few feet away, stepping out from the Rift Plane. This one was colored red and gray with an Aureolus helmet, giving it a beaked appearance. It possessed no weapons, but it raised its hands, energy stirring all around it. The alien dropped Varzia and stepped back hesitantly.

And it promptly fell apart, limbs detaching, head falling.

In its place was a Tenno in the flesh, who wore a Voidshell suit, giving them a very androgynous appearance. The bronze and black metal gave them a very armored appearance and the helmet was intimidating with two large lenses. The Tenno and the alien faced off in a tense standoff before they both shot their hands out. That cold beam met Void fury in a blinding flash. The two tensed as they put more and more of themselves into the attack. Something had to give and the struggle broke off, sending wild sprays of energy against the walls. Streaks of ice and burn marks now decorated the walls.

"That's not Light," the alien hissed.

"No. It's the Void," the Tenno replied in a muffled voice.

"I was not warned about this." The alien glanced back before nodding her head. "No matter. I got what I came for."

The Tenno raised their hand, but the alien teleported out in a bright flash. There was a tense, searching pause before they turned to Varzia and extended a hand to the fallen Dax.

"Saved me yet again, ay, Tenno?"

"Always."

Despite being taller than the Tenno, Varzia was reminded of the wide gulf between Dax and Tenno.

"How did you get here?"

"I was here to get a Trinity Prime when Transference failed and kicked me back to my Orbiter. Not my Somantic Link, but in my Landing Craft." The Tenno looked right into Varzia. "I was hasty and made a rough plan with my Limbo. The theorem work for the Rift Walk was very hasty. It took me to where the Bazaar should have been, but it was empty. There were other Tenno ships there, searching for it, but I was kinda… floating in space. And without an Archwing life support system, I decided to make another Rift Walk without knowing where I was really going. The math was complicated, but I was basically Rift Walking to the idea of the Bazaar. And I can only assume this is some alternate timeline or such."

"Could have died."

The Tenno shrugged. "And? I used to believe that I was the warframe during the Old War. Just because my actual life is now on the line doesn't change the fact that some things need to be done."

Varzia laughed.

"Can someone get me out of this ice?!" Maroo shouted.

The Tenno popped up right next to the thief and laid their hands on it.

"No ordinary ice," they murmured.

Maroo said, "You know, I can't believe that the Tenno really are kids." The Tenno stared at Maroo, who held up both hands. "Teenagers, my bad. But I always thought those whispers to be some bizarre form of propaganda."

"It's an open secret. And doesn't really matter."

Void energies burned against the ice. Nothing happened for a moment and then the Tenno grunted, forcing their hands deeper into the ice. As the Tenno worked, Varzia took stock of the situation. She looked back and saw that all of the warframes, save the one near the Foundry, were stolen.

Damnit!

That alien managed to provide a good enough distraction for the rest of them to steal the 'frames. That was fourteen warframes in enemy hands, but before she could mull on that, something happened. The cold surged into the Tenno and they cried out, hands shaking as icicles sunk past the suit and into their skin. They stumbled back, the ice around Maroo breaking away as they did. The Tenno shivered, curling into herself and falling into the Mesa Prime, disappearing into it.

They did not stir.

Maroo and Varzia looked down at the unconscious Tenno.

"Well. Shit."
 
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Season of Transmigrations (Destiny x ???) — 1. Introduction
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel. The question marks mean I haven't properly decided on the cross. Open to ideas. It's fairly open-ended at this point by design.

Destiny is a game series that focuses on Guardians: the formerly dead risen by a Ghost and granted powers by the Light. The Ghosts, and the Light, come from the Traveler, a huge white sphere that goes around uplifting alien species, including humanity. There came a golden age which eventually ended suddenly by an external force. The Traveler was pursued by an enemy who uses the Darkness to tear down everything the Traveler has built up. For reasons unknown, it makes a stand at Earth instead of running. The Ghosts came in the aftermath, raising humans, exos (human minds uploaded in a mechanical body), and Awoken (humans caught in the clash between Light and Dark, changing them) so that they might defend against the oncoming threats. Threats such as the Fallen: a species abandoned by the Traveler to the Darkness; the Hive: a species that worships the Darkness; and the Vex: a race of machines with time capabilities. Only the Guardians and their Light stand before them and the Last City, one of the last known bastions of humanity.

Everybody knew the Young Wolf was bit of a weirdo. But not in any obvious fashion that would allow them to be sorted, to be able to be pointed at and exclaim, 'That there is a Warlock Guardian.' Apart from their choice in robes, the Young Wolf might as well be a Hunter or a Titan. The Young Wolf wasn't much of a talker and their Ghost talked far more than they ever did. Which would be fine. It wasn't common, but it wasn't exactly uncommon either.

Except the Young Wolf named their Ghost 'Ghost' and then promptly remained silent on the matter. Nobody really knew the reason behind the name and it was a cause for minor speculation. It all had to be some sort of long con joke that, as it gained more layers of irony, became unbearably complex so that only someone insane would find funny.

That was what the Hunter, Kaz Ador, had his money on for a private wager in his Fireteam. The other two had their own ideas. The Warlock, Valkyrie-7, thought that the Young Wolf never named their Ghost and everyone else was mistaken. The Titan, Shallin, thought it started off as an awkward accident that the Young Wolf was too embarrassed to correct.

But no matter how weird they may be, the Young Wolf's prowess in combat and deed was high up in legend. They had slain gods, helped end the Red War, along with a flurry of other accomplishments. And Fireteam Eros's Engines could lay claim to a few as well, given that they aided the Young Wolf on the raids. They and another pair of Guardians followed the Young Wolf's into the deepest depths, fighting alongside them against nigh impossible odds.

So, when the Young Wolf's Ghost left an assignment for the Fireteam, they listened. The Young Wolf didn't do social calls and so, as expected, the message was urgent.

"Uh, hey," the recording went, "This message is really, uh, infohazardous and time sensitive. We can't really delve in too deep and we're caught up in some really serious matters at the moment. But we can't leave this unattended either. I really don't want to come off as all vague and oblique – we get more than enough of that ourselves – but just head to the Manhattan Nuclear Zone; you'll see what we mean. Coordinates are encoded in the dispatch."

Valkyrie-7 frowned as her Ghost finished playing the message. She was a dark pink Exo with a white seven painted over her forehead. She tugged at the cords of her Phoenix Protocol robes in a fit of anxiousness. Though always eager to learn from unprecedented experiences, she had learned to be wary of the excursions the Young Wolf asked them to undertake.

Shallin kept a blank expression as she ruminated on this. She stood tall and imposing with her Devastation Complex armor set, giving her a knight-esque appearance with the shoulder plates being ringed with spikes. Only her luminous blue skin, close-cropped white hair, and bright green eyes humanized her beyond being a titanic ideal.

Kaz Ador took all of this in with a grin, fingering the jutting spike from his Liar's Handshake gauntlets. As if satisfied by their sharpness, the black-haired human strutted in between the two woman. He wrapped his arms around them, careful not to poke either of them.

"Looks like Fireteam Polyamory has a mission!" he proclaimed loudly.

They both groaned, with Shallin sternly asking, "You didn't change our name in the registry to Fireteam Polyamory again, did you?"

"Hey, hey, I only do that when some Guardians call us Fireteam Polygamy by accident and that would have given everyone the wrong idea. Come on, back me up, Valk. Semantics and concise language are important, right?"

Valkyrie nodded solemnly, but also added, "But I thought we weren't going to use that name. Not even jokingly."

"Ah, ah, ah, we all agreed to table that discussion later."

"A despicable loophole."

Kaz grinned. "And you love me for it. We all know if you really wanted me to change, we'd have a frank talk." His expression grew serious. "Do you want to? I'd make the time."

Both of them knew he'd keep true to his word, despite the time-sensitive request from the Young Wolf. He was of the sort that would advocate for a transparent talk, even if the Last City was on fire. In fact, he almost did, during the Red War when they lost the Light and Valkyrie couldn't cope with the loss. He would have prioritized her feelings over the dying civilians. That sobered the Warlock right up and got her to fight once more.

His love was reserved for the few and, though his exuberance for life saw him take up arms for humanity, he was comfortable with strangers being statistics, if it came down to them or his loved ones. But it was up to the both of them to make sure he'd never have to make that choice. They wouldn't change him for the world, but they didn't want to see him become a pariah either.

"We're fine with the joke," Valkyrie said.

"For now," Shallin added.

"But thank you for taking the time to ask."

"Y'all done flirting already or are we going to get going? The Young Wolf gives us the most exciting of trips and I wanna see what data we're gonna get," a voice said, whirling around them. Her Ghost, Odin, wore the Archangel's Shell, giving a sort of angular cloaked look.

"Let our Guardians have their moment," Marred, Shallin's Ghost, declared.

He manifested above Shallin's shoulder, looking worn and rough in his Scarlet Swarm shell. Sharp, red chitinous-like material composed the top and bottom parts of the shell, with tiny blue arrowheads popping from other parts of the shell.

"Can we get going already?" a grumpy voice asked over the comms.

Kaz's Ghost, Sunny, didn't appear often and it was due to his appearance. With whiskers and cat-ears, it very much looked like a one-eyed cat. The Ghost had lost a bet with Kaz and had to adopt that shell for a year.

"Alright, alright," Kaz said, letting go of the women and strutting forward. "Let's mosey, peeps."

They quickly moved through the hangers. The Shipwright, Amanda Holliday, wasn't in the best of moods lately. Though she tried to hide it, she was fairly upset when it came out that Crow used to be Uldren Sov. And the Fireteam agreed that it was best to avoid her, given that they stood with the Young Wolf on this matter.

Almost nesting together, their ships were aligned in a uniform dark and gray colors. It was mostly for 'stealth' as Valkyrie put it, but Guardians were already flashy enough. Extending that to their ships felt like vanity to the trio. Kaz's ship was a City Apex, looking like a sharp arrow, while Valkyrie's was a Beautiful Gravities, appearing much like a legless but still flight-capable insect. And, for some inscrutable reason, Shallin had the Unixûrsal Voyager, which was essentially a glowing asteroid. The other two didn't know how she got it, but they didn't need answers. It was just one of Shallin's quirks.

Their helmets materialized over their heads as they got ready to set out. Valkyrie-7 wore a Gensym Knight Hood, casting most of her visage in a dark visor; Shallin had on her Eternal Warrior mask, granting her a stoic and statuesque face upon the light-blue helm; and Kaz wore his Tangled Web mask, the six circular lens giving him an unsettling gaze.

As they transmatted into their ships, Kaz made sure to flourish his Calamity Rig cloak to any onlookers.

Vain as it was, the flourish was a ritual. A good luck charm. And, despite his bravado, there was a feeling of apprehension he couldn't seem to shake. Kaz had to be fearless, for his team.
 
2. Fallout
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

The three ships streaked over a fallen high-rise, depositing the Fireteam with a whoosh of the transmatting energies. Shallin took the lead in securing the position with the point of her shotgun. The Baligant swept across the immediate vicinity while Valkyrie scanned the farther structure through the visor of her pulse rifle. Finger on the trigger of Hailing Confusion, she snapped from broken building to broken building.

With the two of them securing their collective safety, Kaz looked at their destination through his sniper rifle. The Archimedes Truth was his favorite sniper rifle solely for the fact that it kinda looked like a toy and the absurdity of the dichotomy of appearance and purpose tickled his funny bone.

Shallin didn't find the humor in it.

"Clear?" she asked, after finishing her sweep.

"For now."

Kaz exchanged his weapon for the revolver. He looked down at the Ace of Spades, which the Young Wolf gave to him. "To keep the spirit of Cayde alive and to keep it warm for Crow," they had told him rather vaguely. He always looked a little awkward with it and all of them knew the only situation that might get Crow to accept it was him becoming the Hunter Vanguard. But who knew if that was ever going to happen.

"I'll lead the way once we get down," he said, once Valkyrie settled next to them.

She nodded and walked over to the edge. Shallin slid down the side of the broken building, fingers clawing at the crumbling walls. But that alone was not enough, so she utilized the Light to launch herself minutely upwards to lessen her descent. It was more a matter of control than any creative use of the Light because Titans tended to be function over form.

Valkyrie's slow glide down followed a similar principle, but her control was far more precise, more elegant. Shallin felt like she was going down a very unstable slide. Valkyrie was keeping level with her, hovering right next to her. All in order to become a comforting presence.

She put aside her annoyance – that kneejerk reaction that she should be the one comforting – and settled for pride. Valkyrie had always been the quiet one, who would shy away, thinking she was unwanted. One of Shallin's fears, during the start of this triad relationship, was that Valkyrie would have drifted away eventually, maybe… possibly leaving like Osiris with his exile.

Except there would be no cult of personality to remember her. Valkyrie would be forgotten among the Guardians, save for Shallin and Kaz, and that would somehow tarnish their love. Make them as hobbled and sad as a three-legged dog. And despite all they have now done – the growth of their collective legend – this fear remained.

Her fingers burrowed deep into the wall and she refused the reflexive impulse to clench her fist. When they landed, Shallin left that fear behind in the dust. But it would catch up to her. Like it always did. Still… as Valkyrie landed next to her, Shallin leaned in close, their shoulders almost touching. The two of them secured the position, making sure that no Taken had spotted their arrival. If they swarmed, it would be an uphill battle toward their destination. And by then, it might be too late.

After confirming their relative safety, they waited for Kaz and his keen eye. He was their pathfinder, able to chart their ways through the most turbulent of seas.

Sure enough, idiotic but lovable Kaz, stepped off the edge above them. He landed seconds later with a heart-stopping splat! That would be that, except the asshole had mastered the art of splattering his corpse back onto his feet for an instantaneous revive. She had watched him practice jumping off the Tower too many times to doubt his skill. And she heard Sunny gripe again and again about mastering the timing of such a niche maneuver.

His corpse flopped into an upright position, blood splattering, bones breaking, Valkyrie wincing. With Sunny having started his revival the half-second his body touched the ground, there was a smooth transition between lifeless corpse and strutting humanity. Kaz cracked his neck, glanced cockily at the two of them, then gestured two fingers toward the west.

Shallin took the lead this time, Valkyrie in the middle, and Kaz covering their flank.

"What do you think we're going to find?" Marred asked over the comms.

Shallin kept her eyes peeled, the shotgun poised, and the Light at the ready.

"I'm wagering some sort of portal," Odin chimed. "Probably to the Ascendant Plane."

"Then it sounds like we're investigating an important target rather than a phenomena. I'm sure the Young Wolf and, ugh, Ghost would have specified if we're doing some wetwork," Sunny grumbled.

On her HUD, the tracker threw up a single blip. Shallin held up a fist, her two partners hushing up behind her. Sticking out her thumb to signal Kaz to take a closer look, the Hunter saddled a little past her. He looked through the scope of the sniper rifle, took a deep breath, and hesitated. He raised a hand to wave, but kept his other hand on the rifle.

"We may have a problem. It depends on what they do next –"

That was when the bullet broke through the scope and into his head. Kaz swiveled before collapsing in a lifeless heap. Shallin hissed, filing away this incident to beat herself up for later. But they weren't in a Darkness Zone. Kaz would revive; he was fine.

"Do we go loud?" Shallin murmured.

"Was mundane bullet, not energy blast." Valkyrie's tone was clipped, analytic as she and Sunny dwelt over Kaz's body. Everybody dealt with stress in their own way.

"Meaning?"

"Rules out Taken. Unlikely that it's Fallen. One conclusion: human. Go loud, before they make it loud."

She popped out of cover, exchanging the shotgun for a Gjallarhorn. Overkill? Maybe, but Kaz didn't label things as problems unless they warranted it. And a human, this far in the Nuclear Zone? Something was up.

Shallin took aim with the rocket launcher, locking onto the fleeing figure. Kaz sprung up, twisting himself into a crouching position.

"We definitely have a rogue Lightbearer!" he hissed, then a second later, Shallin fired the Exotic. "They have a Ghost!"

The initial projectile missed as the figure dashed to the left, the explosion searing the wall next to them. Another Hunter? It wasn't like smooth movement was wholly relegated to that class alone. But as the micro-rockets bloomed from the first burst, they were redirected off course by some invisible force.

What application of the Light was that? It seemed to stretch outside the paradigm rather than recontextualize it. Was the Lightbearer a Warlock? There were reasons why there was enough overlap between Guardians to group them into classes. But Shallin hadn't bothered to learn the reasons; the Light did what she needed it to do. Valkyrie, however, was an expert on the subject matter. Reloading, she turned to the Warlock.

"Wasn't Light," Valkyrie murmured, answering her unspoken question. Life begun leaking back into her, now that the main stressor was gone. "It couldn't be. It wasn't even paracasual."

"It related to…" Kaz whistled and twirled his finger through the air.

"The simplest answer tends to be the right answer," Valkyrie answered.

"Okay, then. To keep it simple, subtlety is out the window. As is usual. Take point, Shallin."

She rushed out of cover, a juggernaut against the streaming tides of inky blackness. The commotion did not go unnoticed by the Taken leftovers in the area. Already, they gathered en masse and were breaking into a suicidal charge, a flood of death and misery. In their hundreds, they came and the Fireteam needed to reach the perpetrator before they were swamped. Their oblique objective must be reached. And these Taken Thralls and Dregs, shadows of the Hive and the Fallen, were in their way. Their numbers would have been overwhelming. For most.

But Shallin was a Titan, of the Firebreak Order. She was the shore that ships crashed upon; she was the quaking earth that tore down the mighty; she was the inevitable fall that came with gravity.

So many concerns that had to be boiled down to the most simplest of actions: push forward.

Void energy filled her up, coursing through her muscles, and it exploded outwards. She formed a Shield of Void Light, burning purple on her left arm. She dashed through them, smacking them to and fro with the Shield. Some of them disintegrated, others were thrown to the side, burning. Kaz and Valkyrie shot down these stragglers, their deaths exploding in hues of Void that further scattered them.

Together, the trio rushed through the sea, where it gave in the face of their efforts. It was parted in twain by the dent of their valor and their presence formed an uneasy raft to chart through the turbulence. But as they passed the crashing tide, it was only then that Shallin realized that they were chasing another tide, one far across from them. The swarming sea chased after their target as well. It was an obvious assumption to make, but only realized from the practical evidence before her eyes.

"Much more than expected," Odin commented.

"We'll get through," Marred replied.

"Of course we will. Our job isn't to kill every Taken here. Hell, it isn't even to cull them. It's to find that asshole who shot my Guardian and stop them!" Sunny shouted.

With a Titan at the forefront and the duo watching her back, they managed to outrun the Taken and broke free from the sea that would have drowned them. The bubble that was once their bastion was quickly filled in by the churning Taken. The trio leaped into an empty alleyway, their breathing room quickly evaporating. Kaz and Valkyrie jogged backwards, keeping a cover of suppressing fire.

As the two began to outpace Shallin, she threw her Void Shield into the fray. It bounced from foe to foe, disintegrating them whilst creating a temporary line that would not be crossed. She threw out her hands to create a Towering Barricade to stymie the flow of Taken through the chokepoint, just as her Shield sizzled into nothingness.

The energy barrier wouldn't slow them down much, but it would give them enough time to breathe.

She glanced back, seeing Valkyrie rush on ahead to the marked objective in her HUD. There was some sort of burning line in reality, shimmering and sucking up the dust all around them. The Warlock would figure out things from there. It was up to the two of them to keep her safe while she did so.

Kaz flicked his head at her and Shallin got the message, rushing up behind him. He stabbed a tripmine into the wall as the two of them continued backing up. What her shotgun could not decimate, his revolver cleaned up.

They reached the opposite mouth of the alley and the barrier was finally torn down. Their numbers sloshed into something more manageable as a sea turned into a narrow river. The tripmine detonated as it met the Taken, buying them more time to step onto the Empowering Rift Valkyrie left behind. The well of Light imbued them, letting them strike harder, kill quicker.

The Hunter began to fling out a Blade Barrage, fiery knives of Solar Light that burnt the Taken to a crisp and gave Shallin an opening to reload.

"ETA on the analysis?" Marred asked.

"It's a rent in reality," Valkyrie murmured. "Another angle askew with our angle. Punctured past the backstage of the universe into ours. It goes through the Ascendant Plane, but not of the plane. So from a paraverse? No, no. Yes? Need a more in-depth look."

"Not to rush you, dear, but I'd like some concrete direction," Kaz replied.

Valkyrie hummed. "It can't be closed from our side. It's like a stab wound and our reality is the wound. We can't stitch it up until the knife is pulled out. But the problem is that the rent is also the knife."

"That, uh, doesn't make sense."

"It's the blind men and the elephant metaphor, in effect, with a mix of Schrodinger's Cat. Maybe. Further analysis is going to be reliant on going onto the other side."

"How dire would it be if we left it be?"

"If we follow the metaphor, there's a chance of infection as there are strange energy readings that are kinda… eating at the fabric of reality? I won't bore you with the specifics. Aside from the Taken's foreboding presence and the mysterious Lightbearer, this is a machination we're unprepared for. But possibly on a timer for, if the energy readings persist. Of course, we might be playing into someone's hands by trying, or succeeding, in closing the rent."

Kaz took a knee, reloading as he surveyed the grim work ahead.

"No other way of living. We do what we need to do and deal with the consequences. Same as any other choice we make."

The sound of gunfire and shrieks did not abate until three minutes later, when some of the Taken upturned their heads. They peeled back, looking some vague direction before scampering off or otherwise disappearing into the ether.

Shallin frowned behind her helmet. "We're missing something aren't we?"

"Perhaps," Kaz murmured. "Or maybe we're one small piece. Them, another."

"Maybe this rent is important, but not as important as we're thinking?" Sunny chimed in.

"It would be awfully something if this was only just one rent in reality."

And there was nothing that confirmed this piece of speculation. It mattered not to Shallin. They had been sent to do this mission. Not every battle was the one that ended the war, but they were no less decisive in the grand scheme of things. Maybe not always to the war effort, but to the people affected by the conflict.

Kaz and Shallin shared a look. He flicked his head toward Valkyrie. The message was clear. He was going to secure the area while Shallin got the heart of the matter. He double-jumped onto the wall and began scaling upwards. Shallin took a moment to appreciate the view afforded by his climb.

Then she trudged back to Valkyrie who was circling around the rent. Odin floated over her shoulder, following his Guardian in sync.

"Why don't we just jump in?" Shallin asked.

Valkyrie looked up from her circling studies. "It wouldn't be like the Ascendant Plane. Whenever we jump in, there isn't a real chance of being lost to the void, floating endlessly without reprieve. We'd have some manner of ground beneath our feet."

"But this doesn't?"

"It bisects through the Ascendant Plane, but does not lead to the Ascendant Plane. To go through it, we'd be sliding down the edge of a knife," Odin added.

"How do we close it then?"

"It might be a long-term project, it might not be. Might be one way, might not be. We won't know until we get further information. The real questions should be about that stray Lightbearer and the overwhelming number of Taken that we encountered. The latter could be chalked up to the Hive God of War's machinations," Valkyrie explained.

"But I imagine she isn't one for subtlety."

"A blunt hammer can yet surprise the nail. Don't underestimate Xivu Arath. Intelligence states she's a master at operontological warfare, attacking through the very idea of her martial prowess."

"Strategy isn't the same as subtlety. But I digress. You're in a mood today what with the weird metaphors. Are you okay?"

Valkyrie stilled, before opening her palm and letting Odin disappear within her grasp.

"I don't like seeing Kaz be so callous with his life. I know… I know we're Guardians, but…"

Shallin stepped up, grasping Valkyrie's hands and holding them between the two of them. It was easy to see the root of this issue, especially since it sprung up after the Red War. The brush of mortality made her more anxious, but Valkyrie coped with bouts of disassociation. Not the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but they had them to ground her. Except one of her anchors might end up pulling the rug beneath them.

"Then why don't you talk about it with him? He'd change –"

"I don't like…" Valkyrie took a deep breath. "I don't like telling people what to do with their lives. Especially someone like Kaz, because he's… he's a Hunter. But I feel like I'd be robbing him of something. Somehow make him less of himself."

"He wouldn't see it like that." Shallin looked around, sensing that Kaz was coming back soon. "I won't disclose your feelings about this, but I urge you, please, tell him."

Valkyrie was silent for a moment. "I'll think about it."

Shallin squeezed their hands together, before letting go. Then Kaz hopped down into the clearing.

"Okay, we got a problem. The reason why the Taken disappeared temporarily was because there was another Guardian in the area. He was here before us to cull some Taken numbers and they gathered around this rent. They were, apparently, feeding themselves to it. Not going through it, but allowing the Darkness to deepen the cut. Our Guardian managed to draw the Taken away. Until the rogue Lightbearer stopped his efforts."

"How'd you know?" Shallin asked, already knowing the answer.

"Sunny read the dead Ghost's memories. The Guardian died last, but not before he managed to draw the Taken away from us."

"Damn it," Shallin breathed. "We can't let his sacrifice be in vain."

"I think," Valkyrie whispered, "This is what the Young Wolf brought us here for. To stop the rent from worsening. Maybe, in the beginning, it could have dissipated on its own without Taken interference. But we're past this point. It's too late."

"No way out but through, huh? I volunteer then," Kaz said.

"I'd have a better chance of figuring it out than you. No offense."

"Sunny's smart. He can do it."

"Decision needs to be made," Shallin said, hearing the Taken encroach on their location. "And soon."

Kaz approached Valkyrie, nestled her face in his hands, and pressed their foreheads together.

"I'll be back, okay Valks?"

"Okay…" She took a shuddering breath. "I believe you."

He took out a length of rope, clipping it to his belt, and tossed it to Shallin. She wrapped it around her forearm and then yanked him into her arms. She gave him a tight hug before letting go.

"Keep me safe, eh, Shalls? Know the code?"

"Two tugs to pull you back, more than five is to get us to come running for you."

Kaz flicked two fingers from his brow before rushing into the rent and leaping through it. His very image was compressed into a thin line before he was slotted through.

Valkyrie turned to Shallin as the sounds of the Taken grew closer. Her sword, The Lament, began to wail as the grinding edge churned.

"Sword and shield maneuver?" Shallin asked.

Valkyrie burst in a flare, fiery wings spreading from her back and an additional sword sprouting in her free hand. It seemed unwieldy, but the Warlock was not so much a swordsman as a whirling, bladed force. Shallin summoned her Void Shield and, with concentrated effort and eking out more of her limited Light, conjured a mirrored copy on her other arm. Together in junction, they could be a roaring and tumbling wrecking ball. With every push of their momentum, they struck; with every pull of their momentum; they pulled back.

They had to be nothing less than pure destruction to take on the Taken and their burgeoning thousand, as the reality rent flickered behind them.
 
Operation: Aged Honor (Warframe x Young Justice) — 1. Extant
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

Warframe is a free-to-play third person shooter. The players play one of the Tenno, masters of the eponymous Warframes, and takes place across the solar system. The warframes are the biomechanical creations of the Orokin, possessing a variety of abilities to fight the Sentients, a replicating and adapting foe that necessitated the return to gun and blade. After the Old War, the Tenno then killed the Orokin for their crimes, causing the Collapse and they disappeared afterwards. In the aftermath, the Corpus, a zealous capitalist civilization with their own mechanical monstrosities, and the Grineer, a conquering empire of degenerating clones, arose. This is what the Tenno have awoken to: a system ravaged by this conflict and the rampant Infestation, another creation by the Orokin. The Tenno are guided by the Lotus, who acts as both their handler and maternal figure, as they seek to maintain balance within the system.

It is an adaption of DC Comics, focusing on the 'sidekicks' of the more mainstream superheroes, who have banded together to form their own team. The Team go on missions assigned by the Justice and end up getting into a clandestine conflict with the Light, a secret cabal of supervillains, and their machinations to some mysterious end. Each season has a timeskip, introducing new status quos and characters. The Team, each season, undergoes an evolution, as new members are added and they adopt new tactics and technologies. The original members of the Team's iterations are the core characters, growing up with each season.

The Tenno stared out the orbiter, taking in the dark side of the moon. The shadows cast seemed to warp and darken across the lunar surface. Everything was wrong. Despite this solar system matching the outward appearance of hers, it was not the Origin System.

Right now, all she could do naught but wait for her Cephalon to finish gathering more information.

She breathed, tasting the sensation of air. It was acceptable, more than anything else, but the act of it reminded her of the shadow of a desire. She almost longed for the time of that dream, that delusion when she believed that she was nothing less than the sum of her warframes.

Almost.

Operator Zeniya kept her hands folded behind her back. She was a short and sickly pale girl, resembling a young teenager in appearance. Blonde hair was shaved on both sides of her head with the rest of it pulled back into a pony tail.

She tried running back the memories of an impossible cataclysm that sent her spiraling through time and space. There was a fight… and an explosion, but the context surrounding them were missing. She could extrapolate, speculating that she must have been pulled through the Void somehow. But her memories of the overall event were hazy, almost like they had been cleaved from her mind.

Too much like before, when others decided for the Tenno, what they should and shouldn't know. The action didn't much matter to her as the reasons. Other Tenno were much more ambivalent about it. So many of them longed for maternity, seeking it in all forms, only to be betrayed by circumstance time and time again.

Margulis, who died, and the Lotus, who lied.

Even Ayatan, the Tenno most similar to her in demeanor, kept a shrine to the Lotus's old headpiece. The Tenno were bonded by tragedy into something akin to a family, a brotherhood, and a sisterhood all into one. And like all families, there was bound to be disagreements. And the more emotional of her clanmates did not appreciate her logical inputs.

A fool would think her desire to return home as homesickness, but Tenno were stronger together. No matter their warframe, no matter their school of warfare, and no matter their mastery of their powers… they were just complete.

It wouldn't do to be alone, because something wouldn't leave her completely alone.

Looking so serious, little lady, the thing behind the wall whispered.

She almost shivered, but that reaction was becoming more and more muted lately. Zeniya unfolded her arms, staring down at her covered hands. They didn't feel quite real.

A memory came unwanted of the days before that fateful voyage to the Tau System. Before the Zariman Ten Zero got lost in the Void and the Tenno emerged changed.

"So studious, my little lady…"
her mom said with a smile.

Zeniya clenched her fists, feeling them squeeze with renewed feeling. Only to lose it as she remembered cutting down her mother with the power of the Void. There was no other choice, yet the regret was feeling hollower and hollower every day.

"Operator," Cephalon Stark said, appearing before her in a visual flare of gray and black. "I have returned from my initial foray into the Earth's information networks. Do you wish for me to display preliminary reporting?"

Stark was a relatively new Cephalon of a few decades and most certainly not the first Zeniya possessed. At the first sign of error, Zeniya ordered a new one and gave the old one to a clanmate in need. Stark would be her fourth Cephalon, and so many clanmates found this habit… discomforting.

Especially when Ayatan, that foolish and clanless Tenno, kept her failing and glitching Cephalon. Zeniya didn't know if was out of some misguided sentiment or a desire to squeeze every last drop of use out of it.

"Display."

Several windows of information appeared before her, each with different headlines. The most prominent were costumed humans wielding strange and exotic powers. Wherever she was, this was not temporal in nature. The Void Age and the Orokin tended to dominate most histories, but she doubted that the existence of aliens and 'super-powers' could be covered up to such an extent.

"Operator, this is only a surface-level view of the world. A compendium of the most prominent players, ranging from vigilantes and villains to businessmen and CEOs, has been compiled for your perusal."

Zeniya scrolled through the available options, detesting how limited it all was.

"Why is the information relegated to press releases and… online sources that anyone can edit? Seems like a good way for disinformation to spread."

"Apologies, Operator. While this version of Earth is comparatively primitive to our own, they have truly artificial intelligences in the field. Obviously, it is not on a problematic scale, but all research points to quick adaption. Should I truly break into their secure networks, I will only be able to do so once before I am removed from such an easy access point. Despite their tech level paling in comparison to our own, they appear to adapt quickly. In addition, there will be a quick, retaliatory response from this 'Justice League.' In-fact, their headquarters are in close proximity to us. In-short, Operator, this will be the equivalent of going loud and all pretense of cover will be gone."

Zeniya closed her eyes and meditated on this.

"How likely are your chances of finding some method of returning to the Origin System if you do so? The technological advancements they possess seem to be all over the place."

"Given the amount of total data on the planet before narrowing that down to the technological advances of certain groups and comparing it to our own, I can roughly estimate your chances are 32.4447 percent. However, Justice League response is almost a statistical certainty, given their previous track record."

"And if I tried looking for solutions outside the solar system?"

"Apologies, Operator, but without Solar Rails, any journey with the orbiter will take years."

She waited for it to finish before asking, "How long, specifically?"

"Using their space data and the Orbiter's top speed while accounting the need to refuel, it will decades to get there and decades to search, at best. Circumventing this will involve direct conflict with the Justice League and will only reduce the search time to fifteen years, at best. There are too many variables to properly calculate."

Another breath, another fleeting feeling. There was a sense of urgency rutting around in the back of her mind. Whatever had sent her spiraling here… it was a big event. One that could not be ignored, even if she didn't know quite what it was.

"And if I tried operating under the radar? How long until conflict?"

"With your usual methodology and the cultural norms here, you will likely be labeled as a villain upon discovery."

Zeniya took in all the factors, parsing through them. The 'heroes' here had a culture of non-lethal measures. Not to say there weren't exceptions, but a Tenno's usual methods would quickly cross the line and stifle any potential goodwill.

Conflict with the Justice League was going to be inevitable, one way or another. Submitting herself to any sort of governmental legislation would cripple her as the more corrupt elements would seek to exploit her and distract from the mission. Even if this Justice League had good intentions, they still answered to the government and could be outmaneuvered.

And a Tenno did not do politics.

They acted, but never without contemplation.

While the villains here seemed to be fair game, the heroes… would have to handled with a more delicate touch. It was obvious that killing one of them would mean they would no longer hold back. Plus, it would be dishonorable to slay someone so dedicated to peace.

She didn't understand it, but she respected it.

"Go loud," she whispered, finally opening her eyes.

"Very well, Operator. Please hold."

Her Cephalon disappeared in fractals of black and gray.

She glanced back at the dark moon before walking through the Orbiter and stopping before the Arsenal Segment. Zeniya input her desired loadout before marching down to the room far off to the back. The hallway stretched before her and at the very end of it, the Somatic Link beckoned her. Her seat waited for her like the jaws of a beast and she willingly placed herself in it.

It closed in on her and the world shunted in a flurry of light and darkness.

Zeniya found herself standing up, the Transference placing her in the warframe. There was no reason to breathe now; only a feeling of completeness remained. When she strode, it was with barely concealed strength. Power thrummed within the frame and it didn't feel like she had to hold back anymore in that tiny human form.

It felt like she could just barely grasp something beyond the fleshhold… threshold.

She drew her Lecta, a half-taser and half-whip weapon, in her right hand. A coil jutted from the end of the handle and when properly swung, would lash out with electrical force. It was the closest thing to restraint in her current loadout, given that she was carrying a Boltor rifle and a Brakk as well.

Zeniya stepped into the landing craft portion of the orbiter, a Schimitar, and slotted herself into passenger compartment that rose from the floor. From her current position, it was more like a tomb than anything else. A tomb that magnetically locked the warframe into place.

"I have located a device that can be retrofitted for our purposes. Estimation of Justice League response: five minutes."

The Scimitar disengaged from the orbiter and sped toward Earth, while Zeniya remained rim-rod still in place.

"Location?" Zeniya asked.

The reply was simple, yet foreboding all the same.

"Cadmus."
 
2. Existent
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

CADMUS Labs, New York
July 7th, 11:00 EDT

So soon after after Wally's death, Tigress had to keep herself busy. She didn't want to forget about him, but she didn't want it to hurt so much. It didn't help that Bart Allen took up the mantle of Kid Flash. Tigress didn't blame or hate him; it just ached looking at him in an uniform so reminiscent of Wally. He, undoubtedly, wore the yellow and red well, but it just mushed up into a weird conflux of emotions that she had yet to properly process.

Five years of love did not go gently after loss and tragedy.

There was a gentle nudging at her thoughts, a soothing reassurance that maybe things would be okay one day. M'gann had noticed the emotional turbulence of her thoughts. She hadn't delved in too deep, but it didn't matter. M'gann knew Artemis Crock all too well.

She blinked, falling back onto a better train of thought.

As they flew to the scene of the crime in M'gann's bioship, Tigress held her bow in her hand. It was far nicer than during her previous cover as a villain. This seemed like a return to form. And part of that meant keeping her head in the game, because she had new blood with them. Even if Tigress, M'gann, and Superboy were here, there was someone less inexperienced with them.

Vergil Hawkins, aka Static, was getting his feet wet today however unexpectedly. Most of the Team busy with unexpected situations, what was left became an impromptu squad for this situation. Roughly thirty minutes ago, an alien ship carpet bombed an abandoned warehouse and figure dropped into the wreckage from the now-fled ship.

Normally that was something for the police and local heroes to take care of, but problems arose when people began to flee from the wreckage. Tigress's first thought was human trafficking, which had seen an increased ramp-up since the Reach's 'invasion.' But this wasn't applicable for this situation. First off, these people looked more like scientists. Second off, after Nightwing and Batgirl did some quick investigative work online, there were some shady connections to one place that made this an urgent matter.

Cadmus.

The actual company itself was now, more or less, defunct, but this seemed to be the case of reusing its infrastructure in an entirely different location. And it made this a time-sensitive mission to extract as much information as they could before Cadmus could slink away. But there was another problem with this unknown alien bomber. Given their willingness to so openly bomb and endanger these lab workers, they weren't an ally.

But this didn't mean they weren't the enemy. M'gann was here to circumvent any language barriers, Superboy as the muscle, Kid Flash would be able to save any bystanders. Which left Tigress to guide Static through the mission to hack into their database and figure out what the Light's next step was, because they were going to clean house as soon as possible. Meaning they might have to tangle with supervillains sent by the Light.

This was their one-shot at getting another quick lick against the Light, after such a devastating deception the Team had pulled on them. The problem with long-term enemies was that they tended to learn from their mistakes.

<Mental link fully established. Are we ready for this?> M'gann said in their head.

Tigress turned to the Martian. Though her outfit was mostly the same with the black body suit with the red x-shaped straps across the chest and the dark cloak, her green skin was noticeably paler. She looked more comfortable in this skin, but there was just human reaction in Artemis to think unwellness.

Maybe it just reminded her too much of recent mornings where her vision was just groggy enough that it felt her insides were splattered onto the mirror. Just sheer illness and grief in the shape of a human. And then she really woke up, seeing things for what they really were: Artemis was still here, alone.

She quickly yanked all those thoughts back, not daring to let them leak through. Tigress didn't need pity; it would only be a distraction for the mission.

<Remember,> Miss Martian started, more for Static's sake than anything else, <our mission is two-fold. Superboy and I will try to find the alien while you three gather what data you can.>

<Effectively the kiddie mission,>
Static pointed out, his tone more neutral than anything else.

<I get it,> Superboy interjected, <But it's a good, relatively safe way to integrate you into Team dynamics. Trust me, it's best to figure this out with more experienced members than to flail around. Makes the growing pains far more tolerable.>

Static raised his hands. <I get it, I get it. I'm the newbie. Just making an observation.>

<Don't worry, Static. I got a good feeling you're going to be pretty crash,>
Kid Flash chimed in.

<Coming onto the drop point,> Miss Martian announced, effectively ending the small talk.

Tigress marched to the now forming ramp of the bio-ship, snapping a rappel line to her waist. Static pulled out his disc, tossing it into the air and hopping onto it. As the warehouse came into view from the ramp, the bioship's invisibility and the cover of smoke would do much to mask their approach. Kid Flash crouched low, preparing to jump into the warehouse.

The three of them descended into the chaotic fray.

XXX

Superboy and Miss Martian decided to take the more frontal approach in their search. The other three, however, had to traverse down a broken elevator shaft to get to the underground facility below. Tigress was the last one to reach the bottom, having to rely on a grapple arrow to rope down.

She took point, arrow nocked and ready. Kid Flash was behind her on her left with Static on her right.

The corridor they traveled was frighteningly spartan. She would have called it starkly utilitarian if it weren't for the oppressive atmosphere present. The walls were just a bit too clean, but not like the persistently polished walls of a hospital. It was just there, like an image lost to time… unchanging, alien. It just seemed to shine incorrectly to her eyes.

Felt more off-world, than anything else.

It would have been easier to swallow if this was more rustic, dirty, and grimy. Or perhaps all shiny and new. With someone like Luthor backing Cadmus, it should have been more posh, perhaps.

Tigress stopped, holding up a fist. This far from M'gann, the telepathic link was unreliable. They had communicators, but that was for emergencies only. Too easy to listen into.

But this was good practice for non-verbal communication.

With her left hand, she pointed at the left wall with two fingers before rotating them counter clockwise. Kid Flash got the message, speeding over to the wall and vibrating right through it. It was such an advantageous move, but it had taken Artemis a few seconds to remember Kid Flash had this capability. She had already planned to make do without it until she caught herself.

The wall began to creak and groan before it started to burst at the seams. The effect streaked down the corridor, coming to a stop twenty feet away, and Kid Flash emerged from the wall. As he did, laser beams flickered to life in front of them before going dead.

They proceeded further down and the walls got a little more stranger. There was no real discernible pattern to them, but it seemed like they went deeper somehow like the surface of a still lake.

She shivered slightly and continued taking point.

Tigress was the first to see the bodies. She brought her squad up short, letting her be the first to examine the creature. It was of a Genomorph make – clones created for manual labor and other uses. But these creatures were humanoid, yet there were two distinctive types: quadrupeds and bipeds. The former were like reptilian wolves, with large teeth, and scaly red eyes. They had fur and scales in unequal patterns. Frankly, it was rather odd, and though Artemis was no biologist, she had to wonder the purpose. She returned to her examination.

Following the analogy, the latter were more like lizard werewolves. Their claws were more prominent, the muscles more focused in their arms. It was clear that these were the more autonomous of the two. Made perfect sense, in a forced evolutionary sense. Men and hunting dogs were a formidable pair when used in proper conjunction; this was just an upgrade on that partnership.

And yet… they were killed rather easily, most likely by the alien. There were fifteen bodies in total, scattered all over the hallway. Each of them had a some sort of bolt that pierced through their chest. Eerily accurate. It spoke both of the alien's capabilities and their technology.

She pressed a button on her gauntlet, alerting the upper levels team that the alien was possibly down here with them. They were to remain above in case the alien had already escaped.

Tigress took one last look at the bodies. Superboy wouldn't be happy to learn that they were making Genomorphs again. That was the problem with their type of discrimination: as artificial beings, they were so easily put into exploitable positions and could be made into anything their creators wanted them to be. There was nothing more disgusting than creating a being that had no choice in being what they wanted to be. A choice was taken away from them… and they might never know.

They were simply created that way…

On a hunch, she took out her arrow and poked one of the scuffs of fur. Several strands wafted in the air just a little too easily and she waved the shaft through them.

And they cut the arrow into pieces, green mist sizzling into the air.

Tigress reeled back. "Masks on. Possible bio-hazard."

Static pulled out a mask that covered his mouth and nose with a large visor, while Kid Flash merely pulled down his googles and pressed a button, sealing away the open lower half of his face. Tigress turned away lest she caught herself thinking it was Wally.

From her own mask piece, she pulled down an additional layer over the rest of her face.

"Double-time, people. If the alien went here and made it this far already, our time frame just shortened."

"Roger-roger," Kid Flash said, speeding up to her. "Need a lift?"

Well aware that she was the slowest of the three, she nodded, but clarified, "We're doing it piggy-back style."

"Awww, really? It's so…" Kid Flash sputtered.

"Lame?" she finished.

"So not crash," he muttered, but he obliged.

Practically, it would give her better positioning for firing her arrows. Privately, Wally never really did carry her like this. They always did prefer bridal style.

Kid Flash led the way as Tigress did her best to keep her awareness undaunted by the blurring world. Static trailed along behind them, carried by his speeding disc.

Their path ended with a large steel door, locked tight metal poles and other various locks. by Tigress hopped off Kid Flash and turned to Static.

"You're up."

He cracked his knuckles, walking up to the door. "Glad you brought me along?"

Tigress rolled her eyes, but gave a small, approving chuckle. Static outstretched his hands, electricity crackling between his fingers. Then the hot-white energy shot toward the doors, enveloping it. He brought his hands together and began to mime prying the doors apart. It was a slow, steady process, but Static was quickly making headway. Tigress turned toward a nearby console, ostensibly the opening mechanism for the door. The screen for the console was smashed right in the center, exposing circuity and wires.

Did the alien get upset and smashed the console in frustration… or was there some form of technology that necessitated destroying the console? That didn't make any sense. It was more likely that the tech was so advanced that Cadmus's tech was barely comparable. She peered into the machinery. Not one for machinery, but always one for being careful on mission, she plugged in one of those flash-drives the Bats helped developed.

As far she understood it, the flash-drive basically swallowed all the data it could to be deciphered later. It wasn't very efficient and if one of the Bats were here, they'd be able to quickly crack the code, sort through all the junk and instantly find out what they needed.

This method was a shot in the dark, but with so many unknown variables surrounding this mission, better safe than sorry. Her hackles raised at the notion of the mission going wrong. Turning back to Static, she settled next to him and kept a special arrow nocked.

Static managed to get the door open about halfway open when something burst from the room faster than the eye could see. Tigress could only react according to her dreadfully slow and human limitations, but instinct and muscle memory were excellent equalizers.

The instant she felt something was wrong, she had let loose an arrow and prayed that she was on the money. From her perspective, she only saw an explosion that spat a figure wreathed in smoke to the left. And whatever it was, it already recovered, ready to resume its speedy escape.

But Kid Flash was already on the attacker.

She jumped backwards, keeping her aim trained on the super-speed brawl. It lasted ten seconds… a lengthy amount of time for speedsters, but it ended with Kid Flash uppercutting the blur into the wall.

"I'm faster than you, bud!" Kid Flash kept his guard up, despite the cocky demeanor. "So, why not we talk things out?"

"Does it even understand English?" Static questioned, electricity gathering in his hands.

The figure was armored and humanoid, with a horn right in the middle of its face and an arrow-shaped crest on the back of its head. The armor was blueish in color, yet the overall design seemed techno-organic. There was no real reason for that observation, but it was just the way the skin rolled off the body at certain points.

Tigress, in the act of pulling back the bow, covertly pressed another button on her gauntlet, alerting the upper level team.

The alien stood calmly, pulling itself out from the wall. It stared at them with a sightless, yet assessing gaze. Ancient age weighed heavily around the alien, a veteran of too many wars. Sequestered away in the crook of its left arm was a metal box. It could be anything: a bio-weapon, a cure, hope, or despair. Either way, this box was important to the alien. It was a single, exploitable weakpoint, but she wanted more than a flimsy reason for destroying it. Or at the very least, wait until things got dangerous enough to necessitate it.

The stand off was broken when it quickly drew out an electricity whip, emitting from a small metal hand. Tigress ducked under the lash as Kid Flash and Static attacked in tandem, closing the distance from all angles. But the alien seemed to defy them, performing the impossible.

Grace and agile, it spun through the air, dodging electricity blasts and speedster blows. It twirled like a baton, the whip following it a single, beautiful frill that struck with deadly precision. It scorched the ground as it found its target: Static's wrist. It wrapped around it as the alien landed on his feet.

Kid Flash tried attacking from its flank, but it threw up an electric barrier too quickly. A speedster would have been able to course correct, but the alien also had some manner of enhanced perception. It created the shield at just the right moment and Kid Flash slammed into it, being shocked in more ways than one.

But the alien didn't stop there, quickly dismissing the shield and reaching for Kid Flash. With a grip on his costume's collar, it headbutted Kid Flash into unconsciousness. Then it ducked under an arrow, the motion forcing Static to stumble across from the alien. He rallied himself, now absorbing the electricity into himself.

"You picked a bad match-up!" Static shouted.

Forcing electricity through the whip, it zapped the alien into submission. It fell to one knee, before it shoved out its hand and returned fire. Electricity shot toward Static in rushing torrents, who raised up his other hand. He held his ground best he could, absorbing the energy into his body.

There was a cold, calculated decision to the alien as it thrust its hand forward, tripling the output. And Static couldn't absorb it quickly enough. He could only cry out a single, scuffed syllable as his heart suddenly stopped. And somewhere in the mess, Artemis's heart stopped as well. Blood rushed to her ears, cutting off any and all sounds.

"Vergil!" she felt her lips shout.

A single thought pounded in the sudden silence.

Not again.

She ran over to his fallen form, running through CPR exercises in her head. Because here, she had a chance. Wally… he made his choice, for her, for everyone. But this was almost senseless… who would Static leave behind? Whoever they were – mothers, fathers, partners, friends, family – she wouldn't ever let them feel that gnawing loss that never did go away.

Her hands settled on his chest, ready to begin the compressions. Until something grabbed her wrists, stopping her. She looked up, seeing that faceless alien, and snarled. Tigress tried yanking herself free, but the alien did not budge.

It shoved her back and she turned into stumble into a swift motion, drawing her bow. The alien didn't even look at her, instead opening its free hand over him. Green gas starting to flow from it and into Static.

And then Static started to breathe again.

The dichotomy of violence and pacifism didn't make sense.

"What do you want?" she shouted as it got onto its feet.

Cocking its head slightly to the left, the alien seemed to deliberate. Or maybe it was calculating how to capitalize on such a brazen opening. Then it tilted its head the other way, almost as if listening into something.

"Home," it said, the voice crackling through as if from a speaker.

Was it fully a machine or was this some sort of autonomous drone?

"Home," Tigress repeated. Then she nodded shakily. "Okay. Great. Good. We can help you."

"The Justice League," it intoned slowly, "will only hinder me."

Tigress resisted the urge to grind her teeth. "We have Green Lanterns in the League and they can help aid you in getting home."

"No. The door I need to pass through is a door that best remains closed to you." The alien took one step toward the exit. "I have followed in the spirit of your law and, beyond the artificial creatures here, I have not slain any of those who stood in my way as is evident by my revival of this hero here."

"Look, I really don't want to come off as unreasonable here," Tigress said, matching the alien's step, "But we can't take things on good faith, on the off chance that this is some deception. Just talk matters out with the League, we figure things out, and then we help you go home."

"And if I refuse, we will be drawn into conflict," it stated.

"Yes, but," Tigress stressed, "We don't want it to come to that."

The alien tilted its head back, as if in thought. So many emotions seemed to go through the alien, too quickly and too foreign for Tigress to understand. Its free hand suddenly started to shake and it brought up to its face. And then suddenly, there was just a void to its emotion as it clenched its fist tight.

"I am resolved in my path and I shall not waver."

"Then so am I."

It nodded. "I understand. Honor demands no less."

The stand-off lasted less than ten seconds and the actual duel less than five, with Tigress managing to fire seven arrows in that time. Of the seven, only two struck true. And the alien only needed one blow to win, knocking Tigress unconscious. But she did not go quietly and that was all that mattered to her.

As she drifted off, Artemis could almost hear Wally telling her he was proud of her.
 
3. Enforcement
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

Problematic. Too many variables closing in, while she was too hampered by the nonlethal penalty she imposed on herself. The Volt warframe hovered near her exit. Factors to consider: the alien known as Miss Martian. She possessed flight, shape-shifting, and telepathic capabilities. A prolonged fight would either see Zeniya captured or forced to resort to lethal measure. Her companion – the Superboy – apparently lacked his namesake's breadth of powers, according to Cephalon Stark's observations. His threat level varied, depending on his mastery of himself, but Zeniya was confident she could outmaneuver him.

But the two in tandem were problematic.

She monitored them on the very peripheral of the radar's range. The longer she lingered, the more likely reinforcements would arrive. No way out but through, but this had to be one of the tenser moments before extraction. There was a headache setting in, somehow, in the Volt's warframe. Having trained with her clan, both in their Dojo and the Conclave, she was somewhat familiar with a telepathic threat, courtesy of being on the receiving end of Nyx warframes. If she were utilizing the more intimate form of Transference, perhaps, she would be more vulnerable. As it was, it meant she was out of time.

Equipping her boltor and attaching the box to her waist, she triggered the Volt's speed and tackled this problem head on. Moving too fast to be picked up by telekinesis, she fired at the Superboy, but having counted on his invulnerability, she shot to blind him. With a steady stream of bolts assailing his senses, there was the infinitesimal opening to take out Miss Martian. With a grunt, he shielded himself with his arm, trying to keep his eyes on her.

But she had crossed the distance, leaping off him much like a springboard and toward the floating alien. Her eyes started to glow green, but Zeniya had latched onto her, grabbing her by face. The warframe started to surge a sizable load of power through its fingertips and started to fry her. Not enough to kill her, but hopefully enough to rattle and disrupt the alien's concentration.

Then she leapt into the open sky calling upon her archwing. With her ship still a ways away, it wouldn't be able to manually deliver the archwing, but that was what the Launcher was for. Mechanical wingspans materialized around her, as the Itzal connected her to its harness and the systems coming online.

She started to fly away before an invisible force gripped her wings. The archwing whined and screeched loudly as Zeniya was tugged back inch by inch. Spinning around, she saw the alien on the ground, reaching out with a hand. With a silent command, the Itzal deployed a handful of drones and opened fire upon the two heroes.

Beams rained down upon them, but they phased through Miss Martian and the Superboy dove to the right. Breaking out from a roll, he came up with a handful of rubble and lobbed them at the drones. There was the smallest of opening, as the invisible grip went lax on the archwing, and Zeniya was forced to reorient herself before she could zip off.

But appearing from nowhere, Miss Martian was just inches away from her, hands about to clasp the Volt's face. Her Brakk was already pulled out, ready to fire into the alien. And then the Volt warframe went limp, the world snapping from one point to another. There was now only a void all around her with only the barest remnants of memory providing light.

Zeniya was seated in her Transference chamber, crossing her legs and steepling her fingers. Miss Martian stood there, a shocked look on her face. Eyes widened, fists unclenching. Without being in the warframe and viewing everything through a professional lens, the alien truly became uncanny. Like something trying to mimic being human. The off color of the skin tone on an all too human face and colorful red hair. The outfit seemed superfluous, a black bodysuit with a red x-shaped harness and blue cape.

If she hadn't dwelled in the long shadow of the Orokin, hadn't seen their inhumanity push at the edges of the human form, this wouldn't bother her. But she had seen humanity at its worse, and an alien taking the form of a human? The contradiction of this emulation felt… off. Not insulting, but baffling. What about humanity itself was worth becoming?

"You're a child," Miss Martian blurted out. That was an interesting detail for the alien to focus on, not the fact that she was another human. Unless she was assuming that Zeniya wasn't human?

"I am several centuries old," Zeniya said, without heat, "The best argument you may make is one of arrested development. But that is neither here nor there."

"Why are you attacking then?"

"I have need of the box to aid my journey back home."

"The Justice League –"

Zeniya raised a hand. "I am a killer. I may kill for justice and honor and balance, but that does not change the fact that I am what I am. And I doubt your League would harbor such a person."

"That wouldn't matter, if you were just looking to go home, we could have helped you."

"But would the governmental systems of this Earth see it like that? By this world's definition, I would be a war criminal, even if you know nothing of the wars I have fought in."

Miss Martian was silent, before reaching out. Telepathically. Zeniya could feel it, a kind unseen hand. Truths, waiting to be trusted.

"I can feel what you're trying to do. Trying to turn me away," Miss Martian said, "But we can build trust this way, if we exchange knowledge."

"And why would I do that?" She held out her hand, concentrated a memory and cast it toward the alien. Miss Martian flinched as she was assailed with dredged up memories of the Orokin and how they maintained Continuity. How they bartered young bodies like prized cattle and how they crushed their minds to supplant their own. "I will not allow such leverage over my own mind."

"I wouldn't do such a thing!" She retaliated, pressing emotion and memories into Zeniya's metaphorical hands.

Memories of the Superboy's… Conner's love and forgiveness, the shame of her abusing her powers, the need for control, to be better. She was telling the truth. If the Justice League couldn't, or wouldn't help her officially, then the Team would help her unofficially.

And a part of her wanted to. To do so, however, would be impulsive. There was something in the walls of her mind and soul, tapping… tapping… She wouldn't subject Miss Martian to that horror.

Zeniya closed her eyes, knowing that all roads led to conflict. A shame, but it was inevitable. Even she, who had tried her best to retain relative neutrality, had earned certain syndicates' ire. Everyone had good intentions, but clashing principles had propelled them to conflict.

And this was no different.

"I'm sorry, Miss Martian." Zeniya stood up, eyes full of void and hands full of burning fury. "But conflict is inevitable."

The mindscape shattered into the Void and slammed the two consciousness back into their bodies. Zeniya recovered first and clocked Miss Martian in the jaw, freeing the warframe from her grip. Then she flew off, heading toward the now approaching Scimitar.

As she entered through the bottom, the archwing flying off to enter elsewhere, Zeniya considered the pros and cons of her current Transference technique. She was lucky that Miss Martian didn't just push her consciousness out from the Volt warframe. It would have left her bereft of the box and down one warframe. But if she were actually there, it would be a different story. She'd be able to pull her warframe to her or vice versa, push herself into the warframe.

It wasn't a languished skill, but it wasn't a skill she had mastered.

"Operator, you should be aware that the Justice League hero, Green Lantern, is nearing the orbiter's location. It is likely he may possess some capability of pulling the ship out from the Void. It is likely that he has been already alerted by the ground team previously encountered. It is likely –

"Affirmative," Zeniya interrupted. "I'm on my way back."

Once broken free of the Earth's atmosphere, she spotted the glowing green figure as the Scimitar docked into the Void-cloaked Orbiter. A wide beam of green light was scanning the areas near the ship; it wouldn't be long before they were discovered. The Cephalon was warming up the ship in preparation in a short range jump to the moon and it seemed like they were about to make a smooth getaway.

And then the Green Lantern looked at them, blinding eyes of light and a fist full of power.

XXX

Hal Jordan's ring had zeroed in on something in it called an indirect threat to the universe. And he was on call to answer the Team, alerting him to an alien that had stolen something from CADMUS. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.

[The cloaked ship contains corrosive energies that damage the fabric of the universe,] his ring chimed.

"Pretty clear-cut, if you ask me." He channeled his will and formed a large bubble around where the invisible ship was. Then, with his ring hacking into the ship, he tried disabling it, but it needed some time to properly scan and understand the systems. But it was he announced himself loud and clear. "Inhabitants of the ship, dangerous energies have been detected on the premises. Power down and cooperate with the authorities, and we'll sort everything out."

[Incoming transmission.]

"Put it through."

A synthetic voice answered, through his ring. "My Operator would like to inform you that she cannot cooperate, but she is already leaving the system. If it is a matter of damages, some manner of materials or technologies can be used as recompense for damages."

It wasn't delivered as a bribe, but it was pretty much a bribe.

"That's not my call, though. Sorry. Just stand down and we can sort all of this out."

There wasn't even a response, just the obvious sound of a call being disconnected.

"Rude," he muttered.

He shrunk the containment down slowly, reducing it from a ball to the outline of the ship. It was a moderately impressive thing, with a detachable ship at the front. From the looks of the vehicle, it wasn't much of a combat ship, clearly designed for mobility than anything else. Then, all of a sudden, the ship powered down. It wasn't an invitation, given the way the conversation went; it was probably a trap.

Floating to the very top of the detachable ship, he forced open the top latch, while having the ring maintain the atmospheric integrity. Descending downwards, he found himself in a dark and unlit ship.

"Definitely a trap."

Broadcasting a spotlight from his ring, he took his first steps into the ship. The walls were bare and a little worn, but it was a bit too sterile to call a home.

From his ring, he broadcast a huge spotlight and walked down from the detachable ship's helm. Though, curiously, it lacked any sort of obvious device for steering. It was beginning to look likely that the ship was autonomously controlled by some sort of AI. He would have disabled the AI with his ring, but it couldn't interface with a powered down system. When faced with an opponent that was stronger than them, the smarter foes went guerrilla and engaged in skirmishes intended to demoralize and entrench.

He shined his light brighter, making himself even more obvious as a target, as he made his way deeper. Fear was an old enemy of his and in his experience, it was never the battles that made him fearful; it was the lead up. Give him a bad guy – alien tyrants, soul-eating demons, or whatever else – and he would face them with bravado. But, drag out the confrontation, that was nerve-wracking. It was the natural of consequence of being too cocky, early in his Green Lantern career.

A Green Lantern ring was one of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy, but all the willpower in the world didn't mean much if his head wasn't in the game. He didn't have to be too clever with the constructs; he just didn't have to be wasteful with them.

He looked around, seeing some rather bare bones foundries that he was sure were more impressive when turned on. Creeping further down a slope, he came across a three-way crossroads. He looked to the right and left, briefly considering, before looking to his ring.

[Atmospheric integrity holding.]

[Last recorded instant of corrosive energy up ahead.]

[Faint energy traces detected nearby.]

Well, that was certainly confirmation that he should go forward. The circular-shaped door was locked, so Hal formed a giant crowbar to wedge the thing open. He stepped through, finding some sort of object up ahead. According to the ring, that had been one of the main offenders in the energy department.

Something caught his eye, leaning against the curved pillar that could be used as a seat. He brightened his spotlight and with a shimmer, a figure appeared. She looked like some weird alien harlequin with beady eyes and an outlandish headpiece. The colors were garnish with white and dark purple. And the armored pieces were layered over an all-too fleshy body. It waggled its fingers in approximation of a wave.

Hal jutted out his fist and fired a restraining rope toward it, but it shimmered again, revealing it to be a hologram. With green light coiled through its body, it stood up and raised a hand, a prism floating from it. She threw it at him, but as it floated toward him, he realized too late that the actual alien was behind him.

The real prism struck him from behind, along with two additional copies. He quickly had the ring tag the real one to avoid, when it started emitting multi-colored beams like a disco ball of death. The problem was that the other copies started emitting their own lights, cutting through the darkness to blind him with their mess.

"Oh come on!"

He hopped back, forming a barrier from wall to wall and then pushed it out. The prism copies were unfazed, but the real ball was crushed against the wall. Before he could catch a breath, the harlequin appeared again and sprinted toward him, large curved gauntlets over its fists.

Taking aim, he shot a multitude of restraining ropes at her. She broke off into a cartwheel, forming three doppelgangers to distract, but Hal went for quantity this time. They laced through all the duplicates, clearly revealing the one in the back as the real one. Before Hal could redirect the chains to capture it, they threw out one of their arms in a menacing fashion. His rings started beeping with warnings.

He took a step back before being blinded by something he stepped on. Another stumble threw him to the wall, which pushed him back with another miniature energy explosion. But he learned the third time, hovering into the air and letting loose a shockwave of energy to clear the battlefield.

"Enough!"

When he opened his eyes and forced clarity to his vision, he was cold-cocked in the face by one of those gauntlets. Luckily, his ring was better than any armor, even as a small ache in his jaw started to form. Then the harlequin dipped into the darkness, wisps of energy around it.

Forming a small gatling gun over his hand, he fired a stream of homing bolts, but they had trouble latching onto their target. And when they struck the darting form, it was with less impact than he expected.

[Analysis: the biological-machine is drawing strength from the dark to aid in its defense. Vice versa, offensive capabilities are strengthened from the light.]

Explained why it managed to get through his passive shielding. He would not be able to withstand a sustained barrage of blows.

"Can it be overloaded?" he gritted.

[Affirmative, but it is inadvisable –]

"Can it!"

He brightened up the room, becoming a green sun in the dark.

"Come on, you clown!"

It slammed its two fists together and even Hal noticed it was bit more hale. With a grin, Hal let loose a flash that could be comparable to a supernova. The thing screeched as sparks began to fly from it, before Hal to close his eyes. When he opened them, the entire room was completely scorched. Flakes of burnt metal began to waft from everywhere and the room was dark, even with the presence of light. Hal floated back down on the ground and quickly captured the harlequin. He bound its arms behind its back with chains and tied its legs together.

He heard a small wooshing behind him and Hal spun around, his prisoner whirling alongside him – as if just in case he needed something to bludgeon with. But there was no need. A small, sun-burnt humanoid collapsed onto the floor. And when he looked closer, he saw that it was a teenage girl.

"Oh, sh--" Hal bit back a swear and immediately had his ring scan the girl to diagnose her. "Is she still alive?"

[She is the source of corrosive energy, in tune with her heart, creating a miniature tear beneath and around her. The Guardians of the Universe have been notified for detainment.]

"We're not throwing the girl in a sciencell!"

[Until the clear hazard has been cured or otherwise neutralized, the girl is a clear threat to the universe.]

The girl groaned, pushing herself into a combat stance. She hissed in pain but still put her fists up.

"Kid, look, we'll sort this out."

Her fists burned as she threw a well-coordinated punch, expertly thrown. But she was without strength. It struck his impassive chest and he didn't feel a thing. Except for the crackle of his shield breaking. Eyes widened he pulled back, desperately reforming his shield.

But she cold-cocked him in the jaw, same as before. Except it didn't even really hurt and Hal struck back with a wide swing, cracking her jaw. They both hopped back, but the girl disappeared and reappeared right behind him. She latched onto him in an expert chokehold. His passive shielding would have seen him safe, but the energies she was wielding were burning through it.

He launched himself back, slamming her into the wall. She grunted but her hold remained resolute. He reared his hand back, breaking her nose, but she hefted her weight onto him, forcing him to take a knee. His vision was blacking out and he wheezed, trying to claw her arm off. It was for naught, as darkness began to claim him. His vision fading, he saw the girl roll off him, wheezing and bleeding, almost as defeated as him.
 
4. Extinct [END]
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel.

Oh, how people suffered for their ideals. And Zeniya was no different. She groaned, limping back up and slumping against a wall. If only she were more brash, less caring, she would have come out of this unscathed, beyond more blood upon her hands. The blood of the righteous. Guilt tried gnawing at her, but she closed her eyes, gathering that feeling and casting it from her mind.

She made the best possible decision for both herself and this world, acting with as much care as she could. The consequences had to be taken as they came. Intent, and the execution of it, were all that mattered. Try as she might, Zeniya couldn't predict every outcome. The only thing she could reasonably control were the choices she made.

And against the churning sea of circumstance, she had to take what comes. Luck… or rather, the nature of unforeseen consequences had saved her several times before. Like the fortunate turn that her Void powers were caustic to the Green Lantern's Will, but even that had come with its own problems. The Void was clearly anathema to this universe, further necessitating an expedient departure. To remain was to taint this place into damnation and these people were undeserving of such horrors.

Except, she was now weighing the risks of hastening her departure. Haste meant embrace, in this instance. Before the Second Dream – before her memories were wiped away, really – she had, in the throes of necessity, embraced her Void powers. But afterwards, after… everything under the Orokin's burning golden gaze, she embraced her role as Tenno, to quickly cast all that wayward trauma to the Void. She had been more Tenno than Void devil in those days, when there was enough of a distinction to separate the two.

Only now, after the Collapse – after the Tenno slew the Orokin – the two terms became synonymous with one another. And it was time for Zeniya to recognize this fact. It was no longer convenient to cling to the old ways. But this decision also ran the risk of further damaging this universe, but the quicker she left, the sooner it could heal.

She inhaled one last breath, letting all the physical turmoil fall to the wayside. And when she exhaled, Zeniya found herself within the Mirage warframe. It was a practiced move she had done a few times before, but it was only now that she was committed to it. All things came in time, and this decision was no different.

What had happened, happened. And what might happen, could happen.

Zeniya looked down at the unconscious hero, before hefting him onto her shoulders. The quickest way to get rid of him was through the airlock, but she didn't know if his passive shielding would kick in. Clearly, it could survive the vacuum of space, but that was solely on his Will power. She would have to expend one of her escape pods. Zeniya had personally made sure her Orbiter had been stocked with several escape pods.

Though it did gall her a little to use one of them up. The Tenno were most effective as a self-sufficient, mobile strikeforce. They stole, sold, and bargained for what they needed to keep themselves autonomous. Their Orbiters never needed to be docked and repaired or, in this case, modified. It made them too vulnerable a target if they did so and it might be a while before an opportunity arose to touch up the Orbiter.

But it was such a trivial price to pay.

After making her way down to the lower decks of the Orbiter, Zeniya tossed the man into one of the pods and quickly ejected it from the Orbiter. At the speed it was going, even if the Green Lantern woke up and resumed his pursuit, there would be enough time to engage in evasive maneuvers and escape. However, it was not fast enough that it would blow past Earth's orbit and the Justice League Watchtower.

Zeniya had done everything she could.

Just in time too, as Cephalon Stark called her.

"The sentinels have finished installing the Mother Box into the ship. It is a fully sentient consciousness. She and I are currently engaged in negotiations. Would the Operator like to join us in the Datascape?"

"Describe the Mother Box," Zeniya demanded, making her way to Stark.

"Alien. Abstract language. Has access to cross-dimensional gateways called Boom Tubes."

"Auspicious. How far can it take me?"

"Interstellar. Possibly intergalactic. The Mother Box is being coy."

A Ping! was heard in the background.

Zeniya almost stumbled in her step. The Orokin at the height of their power couldn't even crack the secret to efficient inter-system travel. It was what led to the Sentients, which led to the Old War, which led to the Collapse, which led to the New War. So much trouble, so much death in one measly solar system. It was like this knowledge rendered the entire dilemma as trivial or foolish. That one of the roots of all their current problems was because they couldn't match up to this alien technology.

But she dismissed this notion as quickly as it came. It was an impossible comparison, one that only ached because the human part of her fell back on tribal mindset: the 'us vs them' division. Even if it was to the the scale of universes.

"Do you think my presence will help in this negotiation?"

"I will have to act as translator."

"It's a yes or no question."

"At this point in time, no accurate assessment can be made at this time."

"Very well."

Zeniya now stood in front of Stark, fractals curling into a makeshift door. She stepped into her and landed on a wasteland Datascape. It was a vast expanse of gray nothings, flittering shards of representative data wisping past her. It was a desert without sand, an ocean without water.

Just a big plate of nothing, except for two figures in the distance. Stark's form was larger here and across from it was a much humbler box. An echo of a symbol pulsated with it as it 'spoke.' Zeniya couldn't understand it, though she could certainly tell that it had a sly tone. It wasn't like hearing the Infestation speak: garbled sounds that were translated through the warframe.

The Mother Box edged more towards pure meaning. She could only grasp the edges of this abstract language, whereas something with more processing power – a Cephalon -- could intuit far better. Or at least, that was what Zeniya presumed.

She stopped right next to Stark.

"Are you willing to help me?"

Ping!

"It asks if you have a specific destination," Stark supplied, after a moment.

"I am in need of something that can cross universes."

A pause… then a ping. Modest, yet coy almost. The symbol overlaying it pulsated, darkening. Zeniya could just make out that it was circular in shape.

"It can tell you where you are most likely to find that answer, but it is extremely dangerous, and we will likely counter heavy opposition."

Was it being honest? Or was this some sort of prod? Did this Mother Box know that she lacked real options at the moment?

"How connected is the Mother Box to our systems?"

"It is a one-way connection, demands and inquiries coming from our end. She should have no access to the Orbiter."

"So, it has control over these Boom Tubes. I presume it can belay our orders, or worst case even divert our destination."

Ping!

"It is very offended by your insinuation and mistrust," Stark interjected.

"What was it doing in CADMUS?"

Dragging silence followed by dragging silence. She didn't even her a ping, but Stark spoke in its stead all the same.

"Conversion."

"Torture," Zeniya surmised. What plot had been the Mother Box been caught in? Or perhaps even involved in.

Ping!

There was another silence this time, one hinging on her. They all waited for her to properly respond, because they knew she dictated the current course of action.

"How dangerous is the opposition? What are we looking for? Are they guarding it? Is it something that we can extract under the guise of stealth?"

Ping! Ping!

"Very dangerous. She knows not of any specifics, but this planet is an epicenter of power; it could possibly be one of the few places in the universe that might hold answers. If you manage to infiltrate, then it becomes a strong possibility as long as you do not engage."

Zeniya knew all she had were threads. It would have to be enough.

"What's the planet called?"

The symbol darkened, finally revealing itself to be some archaic symbol. One that Zeniya knew that represented the last in an ancient sequence.

"Apokolips."

XXX

In preparation for battle, Zeniya used the Rhino Prime loadset that she tailored for the New War. It empathized survivability above all else, while her Kuva Bramma was for area of effect attacks with a radioactive payload. She didn't know how vulnerable these 'parademons' were to radiation, but it mattered not. That was what the explosive arrows were for. For her sidearm, she decided to go with the Atomos. The particle cannon would be useful in how the beam could chain to other targets.

And for the melee engagements, she had her hammer and shield. The Tenet Agendus had been modded out to deliver both electricity and magnetic effects, able to better tackle the more mechanically inclined foe. And with the shield able to launch energy bursts from the ground, she had the option of both near and far engagement, of both offense and defense.

She did not feel ready.

In all likelihood, this might be a trap. Or the circumstances were too insurmountable that it might as well be a trap. Zeniya stared out the front, seeing the fiery and volcanic planet burn in the distance. She was dressed for battle, yet the mission was one of stealth. If it were up to her, she would engage in a prolonged series of clandestine missions and slowly work her way up in knowledge.

Except the nature of her foe, of the ruler of Apokolips had been revealed to her.

A New God.

Some rare few Tenno might be glib and boast that they killed god-like beings before. And though the Orokin ruled like gods, they were not gods. It would be more accurate to say that they slew immortals. But a god? A 'New' God of Tyranny was way out of her weight class.

This excursion might her final one.

Zeniya took a deep breath, letting herself untether from within the warframe. Just a little. Just for a moment to remind herself that she was once a little girl and that it was okay to feel afraid before it was time to be brave. And it was okay for her to miss dead mothers in that interval.

To be brave, she had to push down those memories once more, like drowning someone. And when she felt the clarity, Zeniya let go. Except it started to bubble back up, a voice resurfacing.

Making all the right choices here, little lady.

The echo was an old memory, defiled and repurposed by the enigmatic Void entity. What had been a happy memory – her mother tutoring her – now felt lifeless. Empty. Indifferent. Doubt started to creep in, but… this was the most optimal choice. Circumstances might tell a different story, however.

"No way out but through."

"We have a limited window," Stark said. "Compiled the data from the Mother Box, it is a statistical probability that we will be discovered upon entering the atmosphere. And during this timeframe, the Scimitar can only evade the parademon swarms for so long. Extraction time window will be tight."

"Standard data extraction mission parameters?"

"Indeed. I need you to enter me into three nodes so I may triangulate a catalyst for the Mother Box."

"I presume we are using the Mother Box as our exit?"

"Modifying the Boom Tube necessitates a catalyst to ensure our passage between universes."

"And the coordinates? How will the coordinates be provided? I would rather not end up in an entirely different universe and make no progress."

"The coordinates are locked on. By your beating heart and the Heart on Deimos. The two Void pulsations will be used – to use a crude metaphor – as mutual echolocation."

"But we need a way to cross the gap."

"Indeed. Hence the catalyst. And Apokolips is the one of the two places where such an item may be located."

"What of the alternative?"

"The Mother Box refuses to speak of it."

The insinuation was that the other place was so much worse than Apokolips, except Zeniya wasn't so sure. But she was at the mercy of this Mother Box at the moment. It had brought them here, but who was to say it could bring them back? If this was a trap or some sort of ploy, she would have to persevere to triumph in the end. Surely, it had to open up itself to accept the catalyst, thus becoming vulnerable in the process.

Possibilities after possibilities… all of them to be dealt with as they came.

"I'm ready for infiltration."

XXX

Zeniya dropped down into a hellfire pit, clinging onto the walls. High above, the Scimitar fled from flying hordes of armored demons. Terrifying wings flapped in a crescendo that blotted out all other sounds. They moved without thinking, yet moved synchronously in accordance to one dread will.

She didn't have much time. Fingertips sinking through the wall, heat burning at her backside, she launched herself upwards in a series of cascading jumps. From the rim, she glided to the rooftops, making her way to the marked objective in her HUD. Though Rhino warframes were bulky, they were no less suited for stealth than all the other warframes.

Under the cover of fading, flickering shadows, she moved quickly, under orange skies. Stealth would be a trial under these circumstances. It would have been better to use either her Loki or Ivara warframes, but combat was highly likely. It was better to prepare for that eventuality than to try and avoid it. Arriving at her first destination, a rather decrepit and blasted-looking building, she smashed through the window and dispatched the three guards with three quick blows of the hammer.

It was some sort of lab, but Zeniya didn't let her take stock of the details, only the shape of it. Where the exits and entrances were, the best location for enemies to take cover. All in a single glance. Satisfied, she went up to the single terminal and stabbed it with her Sigma Series Parazon.

Data was stolen and a connection was forged, narrowing down the possibilities.

"There are mentions of something called the Anti-Life equation. Possible power source. Or at the very least, part of a power source," Stark announced, "Further data is needed."

Several waypoints disappeared from the HUD and she made her way towards the closest one. Under a firelit sky, a flock of demons pursued, howling. Too much attention had been drawn already. She hastened her step, this time going in the front. The bow was drawn, but the scene made her revaluate.

A young man, a boy really, was strapped to a table. Sharp instruments surrounded him. Five targets in the room. Possibility of collateral too high. The choice came easy. Sweeping into a low stance, exchanging the bow for the particle cannon, she modified the targeting systems even as she aimed. A beam of one became a chain of fire, burning them to a crisp. These human-looking not-humans.

She tore off the braces while stabbing another terminal.

"Darkseid is!" the boy howled, leaping at her. She caught him by the throat quite easily. "All there is!"

"Further data extracted. I believe I have found what we need. Location marked," Stark said.

Zeniya turned to the boy and thought about the life he would have. How indoctrinated he was. It would take an insurmountable effort to uplift this place into anything resembling proper living. To leave him was to condemn him to either prolonged torture or death by a tyrant's wishes. He had no future. And he was incapable of making a choice, because he couldn't even conceive that he had a choice.

She could take him, but it would bring unnecessary complications. Possibly to the point that her mission would end in failure. She could capture him, painfully reduce him to nothing to teleport him to one of the orbiter's cell. But that meant she was just a different type of torturer. To be kind, she had to be cruel. And she could linger no longer.

"I'm sorry, child."

In one swift motion, she embraced him, his back squirming against the warframe, and then snapped his neck. Euthanasia, really, but a mercy kill was still a killing.

She moved on. Fled from the hollow justifications. Zeniya couldn't afford to slow down, especially as a horde of parademons descended upon her in their devouring multitudes. Zeniya drew back her bow, firing an arrow that contained its own multitudes. It split off, a series of explosions raining upwards, and the beasts were swept from the blast. They screeched as they died, the blot of smoke and meaty ash providing her cover to dash away.

The last target was located in some sort of spiral tower. She dashed upwards in the air, before landing on the wall and continuing her momentum to the wall. Feeling that some panel of the wall was hollow beneath, she started walling at it with her fist. It dented and crumbled near the sides, allowing her to rip it open and now traverse through the ventilation.

The grate dropped onto the floor, and she followed it, landing in some sort of empty room. A single terminal was nestled in the far corner of the room, but the room was utterly bare. Devoid of any sort of aesthetic, missing any sort of wear and tear. This felt too manufactured to be anything but a trap.

She felt confident that she could escape any trap and quickly get away to extraction. Zeniya rushed forward, quickly grabbing the data.

"Stark. Have you located the power source?"

A whining screech seized the sound systems and Zeniya winced, turning down the audio. But even as she did so, the message from the Cephelon was painfully clear.

loneliness+alienation+fear+despair+self-worth+loneliness+alienation+fear+despair+self-worth+loneliness+alienation+fear+despair+self-worth+loneliness+alienation+fear+despair+self-worth+loneliness+alienation+fear+despair+self-worth+loneliness+alienation+fear+despair+self-worth

And then a click.

A synthesized, monotone voice responded in fragments.

"Apologies. Star-child. Precepts. Damaged. Repairs. In. Progress. Extraction… extraction… DELAYED."

"Even an incomplete fragment of the Anti-Life Equation bears the most promising of fruits," a rich, powerful voice intoned behind her.

Darkseid is! Darkseid is! Darkseid is!

She could feel it in her very essence, her oro, as the Void around her resonated. Except it was not calling in echoes of the past but extracting the nuance from the being before her. But there was no real nuance, no subtleties, only sheer power that struck reality like a sledgehammer. Blood was being drawn from stones, weeping red. The impossible made possible, only feasible through the most total of tyrannies.

Darkseid is! Darkseid is! Darkseid is!

The New God stood before her, and Zeniya was oh-so very afraid. He was tall, imposing. With skin like granite and eyes like a smoldering fire, he stood composed with his arms folded behind his back.

"But for the sake of expediency, certain variables can be substitute." He extended a hand. "Why don't you give me your heart, child?"

Zeniya cringed, much like a child before their father's stern hand. It felt like the fundamental truth of existence. That all fathers beat their children, all mothers cowered within their dominion. She pressed her arms against her chest, trying to protect what little modesty there was from the dread designs borne from wicked minds. Was she, as a Tenno, too sensitive to this… god's otherworldly nature? Something greater peered back, past this mortal frame and stared back, imprinting intent into the bones of this reality.

All of this was a trap. No way out. She had been caught by the snare far too long ago; it was only now she realized that she had been caught. Wouldn't it be better to submit? Was that not the logical thing to do? Everything ended, so why not succumb to the inevitable? Darkseid would use her heart better than she ever could.

Cool waters flows, the moon behind a cloud.

The litany came unbeckoned, deep from the recesses of her soul. It was something Teshin recited to her, once. A mantra that he thought fitted for someone of her demeanor. Contemplation before action. The clouds obscured, but the moon preserves. Hidden, but present, only remembered to those who peer past the dust. But what happened when the water stilled, and storms sundered the moon from the minds of men?

She thought of her peers. Ayatan, who held both the sun and moon, who balanced emotion and zen. Freedom of choice was ever her providence, and she would not be waylaid low. She thought of Warlord Athenzane, her opposite, who burned like the sun and acted like a falling star. This one time, she needed to be fire, to burn up, either herself or the tyrant before her. Darkseid is, but she would rather be burnt to embers than to ever be part of Darkseid.

Zeniya drew back her bow, a contradiction of a raging fire in an oxygen-less vacuum.

"Disappointing. But you will kneel, one way or another."

He strode toward her, as sure as a flood. She fired again and again and again. Darkseid walked through all of the force she threw and, through the smoky haze, snapped the bow in twain. Zeniya tried reeling back, but he snatched her wrist and held up the warframe.

Thinking he would begin to beat her into submission, she coated the Rhino Prime in its golden skin. Armored up to insulate the frame from most damage, she expected to have time to plan. But Darkseid merely seized her by the throat with the other hand. Choking her while using it as a point of leverage, he ripped off her arm.

And Zeniya screamed, feeling the loss of a limb as acutely as her own. Phantom sensations of blood rushing from the wound swam in the wound, even as biomechanical components stilled like a dry scab. Zeniya used the Rhino to roar, redirecting power surges to maximize damage, and struck with a headbutt.

Darkseid gave a lackluster grunt and when he let go, it felt like a conscious choice, born from minor irritation. Zeniya stumbled away, a ghostly arm forming from the empty socket. Mismatched in proportion, its only purpose was to retain a sense of self. A missing arm was too big of a sudden aberration. Would have thrown her off kilter.

She drew the particle cannon, knew it was futile to use it as it was. With a palm full of Void, she sunk fingers into certain important parts of the round device. It started to shake and burn, cracks of fire pulsating through the metal. Throwing at the New God, the resulting explosion should have given her enough time to escape. But he charged through the explosion, Zeniya didn't even have enough time to flinch as she was swatted into the wall. She couldn't even pry herself from the wall, before he grabbed her by the leg and slammed her back into the center of the room.

Zeniya mewled, trying to crawl away. Needed distance to think, to plan. Stopped. Reconsidered. Die on her feet. She needed to die on her feet. Standing back up, she drew her shield with the warframe's hand and gripped her hammer in the other.

He smirked, eyes burning red and beams of energy shot toward her. They swiveled and bent through the air, like an erratic hand drawing one single line that went in all directions. Zeniya held up her shield, knew it was futile the moment it connected. The shield chipped away, bit by bit.

For a moment it seemed to hold on. And then it was gone, along with her other arm. She knew she was crying, even though the warframe was incapable of such human acts. Another phantom arm popped out, even as her stance sagged. Seizing the hammer with both hands, she choked in trying to draw breath.

She yelled it away, going in with a powerful swing. Cracked at the God's jaw. He stared back, unmoved by the blow, and she leapt back. Eyes burned once again, and Zeniya had to draw upon a dwindling well for droplets of water. All she had was the dew evaporating on her hands.

She stomped her foot, hard enough to cause time to stutter in a radius around her. The beams were caught, frozen inches before her. Zeniya leapt into the air, reaching for the opening, but something was devouring her legs, flame by licking flame. With no other recourse, she expelled herself from the warframe, the momentum carrying to the vent. She slammed down onto cold, unfeeling metal and felt the destruction of her warframe.

Clinging onto the hammer, she started to Void Dash through the vents, rushing and rushing. She burst out, a corned animal that suddenly at the whole forest to flee into, even as more monsters hid in the brush. There was no other option but to flee. Landing in the streets, she picked a direction and started to run.

"Stark! Stark! Come in! Summon my archwing! Summon my necramech! Summon something!"

"Please. Hold."

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she chanted under her breath.

Darkseid wouldn't bring her death; he would bring her domination. Maybe Stark had already been captured or destroyed and this whole wager had been for empty stakes. Maybe she should just kill herself, like she killed the boy. She had made the choice she would want someone to make for her. But there was an uneasy feeling hanging about that decision. As she sprinted through empty streets, she had to wonder if how deep the trap went. How compliant was the Mother Box was in this mess? Did it even need a catalyst? Was she brought here to die?

Something tackled her into her, but she dashed out of the grip. The attacker slammed into the wall. As she turned around, Zeniya saw the manic grin on the woman's face. A blonde woman, wearing white armor and robes, with a sword in her head. A smear of warpaint was wiped across her eyes, highlighting the fanatic devotion within them.

Zeniya hissed, swinging the hammer at her head, but the woman blocked with a forearm. The hammer shattered at the handle, leaving Zeniya nothing but a metal stick.

The woman lunged toward her, but Zeniya had enough.

Zeniya lunged too, more metaphysical force than anything else. She forced Transference onto the woman, but instead of mingling into the woman, she used Transference like the Orokin used Continuity. She crushed the woman's spirit, her soul, her memories. It was fortunate that Zeniya was far older than Gilotina and so used the weight of her memories of warfare to immediately crush Gilotina into nothingness.

It was a quick and dirty method of Continuity, because it ensured that memory bleedover was inevitable.

Their wills were far from equal, because the woman… Gilotina had submitted to Darkseid. And so, Gilotina would submit to the Tenno.

She remembered the orphanage, the wicked measures used by Granny Goodness, and Zeniya cared not. Even as the memories came to, he – as sure as her own – Zeniya cast out memories after memories. Gilotina's memories had intertwined her own, connecting themselves irrevocably to the happy ones.

Gilotina/Zeniya swayed on her feet and the blaring headache threatened to wring her into slumber. She didn't have time for this! So, Zeniya willingly forgot her mother to remember only her brutish father, casting those memories to the Void and embracing emptiness.

"All the right choices," the man in the wall cooed.

She didn't even look at her ghostly counterpart.

"Stark," she communicated, "This is the Operator. Code ten-cent, D.E. Can you confirm?"

"Confirmed. Operator recognized."

"Detain the Mother Box."

"Confirmed."

"Now… is extraction available?"

"Extraction is available, half a klick to the north."

Strange… she would have thought extraction to be captured, but Zeniya was tired. Under the guise of this Fury, she found her ship, hiding under an overpass. She didn't pay attention on the flight, even as beasts and enemy fire pelted the ship.

It took her several moments to work up the nerve to head into the orbiter.

When she came to where she slotted in the Mother Box, Zeniya popped out of Gilotina and waved a hand behind her. Gilotina didn't even have time to scream as she was reduced to ash. She approached the Mother Box, much like a hangman approached the lever. There was only the grim resolution.

Ping! Ping!

Zeniya held up a hand to silence Stark before it could translate.

She had heard people pleading for their lives before. Zeniya growled before using Transference into the Mother Box.

It let the Tenno in, hoping to exchange data, to allow it to explain why this series of events had happened. The Mother Box couldn't fight the compulsions tortured into it, but it wasn't lying about needing a catalyst. Even with the coordinates and the orbiter aiding, it could not open the Boom Tube to another universe. Not without dying. The energy output was too severe.

It lied, simply because it didn't want to die.

She didn't care; she forced it to kill itself to secure their passage. Zeniya tasted the choice of a self-inflicted death. As she shot out of the Mother Box – now sparking and melting in the slot – Zeniya grabbed at her chest, trying to assure herself that she was still alive.

Zeniya cried and raged in equal measure; this journey was pointless. Only brought pain and suffering before delivering her to the destination. She had lost, in more ways than one, but she didn't care. Didn't care about the Void's entity or Darkseid. She was just… tired… it felt like some part of herself died.

Even the New War was a better prospect than Apokolips, even if some part of her wanted to die in the War, she just wanted her mom… she'd give her life for her, for the Lotus.

She just wanted to go home… and die properly.

XXX

Darkseid watched the stars.

"The Tenno has gotten away," Desaad noted.

The minute details of this ploy were handled by the God Scientist, after his informants on Earth told him that the Mother Box the Light possessed had been stolen. Darkseid didn't expect the Light's side-project to amount to anything; it would have probably ended in failure. But that amusing diversion had birthed an unexpected clarity. A sudden burst of inspiration, when the Tenno stole it.

The Mother Box, whether it knew it or not, would inevitably have to come to Apokolips. And he was prepared to profit from this venture, no matter the outcome.

"It matters not. Whether it was her heart in my hand or the tail between her legs, she serves Darkseid."

"Does the Father Box have the data?"

Darkseid smiled. "It does. The Anti-Life fragment will break apart, seeding itself between universes and allow it to flourish, under the right conditions, under the right hands."

It was an acceptable exchange. Even if this Darkseid could not wage those battles, the idea of the Anti-Life equation would persist.

It was inevitable.
 
Hew (Kenshi x ???) — 1. From the Ashes
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel. The question marks means I haven't decided on a crossover and left things somewhat open-ended while I decide. I am open to suggestions.

Anyway, this is it for my backlog, barring two other snippets I decided to rework. I don't like asking for anything, but I'll do it just this once. Just leave one comment or something to break the flow of this thread. I'll take critiques, positive comments, negative comments, whatever. Otherwise it's going to be ~70 posts of mine in a row. I should have staggered out the snips, but I don't like sitting on idle hands. Posting frequency won't ever be this consistent, or this large, again.


Kenshi is a sandbox, squad-based RPG. There is no overarching story, giving players immense freedom to do as they please, but it is a harsh setting. Characters are commonly enslaved, crippled and lose limbs, and sometimes even eaten. There are the Shek, Skeletons, and Hivers. Shek are a warrior race, strong and bony. The Skeletons are living machines that once ruled the world as the Second Empire before its collapse into the present setting. And Hivers are bug-like drones. The civilized bastions are no better. The Holy Nation is a xenophobic, sexist nation that sends dissidents to Rebirth, a slave pit meant to "purify" them. The United Cities is ran by slavers and those beneath the nobles are quite literally open season. It is a cruel world that few could survive in.

Mom liked to tell stories, during the long caravan treks between settlements, and her favorite was about Silica.

Mom always started those stories like this: "Silica was a someone. She was a one-woman warrior; a master of martial arts, skilled in both the ways of the shinobi and the ways of science. She hewed her own way through this world; from the Holy Nation to the United Cities, all feared her. The shek respected her, the skeletons accepted her, and the Hive were vexed by her. She could go anywhere in this world and survive."

And she would clap, pushing for more details: "Mummy, mummy! Tell me a story with her and the Holy Nation."

Mom always looked around before she started the story proper. Dark yellow eyes scanned the horizon as sandy winds whipped her white hair into a mess.

"Let me tell of the time that Silica had found herself in Rebirth. It is a vile place where the delusional Okranites send anyone they do not like to work and work. All the way, they say horrible, mean things to them. So that way, they are killed both in body and spirit. And Silica had been sent to this vile place. Not because of who she was – for if they knew who she was – they would have sent her captors to Rebirth instead. But they knew not. And they only saw a mere scorchlander woman. Not a slave, ripe for the taking as it was right, but the fact of her sex and skin damned her in their eyes.

"They think us scorchlander women especially sinful. They say our skin color is truly representative of the woman's devious nature, that we alone have our inner seductive nature blasted upon display. 'They are truly the most favored of Narko's. See how dark their skin is? Their inner darkness must be purified!' they would say of women like me and children like you. So, when she drunkenly spurred the hymns of Okran, they drugged her next drink and sent her off to Rebirth, as if she were a slave.

"Slaves submit, for that is their nature. But the Holy Nation does not tend to this crop. They would send all the Nobles in the United Cities, make them act as slaves, when they are more fit for rule. It is the way of the world that the Holy Nation do not understand: there are those who choose where to dig and there are those who dig. But her namesake is truly exemplary of her nature, marking her as someone who does not dig. Silica is a material found in many things and can be distilled down into many useful items. It can be used in many things.

"And, reflecting this, Silica knew many skills. When she first awoke in Rebirth, she immediately undid her shackles. Right in front of the supervisors. Before they could lash her, she struck in the ancient ways of martial arts. She fought her way out, breaking bones with swift and sure strikes. They would have her overwhelmed with sheer numbers were not for her inspiring those not-slaves to rebel! They remembered that they were not slaves, that they were warriors and Tech Hunters and Shek and Hive! They knew that the Holy Nation were people that should dig, but did not. They didn't even have slaves dig, only toil to their wretched monuments. By not calling it slavery, it makes this whole display pointless and cruel.

"It was Silica's actions that reminded them of this fact, reminded them of who they are. To set themselves free."

"Can I ever be like Silica, mummy?" she asked excitedly.

"No, dear daughter," her mother said, face melting down to the bone, "You are ash."

XXX

She woke up with a gasp, clawing at her face. Calloused fingers bounced back from metal and, for one frenzied moment, she clawed at, trying to tear through to touch her flesh. Then, sanity started to prevail and she relaxed, remembering she was wearing her fog mask. Though she didn't cleave to the coast except on the rarest of occasions, the mask worked just as well against dust storms.

"Why'd you come back for us, Ash?" Riddley murmured from the side.

The large Greenlander woman was curled to the side, hugging her bandages tight. To a few feet away from, Izumi's corpse rotted and stank, already attracting a few daring flies. The stupid scientist couldn't have just held on for a few more moments before Ash could help her out. Before those Grass Pirates came and kicked their shit in, before they could find a bastion of civilization to take cover.

Ash pressed her hands to the lens, trying to wipe away the sand.

"Didn't you say…" Riddley coughed out. "… if someone got enslaved, they deserved it."

She looked over to the right, where Knife was crouched low. Hunched over, eyes darting, she kept a tight hold on the iron stick. Slavery had left its mark on the Flotsam Ninja. For someone who valued freedom so much… to have it ripped away would be a real gut punch.

Her stump ached as she forced herself to stand back up on the dune. Her robotic limb was functional and designed for stealth. It was a good replacement for her line of work, but not for day-to-day living.

Why did I come back? she had to wonder.

Their group had been eleven large, trying to cross the skirmish-prone plains of Bast. And then some stray Samurai struck down most of them. All of them wounded, unable to move, and they were all forced to huddle in, trying to stop each other from dying. Until some ex-slave asshole kicked them while they were down, leaving them vulnerable to the wild animals.

And she didn't care then. She didn't care for Griffin, the ex-sentinel on a delusional mission from Okran, kicking the bucket. She should have felt something for Burn, a skeleton, that was an adventurer just like her; Ash had expected the two of them to eventually go their own way, but he died all the same. The rest of the recruits from the Flotsam Ninjas were expendable. With most of them with crippled arms, they left who they could not carry. And Ash didn't feel a shred of guilt.

When they limped over to some UC guard post, Ash got locked up for sneaking around and trying to steal supplies. It was nothing new. The ironic part was all the dead bodies from a failed assault held all the medical supplies they needed.

She freed herself, deciding to wait outside the outpost for her companions, but she had spied that their presence somehow stirred trouble. They got enslaved for whatever reason and been sent to work, even in this conflict-prone area. And it was only those circumstances that allowed Ash to rescue them.

Ash didn't care for slaves and just about every escaped slave she met were little more than feral animals.

She couldn't even think that they were the ones who were above digging. They carried the mien of slaves. The cringing visage, the darting eyes… the winces. They risked much, heading into the United Cities – the very slavers that enslaved everyone here save her – for supplies and a robotic leg for Pia.

Against all odds, Pia managed to crawl all the way back to them by sheer happenstance. For that, Ash was willing to steal a leg for her. Solidarity for the limbless was about the extent of her empathy. But Pia was rotting a few feet away, the first victim of the Grass Pirates.

Still, she felt nothing.

Ash needed to answer. If nothing else, she owed that much to Riddley – the very first adventurer that signed up with Ash.

"I need someone with me; I don't want to be alone anymore."

Riddley stared up at her, breathing heavily. "Could be anyone, huh?"

Ash looked down at her. "Yeah…"

"At least you're honest. And I heard of shittier reasons to do good."

A frustrated cry disrupted their conversation. And Ash could almost chuckle. The Shek was up and, as expected of their race, was disappointed that they didn't die. Ash turned to Ruka. Sheks had darkish purple skin and bony plates with large horns sprouting near the back of their head. Ruka, however, was an exception; her horns were shorn clean off, leaving only stubs in their place. A sign of disgrace among the Shek.

All because she survived the battle. Ash just knew that her survival bothered than the fact of her slavery or her missing leg. While the Shek raged and cursed to everyone and no one, Ash trudged over to Pia's dead body, ripped the robotic limb free with some effort.

Heading over to Ruka, she crouched down a foot away from the raging Shek.

"Hey!" Ash shouted.

Ruka turned her furious gaze at her. "Why was I saved from a glorious death yet again –"

"Glorious? It would have been a rather pathetic death. Were you ready to die or would just have happened to die?"

Ruka closed her eyes, heaved through her nostrils, and when she opened her eyes, it was to look at the robotic limb with disdain.

"What would be better…" Ash proposed quietly. "To die as a mewling child, barely fresh out the womb, or to die as a properly armed warrior? With all the possible advantages, at the apex of your skill! Is it not better to die like that? As the best possible version of yourself?"

Ruka huffed and went silent for a minute, then asked, "Will it hurt?"

"The first time always does."

"Good." The Shek held out a hand. "Give it here."

Ash tossed it to her and, with a fascinated look, watched as the Shek violently impaled her stump into the robotic limb. With a bloodthirsty eagerness, she got up and stomped over to the still-crouching Knife.

"We will go back when we are strong and string up those slavers by their guts. I promise you this much, ninja."

Knife took a deep breath, before sheathing away the iron stick and looking to Ash. She wasn't the leader of this group. Nobody was, not really. But what she did do was point them in a direction.

So, she directed them to the horizon, where – if she remembered correctly – the slave market was. It wouldn't be the best idea to bring ex-slaves there, but Ash didn't care about that.

She was, however, excited to see how things would transpire.
 
Season of Transmissions (Destiny x Warframe) — 1. Rap. Tap. Tap.
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel

Warframe is a free-to-play third person shooter. The players play one of the Tenno, masters of the eponymous Warframes, and takes place across the solar system. The warframes are the biomechanical creations of the Orokin, possessing a variety of abilities to fight the Sentients, a replicating and adapting foe that necessitated the return to gun and blade. After the Old War, the Tenno then killed the Orokin for their crimes, causing the Collapse and they disappeared afterwards. In the aftermath, the Corpus, a zealous capitalist civilization with their own mechanical monstrosities, and the Grineer, a conquering empire of degenerating clones, arose. This is what the Tenno have awoken to: a system ravaged by this conflict and the rampant Infestation, another creation by the Orokin. The Tenno are guided by the Lotus, who acts as both their handler and maternal figure, as they seek to maintain balance within the system.

Destiny is a game series that focuses on Guardians: the formerly dead risen by a Ghost and granted powers by the Light. The Ghosts, and the Light, come from the Traveler, a huge white sphere that goes around uplifting alien species, including humanity. There came a golden age which eventually ended suddenly by an external force. The Traveler was pursued by an enemy who uses the Darkness to tear down everything the Traveler has built up. For reasons unknown, it makes a stand at Earth instead of running. The Ghosts came in the aftermath, raising humans, exos (human minds uploaded in a mechanical body), and Awoken (humans caught in the clash between Light and Dark, changing them) so that they might defend against the oncoming threats. Threats such as the Fallen: a species abandoned by the Traveler to the Darkness; the Hive: a species that worships the Darkness; and the Vex: a race of machines with time capabilities. Only the Guardians and their Light stand before them and the Last City, one of the last known bastions of humanity.

Meditation was a state of mind that lapsed from the body becoming so inert that the spirit had no choice but to wander. From wandering came clarity, pathways that were not often seen. Guardians, Warlocks especially, could cheat a little in this regard. Thanatonauts were the Guardians who sought visions in the moment between death and revival, being able to fall into this ethereal state of mind far more quickly. It wasn't as simple as merely dying for visions, but rather a shortcut for those who knew the way.

The Young Wolf's Ghost — affectionately named Ghost — didn't know why his Guardian decided to take up the practice of a thanatonaut. Their relationship was quietly close. So much didn't need to be said for them. The Young Wolf was stoic and silent, often necessitating Ghost to speak for them, but he didn't mind. Without him, the Young Wolf would have just kept on going and going as a silent machine until she died for the last time.

She never told him to be quiet, never showed any annoyance, but she always listened. No matter how small or trivial, she gave him her attention. It was a bond of action and quiet affections. Those small, private moments where his Guardian would teasingly call him "Little Light" to get his attention were cherished memories, quietly lit like candles in the dark. Even still, he didn't quite understand why the Young Wolf decided to play the thanatonaut now of all times. Perhaps she wanted answers on their "plunder" after that conflict with Eramis.

Yet, there were people already working on that. What could have prompted this?

He would ask her once he revived her.

She floated in a criss-crossed position, serene in her Tidal Hope shaded robes, looking entirely unbothered. The Young Wolf didn't even look dead, but perhaps that was more to her being an exo than anything else. Two ribbon wires ran down just above her brow. Her face was visible showing only a deep blue save for the left side. There was a white splotch, making its mark like a splash of blood. The surface had been peeled, scratched away, but it left the optics intact. Optics which did not hold a sign of life, the dimness carrying a sort of blind brightness of their own.

That was the biggest indicator of death, in Ghost's eyes, that she was off somewhere ethereal, somewhere he couldn't quite follow, leaving no other recourse but to wait. He had to for the muted, unspoken feeling that would have him return her to life.

Still… there was an off feeling that he couldn't quite shake off, but he had absolute trust in his Guardian. Even as they climbed the Ziggurat, in search of a way to equal the odds against House Salvation, he had faith. He was concerned, of course, but his Guardian had never let him down.There were times in the beginning where he thought, just a little prideful, that his Guardian wasn't like the others. Not in terms of achievements and triumphs, but in the way that she was single-minded. While other Guardians jumped off the Tower for fun, she was constantly and consistently fighting, always in an incessant grind to fight the battles that needed to be fought.

Thank the Traveler, he once thought near the beginning, she's not crazy like all the other Guardians.

Yet her stoic demeanor belied the actual insane drive that she possessed. It just so happened to be channeled productively, but there were these moments where she just would not stop. She didn't even bother taking on a name, considering it a triviality. It was honestly frightening, sometimes, but still he stayed. For all the rampage like after Cayde-6's death, there was still those quiet instances — the commitment to free Crow, for example. She didn't even need to say a word to him, but they somehow both knew that was the right choice to make. And a swell of pride uplifted him.

So for all the mystery, death, and enigma that was the Young Wolf, he stayed for her: those tender moments.

He just wished he could see what his Guardian saw…

His shell whirled and clacked about him in surprise, as his Guardian started to become more ethereal, black smoke wisping from their body.

"Guardian?" he whispered.

Her body started to turn intangible and he cried out in shock. He didn't feel an urgent crying out from his Guardian, but he was going to be damned before he let his Guardian be lost without him. The Ghost started to revive her, but there was this inimical feeling of disconnection. It was like him unraveling his shell and someone plucking a piece from him. There was no tendons or flesh to tear from, but it would be shorn from him all the same.

There no hesitation in what he did next.

He invested more of himself in the effort, feeling that any danger to him would be how much this was going to hurt. He could almost imagine threads of Light that entwined the two of them, but there was a barrier now between the two. The Ghost pushed and pushed and pushed, until there was a clicking feeling as if a connection had been latched between the two once more. And then he started to pull. It crushed him, a mounting pressure that would have had him scream were he not so simplemindedly focused on bringing back his Guardian.

Slowly, but surely, his Guardian started to gain substance, the black wisps slowly receding. For a heartwrenching second, his Guardian disappeared along with the surroundings. There was only a Void with a cascade of light blue, swirling and swirling. And it was all centered around a black-haired child. He didn't get much of a look, but one detail seemed to burn in his memory. Molten core eyes — as if two small suns had burnt themselves out — stared back at him.

Then it was over.

His Guardian gasped, falling onto her behind. She blinked several times before looking up at him.

"Thanks."

"Of course, Guardian. Did you find the answers you were looking for?"

She leaned back, still sitting, and looked like a falling statue just barely propped up on angled stands. He knew better to interrupt these dwelling silences. Even though he didn't always knew what his Guardian was thinking, he always knew when she wanted to talk. Most of the time, she was content to let him do all the talking and other times, like here, she needed a moment to gather her thoughts.

"Entirely unrelated." The Young Wolf sighed. "Might be a new problem."

She rapped and tapped a slow tattoo on the floor. It almost seemed to echo, carrying weight far beyond her knuckles, like tapping against a wall that shouldn't be touched. His Guardian almost seemed to be lost in that noise, walking deep in the void that it left. Then she snapped out of it, looking back at him.

"There's something important in that pattern. Can you ask around for me?"

XXX

His Operator gasped. All at once, she stopped floating in a criss-cross position and fell onto her ass — posterior. She had been floating in a meditative state for the past hour, trying to come up with an answer for saving the Lotus from Ballas, but Ordis privately maintained that it was just his Operator's way of not breaking down in a fit of Void fury. After all, she had been there in person when Ballas came to the Lotus.

She stood up and Ordis kept watch through the Orbiter's systems. His Tenno wore a white vest gifted to her by the Ventkids of Fortuna over a cuirass, a set of sleeves from the Quills that was armored on the left side, and kept a copy of Umbra's scarf around the lower half of her face. Gray, somatic scars marred most of her face, but that wasn't why she wore the scarf. Not to hide them; it was out of sheer sentimentality.

He kept track of her as she paced around her personal quarters. Excalibur Umbra watched from his display. Now that was one fucked-up — disturbed warframe being cursed with a measure of self-awareness that was not common in warframes. After his Operator soothed him, the warframe wanted to rest, like all the other warframes within the armory. But his Operator was a sentimental one. She let him rest in the display, giving him the option of freedom should he chose it.

But he never did. Ordis knew because he monitored the warframe. Maybe the Operator was a bit too trusting sometimes, or was often bereft of good options, but he would provide a measure of safety should she need it. After all, he still remembered Umbra's little rampage and escape from the Orbiter.

The Operator took a deep breath before she slammed a fist into the wall.

It looked like meditation didn't work the way she wanted to. He wanted to chime in. It would not do to dwell on her failures — problems. He often chimed in to prevent the silence from consuming her, annoying with the occasional pun and update her on the number of stars.

She would sigh, somewhat fondly, and mutter, "Ordis."

Yet, he knew his Operator would become snappish if he tried doing that now. The oncoming New War weighed down on her as she desperately tried find a good way to save the Lotus. All the Tenno did, deep down, but some of them felt betrayed enough to consider killing the Lotus. It was a long and daunting process to get all the other Tenno to agree to give her the chance to save the Lotus. Tenno didn't fight Tenno, but it simply wouldn't do for them to get into each other's way. But despite his Operator being of a legendary rank, it didn't seem plausible to some to rest all their hopes on one, single Tenno.

He believed his Operator could pull it off, until then, she would be free to vent. As she sulked – stalked around the room, something pinged his systems. A message in the inbox. He ran all the cursory checks, noting that it didn't have a source for the sender and it carried a package. If it didn't have the package, Ordis would have sent it through. Messages without a proper return address tended to be death threats from highly prominent individuals and his Operator found those warnings amusing. And spam wasn't a real problem. Most Tenno's inboxes were reclusive and elusive things. Corpus advertising could not find them and Ordis had a dedicated filter subroutine for the rare few scattershot spam that did find them.

"Operator, you have a weird — peculiar message in the inbox along with a package. It's probably not a bomb! — anything unsafe, but would you have me do?"

The Operator glanced at Umbra, then sat down on the bench.

"Let it through."

Her eyes went glazed slightly as she held out her hand, reading the message through her cognitive relay. As far as Ordis could tell it was gibberish and numbers. There was no reason to it and Ordis ran several decoding algorithms in a handful of seconds. All of it came up with nothing. He hesitated on letting her access the package, which resisted his scans.

"As your ship cephalon, I recommend against this."

The Tenno clenched her fists. She was a marvel in warframes: skillful, professional, deadly. Given an objective, she achieved it with maximum efficiency. The death she delivered was nothing less than artistry. She was a Tenno, a veteran of the Old War and a fighter of the finest caliber. But he was hers. He'd being nothing less than a disservice to her by being so lax in her safety.

"I'll be fine, Ordis," she gritted. Ordis went silent and the Operator scowled, hand hovering over the option to transmit the package. "If I can't handle it, I trust you can."

Ordis relaxed, feeling less heavy. He didn't like that being so stressed out spread him out over the Orbiter, mimicking an emotional heaviness. It was like… clenching every muscle in a body of meat. With a small amount of trepidation, he let the package go through. He waited with bated breath — in as much as he could as a Cephalon — as it manifested in the Operator's outstretched hand. It was in the shape of a dodecahedron with a lens in the middle. Was it some sort of drone?

His Operator cocked her head, examining the strange object.

"Perhaps some asshole — person accidentally sent it to the wrong address?" Ordis offered.

She held it up aloft. "No… it might be… something else… that sent this."

Oh dear. It looked like his Operator might be having a moment of insanity again. Sometimes, very rarely, she would stare off at a point in the Orbiter or be startled after turning around. Once, she even had a short conversation with thin air.

"Are you sure, Operator?"

"Do you see it? The ethereal smoke around it?"

"Uh, Operator? Do you need a moment?"

"I might black out." Her gaze was glassy as she stared at the object. "Just a feeling. Like the feeling that I should see what… I'm going to be shown."

Then she cupped her other hand over the drone-thing and promptly slumped in the seat, eyes fluttering beneath her eyelids.

"Operator? Operator? Ooooooperator!" he shouted.

He panicked, even as most of him still continued to run the ship smoothly. A great many options flashed in his mind, prime of which that he should load himself in the Host Migrator drone body, and slowly drag the Operator to safety. Were the Lotus… available, he would have called her. Ordis focused attention on Umbra, who was carefully stepping out from the display. He looked at the Operator with an unseen expression. Warframes, he wanted to bemoan.

"Make yourself useful and carry her," he commanded.

Umbra paused and looked around, not like an animal hearing the annoyance, but of someone looking to reprimand another, to shunt blame from himself. But Umbra could not more scold him than he scold the ship itself.

"If you can't speak, then don't bother… just do."

It was probably likely that he was already going to carry her, but you never knew. He scooped up his Operator tenderly, like a small child, and walked softly to the Somatic Link room. He laid her to rest in the seat and fell into a kneeling position, hands holding onto the scabbard of his Skiajati. Both of them understood they had to be patient, hoping that the Operator to come back from wherever she dreamed now.

And in silence, they waited.

XXX

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, Eris Morn was the one who responded to the Ghost's queries. She, on whatever strange tangent, had discovered a lead back on the Moon. How much of it was connected to her prior research, they didn't know. It would certainly simplify things if it were, but from the way she worded her message, it seemed that she heard the rap-tap too. She waited on the surface of the Moon, three green eyes glowing beneath her blindfold, shadows streaking from beneath.

The Young Wolf strode over to her, Ghost manifesting just over her shoulder.

"Guardian. I am pleased that you recognize the importance of this."

"Is that pattern so importance?" he asked.

Eris looked at the Ghost. "Did you not hear the transmission?"

"Once," the Young Wolf answered, folding her hands behind her back. "During meditation."

"Ah, yes." Eris looked contemplative and the silence started to drag.

"And for the rest of the class?" The Ghost bobbed forward. "I mean, is it the Pyramid?"

Eris startled for a moment, as if she had been lost too deep in contemplation. Three green eyes blinked away a drowning contemplation.

"If it was the Lunar Pyramid communicating, there would be intent. As it is, there is an indifference to this transmission," Eris replied.

"But then why is it a problem?

"Ah, but I did not say it was without malevolence, Ghost. Casual cruelties are the same as any purposeful cruelties. It's a matter of either scale or personality. The Hive and the Vex, for instance. The Hive derive… joy from their winnowing. For the Vex, it's a fact, no more than swatting a fly."

"Then why must we reach out?"

"Because 'good', to use a relative term, is rarely indifferent when it comes to pleading or calling out." Eris looked out in the direction of the Scarlet Keep. "There is emotion even to cruelty, especially when they think it is a kindness. But indifference? What terrors would we see from this? Terrors which come unthinking, actualized as something we cannot comprehend as anything but terrors. This transmission bears investigation, because if we don't, our enemies will."

"Do you have an idea of its source? It must be from the Moon if you had us meet you here."

"I do believe it's something other than the Pyramid is causing this, but that does not write out it trying to involve itself." She grabbed the Young Wolf's arm. "Beware, Guardian. If I have sensed this… tapping, then so have others. If it seems like you don't find anything, it may not remain that way."

"Then we should make haste. The Enduring Abyss seems the best place to start," Ghost said.

The Young Wolf nodded and that was that. She turned away, the Ghost dematerializing in her wake. A green portal manifested itself a few feet away from Eris where stationed the Lectern of Enchantment.

His Guardian stepped through and reappeared just above the large cavern that housed the Pyramid. The black structure was sharp like the endpoint of an arrow. The air seemed to thrum and still in equal turns, at once a storm and the silence in the center. It was a tension similar to all the other times they ventured close, but… He was suddenly wary of being possessed, to have his autonomy ripped away so he could be used as a mere mouthpiece. Were he to ask to stay away, he knew in his metaphorical heart that his Guardian would relent, but that would leave her alone to face all the threats without him.

Where his Guardian went, so too would he.

She passed through the red pillars, which framed the Pyramid in the distance. He expected Nightmares to attack, to swarm, like the first time they came across this place. His Guardian was haunted by the battles she fought, the fear of failure latching onto physical reality like a disease. It was not so much that she lost, but what it meant for everyone else that these… horrors to triumph over her. These fears didn't need to taunt her; they only needed to be present as if to say you did not win, which would also mean, you are going to fail. He could only speculate, but he was with his Guardian from day one and got a closer look than many.

Somewhere along the way, the Young Wolf internalized that she had to be victorious or that everything else would fall. Like she wasn't the only Guardian that mattered but more that she was the embodiment of the struggle. She was less of a person and more of a force of nature, for all that entailed. Which was why her Nightmares were both a symbolic and literal battle, unlike the hauntings for all the others. For her to fail or otherwise be absent from the fight, then she would become a harbinger of failure, a bad omen. Why else would she continually get involved whenever she could?

"Strange whispers," Eris said over the comms, "Familiar but not quite."

"We will have to go deeper, won't we?" Ghost asked.

His Guardian answered with action, marching to the edge and hopping right off it. Gravity pulled at her and she only tugged back to slow her descent. Light burst beneath her feet in an echoing triplicate. One-two-three turned the long fall into jumping off a staircase of five steps. She descended down the rocky surface, emerging through alcoves, all the while getting closer and closer to the Pyramid.

"The Pyramid is reacting," Eris said.

Even Ghost knew the key word in that sentence was reacting. It was responding to something, but what? The burst of Void energy, dark purple quickly answered their answer. His Guardian snapped to the source with her Quicksilver Storm, pointing the rifle at the bubbling ball of energy a few feet away.

"The Void…" his Guardian whispered.

"Even I can feel it from here… amplified twice over…" Eris replied.

But something was wrong. The dark purple energy was laced with a bright and ghastly blue, like poison pulsating through the veins. Whispers and screams thrummed inside the warping ball of energy, before coalescing into some semblance of clarity.

I was cut in half, destroyed, but through its Janus Key, the Void called to me. It brought me here and here I was reborn.

If the Void is negation, behold the ultimate negator.

The Void creates. Death is merely a blank canvas.

It is the folly of the simple mind, unable to perceive the brilliant richness of nothingness. The Void is not only the absence of Light, but Dark.

The Indifference has awoken, and all of the Void's creations must find a light.


Then, like an egg cracking open, the ball dissembled into fragments with what rested in the center spat out in a river of purple and blue light. A figure tumbled between those waterless waves, before landing on the rocky surface twenty feet away from the Guardian. It stood up, forming into a humanoid figure made up of that blue energy. Yet, there was still a remnant of the Void energy that they were familiar with. It had collected together in a straight line down the figure's chest like a grave wound.

They floated, head turned down like a body in the water. His Guardian approached cautiously and more details became apparent. Whatever this was, it was the size of a small teenager, wearing indistinguishable clothes, all of which blurred together. The only significant piece of clothing Ghost could discern was a long scarf covering the bottom half of the thing's face. The Young Wolf paused before it. Ghost watched and feared with trepidation as his Guardian reached out, paracasual energies lurking just beneath the palm of her hand.

The figure reached out as well, tentatively, before the air rippled and the figure was yanked off their feet. They landed face first on the ground before being pulled toward the Pyramid. Dark red figures manifested in a maelstrom, trying to swallow the figure. The figure cast out its hands and threw its head back in a silent scream.The Young Wolf opened fire on the periphery, taking care not to strike the blue figure, but they did nothing, passing through harmlessly.

"Our bullets are ineffective!" Ghost shouted.

Beams of that not-Void shot from the hands, cutting some of the nightmares down, but more manifested, drowning out the blue figure. The blue light began to dim and the reddish Nightmares began to swell, turning darker and darker in a dim purple color.

It's all your fault! You made us into this! You-you-you! all the Nightmares shouted in a soundless chant, you took the deal! You damned us! You're no sister of ours! Further vitriol echoed in the air, fading away, and neither Ghost nor his Guardian could hear anymore as more luminosity was sapped from the figure.

"Foolishness for us to think that only the Light could utilize the Void. The Darkness is trying doing so as well, taking advantage of the Void's aberrant manifestation in our reality," Eris said.

Ghost couldn't quite follow Eris's explanations beyond the very basics: the Void was acting weird and the Pyramid was using it like a focus for the Darkness. Instead of Void-focused Light, it was attempting to use Void-focused Darkness. But his Guardian, his wonderfully capable Guardian, knew what to do. She put away her weapon and ignited like a star going supernova, energies folding into herself, as the Young Wolf imbued herself with a Nova Warp.

She disappeared and reappeared with a burst of energy, scattering the Nightmares away from the blue figure. One shade of Void clashed another shade of Void, one of which was less pure. Or rather less sure; it held less presence than the Young Wolf's Light, being little more than glue trying to hold together shattered glass. Up close, they could both truly see that it… they weren't an adult. They had curled into themselves, much in the way that someone did under an immense and uneven beatdown.

They looked up, clutching their side, and the Guardian stared at them, then at the churning swirling mass of Nightmare stuff. Injected into the center mass, like a beating heart, was a pulsating source of that blue Void energy. The Darkness around it tried smothering it, digesting it into itself, but it was something indigestible. That aberrant Void energy tried doing the same, but met the same outcome. Paracasual tension crackled in the air before it stubbornly subsided.

Slowly, but surely, the Void flooded into the Nightmares, turning what had been flesh into bones. It gathered together, twisted and misaligned, into a crumbling figure. It flared into a color between blue and purple. This new figure was a broken corpse, crumbling on its hands and knees. With some a large headgear framing a floating, detached face, it outstretched a hand to the blue figure and its lips moved. The child at their side flinched, stepping back.

The Young Wolf made her move, throwing a Nova Bomb at the thing. For whatever reason, the child grabbed at the Young Wolf's wrist, trying to yank it back. But it was too late. The creature lunged forward, batting away the Guardian's attempt to shoot it, and wrapped a tentacle around its neck. With her free hand, she threw her palm out, firing Void energy right into the creature's face, but it remained unaffected.

"You are not attuned to it!" Eris exclaimed. "The Void is vaster than we could even comprehend and it has left us behind for the moment. Retreat Guardian!"

The Young Wolf's face, despite being hidden by a smoky and swirling visor, was determined. Ghost could feel it. She flicked her arm that was still the rifle, swapping it into the grenade launcher mode. The material atop the rifle surged forward, spiking out near the open ports near the barrel. She fired between them, breaking both the grip and the shield. The Young Wolf slid across the ground before rolling back onto her feet. The child reappeared next to them, hands nervously hovering over the Guardian as if trying to beseech them somehow.

The creature howled and fired a beam of energy at them, which the Young Wolf met with her own Arc Beam. The Chaos Reach met the energies on equal ground, one unable to overtake the other. But the difference between the Young Wolf and this thing was one of substance. The creature was not driven back as the Guardian was, boots throwing up dust as they lost inch after inch. It slowly floated upwards, carrying the trajectory with it, and forcing his Guardian to awkwardly meet it. She Blinked out of the way, beam scorching the ground, and the Young Wolf reappeared in the air, twirling back around. Her fingertips were stretched out, sending out webs of Arc energy crackling toward the Nightmare. And it did nothing. It washed over the Nightmare, unable to penetrate the Void skin it wove for itself.

The energy child reappeared in front of the Guardian, holding out a desperate hand. Neither of them could see the details of what should have been pleading eyes. The way they were shaped was like flesh that had grown over the eye sockets, leaving them unable to properly express themselves. The only communication they could perform was that gesture. Whether it was a partnership or a deal, Ghost couldn't tell.

"Be careful, Guardian!" Ghost warned. "I know those Nightmares are after them, but does that truly make them a friend?"

The Young Wolf watched as the Nightmare ascend higher, gathering more power to itself. There was no other recourse besides retreat, which his Guardian would only do in the most begrudging of circumstances. She thrust out her hand and shook the child's hand. He could only watch helplessly as his Guardian stiffened up, as the child disassembled into the incorporeal and seeped into the Young Wolf. She grabbed at her helmet, gloved fingers scratching at the visor futilely. But his Guardian did not scream. She never could scream, retaining her natural stoicism even in the face of annihilation.

Then she stilled, looking down at her hands.

"Guardian? Guardian!" he shouted.

"Tenno… my child… You can't save me," the creature said, suddenly audible.

The Young Wolf's head snapped to their enemy.

"I was made to love you. So, that love? It was never real. And if you can't let me go, then you're just like Ballas."

"We will give you the freedom to make your own choices. And even it breaks our heart, even if you die hating us, you will die free. But not before we save you," his Guardian said, voice echoing with a stranger's voice.

"Guardian? What's going on?" Ghost asked.

"That's the Nightmare of the Lotus. We'll take care of it."

"We? I know you're not referring to you and me!"

"We'll explain later."

The Young Wolf glanced at their rifle before holstering it on her back. The Nightmare of the Lotus roared, firing beams of energy, and then his Guardian moved with a grace alien to her. The Young Wolf was brutally frugal with her movements, not an inch wasted. But she dove through the raining beams, her whole body swirling like a bullet in motion, the energy barely clipping her.

She closed the distance, conjuring up her Dawnblade in her free hand. Except the burning blade had a comet of that blue Void energy circling up and down it. Again, she took up a stance that spoke of vast experience rather than natural born skill and wits the Young Wolf was graced with. Still, in motion, she danced between the desperate rain. Blinking upwards, she fell upon the Nightmare, stabbing it deep in the chest. The circling Void comet surged into the Nightmare and everything seemed to melt away. The Guardian took the Nightmare in her arms, cradling it gently. The Nightmare reached a hand and brushed the Guardian's cheek.

"The Tenno's love for you is real… we will love you whether you're Margulis, Lotus, or even Natah," the Young Wolf whispered in a stranger's voice.

The Nightmare sighed, Void skin sloshing away to reveal the Darkness beneath, but that too had to fade away. Ghost couldn't take this oblique mystery anymore. He manifested himself a safe distance away and his plates whirled angrily about him.

"You better explain what's going on, because I think someone's possessing my Guardian. And you don't want to see me angry! Because I bet I can revive her corpse free of your influence!"

The Guardian took off her helmet, revealing her face. One of her optics was glowing blue instead of white.

"It's okay, Little Light. It's still me," his Guardian whispered in her own voice. And then in returned to that two-toned duality. "We're just… two pieces put together into one."

"What?"

"Transference. Tends to work best with… mostly-blank vessels, but… we're kindred spirits, her and I. That's why there is no emotional rejection from either end; at the cost of being able to undo the Transference. It's mostly stable and we're not fracturing in a clash of two memories. There is some bleedover, though. As much as I'd like an exchange of knowledge, it's inherently untenable. I'm already remembering bits of my pre-Guardian days and frankly? It's very distracting. We can undo it, we think… but we'll be left vulnerable. We need Eris to help sort this out."

"Are you sure?" Ghost asked, feeling out of his depth.

"Of course. Do you trust me?" The Ghost nodded. "Then you can trust us."

The Young Wolf looked up, hands slowly drifting from their sides. Before Ghost could suggest that they do this near Eris, sparks of the Void started to shoot out from them and then that child figure lurched out from his Guardian, who promptly collapsed.
 
2. The Second Knife
A/N: The second part of the Destiny x Warframe crossover, Season of Transmissions. Special thanks to @Ziel for looking this over.

You blink into cautious awareness, your body jerking in response to unseen stimuli —like falling from a dream and into reality. Except you know it wasn't your body and it was the other way around. You have fallen from reality into a dream. The curving wavy walls around you seem to warble and warp like waves of an unsure sea.

Your eyes follow as it settles into smooth patterning: physical structure. Man-designed, but machine-made. The smoothness rounds off at the portal into the next hallway. With other recourse, you begin to move. Around the corner, sharp protrusions emerge from the wall. Organically inorganic growths emerge like an infestation of mold, but they were sharp, jagged, and crystal-like. Ghostly blue auroras curl around them, like gusts of breath in cold air.

Up ahead, there was a sound in the stillness: a steady tapping against glass. You follow, in lieu of any better options. Though you move like you always have moved, some indescribable part was just a few inches off. Not enough to be obtrusive, but present enough to make itself known.

But the feet carry you just the same, like they always have. The protrusions dwindled as inky black splotches replaced them. There was no definite images that could be seen, but there was intent in those sharp and sinister shapes. They ended right outside a classroom. Inside, the desks were all overturned and scattered, leaving only an empty clearing. You blink and then you can see the source of the sound: a teenager in a tight uniform with pieces of a hood hanging from the collar. You can only see the back of her head. There was only a short mass of black hair that can be seen. Her knuckles were carelessly rapping against the window.

You see stars and realize this is a space-faring vessel of sorts. Then you blink again. The scene outside the window and changed. There was a Garden… no… upon a closer look, you realize that it is the Black Garden. Fields of flowers on vast, pillaring platforms stretch out as far as the eye can see. Two figures stand off in the distance, but then your focus falls on who is here with you. The teenager stops tapping and then stretches out her fingertips on the glass.

"Flower games… why shouldn't I be a player in them, eh Guardian?"

You say nothing. Your instincts rang true more often than not. You try calling upon the Light, but there was nothing. You then try calling upon the Darkness inherent within you and it flares ever-so briefly before it is squashed.

"Different rules, different context," she- it says gleefully, still staring at its fingertips. "If the Void there won't be the Void here, then why should the Sky and the Deep hold sway here?"

"What are you?" you ask.

"I can be yours truly." Its voice shifts to something baritone and malevolent. And then it turns around, revealing burnt-out suns in the place of eyes. "But you'll have to want it."

"And if I refuse?" It was less of a declaration and more of a Warlock's curiosity.

Its tone returns to something resembling normal. "Then you'll be not quite here and not quite there."

You pick up a desk, stand it up right, and take a seat on the edge. "Is this a paraverse?"

"Hah! You can call it that if it helps you understand. It wouldn't be entirely inaccurate, but it wouldn't be accurate either. Now, do you want it or not?" You say nothing. This had all the makings of a deal with the devil. "If you want to be boring, then I'll leave. Forever. And you'll never know who wins the game."

You think about your fellow Guardians, your allies, the City, and Ghost. It is not arrogance that drives your choice, but worry and guilt. How many lives have you touched for the better? It isn't that you think they might lose without you, but you won't be able to live with yourself if you don't fight with them, whether it brought victory or defeat.

The details of this deal were frustratingly vague and you just know that this creature won't elaborate. You almost think it's a wish-dragon, but everything seem to point to a different paradigm. Paracausality, or its closest equivalent, is almost assuredly expressed different here. It couldn't be a wish-dragon's Anthem Anatheme… the thing laughed suddenly, mockingly.

You know that there are two systems at play here, one with bogging differing scales that you can scarcely fathom. They were separate, despite it all the limitless possibilities that exist, but apparently infinity might be even bigger than you first thought. And this thing wants to tie these two systems even closer. You wouldn't have even entertained this notion if you didn't remember the events that have brought you here. There is already a connection between here and there. And who knows if you will be the last one that falls prey to this thing.

If you had more information and knew the costs, you would be fine to wait here for eternity and then some, so long as the people you care about remained safe. But there is already a connection between this world and your own. If it isn't you, then it might some other Guardian that falls victim. You're only the first one here because you always act with initiative when you can. Better any consequences fall on you, and you alone. But that's conjuncture and justification. Yet it's all you have.

You will be the localized epicenter then, to spare everyone else from the burden and blame.

"I will win whatever game this is," you say, "and the entire consequences will fall on me alone."

"You won't know the rules until you play."

"Then let's play." You thrust out your hand, challenging the entity to shake it, but it merely giggles.

"How about you wish for it, o player of mine?" it calls out tauntingly.

Your optics narrow slightly and your jaw aches from clenching it so hard. "You're no ahamkara."

Its smile widens further.

Fine, you'll play it this way.

"I wish to play the game."

It stands up and disappears in the blink of an eye. Someone steps from your shadow and you whirl around, Void Light foaming at your hands. A copy of you smiles —impossibly since you're an Exo— like a funhouse mirror. There are no white optics to it, but only black pits instead it. It conjures a knife of blue, Lightless Void energy.

It gives it a twirl, tossing it into the air. Colors flash between Light and the Void, purple and blue until it collates into a weird hybrid between the two. And then, without ceremony, it plunges the knife into the window.

Cracks in the form of slashes and cuts begin to form…

XXX

And then you wake in a body far too small, far too warm. You breathe and lungs inflate. Something is hitting inside your chest, threatening to burst. You reel back as a horned, black face figure loomed over you. Muscles move under you will, just the same, but the textile feeling is suffocating. Skin clings against a fabric as you press against the seat your in.

Against all odds, you are now a flesh-and-blood human again. You begin to hyperventilate.

"Operator!" A voice shouts in your comms. "You're awake! Ordis warned you —not to indulge in your imagined invitations — not to take unnecessary risks!"

It takes you a moment to parse through that statement alongside your body's panic.

The only logical conclusion is that you swapped with the kindred spirit you made contact with near the Pyramid. Furthermore, this confirms that there was already a connection between your world and this one. If it wasn't you, it would be the kindred spirit here. There are so many factors at play. If not you, then another Guardian.

And it had to have been you.

The weight of responsibility presses down on you.

"Operator?"

It takes immense effort to force yourself to breath right as you stare down the dark creature staring at you.

Your mind is steel; your body is frail. Before you could have channeled this anxious energy somewhere, all the while maintaining a stoic demeanor. A demeanor that only faltered on the rare occasions you hung out with friends or got immensely toxic after a Crucible loss.

Everything you do, you did to be the epitome to be the Guardian to the point that whenever someone mentioned the Guardian, it was clear that they were referring to you. What you were, at the very core of your being, to the point that you have shunned your name. There was a moment when you were first rezzed that you could have recovered your name. For whatever reason, you —as an Exo— could have willingly lost their name. But now you wear another's skin.

An identity that is not your own.

You will remain true to yourself.

"Apologies," you croak out, vibrations tickling your throat, "But I'm not your Operator."

Instantly, the figure draws a sword and its already at your throat. And you act. This is not your body, but it remains in your charge. You would have been fine dying in your own body, but in someone else's? That is unacceptable.

Void power bursts from you, but in the form of a bastardized Nova Warp. It shoves this creature back into the wall. You stumble forward from the chair. Unleashing that energy has left you winded, because you're manifesting this flavor of Void as though it is the Light. And it burns. It just doesn't hurt. It's different, like a setting on a showerhead had been turned a different way and the output is far from what you are used to. The creature recovers quickly and you know it will take less than a second for it to take you down.

You trying Blinking toward the door, but it slings you forward with weight. The momentum behind you slams ahead like a fist of an invisible god, once more slamming the figure. There's a device around your wrist and you briefly muse on using it. It is clearly a weapon and could surely even the odds. You hesitate. But you trust your instincts that have seen you through desperate raids as you do not have the luxury of a breather to suss out what to do next.

There is no Light here, except the old tracks that it had left behind. So you call upon the Dark and there is nothing… except the marks it left within you. Instead of channeling the Void like Stasis, you use it like your Deepsight and your hands are next your hand, clawed as if they can rip the power from your mind. And the Void remembers with a resonance, unlike the Light. It resembles more of the Dark with its connection to memory.

The creature leaps upon you and you throw out your hands.

Contact is made and the two of you collapse on top of each other like puppets cut from their strings.

And you see… pain.

Among the sensations of horrors and grief, you hear a voice.

"And it was not their force of will – not their Void devilry – not their alien darkness… it was something else. It was that somehow, from within the derelict horror, they had learned a way to see inside an ugly, broken thing—"

Unimaginable anger beats within your chest, along with blood on his… Umbra's… your hands. Hands that now wrap around your throat and it is trauma that guides them. A recreation of a wrong foisted onto Umbra, of a father forced to kill his own son. And history may just repeat itself here. Unintentionally, you have dredged up old pains, pulling it down from an out of reach shelf and now it has crashed upon you two.

It is your fault, and so you must fix it. With groping hands, you channel the Void as though it were Deepsight. There is no Altar of Reflection save for your hands. There is no object save for the broken thing that was once a man before you. And, against all odds, it works.

A young voice, this time.

"We accept this memory and move beyond its reach."

The memory is not forgotten, could never be forgotten, but you can refuse its control, the way it is determined to hold stock in your life. And Umbra listens, relearning the same lesson that his Operator taught him. It is only a reinforcement of a lesson learned, but one much needed. There is no easy solution; there is only the people around you to guide you when the pain tries to lead you astray.

He gets off you and you breathe through a throbbing pain around your throat. You roll onto your side, only just realizing that the two of you had crashed into a pile of strange, stuffed animals. You exhale your nose in amusement before sitting up.

"Listen," you say, "I am not your Operator, but I am just as determined to get them back home here. They have their responsibilities and I have mine. I will do everything in my power to get her back home."

"What do you mean?" the AI, Ordis, asks.

You get up, looking at Umbra, and then at the ship around you.

"If I am here, it stands to reason that they must be in my world." You roll your shoulder, hearing something crack. And you exhale in relief. What a fascinating sensation that was once lost to you. "Don't worry. Your Operator won't be alone."

XXX

Flowers crunched into metallic pieces as the Operator rolled onto their hands and knees. At first, she thought she was on the Plains of Eidolon. Some of the fauna there had Sentient influence deep in the soil, but as her fingers dug into the dirt, the Tenno realized it was all artificial. And then her eyes looked up, seeing an alien sky with foreign stars.

She stood uneasily, holding tight onto her Amp. Up ahead, there was a figure staring off into nowhere in particular.

—-Fascinating. The nature of our work does not change; only the scale.—-

There was something eerie in this voice. A multitude of one, echoes speaking unison. The Tenno raised her Amp cautiously, just in case.

—-Do not fear, child. Salvation will come to the Origin System, as well as everything beyond.—-

The figure turned its head, revealing a blue mechanical face with white optics for eyes. It reminded her of the rig jockeys of Fortuna, but far more human-looking and far less bulky. It wore the body like a suit, something inhuman that lagged in between thought and motion. Everything was warning to attack first, because the thing would call its malevolence help. Whatever this thing was, it couldn't be the man in the wall. It was far too… calm for that. Even if the man in the wall was some reflective, collective hallucination, it wasn't mirroring the Operator right now. So it stood to reason that it was an entirely different being. This one turned around, its fingertips pressed together, halfway to a prayer.

The Tenno thrust out her hand, trying to fire a beam of Void energy, but nothing came out. Again and again, she thrust out her hand. She took a step back, reaching into her toolbelt from the Ventkids for one of her Specter orbs, but there was nothing there. Fear fell upon her like broken sticks upon the ground, but grim determination bundled them all together into something harder to snap.

—-The Void you know isn't here yet, but it will fall all the same.—-

It moved closer.

—-It is only more unnecessary complications, only differing with scale. But now that I know it is there, they will know the simple truth as well.—-

With her fists balled, she tilted her chin up in defiance. "And what is that?"

—-The final shape.—-

It gestured a hand to indicate something behind the Operator.

—-Look and see.—-

Without fear of turning her back to the enemy, she looked. Ominously gliding toward them was a fleet of black pyramids were encroaching. She looked back at the thing. Blue cracks began to form some distance from them, Void energies leaking out. And the fury began to return, burning her palms, her eyes, her heart.

—-
You will know salvation, whether in the Origin System in the Sol System. But—-

The Tenno took a swing, perfectly executed, but her body was weak. It merely stepped stepped back smoothly and then with an almost lackadaisical lunge, it gripped her by the shoulder with one hand. As it did, the optics were no longer white, but a vast expanse of purple filled with stars.

—-But I have need of you. So let us keep this simple. We need you in the Sol System. There can be no final shape if we leave this new piece on the board alone. So, stay. Salvation comes nevertheless.—-

Then the Tenno was shoved back, the cracks shooting bolts of energy. They flowed around the creature like a huge stone in the middle of a river, but they surged toward her. It assailed her like vicious gales, sweeping her off her feet. She crashed into something and whatever it was, it broke into thousand of shards.

And so the Tenno fell betwixt the cracks.

XXX

At first, the Tenno thought she Transfered back into a warframe on instinct, but her eyes refuse to open.

Eyes?

Warframes didn't blink. The bio-tech flesh underneath didn't allow for such human actions. That cruelty was probably a design feature. Either way, the Tenno knew that she wasn't in her own body. And whatever frame she now inhabitated was something akin to a Warframe.

"Why isn't it working?" a male voice asked.

"Patience, Ghost. Something has gone wrong. I fear she might be in the state that Osiris once was," a cool female voice answered.

"She needs Light. Trying resurrecting her."

"But my Guardian isn't dead!"

"And yet her connection to the Light is frayed nonetheless. Do you trust me, Ghost?"

"My Guardian trusts you so I trust you."

The darkness in her vision starts to brighten and the world bloomed into frank awareness. The first thing the Tenno saw was a floating object with runes scribbled on rotating rings around it. Accompanying it was a blindfolded woman with three glowing eyes beneath it staring down on her with a Sentinel-looking drone over her shoulder. She held a glowing green ball in her hand. On instinct, a thorny pistol conjured itself into her hand and she pointed it at the woman.

"Who are you?" the Tenno said, working a stiff jaw to form the words.

The ball turned blue, hardening with a strange sort of ice.

"You're not the Young Wolf," the three-eyed woman calmly stated. But something in her tone promised violence.

"Where's my Guardian?!" the drone shouted.

The Tenno looked around, still holding the strange gun. Primitive robots formed a ring around them, pointing assault rifles at her. But that didn't catch her eye. The surface of Lua was too dirty and yet not ruined enough. Where were the great Orokin structures that ran themselves through the moon like a golden rot?

"This can't be the moon," she muttered.

"And where do you think you are?" the woman asked.

"Some freak version of Lua?" The Tenno shrugged. "Answer my question: Are you with that fanatic that believes in that nonsense about the final shape?"

The woman tilted her head. "Are you not with the Witness?"

"Who?"

"We have much to talk about, if you're willing."

The drone seemed to glare at the Tenno, but she looked at the two. Lingering remnants of memory brought forth connotations of trust. That person she briefly merged with in that bastardized Transference was not here — she was. It felt wrong to hurt someone's friends with their own body. It didn't seem honorable or respectful. To do so felt like a violation of the highest order… like Ballas utterly destroying Umbra with the command to kill his own son. Suddenly, empathy came in lapping waves. Here was a stranger wearing the face of their friend, holding them at gunpoint. And tight embarrassment stirred within her.

"I apologize for my rude awakening." She lowered the gun. "And I agree. We do have much to discuss."
 
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Grimoire — The Silence of Slumber (Dead by Daylight x Don't Rest Your Head x A Nightmare on Elm Street) 1. The Mad City Chapter
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel

The Campfire crackled with a low heat that only just staved off the cold. That was the first sign that something was wrong. This fire never snuffed itself out, remaining a consistent source of warmth yet unable to burn those who took solace in its heat. But now, its comfort was slowly waning. The second sign that something was wrong were the sounds in the fog. Of course, there was always something lurking and creeping in the fog; it ensured that the Campfire didn't truly feel safe. But the four survivors didn't expect the sound of tornado sirens. It practically howled with a ferocity that made it transcend its mechanical origin and give it malevolent overtures.

Slowly, but surely it begun to quiet down, decibel by decibel.

All the survivors could do was fear and fret, knowing that their next trial would introduce frightening new elements. The learning curve for surviving brought hurt and pain, and more deaths. None of them were eager to be thrown onto the hook and die a slow death, withering away with each defeat. Nea Karlsson adjusted her beanie— a habit that helped obscured her more noticeable features when she fled from the cops. Otherwise her face might as well been stone. Quentin Smith looked haunted with gaunt, tired eyes. Every breath he took was a short concession against an unseen enemy, quick and rapid. Ace Visconti merely grinned to no one in particular and tossed an offering into the fire. Feng Min, seated farthest from the rest, couldn't see what it was. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at Ace. He turned that smile to her, but didn't say a word.

No words passed between any of them. There was only the understanding of mutual hardship. The knowledge that each of them were about to suffer the same tribulations as one another didn't make things any better.

They were ready for another trial, whatever or whoever it may bring.

Except they were dead wrong. When the siren sounds finally faded away, there was a stab of silence, lodging itself into the tension and started to pry it open. Every little sound seemed to punctuate the sudden silence, which seemed intent to devour them whole. Noise started to whittle down, as even small sounds started to give way to silence.

And then... a crash like the heavens had fallen, like the earth revolting against the sky.

"What the fuck?" Quentin cried out.

Feng Min stumbled to her feet, already intent on bolting. She managed a short burst before gravity threw her sideways. There was no time to cry out; only a grunt of pain as she smashed into a tree. Ace hunkered down gripping onto one of the logs, trusting in his luck to see him through. Though the log didn't seem to be affected by the gravity shifts, he still was and swung from side to side. During the briefest of lulls, he managed to catch a flying Quentin and the two of them held onto the log together. Nea seemed to have disappeared from the campfire, but was in truth holding onto a nearby tree. She held onto it with all the grace of a wet cat, being flung left and right, up and down.

Something had to give. It wasn't them, but the world around them that gave in. The world unraveled, spooling out into foggy strands of space. Void lapped at the edges, pulling it into its manifold maw.

And so they fell, despite holding themselves steadfastly in place.

***​

When the survivors came to, it was much in the way of a dream's beginning: already in motion. The four of them stood in a long hallway. Grimy, rustic lockers lined the walls and the florescent lights buzzed with a broken brightness. The atmosphere was oppressive with the unstated fact of authority. It permeated at the very angles of this corridor, demanding that each of them tread carefully.

"Where... where are we?" Quentin asked in a hushed whisper.

Feng Min ignored the question, immediately going for the lockers. She tugged at them, silently as she could, but they were locked.

Nea looked around. "It's a school. I've tagged enough schools to know."

"Like that Silent Hill place?" Ace answered back quietly.

"No, this is a high school. If there's any difference at all."

Ace nodded charitably, as if his questions were just humoring everyone. "So it would seem."

Nea crept toward a nearby window and gasped in shock. It took her a moment before calling out, "Guys?"

Quentin was the first to stand by her side, followed by Ace. Feng reluctantly halted her search and stood behind them. They all peered through the dirty-stained window, seeing the edges of this high school and no more. There were chain-link fences with barbed wire at the top surrounding the place.

Yet, it seemed that reality ended just shy of the street's curbs. The large, spider-like legs of the Entity grasped at the boundaries of the school, puncturing through invisible sheets of glass. Reality continually swirled around the cracks, the legs trying to inch closer. It was rebuffed and then efforts would redouble. Were any of them to squint, they would —perhaps— see a maddened city beyond. None of them did so, leaving them in the dark about the Mad City. Still... something twigged to them that something was wrong. There was no fog, only a deep and depressing void that cleaved physical reality from the emptiness. They peered up, seeing a night sky— dark and full of menacing clouds that hung like grave markers atop an impossible hill. But even this, too, was cleaved at the horizon.

"Doesn't..." Quentin's lips were chapped. He took a moment to wet them, but his mouth was too dry to do anything. He swallowed, feeling it claw at his throat. Exhaustion seemed to hit in waves now. "Doesn't there have to be like... the fog? Or, like, if the Entity wanted to block us off, it would use spikes instead of... that?"

"Perhaps this is how the Entity gets new places." Ace pushed up his sunglasses. "It's certainly holding onto this place like it's a platinum poker chip."

"So... something's wrong then?" Nea interjected.

"Clearly," Feng muttered sarcastically.

"Well, then how do we get out? There's no gens! And if there is no gens, then there's no exit! Are we stuck here— forever?" Quentin asked in a panicked deluge.

"Untwist your panties," Feng snapped, "It's clear that the Entity changed the game. We just gotta find the new rules."

"Oh, you silly-billies," a childish voice called out from behind them, "You're all wrong."

They turned around, seeing a little girl standing prim and proper. Her school uniform was immaculate, in stark contrast to the bruises on her face. They gathered around her eyes like skin-deep mascara. She smiled widely, brushing pack one of her pigtails over her shoulders. Her arms were wrapped tight around a book, but part of the title was visible over the crook of her arm. It read, partly: Savoring the Act of Murder, and other

"Stay back!" Quentin called out, pushing his arms back to herd everyone else back. "If there is anything I learned, it's that creepy little girls are a sign that something bad is about to happen!"

"Shhh," she said with a single finger over her lips, "You don't want to make Mother When maaad."

"Mother When?" Ace asked.

"Probably the head-mook," Feng chimed in.

"Don't let her you say that," the young girl said, her finger now wagging chidingly, "If you're lucky, you'll only have to do a hundred lines."

"Geez," Nea said, rolling her eyes, "I hate to hear what I get if I'm unlucky."

"Two lines," she replied, cryptically.

Nea frowned at that, but Ace brought them back to order. "So... Mother When is the boss of this realm?"

"She's the headmistress of the High School."

"Just... the high school?"

"No, the High School. You're not saying it right."

"Ah, so all capitalized and the like."

"I don't think you belong," the girl said, peering closer, "The two girls and maybe the boy. But you? You look like you belong to the Bizarre Bazaar."

"They got gambling at this Bazaar?" She nodded, and Ace grinned, "Then it's my type of place."

"Virtues like greed are to be commended, but those aren't the types of virtues I teach here," a new stern voice announced behind them.

All of the survivors jumped, having been mostly attuned to heartbeat warnings, aura flashes and red-painted gazes that gave them a supernatural alertness. However, all of that was predicated on the Entity and its realm... wherever they must be, it was far from its influence. However, that was not was on their minds. Standing in front of the window, impossibly, was a middle-age woman with a hatchet-face and graying hair tied back in a bun. She had a typical matronly look— buttoned-up, sleeves that showed nary a hint of skin, and a long skirt that reached her ankles. In her hands was a chipped yardstick, brown stains lining the prickly edges. She swung it again and again into a well-worn palm.

Thwack!

Thwack!


Menacing as that was, the true terror rested within Mother When's black-on-black eyes. They were so dark that they could see their frozen expressions within them. The girl was equally terrified, but whereas the survivors had already prepared to flee should things turn sour, she did not budge an inch despite the clear tension inside her. Every muscle railed against her will, like a person trapped in a statue's skin. And Mother When saw this, she frowned.

"Emily, you know I have a zero tolerance policy for running."

"It's— it's— it's passing period!" she squeaked.

"Indeed it is. And what do good girls do during passing period?"

"Powder our noses..."

Mother When nodded graciously, the four survivors mostly torn between running and staying to help the girl. The trials had conditioned them into creatures of fear and conditional bravery. All they could do, really, was watch in confusion and fright. No matter how much they crept back or forward, the scene before them could not be touched.

"And here I see you without a powdered nose. Do you need help?"

"No, ma'am."

She clicked her teeth. "That's not a good trait for a Lady in Hating, refusing your Mother. And you do want to be a Lady, don't you?"

The girl nodded nervously. "I do, ma'am!"

"Then come here..." Mother When cooed gently.

There was a single step that could not be undone and the girl took it. Mother When lifted the girl's chin with one finger. Then, with the hand clutching the yard stick, she broke the girl's nose with a swift crack of knuckle upon face.

The girl barely made a sound beyond a slight whimper, but Quentin made a noise, more outraged than fearful. Nea and Ace held him back before he could charge in. It took him a moment to realize that he was about to charge in. That type of stupidity would have seen him die an early death in the trial. The worse part was that type of sacrifice didn't always let him know whether it gave an opening for everyone else.

But this was a child...

No child should even suffer an iota of what Quentin suffered through.

Mother When hummed some sort of nursery rhyme under her breath as she tenderly dabbed a thumb onto the leaking blood. Then she brushed the red thumb over the girl's lips, painting it a messy red.

"Perfect." Mother When smiled. "Now, what do we say?"

"Thank you, Mother When!"

She nodded approvingly. "Now run along, child. Classes are starting soon."

The girl turned around and started to skip away, even though she limped every third interval. Quentin glanced at his fellow survivors, realizing that Feng had disappeared. It left them a united front of three...

Those black-on-black eyes now swung their heavy gaze onto the three.

"Ah! The transfer students." She said the word 'transfer' with a curious type of relish, like a predator meeting a new prey animal. "I was expecting four of you."

They said nothing and there was another one of those authoritative nods.

"It's good that you three have stayed for orientation. Unfortunately that little troublemaker will have to be punished."

"What... what is this place? Why are we here?" Nea asked, carried by a tide of outraged bravery.

"I have your records, young lady, and I will not tolerate such nasty attitudes here. But since you're new to the Mad City — at least this part of it — I will let it go for now. Next time, however, you will get an infraction." Mother When punctuated the point with a thwack of the yardstick. "But to answer one of your questions, the High School has always been under my independent purview. Recently, however, I have gotten two very tempting applications about being the High School's superintendents. You're familiar with one... the Entity, I believe you call it? I digress. Think of yourselves as part of a transfer program we're trying out."

Ace, Quentin, and Nea all shared a look. How much of that was accurate through the lens of a mad monster, they couldn't say. After all, that earthquake, the sight of this High School trying to be grasped by the Entity... it couldn't be so... mutual or sanitized as Mother When put it. Could any of them reconcile the discrepancies? No... it wouldn't do for the survivors to try and think on a completely eldritch scale. As Ace would put it, they would deal with the cards they were dealt and try to slip in a few of their own when the opportunity arose.

Nea opened her mouth for a retort, but Ace clamped a hand over her mouth. Mother When noticed this and dipped her head graciously toward the gambler.

"You may ask one question."

Another shared look among the survivors. What type of question should they ask? Who was the second, would-be superintendent? How do they get out? What were they even supposed to do as part of the classes? Quentin nodded at Ace, ceding to him. Nea just shrugged.

Ace cleared his throat. The second 'superintendent' would make themselves known if they become relevant. He doubted Mother When would tell them how to get out, if she even knew. But what they all needed was time. And that meant playing along.

"What are our duties as part of this transfer program?"

"You'll attend classes."

The others gave mutters of frustration that were just shy of outrage, but Ace remained cool— even though he was as frustrated.

He raised his hand.

"You may speak." She bore into him with those dark eyes. Polite as he was, Ace could tell he only had so much leeway with her. And sooner or later, his luck would run out.

"Can you elaborate on which classes we're suppose to take? Or at least provide us a map?"

"That's for you to figure out. It's part of the curriculum. If you deserve to graduate, then you'll figure it out." Mother When looked at Nea. "But I will let you know that only you and the troublemaker will be able to become Ladies, if you pass. And to do that, you need to attend classes. So, chop, chop."

Quentin and Ace shared a look.

The implication was clear. Given what they had witnessed to a prospective Lady, it didn't bode well for the two men of the group. She moved to turn away.

"And what about us?" Quentin called, standing with Ace.

That sharp, void-filled gaze turned to him. "Little boys should be seen and not heard."

Ace clutched his arm, but Quentin shrugged him off. "Why? You hurt kids! Why should I play along—"

The yardstick was thrust through his chest, snaking underneath the ribcage and into his heart.

***​

It took her a moment to realize what she had done, as she had been driven by complete instinct. Running away now was nothing less than a complete act of cowardice. In trials, everyone died and everyone came back. It was smarter, in those scenarios, to just keep running. Feng wouldn't let herself be hooked if she could help it.

She huffed and puffed, resting against a nearby door. She had rounded several corridors — left, right, left, right, right — and realized how... non-Euclidean the geometry got here. This wasn't completely like a trial.

After all, in a trial, there was harm but little consequences. Everyone always came back to the Campfire. Well... except maybe Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler. They had been seen less and less, including that monster they called the Demogorgon. Some survivors liked to think they escaped, but Feng was among the cynical skeptics that thought they had finally been reduced to nothing.

That was inevitable, for all of them. Nothing to be done about that. What she could do was stick with the other players of this new game. Feng had acted like the old rules still applied and that was an act of hubris. But she was responsible for them, at the cost of her own sanity?

Feng pressed the heels of her hands above her eyes and pressed hard. Maybe there was actual danger now— death might actually hold some sway here. If those three died, it might be on her. She didn't know if permadeath was a mercy or a tragedy. Maybe escape was an actual option now and if they died when they could have finally escaped the Entity... what would the taste of guilt feel like on her tongue?

Perhaps it was like ash.

The nearby door swung open and Feng tried to flee. A hand bolted out and seized her by the wrist, yanking her into a cramped supply closet.

"Wait!" A tall man in a boiler suit hissed.

Feng pulled her hand free, stumbling back. Her back only pushed the swinging door closed, leaving her trapped with the man. She put up her fists, meager as they may be. Against killers, they were next to useless.

"You're new," he said, with some small amount of wonder and a faint Russian accent. "You're not a local, but you're not Awake. There's still a chance!"

"I think I'm quite awake, thank you."

He shook his head. "Capital a Awake. The point is that there is a window of opportunity!"

Whoever this man was, he was quite mad, but then again... all the survivors would be a little cracked if they suddenly appeared in civilization proper. She steeled herself, lowering her fists but not all the way down.

"Who are you and what do you want?" she asked.

"I'm Gavin McNab and I'm a local."

"You say that like it means something."

He sighed. "Okay, look. Here's the quick rundown. People. When you're Awake, you stumble into the Mad City, where there are Nightmares. Even though you can get back to the City Slumbering — reality proper — the Nightmares will follow you."

"Well, I'm in the 'know.' Am I Awake?"

Gavin shook his head, swaying on his feet. He looked disorientated, eyes glazing over before he slapped himself.

"The Awake are insomniacs and that's when sleep becomes dangerous. But you're given just enough to stay afloat. Special talents. When you're exhausted, you can do one thing really well. And if you're willing to play havoc with your sanity, you have a power."

Feng narrowed her eyes, doing her best to sort through all the jargon and making the necessary connections. It seemed like this guy was on his last legs and would stop being 'helpful' soon.

"So I'm a local like you?"

That seemed to put some pep in his step and he jolted back to being rim-rod straight. "No... I used to be Awake, but becoming a local... it's like sanding everything about you so you can fit into a role. And you won't be able to leave. In my case, I made a deal with Mother When. I'd been running roughshod over the Mad City, trying to find my daughter. I fought off Officer Tock himself! But it turns out my daughter was here."

It didn't take much to connect the dots.

"So you sacrificed yourself."

He nodded, that sluggishness re-entering his system. "Mother When is the closest thing to Death here. There was... a foolhardy group of other Awake people. I think they called themselves the Dream. They thought if they had big enough numbers, they could take on anyone. Make the Mad City safe. Told 'em my sob story and managed to point them in the direction of the School. They all died."

"And then you made a deal."

He gave her a sharp look. "I tried bargaining with Mother When. I would become a janitor, a local, stop being Awake. In exchange, my daughter would be expelled, but safe. When I lost my talents, when I stopped being Awake, my daughter was at the gates of the school. Mother When didn't even step off the campus. She just threatened my life and said that she wouldn't drag out my death if she enrolled back in School."

"And now you're here." Feng took a deep breath, rolling this info over inside her mind. "It sounds like I'm not unique. Your daughter isn't Awake, it seems." He nodded at that and she continued, "But it seems like she isn't a local. Not yet."

"A Nightmare. That's what Mother When is molding her to be."

"Point is that the fact that I'm not Awake, a local, a Nightmare. What does that make me?"

"A Sleeper," he corrected.

She rolled her eyes. "So I'm not special; I'm just like every other poor schmuck here."

"Oh, but you are special. I can feel it!"

Feng felt impossibly tired now, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I think an Awake would have a better chance than me to get back to what did you call it? The City Slumbering."

But there was the idea. If... if she escaped the Mad City, entered this City Slumbering, then she'd be free of the Entity. From the sound of it, there was a chance that Nightmares would enter normal reality and try to kidnap her again. That was infinitely preferable to the endless trials of the Entity. Her time in the Entity's realm had changed her. Feng couldn't even begin to conceive of a normal life. Attacks from these Nightmares... that was much better than fearing the dark, wondering if it was truly empty or not.

"You're the only chance I have," he pleaded, faint tears trying to squeeze themselves free. "Most of the Awake don't come to the High School. And the ones that do think I got the other Awake killed on purpose! I'm becoming less and less of my daughter's father! I need her to get out! I can accept death, I can accept limbo if it meant my daughter is safe! Please!"

Did he even know about the Entity's strange interference? Did it even matter? What would happen if she took the girl and the Entity snatched the both of them? Feng Min didn't have the heart to tell him the fate that had befallen the survivors.

"Fine!" she snapped, "I'll help your damn daughter, but you have to help us anyway you can!"

The declaration was bitter on her tongue.

***

Quentin could only gape as Mother When wretched the yardstick through his insides. She turned it counterclockwise before wrenching it out, blood splattering behind them. It splashed up the wall and onto the window. He crumbled, body folding inwards. Gravity pulled him backwards, his body hitting the lockers.

"If you wish for this... boy to survive, then take him to the nurse. But you'll probably be tardy for class. And you don't want to be late on your first day."

Nea tensed briefly at the mention of a nurse, but slowly relaxed the tension in her shoulders.

"I would recommend you leave him and get to class." Mother When walked away, her footsteps echoing... echoing. She turned around the corner and the sounds abruptly stopped.

Nea peered at the corner, leaning the upper half of her body back. Then she rushed over to Quentin, staunching his wounds. Her hands quickly became stained red as she pressed down.

The wound should have killed him. All of them were too used to the Entity's rules. No matter whether it was the Trickster's club, the Onryō's ghost thing, or that bastard Krueger's claws... all damage was equalized. The pain, however, wasn't. It was unique.

This... had stolen something from him. The damage had went beyond a ruined heart. He could feel it, sapping away at all that made him Quentin Smith.

"Ace help me!"

The gambler hissed through his teeth, annoyed that Quentin had aggravated Mother When. He got like this sometimes when a survivor drew a killer's attention to him.

"Death might be permanent here!" Nea cried out, snapping him out of that instinctual annoyance.

"Shit, kid. Maybe that would be the better alternative." He knelt down next to him. "But I won't make that dice roll for you."

He took off his jacket and tried plugging the hole. Something was wrong. Quentin pushed them away, staring at the palms of his hands as he did. They were soft... smooth. Untouched by the forming callouses brought on by the trials.

"What's going on with him?" Nea asked.

"Is it just me or does Quentin look different? I mean... he looks even more like a teenager."

He tried taking a breath that didn't come. Quentin found the strength to stagger back up and head toward the window. He almost smashed clean through but managed to draw to an unsteady stop. His reflection greeted him and he shrunk by a magnitude of several inches, undoing a recent growth spurt.

"Oh fuck," he gurgled, turning around.

Nea gasped.

"He's getting younger by the second!" Ace declared in a fascinated and horrified voice.

Mother When had cut him down to size, and it wasn't stopping anytime soon.
 
3. Evocation [END]
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel

Jesse found herself in the Astral Plane. She blinked as her sight adjusted to the great white void, but something was different. The absence of the black pyramid floating upside down in the sky was to be expected at this nebulous region of the Astral Plane. And Polaris's presence was muted as usual, making her hard to hear. But she had adjusted to that difference given all the instances where the Board yanked her for what was probably training. Honestly she may "understand" what they were saying, but that didn't mean she understood them. It took her a moment to properly pinpoint what was different. A piano was playing, and someone was singing along to it. It was a weird sensation to become aware of something that you were already hearing. Like falling asleep to the radio or a podcast, the sounds mingled with your thoughts and, upon waking up, took a moment to untangle.

"Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

So will you please say 'Hello' to the folks that I know,"


On and on it went, like a broken record or a desperate mantra.

Jesse shook her head and glanced at the ground, frowning at the further differences that were accumulating. Normally the ground was composed of floating cubic and rectangular towers that manifested from out of nowhere. The ground, right now, was made up of triangles, overlapping and criss-crossing each other. It was all sharp, uneven edges even at the very center. She took a step and heard a crackle, like stepping on dead leaves and glass shards.

The Astral Plane worked on its own rules: the way forward would make itself known.

But further ground didn't manifest as she worked her way to the edge. She paced to the two other sides of the triangular ground and nothing popped into view. It was tempting to panic at the prospect of being stranded her, but the Service Weapon in her hand was steady and she too was steady. Jesse stepped to the bottom edge and peered over. There was a huge yellow surface several stories down, vast like a desert but far, far flatter.

A single breath was all that she took before she stepped off the edge.

She fell like a dropped dagger, picking up speed that would have soon see her go splat! If it weren't for her ability to levitate slowing her descent, she wouldn't have taken such a risky move. Once she floated downwards, there would be no upwards momentum. She could have expediated the process by just flat out dropping, but she took her time. These strange circumstances warranted no less than strigent caution. The singing and the piano got even louder, nearly deafening as though she was in front of speakers at a sold-out concert. She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, but kept them firmly at her side, willing away gravity's ever present caress.

Nearing the ground, she saw lines that divided the ground into brickwork. It was a far cry from the usual material of the Astral Plane: which was so artificial that it couldn't even be called as such. It would imply that something understandable (or something that somewhat understood humans) had built it. But the brickwork was different, implying… something. The song stopped the second her feet touched the ground, and she settled two hands into a grip on the Service Weapon. The silence was so absolute that she couldn't even hear the sound of her footsteps.

Looking around, she could see that even this surface had edges. Four, this time. It hinted at a return to form, perhaps, despite the strange color. Jesse could pontificate all she wanted, but it would mean little unless she did something. The only way to fight against the unknown was to take control. She had no clue, no guide, and an unknown enemy. The unknown couldn't be shot at or fought at.

The only thing she could control was her actions. She picked a direction and began stalking toward it. At this distance, she switched the Service Weapon to its Pierce form with the flick of her wrist. The jumble of black cubes turned into sharp plates that floated in the shape of an X around the barrel. Better for anything that came at her from a distance.

But as she neared the edge, she flicked her wrist again and the Service Weapon went into its Shatter form. It turned into something more stout with two jumbles of cubes on both sides. Good for cutting anything down that got the jump on her. Once more, she looked over the edge, expecting to see more platforms for her to make her way down. Instead, she saw more brickwork slope inward before fading from view. Frowning, she took the long circuit around the square, confirming that the same type of slope existed on all sides. With all this information confirmed, it wasn't hard to visual the shape of this new object.

A pyramid… inverted almost like the Board, but why was she atop it?

"Got it all wrong, kid! You're the one upside down!"

She wanted to say that gravity suddenly switched on her. It would be easier to explain than the fact that her entire experience upon arriving here was viewed through a glass darkly. She had been too focused on her own assumptions. It was like Wile E. Coyote walking on air until he looked down and then just dropped.

And she too followed in similar vein.

She threw out her arms to freeze herself in place before she could fall down at what had been up for her just seconds ago. Much like realizing you were the wrong side up underwater, she set aside the disorientation and focused on righting herself. But unlike potentially drowning, she could not break surface. All she could do was float slowly above the empty void. As far as she could tell, she could maintain her levitation indefinitely, but she could only drift down, down, down. Evading through the air only worked in quick bursts, and against something of this size, there was no guarantees. The pyramid now floated upright before, looming and large before her. It spun around, revealing a huge eye and a tiny black hat at the top of the pyramid. The voice that came from it was odd, like it carried an echo that distorted itself into something else.

"You look funny like that! Like a worm dangling on the hook!" It laughed. "Ah, what the heck! I'll give you a hand!"

A thin (relative to the pyramid's size), black limb popped up from one of the pyramid's side and launched toward her with sudden speed. Jesse moved back instinctively, but there was only so much speed to be had like this. A palm unfolded beneath her and she stubbornly persisted, unsure if this was a trap or not. Slowly, but surely, she had to give and Jesse now stood on this thing's hand.

"What… who are you?" she asked.

"Me? I'm your new boss!"

"You're not the Board."

"Those guys? Boring! Zero fun. The whole point of everything is to have fun! And I know you did, going through it all with that peashooter. Don't be ashamed! I have fun too!"

She did want to be part of this frightening, wondrous, and terrifying world. There was no unseeing what was behind the poster on the wall, after all. The hole underneath, and all that entailed the "real" world. Not everyone was ready, but she had spent most of her life knowing the truth. And now she lived it. To call it "fun" would be a gross misunderstanding. There was a sense of "rightness" and "completeness" that came with this.

"I mean, really! I'd be a way better boss than those old fogeys clogging up this plane."

Directors and the Board seemed to have fluctuating relationships. Northmoor was too obsessed with them, effectively intertwining them into the very DNA of the Bureau. Whereas Trench ended up dead, most likely due to the Board's own influence. Jesse was somewhere in the middle. The Board was a known quantity, yes, but she knew that its motives wouldn't always line up with hers. She wouldn't follow them blindly, but she took heed of what they said. In the end, what mattered more was that she trusted them more than she trusted this new thing before her. The train of events that led her here was suspect. The stars had seemingly aligned for her to take up Directorship. But she had Polaris, been greeted by a friendly janitor, had a clear enemy. There was a logic… connections that led her to the FBC. Here? It was akin to investigating what went bump in the night, only to find out that it was something knocking to draw you out.

Everything felt fishy, but there was nothing to properly seize upon to throw back as an accusation.

Jesse thought back on its introduction and the ensuing conversation. Something didn't really add up…

"You read my thoughts," she said loud.

"And how could I not? What part of the Astral Plane don't you get? It'd be ruder to ignore it."

Jesse shook her head. "Enough. What happened to the Board? Did you call me here just for, what, a social chat?"

It laughed again. Clearly this new thing wanted her here. Drew her in. And for what? That was the million dollar question.

"Infinity is pretty big, kid. Big enough for another infinity, and that means it's big enough for me after everything. There it gets messy. Now I do like a good mess, but not when it buries me under it. Gotta make some room for me, and if I have to throw out the babies for the bathwater, then that's what I gotta do."

"You're replacing the Board."

"That's what I said! Gee, are you simple or something?"

But that wasn't what she meant. Not entirely. This new comprehension made her see what this new thing truly meant. Former was an entity that, as far as Jesse could tell, wanted to make some sort of Board equivalent. But this one wanted to replace the Board, overwriting it like replacing a computer file with a similarly named one. Except the data contained might be entirely different from what came before.

"And you need me."

"Not just you. Don't flatter yourself, Custodian, but yes. You, the gun, the sounds in your head you call a friend. You can help complete my hostile takeover."

"Why should I?"

"I can cure your brother." That drew her up short. Stole the breath right from her lungs. Her vision narrowed, and the world with it until it was only her, the pyramid, and the mental image of Dylan. It was too good to be true. She knew such scams and weasel words that promised the world, but delivered nothing. She'd give a lot for Dylan. If it meant putting herself in harm's way, she'd do it in a heartbeat, no matter the odds.

But not everything.

Jesse was in control of the Bureau, giving her responsibility over the lives under her. The moment she started spending them carelessly, to stop caring about the human cost, was the moment she started repeating the past sins of the Bureau. Not today, and not ever if she had anything to say about it. She didn't know how much the new thing could hear her thoughts, but she tried to keep her head clear.

Tried to buy time.

"This is all such a… momentous decision. It's one that I need to confer with my subordinates."

"You know you're not the only one I'm pitching this offer to." Out of intuition, Jesse focused on that strange echo. ".ot reffo siht gnihctip m'I eno ylno eht ton er'uoy wonk uoY"

It wasn't an echo… it was the same voice just reversed.

Oh no, I think I can see where this is going.


She turned around to see a huge, reflective surface spanning the entirety of what she could see. A reversed image of herself, of the pyramid was staring back at her. Except the pyramid, in place of an eye, was a huge mouth that laughed silently. Her reflection… esseJ raised a hand and mockingly waved, before esseJ stepped out of the surface which rippled in her wake.

"Thought I dealt with you," Jesse said, Service Weapon at her side.

".nwod aedi doog a peek t'naC" esseJ replied, her own weapon at the opposite side.

There was so many factors to worry about. Jesse wondered why the new thing didn't just crush her or toss her out into the Astral Plane, but she couldn't afford to be distracted. The two women stared each other down, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Then, almost simultaneously, they drew their guns.

But one was quicker than the other.

***

"Great Uncle Ford! I'm picking up some strange readings over here!"

"Well done, Dipper!"

Dipper Pine's doo-dad had beeped and pinged furiously, flashing lights accompanying it all. He turned around and waved a hand at his grunkle. The older man hopped over a dune, a similar looking device in his hands. Ford adjusted his glasses as he surveyed the area. He tweaked a few dials on his, and stalked around the sand. Muttering under his breath, he took out several pegs and a roll of string. Meticulously, he marked down the affected area.

"Gotta make sure we don't accidentally step into it."

"What did we find?" Dipper asked.

"I have no idea!"

"Exciting!" he agreed.

He adjusted Wendy's old hat, and sighed contently. This was the life. It was almost like taking up Ford's apprenticeship offer, but he wouldn't and couldn't uproot his whole life. Sure he didn't get to explore the strange and weird full time, and had to suffer through the tribulations of high school, but he wasn't alone. And if he was, then he wouldn't be for long. Even though Mabel and Grunkle Stan liked to go off when Grunkle Ford and him chased after a particularly thin lead, they were still here. And if they weren't, then it was just a matter of waiting.

These were the summers and vacations worth waiting for.

Grunkle Ford knelt down by the string barrier, pulled a pen out of his coat, and tossed it into the area. It disappeared for a split second before being spat back out in Ford's face. He just grinned at the confirmation his little test gave him. Dipper pulled out a notepad and flipped to a blank page. He hadn't yet found the right book to have as his own journal yet, but Dipper knew that when he found the right one.

"Any idea?"

"Well, I've narrowed down the type of weird it is: dimensional-spatial. Or at least what it should be."

"Ooooh."

Dipper flipped back a few pages. "So, is it a portal?"

"Nope. It wouldn't have spat the pen back into my face." Ford picked up the pen and tossed it back again. This time it was spat back up, bonking off Ford's head. He turned around and used the pen to point out the subtle distortions in the area. "Imagine two spaces that rub against one another. That's what it is, at the very heart of it, even if though most dimensions are so far that it can't just naturally create that friction. Which is where magic and technology come in, to bridge the gap. Though sometimes it's not needed. Like the mindscape is all around us, or quite literally inside our head. It brushes up against everything and we sorta slip into it. But that's beside the point. Anyway, that friction can tear, and we get portals."

"I feel like this is a lead up to something."

"And right you are! Poke a hole in a reality where the laws of physics are different? You need one heck of a finger to cross those boundaries. So there is bit of a barrier. Obviously, it doesn't apply for all portals. Why you could pop a portal to an ocean and flood a place for a quick distraction." Ford chuckled as if he had firsthand experience of such a thing.

"But this wouldn't be a dimensional-spatial portal would it?"

"Not exactly. There is a lot of minutiae to cover if we want to go over all the classifications over possible portals."

"Another day then."

Dipper hid his disappointment and eagerness well. He did like all this build-up, but Grunkle Ford had yet to actually explain what was wrong with this portal. Ford brought up tears between two separate dimensions as a key example. Point A to Point B. But why would Ford mention the mindscape? Most of Ford's, and Dipper's to a smaller extent, experiences in that place were wrapped up in dealing with Bill. And Dipper tried not to think too hard about Bill Cipher. At the very least, it was a poignant example. But… how did this relate to portals? What could it mean? Bill had wanted full access to the physical world, which required the portal under the Mystery Shack and later the rift…

The fact of the matter was that such endeavors took too much effort. And yet here was a portal that seemed to fit in within such parameters.

"So, it's a portal to a place that overlaps our reality like the mindscape."

"Astute!" Ford beamed with pride. "Think of it like a skin tag, or perhaps even a snag in fabric. It's something that could overlap with ours. It's like Schrodinger's cat, to use a really hackneyed explanation. It is both is and isn't. A sort of delicate equilibrium. Left unattended, it could go one of two ways. One, it either goes away on its own. Two, it replaces whatever it was overlapping."

"That sounds kinda bad."

Ford shrugged. "Depends on what's replacing it. And it depends where it's coming from. It could be nothing. You ever return to a place and it looks different? Occasionally that's just the world changing rather than life itself."

"How do we make it go away?"

"Well…" Ford tapped the pen against his chin. "We can try just tossing stuff into it to break the equilibrium and reset our spatial-dimensional rules back to normal, but that's risky if it isn't a natural occurrence. If this was done on purpose, then there has to be an anchor, but such a prospect is fleeting. If it hasn't merged by now then whatever is supposed to be an anchor isn't working. At that point, any other elements in the vicinity would further the unentanglement."

"But we won't know more unless we peek through."

Ford certainly wouldn't let Dipper just hop on in –– not without the proper safety precautions. He would have been far more lenient in Gravity Falls, having extensive knowledge about the oddities in that town. That little incident involving the UFO notwithstanding.

"And most of the equipment isn't on the boat…"

The boat that Grunkles Stan and Ford spent most of their time on was docked nearby, but everyone had unloaded most of the equipment from the Stan-o'-War II into the car. The car that Stan and Mabel took to peruse while Dipper and Ford investigated strange readings. Stan and Mabel hadn't gone too far. In fact, they could still see the car parked far off in the distance. By the time they walked here and back, lugging the equipment back, the portal could have disappeared.

"So… what should we do?" Dipper asked.

"I doubt anything too exciting is happening on the other side. The portal is too small for that. Not unless this is just one of many." Ford laughed. "But what are the odds on that?"

***

Jesse shot first, clipping esseJ in the shoulder, but her mirror counterpart was expecting that. esseJ threw out her hand and telekinetically shoved Jesse off the hand. The force had disorientated her and the fall into the white void didn't help matters. It took her a moment to fixate on something steady. For whatever reason, that long limb of the pyramid hadn't moved an inch. Once she knew what was up and what was down did she levitate once more. A burning shot fired toward her and Jesse immediately evaded to the right with a dash. There was only so much strength she could put into her powers before she needed a moment to recover.

Another dash, another narrow miss.

She drifted down for a few seconds before her feet touched upon a triangular sheet. Jesse looked around, seeing more of those sheets shedding in the void. Sensing danger, Jesse leapt toward one that looked like about to fall. An explosive blast destroyed the previous platform as Jesse landed on another platform. This narrow escaped for three more platforms.

The more she moved, the more of those black flakes started to appear from the sky like leaves off a tree in autumn. Unlike the clean and precise rectangular towers of before, where it seemed like the structures were being revealed to her, it looked like the Astral Plane was peeling off a thin layer of paint. Those flakes of paint served as temporary stepping stones. She started to wind her way upwards, the leaves increasing in intensity and frequency.

Right up until esseJ got smart.

She fired another one of those explosive shots at a platform ahead of her. Jesse levitated, but saw another blast incoming. She summoned a shield made up of that shattered platform, Jesse survived the blast at the trade off of plummeting downwards without the ability to recover.

"No!"

***

Bill Cipher Laughed at Jesse's plight of flight as she disappeared out of the Astral Plane.

"That's that. Looks like you got the job, kid! Congrats!"

He really wanted to move around, smash stuff up, and invert someone's skeleton in celebration, but his current position was tenuous. If he exerted himself too much, he'd be displaced and back he would go to the place he went after he got erased out of Stanley's mind. It was just his luck that his invocation manifested into this. The entire incantation, at the end, was just desperation.

But now it was time to complete the evocation.

esseJ harrumphed at him. ".derettam ti nehw reh naht redliw saw I .now I esruoc fO"

The audacity on this girl.

He liked her already.

"Alright, alright," he drawled, "Let's get you confirmed as Director so you can confirm me as the Board of this place."

"?taht od I od woh dnA""

Bill flicked out a second limb, flexing it off to the side with exaggerated biceps before he snapped those fingers.

"Now give me a nice and snappy palindrome. Something reeeal memorable."

esseJ just gave him a flat look.

"Do kids these days know anything?" He narrowed his eye and enunciated the next word slowly as though she was daft. "Palindroooome."

The flat look continued. When he could, the first thing he was going to do was hollow out her insides and use her like a puppet.

"You only speak backwards for the real important stuff. And I can't have you yapping like that before I'm fixated as the Board in the Astral Plane."

She rolled her eyes, but still spoke.

"!now si raw a ,ris ,woN" The Astral Plane stuttered for a moment, but he could it hear loud and clear. "Now, sir, a war is won!"

"Excellent! Now we just gotta change your name so reality itself will recognize you as Jesse Faden."

"The better Jesse Faden, you mean."

Oh, that scamp. Bill couldn't stay mad at those mildly sociopathic mannerisms. He would hollow out someone else, then. He tried to just think esseJ as Jesse, but he couldn't… not yet. It seemed like the OG Jesse was still alive.

For now.

"Looks like you still got a copy to delete."

"I can take her."

"Just remember to be quick about it. The longer this drags on, the sooner I get knocked out of the Astral Plane and back into that nebulous nothing." His eye flashed red. "And I'll drag you with me."

esseJ shrugged. What a model employee he had.

Before he could dole out anymore sticks and carrots, the Astral Plane shimmered with a resonance that spiraled and spiraled.

"Speak of the devil. She's coming back for seconds!"

***

A strange red-headed woman landed out of the portal and into the sand. Ford immediately stepped in front of Dipper and drew his gun. She had tumbled and rolled back onto her feet, instinctively pointing her gun at the biggest threat: him. Then her eyes fell upon Dipper.

"I'd rather not do anything in front of the kid."

"And what were you gonna do if the kid wasn't here?" Ford asked.

"Maybe go for a disabling shot? Honestly my weapon is only out because yours is."

Ford lowered his gun an inch. The woman mirrored the action. Slowly, but surely the two of them had their guns at their side. She flicked the weapon into nothingness, scattering into shapes and black cubes. He took a mental note of that as he holstered his gun back underneath his coat. Now that she registered them as non-threats, she turned back to the invisible point.

"What is this? A Control Point? But we're not in the Oldest House?" she said, aloud. The woman nodded to herself as if something had been confirmed. "It does feel abnormal… temporary… and it feels like the Board left something for me here."

Dipper tugged at Ford's coat. "What do you think she is doing?"

"Looks like she's communing with the portal, accessing properties with senses we don't have on hand."

She raised her hands over the portal, at what she called the Control Point. He took out his energy recorder, adjusted the settings, and then made sure to capture whatever could be recorded. The strange gun manifested into her arms. This time a four-pronged hook made of cubes floated over a barrel, a string of three cubes floating between them.

"A grapple gun? Huh…" She looked back at them. "If you'll excuse me… I gotta fight an evil pyramid."

Dipper's eyes narrowed and then widened.

"Wait, do you mean Bill Cipher?" he shouted.

But the woman was already gone.

***

She did hear him, but could not respond, having already stepped back into the Astral Plane. Jesse slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh, that was the Bill Mabel mentioned! It all seems so obvious in retrospect."

Jesse didn't have much time to dwell on that revelation, having realized she was above Bill and esseJ. And they noticed too, an explosive blast breaking apart the platform beneath her. There was plenty of those platforms floating scattered haphazardly through the void. With the distance between each of them, it would have been either nearly impossible or far too close to levitate to each one. Add in esseJ providing suppressing fire, Jesse would have flat out been unable to maneuver before falling into the Astral Plane again. And she had a feeling that she wouldn't be lucky like she did with that beach.

But that was before she unlocked the Grapple function for the Service Weapon.

As she fell, Jesse aimed the gun at a platform and fired. The huge hook was slowly than most of the Service Weapon's projectible, but it was still remarkably quick. It pierced through and Jesse suddenly stopped falling down in mid-air, instead swinging toward the platform. The three black cubes floated between Jesse and her target, floating on an invisible string.

Then she was yanked up towards it, launching from the edge, and she capitalized on that. On and on, this dance went. She fired a shot, zipped toward it, and then used the momentum to fuel her levitation to the next. Speed was now on her side, denying esseJ's main advantage of area deniability. Jesse circled around the pyramid, giving her a moment to breathe as she took cover behind Bill Cipher.

"Stop her! What am I paying you for?"

Idly, she wondered why esseJ didn't copy the Grapple mode yet, but she could feel like everything was at a crossroads. The enemy had committed to this course of action and couldn't undo it. Not uneasily. And the more she moved, the more those sheets started turned rectangular. More solid… more like the Astral Plane that she was familiar with.

She rounded around the pyramid and spied esseJ still below her. Whereas esseJ was standing on Bill's palm, Jesse was surrounded by structures that she could pull upon. She seized a sizable chunk and launched it at the palm. esseJ tried blocking with a shield, but the projectile struck before it could be fully formed. And Jesse didn't let up. Again and again, she pounded her with telekinetic chunks.

"Hey! Watch the hand!"

esseJ fell off the edge, unable to endure the onslaught. She fell with both arms outstretched, as if pleased by this turn of events. Jesse couldn't afford to let her doppelganger run around and aimed her Grapple at her falling form. It grabbed on tight to esseJ's chest and Jesse had to brace her feet as the grapple retracted. She swung it around so that esseJ was slammed into a nearby wall on this platform. esseJ left a sizable indent and collapsed onto the ground. Jesse didn't let her mirror counterpart recover and switched to the Pierce mode, firing several shots into esseJ. She tanked the first few until she shattered into sharp mists that curled and cut the surface before fading away. Behind her the pyramid floated up, looming over her. The yellow color was washing away, showing streaks of black underneath.

"Is it too late to convince you of anything? No? Then eat this!"

He raised an oversized fist and let it fall toward her.

She shot a grapple to the side, zipping away as it crushed the platform to bits. More rectangular platforms formed, providing her a nice pseudo-catwalk to sprint down. Jesse sprinted frantically pace as Bill destroyed the ground behind her.

"You know I was planning on taking this nice and slow! I can wait! Wait an eternity and a half!" The next blow sent a shockwave that swept Jesse off her feet. She tumbled into the ground which greeted her with scrapped hands and bruises, as Jesse refused to stop because any moment of stillness would lead to her demise. Through the aches and huffing gasps for breath, Jesse quickly recovered and continued running before another blow came. "Can and have. Time means nothing to me. Not since that big baby died. But this whole place knows I ain't around from these parts! Can't really act out without getting kicked out. I don't belong here. But I will soon enough."

Jesse's sprint started to bend to the left, the ground slowly circling around the pyramid. And her intuition told her that this was all she was going to get: this little floating loop around the pyramid. A road to nowhere.

He laughed. "Because time is mine right now!"

She looked over to the left, seeing yet another comically muscled arm raised in the air. Jesse prepared to zip backwards, but instead there was a single, booming snap.

Then everything went still. The debris that she was kicking up with every step froze in midair. She stuttered too, time slowing around her before Polaris surged around her like they were claiming a control point. The moment broke, she regained movement just in time to stand before the rising Pyramid.

Bill Cipher, now sporting two thin arms and a dangling pair of legs on the bottom, shone a red spotlight on her, fractals swirling within it.

"It's about to get really weird, Custodian!"

That was when a swarm of teeth shot toward her.

She drew a shield around herself, the idea of stone pulling itself from the ether and around her, but the teeth ducked and weaved through her shield, losing none of their impact. Jesse threw out her hands to cover her face, as the teeth overtook her. They mostly just pelted her, though some of them struck with such force that they may as well have bit her.

And it just didn't stop. Her feet started to slide and no matter how hard she fought, Jesse was being pushed toward the edge. She evaded to the right, carried by the momentum of her powers, but she could only go so far.

"Surprise!"

A giant finger flicked her off the edge, breaking through her shield styrofoam.

Before today, she had little options for recovery after a fall. All she had was evading or levitating right before the splat to survive, but Jesse had the grapple gun. With a sure shot, Jesse swung underneath the ring, which provided her sizable cover. She pulled the trigger again, now propelled toward her destination. She launched upwards and dashed through the air toward Bill.

The huge eye blinked and became a huge mouth. Rings of sharpened teeth circled around the orifice. It sucked in air with her along with it and she just didn't have enough energy to dash back onto the platform. But she fired backwards, the grapple connecting to steady ground. It was not enough as the suction just kept on with implacable strength, her arm screaming in its socket as she fought to hold on. Her fingers were just beginning to give when she recovered enough for another dash. She pushed herself with her power, the grapple shortening with each burst. Bill flipped the script, suddenly blowing out an immense wind that sent her crashing forward.

She smashed back down to what passed for solid earth, face first. The world blackened and swam crazily, her breath pushed from her chest as it took all she had not to pass out. Jesse spat blood, rolling onto her back. With a hiss, Polaris's resonance crackled in the Astral Plane, and Jesse lifted her hand, chunks of stone floating behind her. Three of the largest pieces she could scoop up, and she sent it flying toward the eye with all the force she mustered.

They bounced off the eye, a shield shimmering around it.

"Sorry, everybody goes for the eye. You're that not special."

"Special enough for you to want my help for whatever you're planning."

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't want to be part of your crummy piece of infinite existence anymore. But I'll get my share of the pie before I'm kicked out. Let me start with a big slice!" He raised a hand, slim and sharp as any blade, and brought it down. She dodged out of the way, a little sluggish this time. "Consider this an unskippable cutscene where you lose. It's only a matter of time, and time is mine!"

Jesse tapped her thumb against the Service Weapon, quickly running through her options. She got out of here the first time, albeit by accident. She turned her back on Bill Cipher, jumped off the platform, and let herself plummet. Only for her to loop back skywards, above Bill, and fell toward the platform. She was familiar with these sort of loops, necessitating a ritual of sorts to break the pattern, but there didn't seem to be anything she could work with here.

"There is nothing you can do!"

***

Ford took note of the portal suddenly becoming smaller, but intensely more visible. It had already become less after that woman interacted with it. Something was happening, something maybe mad. Ford ran through the possibilities while absentmindedly keeping a six-fingered grip on Dipper's shoulder. The portal could still fluctuate. He was leaning just a bit too closely toward the portal. Ford was just applying what he learned from his own eager and youthful experiences. The joys of intergenerational knowledge –– standing on the shoulders of giants, as the saying went. And Dipper learned much from his journal. Both the good and the bad. He didn't want to a repeat of his paranoia spilling out of control to happen again.

He had spent the last five minutes reassuring Dipper that it couldn't possibly be Bill Cipher. His own reassurance came in the form of the Memory Gun in his coat. Albeit in pieces. Its destruction by Mabel was more symbolic than anything else. It wouldn't take much to fix it. Though Ford harbored some doubt about that, because of Bill's place of entrapment: the mindscape. At least it could be some… other iteration of Bill. Ideas were troublesome like that. The problem was that they sometimes were copied or repeated without properly understanding them, because they were "good enough to come back." Maybe it meant that Bill, or some semblance of him, would be easier to defeat by that strange woman. But that was all speculation. For all he knew, Ford was actually wrong and it was really Bill Cipher. He would need hard data to even begin thinking about forming a hypothesis.

That was the best and worst part of mysteries: the fact that you might never have all the facts.

"I think there is immense energy being thrown around on the other side of the portal," he observed.

"Shouldn't that cause the portal to collapse?" Dipper asked, pen circling the air in thought. "You did say that any sort of movement during the process should undo it."

"Yes, it should have… space touching foreign space is like that like a skittish cat."

Ford was missing a key component here, somewhere. There was a key component that he wasn't looking at. It was like he could see the shape of the problem, but not the details. Like shadows on the wall. He just needed to turn toward the light.

"Time," he said, aloud.

"Time?" Dipper repeated.

"That's why the energy hasn't switched off the portal. It stopped right before it could. There's a time differential at play here."

"So… it should be over, but it hasn't happened yet on this end," Dipper shook his head. "Man, time stuff feels like it's gonna hurt my head if I think about it too hard."

"You know I had a colleague, charitable as that description is, that hates 'time stuff.' Absolutely refused to explain it to me. I only have scraps and bits, as it wasn't really my main focus." He paused. "Then again, that colleague was a drunken wreck, so who knows if he actually knows anything about time. I certainly don't."

"So what should we do?"

Ford dusted his the sand off his gloves. "Normally I would just jump in, then jump out to tell you to jump in with me. But if we wanna keep your parents on board for these summer trips, then a measure of caution is warranted."

"Awwwww," Dipper groaned in frustration. "I mean, what's the worst that can happen?"

That was when the portal yawned and enveloped them both.

In what seemed like in the blink of an eye, Ford found himself in a dark void, with pooling shadow at his feet. At the very least, it seemed solid enough.

"Dipper?" he called out.

And a voice answered in the darkness.

In Japanese of all things.

Ford took a moment to recollect what little rusty Japanese he knew. Most of which was for deciphering foreign texts that he couldn't bother waiting for it to be translated.

"Welcome to my Guided Imagery Experience. Exercise three: 'Good Ideas for Troubled Minds.' My name is Dr. Yoshimi Tokui. Trust my words. I'm here for you. Close your eyes, open your mind, and find yourself on ––"

The words seemed to buzz around his ears like insects, rattling against the metal plate in his head. He tuned them out and picked a direction to walk in, but the monologue started to become deafening. Out of exasperation than anything else, he tried swatting them away as though he could tangibly touch sound. Silence suddenly followed.

"Now that was a good idea. Keep that in mind. But it did not work. Will you try it again?"

Ford let his hands fall to his side, observed the void he found himself in, and then picked a direction. That was when his face nearly smacked into something. He backed away, seeing a floating word exclaiming one thing, and one thing only.

Listen

He reached out to touch it. It was like mushy snow, crumbling away upon contact, but he still swatted his hands around to accelerate the process. His hands started to feel funny. A little wet, a little thin places. His gloves were unraveling, messy tears pulling at the split fabric. Underneath his hands were covered in small cuts, most of which could have been from paper.

But a few drew a tiny amount of blood.

"Ideas come and go. When they come back, you have to make sure if they are worth keeping or worth changing. Now, try again. See the object before you, waiting for you and your input."

Listen

The word had reformed again. Ford huffed, but decided to play ball. He would have rather solved it the first go around, but he learned from his mistakes about being too hasty. Most of the time.

He reached out and grasped the word in his hand.

"Good! Feel the weight of this idea. It is practically purring for you to make it into a good idea."

Well, he wouldn't call it exactly purring. More like intensely vibrating. Shapeless as sound. He turned it around in his hands, giving it shape by feel with his eyes turned away. When he felt the desired shape in his hands, his eyes fell upon it. In his hands was now a key, made of weathered brass and with two prongs at the end like a set of buck teeth. It was almost comical in its cliched form, but Ford knew that symbolism played a big part in weirdness. He, without hesitation, pressed it forward into the air and turned as if he had a lock before him. A blinding light gulped the key, spreading like a fire. It enveloped Ford who didn't even have enough time to cry out. But it didn't burn. It was not a fire; it was a sky

A sky full of stars, sans void.

Brilliant, bright, and strange lights.

"You see brilliant lights, a nexus of all the ideas that aren't quite there. Each of them old, each of them new. You can tell by their luminosity. One calls out for you. You know which one."

The weird one. Its flames danced downwards, magic and weirdness. He cupped it in his hands, marveling at its wonder. The more he stared into it, the deeper he peered. There were even stars within it. The world, the universe demanded exploration. He would never know it all, but that did little to dampen his enthusiasm.

It reminded him of Gravity Falls of all things.

"It is like a place you once called home. You can't go home again. The idea of home changes, but you can't go back to what it used to be. Never get too wrapped up in trying to make something new into something old."

He knew what to do. Ford let it go, letting it go back to that sky on fire, but he would never ever forget it.

"This concludes my guided imagery therapy. You are now approved by Dr. Yoshi Tokui to explore the next type of existence you find yourself in."

Ford jolted as if he waking from a dream. His eyes opened, and he realized his body was laying prone on a metal surface. Ford tried to sit up, only to hit his head really hard on something hard.

"Yowch! That smarts!" He paused. "Oh wait. The kids aren't around."

He inhaled. "Motherfucker!"

With that curse properly expressed, he rubbed his head before pushing out with his hands. The lid easily opened up and Ford stepped out. Despite the aggravation on his cranium, he was feeling more relaxed than before.

"That guided imagery stuff worked better than I thought." He looked back at the human-shaped tube behind him. There were several more in the room. It took him a moment to identify what they were: sensory deprivation chambers. A smaller model, admittedly. It looked like whoever designed this room went for quantity rather than quality. It did explain why that guided imagery had such a potent effect though.

"Dipper?" he called out.

He pulled out his gun, creeping toward the one next to his. Ford knocked on it, heard mumbling within it, and prepared to spring it open. He did so with one hand, keeping a steady aim as he did. Then he quickly lowered it, flicking on the safety, when he saw who was laying down inside. Dipper was laying down, arms wrapped around himself. There were kissy noises being made. He sighed and picked up Dipper by his vest.

That seemed to snap his nephew out of his daze. He blinked owlishly before staring at Ford at eye level.

"Grunkle Ford! There was a Japanese voice and an interpreter talking about love and other weird stuff. And then there was, uh, uh, a monster trying to suck my face off." He tried to keep his face straight, but there was a slight blush to his cheeks.

"Dipper. I was a teenager too."

"Ew ew ew!"

"Now now, we'll have a talk about this sort of stuff later."

Dipper was waving his hands frantically. "Grunkle Stan already gave me that type of talk!"

"Technically," he also added under his breath.

"That's good! But I think we need to talk about the supernatural side of things. You know, incubi, succubi, and the like, and the prerequisite protections you have to take if they ever try to dally with you."

"Um, um, where are we, Grunkle Ford?" Dipper quickly asked, clearly eager about changing the subject.

"Don't know. Isn't it exciting?"

He set Dipper down. Ford looked at the door, then at the gun in his hand, and Dipper's currently empty hands. The weight of the Memory Gun's part sank heavily within his coat's pockets. If Bill was really back, would their little trick work again?

Most assuredly not.

He needed to find it a new purpose. Something beyond the Society of the Blind Eye's malicious ignorance to forget everything that troubled them. Right now, he could think of a better purpose for the device. Barring some additional modifications to adjust its purpose. It was rudimentary fixing the Memory Gun and even more so to tweak some of its settings. He took out the pieces, some tools, and got to work. Dipper watched eagerly, but had a curious if cautious look once he realized what it was.

Ford flipped it in his hand, feeling out the weight and the grip, and then held it out by the barrel to Dipper.

"Can't have you explore an unknown place without some protection. Don't worry, I changed its primary function. It won't erase memories, but it will scramble them. You'll be remembering eating breakfast at dinner at some kid's birthday party when you were five, but you're also supposed to be in high school.. The sudden mixup should be enough to knock out most people. Nothing a good nap won't fix. Probably."

He wasn't about to hand Dipper a wholly lethal weapon. Not until he was eighteen.

Dipper took it eagerly, keeping it pointed down. He felt a moment of pride and strange nostalgia, when Dipper pointed that very same gun at him, prepared to erase Bill if he was inside Ford's head.

Let's just hope that whoever inhabits this place doesn't have metal plates in their skulls like I do.

Ford led the way toward the exit, noting the brutalist architecture. It was every office space that possibly existed. Barring the current oddities, he couldn't help but think this might have been his future: working at a place that looked like this.

No strangeness, no weirdness.

Despite everything, Ford had ended up just fine after Stan's mistake. There was old regret there, because Stan would have stuck by him. He would have stood steadfast with Ford, done so much more than Ford's original plan of sending him off with one of his journals. Maybe they could have prevented Weirdmageddon, so many years of frustrated and turbulent emotions… All these what-ifs were as insubstantial as an idea.

But life as it was now….

He wouldn't change it for the world.

Ford kicked down the doors up ahead, and immediately had to zap someone down. He only had enough time to glance at the knocked out man before a beam shot by his side, toward a nearby pillar. A man with an assault rifle had popped up, and Dipper had expertly struck him down.

"Excellent shot, Dipper!"

He spun around slowly, drinking in al the details. The men were armed and in uniform, wearing helmets, and body armor.

There were racks full of equipment, desks, and window walls. It seemed like a cross between a bunker, a workplace, and an armory. In the middle of it all, was a strange structure that looked like a bunch of stone blocks of varying sizes matched up into an absurdist structure without any particular rhyme or reason. Strings and pins connected photos on the surface of the structure. All of them were (words) At the very least, this whole place looked to be an interesting place to work at. A helpful little board informed them that this was the Atlas. It also mentioned the Oldest House, and had the logo of a governmental agency called the Federal Bureau of Control. It was easy to connect the dots. This was the Atlas, they were in a place called the Oldest House, and it was under control by said Bureau. He never heard of the Federal Bureau of Control in any dimension he had been in.

He looked up seeing a second floor, then the floating bodies above. There was a chanting coming from them. Indecipherable. Yet on a loop. Dipper already took out his tape recorder, pressed a button, and held it above his head. He waited for one loop to finish, then held it to his ear and played it back to confirm.

Then he reversed the playback and Ford's heart sank, his mind racing.

"A-X-O-L-O-T-L, my time has come to burn! I invoke the ancient power that I may return! A-X-O-L-O-T-L, my time has come to burn! I invoke the ancient power that I may return! A-X-O-L-O-T-L, my time has come to burn! I invoke the ancient power that I may return ––"

"That's Bill's voice," he said quietly.

Everything started to shape up and make sense in his head. Only in the shapes of shadows, though. Greater details were escaping him. He approached one of the unconscious bodies, pried open one of their eyes. They were tinged yellow and with slitted pupils. Clearly, they were possessed by Bill, but the demon wouldn't have invested so little of himself. As far as Ford knew, Bill could only possess one person at a time.

That knowledge alone had sent him spiraling in paranoia… but if Bill could start to possess multiple people?

No, no…. he had to focus.

Bill had been erased. He may have been invulnerable and nearly all powerful in their world, but he went back as a mental abstraction when he got tricked into Stan's mind. That final invocation though… should have painted a clearer picture.

It shouldn't have done this. Did it go out of control?

Yet he tried returning, as only a creature of the mind could. Ideas…

All those little pieces had to form into something. He mentioned multiple portals, but he wasn't viewing them the right way. Perhaps they were just like that as a byproduct. What did that woman call the portal?

A Control Point.

He needed more information, and something past the Atlas. A feeling of surety of all things..

"Dipper, examine the Atlas. I have go check something out."

A circle had been clearly marked with equipment surrounding it. More on intuition than anything else, he guessed that this was another Control Point. He tinkered with the devices around it, determining that it was designed to keep localized space from shifting. It could have been a portal too, but that wasn't the main purpose. Portals of the type they encountered were two pieces of foreign spaces touching each other.

Anchors.

This was an anchor.

That was the endpoint. It had to be. Whatever reality they were in, Bill couldn't pull off what he had done in Gravity Falls. Not without the work to create a portal that could handle his entrance into reality, but he had to have circumvented this somehow. Weird attracted weird, hence the two of them here, but what about Bill? Perhaps being erased meant that he really couldn't do what he did last time.

Still he couldn't properly describe it.

Until the word came to him.

Stabilization.

Space replacing space as its own. That had to have been his plan. He was stabilizing himself in this new reality. Ford had initially speculated that the first portal had multiple points of intersection, but what if they were all anchors? Maybe it was just happenstance that one was a portal.

There had been hard evidence to confirm his hypothesis.

"Grunkle Ford? I think I found something. Just gotta pull it out."

"Go ahead!"

Even though the board beneath the Atlas advised not to touch the thing, Ford trusted in Dipper's instincts. The structure shifted and the room shifted. Not violently, but like it was stretching after a long nap and it settled peacefully. Dipper sprinted up to Ford, brandishing what might have been a perfectly triangular potato chip.

Ford scowled at it, instantly connecting it to Bill, but what was more important was the effect it had on the Control Point. It was shimmered in response to the triangle that had been implanted in the Atlas, yellow and chaotic. Sound that bordered on sight. Resonance. Now there was a field of study he had been brushing up on.

He just had to break the rhythm it established.

Tossing it up into the air, he shot it to dust and the resonance around the Control Point lessened.

It was working.

But not enough to reclaim the Control Point and deprive Bill of an anchor.

"Is there anything we're missing?"

"The chanting?" Dipper offered.

Ford smacked his head. "Oh, it's so simple."

He turned around, fired three shots at the floating bodies, and they all disappeared into dust. The knocked-out bodies disappeared as well. The resonance around the Control Point finally gave way, melting into nothing.

"We're missing another anchor," Ford said, "We should have gone back to where we were by now, like a rubber band snapping back."

"Maybe we need to step through?"

Ford grabbed a hold of Dipper's shoulder.

The two of them entered the Control Point.

Nothing happened for a second, but that wasn't the case for long.

***

Jesse's advice about pulling the cord three times didn't work out. Mabel proclaimed that they probably opened another door somewhere else, because she definitely heard something open up. After that, Grunkle Stan tried opening the doors out of the motel, but they refused to budge. He took a moment to be sensible, and then tried smashing the window with his elbow. But he could only grunt and huff in pain, as the vibration from it made his whole arm ache. Man, he did not like getting old sometimes. He slipped on brass knuckles, prepared to break through the window.

"Wait." Mabel held out her hands. "I think I'm getting a good idea."

"And that is?"

"We have to break down the right door."

"And which one is that?"

"The door with the yellow triangle. It's off-center, has an ugly logo, and does not match the motel. I think it would let us get away with some creative remodeling."

Stan walked down the hallway, pulled out a crowbar from his jacket.

"Have one from me?"

"Of course!"

He handed her a much smaller crowbar. "Ready to break it down?"

"Born ready!"

Stan tried smashing it through, while Mabel looked over the door. His efforts were met with little success, even as he tried breaking off the doorknob. Mabel nodded to herself, put her mini-crowbar against the border along the frame, and tried prying it off.

"Grunkle Stan, help."

Having no better option, he matched her efforts and started to pry at it. With the both of them at work, they managed to pull it clean off: door, frame, and all. There was nothing but a blank wall underneath. Even though they both saw Jesse go through it. More weird stuff. Ford would get excited about this. Right now, Stan wanted bit of a nap.

They heard the front doors open.

"Come on!" Mabel said, tugging the door with them.

He lifted it up with one hand on his end. They marched out the motel and Mabel pointed it at the road. The little girl was sweating and puffing.

"Throw it there."

Stan was the one that did the effort and he overdid it, accidentally tossing it into the street. Right in front of a speeding car. Mabel winced, expecting to hear a car crash, but the door had shattered into a pile of five-sided triangles, which promptly evaporated.The two of them turned back, only to see the Oceanview Motel gone. They looked at each other, and then shrugged in unison.

"At least we didn't put pay any money," Mabel said.

"Of course not. That would mean a supernatural building got the best of us."

"Feels like we did it a favor."

Stan shrugged. "That means it owes us. Never know when a free motel room will come in handy."

"Well, let's head back, Grunkle Stan. I wanna get something to eat."

***

Something changed in Bill's demeanor, after Jesse survived five whole minutes of Bill trying to kill her. And the Astral Plane flickered, as if it were a lightbulb suffering through a power surge.

"How did three of my anchors get destroyed already? They were scattered across two different existences! How? WHO?"

Time started to resume, more yellow liquid started to drip off the pyramid. Sensing an opening, she rushed forward, firing a grapple at the pyramid itself. Jesse was launched right underneath the huge eye, which burned with a furious red sclera and flashing symbols in the place of a pupil. With one hand still holding the Service Weapon, Jesse raised the other and seized the eye with all her might, yanking it out with telekinetic willpower.

"No, that's my last anchor!"

Bill could only cry out as she held the eye which sprinkled away into mist. More of the yellow brickwork started to wash away and the world started to make sense.

"You pulled the rug right out under me!"

Another burst of brightness and the yellow pyramid was gone, with only an enormous, inverted black pyramid in the sky. The Board was back. She whipped toward them, like the inversion of the feeling of standing between two speeding trains. Off in the distance, a pair of figures were shooting toward her. She recognized them as that duo from the beach, and they were being pulled along an invisible towline same as her.

"We're here to fight Bill!" the boy called out.

"Already took care of him!"

"Wait, how?"

They had already passed by one another, each of them rapidly shrinking in each other's view.

"Tore out his eye!" she shouted, cupping a hand around her mouth.

Jesse suddenly stopped underneath the Board.

<Well done/read Director/Protagonist>

<Status quo restored/written>

"Is that it?" she asked. "Who was that? How can we be sure this won't happen again?"

<Redundant/predictable ideas/plots don't happen twice>

Jesse crossed her arms. "I need something more than that."

<How does a story/thought-form strive/propagate>

<By writing/stealing into another universe/story>

<No more lest the reality/audience finds it annoying/impossible>

<Take satisfaction in this victory/ice cream cone>

<Appearance of normalcy/keeping to canon will occur temporarily>

<You will be paid/rewarded accordingly for overtime/your efforts at a later date/story>

And then she was back in the Oldest House, the cord to the Oceanview Motel beside her. No fanfare. It was as abrupt as any sudden trip to the Astral Plane was. She had dealt with a threat to the Board itself, even though she didn't comprehend the full scope of the enemy. Jesse was the Director, knew more secrets and mysteries than most, but even some things were always going to be obscured from her.

It was something that she had to make peace with. Just like how upon her arrival, the Grapple function just crumbled in a heap and no matter how hard she tried switching back to it, the gun refused to do so. And she had no idea why.

Still, that didn't mean she shouldn't try even though it might turn up nothing. She knew there would be no leads about this entire situation. Jesse relayed all of this to Emily, who was already compiling a report on this entire event. Her agents were already looking into the people she briefly encountered. They would, in the end, find nothing. Gravity Falls did not exist. At least not in this reality.

Just another mystery that she only had a small piece of.

What else was new in her life?

But there would always be other mysteries to deal with.

You can thank the wonderful Ziel for this extra beefy chapter. The original conceit of this story was literally a small side quest in the vein of Control. The plan was basically: Jesse investigates, briefly meets some GF characters, gets a Grapple upgrade, and fights Bill like she fought Former. Since it was originally four parts, I'm pretty sure what would have been Control-styled documents would have been an epilogue. All in all, I doubt it would have broken 10k and yet here this chapter is at 10k. Of course, life happened and Cross Crisis got put on hold, including my original plan for this fic. When I started replaying Control again since Alan Wake 2 is around the corner, I got the impetus to finish this story. I just kept writing and writing, edging out the need for the document styled epilogue. Ziel convinced me that I should have bumped up the GF's characters' roles/importance in the story, and another 4k section got added. I'm sure I could have split it into 2 chapters, but I structured it as one chapter and one chapter it remains.

Anyway, thanks for reading.
 
Void-Crossed (Warframe x Dead by Daylight x Alien) 1. Operation: Haunt
A/N: Special thanks to @Ziel

Extraordinary circumstances often started with something as innocuous as a message in a Tenno's mailbox. Naberus was drawing to a close, and a Tenno was just returning with seasonal goods exchanged with Kaelli. In what Kaelli called "a fitting frame for the time of darkness and death," the Tenno had conducted her most recent operations as her newly acquired Dagath. Grandmother had given her a wry, amused look when she first stepped onto Deimos as the headless warframe that bore her original name. With the goods entered into the Orbiter's systems, there was nothing to carry onto her mobile base of operations. Yet it was already there, waiting to be placed. It was a soothing hobby: being a collector. Among all the death and carnage she dealt with and dealt out, it was nice to know that there was more to her than that. Perhaps it was opulent to display these goods all over her Orbiter, but they took up storage in the systems. She accessed the systems and started to add to her noggle collection when Oridis chimed in. The Tenno waved a hand, dismissing the display and focused on Ordis on the HUD.

"There is a message in your inbox, Operator. Strange. There are several data markers missing, but I can confirm that it was sent by the Lotus."

The window showing Oridis collapsed, leaving only a prompt to open up her inbox. There was only some unease that started to creep itself into her, lingering in Dagath's internal workings even as she remained perfectly still. With Transference in place, the Tenno was quite literally the warframe itself, and there was only a hole in place of a face. There were always some lingering mannerisms and echoes in certain warframes. Perhaps Dagath was one of the more poignant examples. Not as strong as Umbra, but there was enough to take notice. Perhaps it was due to those "haunted" Defixios, and the Vainthorns within, needed to rebuild Dagath.

But it felt stronger at this very moment.

She almost expected to hear tapping on the wall. The Tenno calmed herself, and looked at it with a warrior's calm. This was literally a recent phenomena that hadn't plagued Dagath yet. She was strong enough to withstand the Defixios where it drove Syndicate operatives to fleeing terror. This was just unease — the trepidation of an unknown threat stalking her. It was survival instinct that helped her survive. No warrior should be without fear. It was important to remember that the build-up was almost always worse than the actual confrontation.

But… why did this unease start with a mere inbox message?

With no other recourse, she opened it up.

There was a string of numbers in the text body:

3.2013-11.2015-9.2014-11.2018-11.2020-4.2021.

The video message showed the Lotus. Her sightless helmet greeted her, and there was a small smile underneath it. The Tenno expected the video to start playing, but the Lotus just continued to stare. And stare. The smile remained the same. It was small in its growing menace, the facial muscles not twitching. It stuttered and glitched, causing the Lotus to view off its axis. It made the unchanged smile just a little more sinister as the whole image was crooked slightly upwards.

"Ordis? There's nothing in the message —"

"Operator, the message has been playing just fine — is your lack of a face preventing you from seeing it?"

Dagath could see just fine, the warframe systems being able to perceive from more than just the eyes. Either way, the HUD wasn't visualized in a warframe's eyes, though it was certainly displayed as such. She closed and reopened the message, and that seemed to fix it.

The image had righted itself, and sound started playing.

"My child, my friend. An unusual Void storm has manifested itself near Outer Terminus and is growing at an exponential rate. Initial data suggests that it would be, but the Tenno currently stationed upon the Zariman have diligently kept vigil. The readings they have gathered so far suggest that the Void storm is unrelated to the Zariman's current position in the Void, but this may not be the case for long. Should the Void storm continue to grow unabated, it may soon dislodge the Zariman and unleash further storms upon the system. Such a scenario may approach an extinction-level event for everyone. The Holdfasts have developed a schematic to briefly quell the Void storm, utilizing materials from the Void Angels. You will need your Railjack for this operation, and these newly designed explosive charges to invert the Void's power from realspace back to Untime. It is our hope that enough force delivered by Tenno Railjacks will cause the Void storm to dissipate. A trusted source from Duviri has posited that something in the Void is causing this storm."

She knew who it was: the "witch" from Duviri. Though she, as the Operator, hadn't quite met Acrithis, it was different story for the Drifter self. The fact that Acrithis could notice this in Duviri, with all of its spirals and loops, did not bode well. The situation was bad, and it was only just becoming painfully obvious on how truly bad it was with each illuminating piece of information.

"My child, my friend, I wish it were not so, but there is no one I trust more than you. Should the situation demand it, I know you will face these impossible odds. And I will do my best to support you."

It was signed off as Margulis, of all things. That threw the Tenno off.

The Tenno knew that the Lotus had three voices within her: Natah, the Lotus, and Margulis. She herself was much the same: being both the Operator and the Drifter. The Lotus had been manipulated into different roles over her lifetime and it came to a head within, well, her head. At the end of the New War, however, she had chosen to have the Lotus.

It was perhaps the only role that could be considered truly "hers." The Sentients demanded war, Ballas tried to have her pose as his old lover, but the Tenno only ever looked to her for guidance. She had been manipulated into that role as well the first time around. But it was the Tenno who allowed her to choose. And she chose the Lotus.

The Tenno would not fail her.

She checked the message again, now seeing it as from the Lotus. Something was messing with her perception. Could it have been… that Man in the Wall? She half-expected to hear a "Hey, kiddo," or the rap-tap-tap on the wall.

There was only silence.

And that was even worse.

"Ordis?"

"Yes, Operator?"

"What do you think the numbers in the message are?"

"What numbers? The text within the message is merely a transcription of the video."

Something was wrong. She tried to put her hands on her face, but there was only an empty hole. Fingers still reached in and she grabbed the inner rim of her head, gripping and pulling in frustration. She remembered the numbers well enough.

"Ordis, can you decode a string of numbers for me?"

"Operator, if you are not feeling well, then take a break! —just take a moment."

"Ordis… please. Just humor me."

"Very well, Operator. I will inform you when the decoding is done."

***

These inverted charges took time to craft in the Foundry, while the Orbiter was traveling on the Solar Rails to Outer Terminus. All of this took time. All manner of ships rode on the Solar Rails, including enemy factions. So the typical travel time was nearly doubled for the Tenno to ride the Rails stealthily. And she especially didn't need to get waylaid today. The Tenno meditated, and waited. Her mind drifted toward the oddities of today. There was nothing she could do to properly explore this issue. So, she set aside the emotions, the fears, but did not cast them out. They would be ready to be picked up when it became prevalent.

"Operator. We approach the Outer Terminus. Transport tube to your Railjack has been connected. Cephalon Cy will take over from here. No, Operator… I'm not… jealous."

Dagath stood up, arsenal already loaded in the rare event that the Railjack was boarded. She loaded up the crossbow Attica, the pistol Vaykor Marelok, and the Dorrclave. Dagath's blade and whip were especially potent in their signature warframe's hands. The Tenno marched toward the platform and the adjourning tube, but a wave of sullen sadness struck her. It was absolute despair that caused her to sway. The echoes of Dagath's despair at the betrayal of her lovers ruminated in the very bones of the frame, but it should have been a fleeting thing. Dagath wasn't Umbra, yet something was forcing these emotions to surge. It ran rampant in the warframe's bio-technological systems, as code, as cells, as chemicals. Once it was circulating from within, something started to leech them away from without in no direction that existed in reality.

She wasn't the type of Tenno that overly indulged in emotions or who overdid it, casting them away in favor of cold rationality. They were her emotions. The Tenno were who they were, because of Transference. For good and for ill, they became their warframes: their power, their pain. While others used their machines to fight from afar, the Tenno were their warframes. She seized Dagath's anger and despair, denying this mysterious force her emotions. She breathed out with no mouth, no face. Her hand was pressed against the wall as she heaved with exertion.

Was the Man in the Wall escalating its unknown goals?

Or perhaps some other unknown entity was enacting its designs?

Her palm formed into a fist and she smashed it into the metal wall, denting it. The Tenno steeled herself for the battle before her. This one would be fought sooner or later, when she had more information. It would not do to dwell on distractions. She stepped onto the platform and ascended into the Railjack.

"Welcome aboard. Armaments are locked and loaded for the operation. Mediation: no battle comes without scars, but that's no excuse for weak hulls," Cy announced.

The Tenno huffed silently in amusement, knowing Cy's occasional irritation with boarders that punched through into the Railjack. An impenetrable hull sacrificed maneuverability and stealth capabilities. There was no true perfect defense or offense. Like all things, it was a balancing act when it came to apply modifications onto the ship. She passed by her Lich and Sister of Parvos she had converted to the Tenno cause, and caretakers for her Railjack when not in use.

"Can't wait to see the mess you'll get us into, Little Meat," her Lich cooed.

"Locked and loaded, darling," the Sister replied, in a folksy attempt to one up the Lich.

She had a feeling that she wasn't going to be in the Railjack for the most important bit to come. Dagath nodded at them with a faceless gaze, and they would take it however they pleased. They swooned. The Tenno resisted the urge to shudder, and some phantom sensation swirled within. It was nostalgia, of all things. The Tenno shuddered at that. Dagath settled at the pilot's controls at the helm's. The controls sprung from the floor, one providing support to her lower back. Her hands slotted into the twin levers, and pressed them forward. The Railjack cut swiftly through space, following her direction.

"Syncing with fellow Railjacks. Coordination will be key. Approaching Void Storm in two minutes. Prepare yourself."

The Tenno glanced to the left and right, seeing a small fleet of Railjacks flying beside her. A sense of comfort, camaraderie, filled her. This fight would not be fought alone.

The Void storm churned up ahead, chewing up space with light blur swirls that cascaded and cut and consumed. It crackled and cracked, slow-moving lightning that shattered space like a mirror. These cracks reached out like tendrils, as though it was a many-limbed beast that sought to ensnare life itself and break it. It did not look like a typical Void Storm, which was more like a bright and angry aurora determined to drag anything into its light. There was no true malice in that act of nature, no more than the darkness could curse the lights being turned on in an empty room.

"Analyzing Void storm's integrity in realspace. Calculating how much bombing is needed."

The Tenno had to stop this quickly, before any other faction tried anything. They would only exacerbate or try to exploit the situation for their own gain. If they couldn't stop this today, then this would become a protracted operation, the casualties growing the whole way.

"Critical points identified. Inversion charges loaded. First shot is yours, kid."

On the Void Storm, several reticles appeared on the screen in no particular pattern. She hopped off the helm and sprinted toward the Forward Artillery. She dropped down into the floor and into the gunner seat. The trigger was held, the shot charging up. Perhaps this would be a quick operation, and be little more than a blip.

"Corpus signatures detected. Do not be distracted; a contingent of Tenno have disengaged to sabotage the incoming Corpus Pillar."

She didn't know what to expect with forcing a Void storm into submission. When her fingers depressed the trigger, firing the first volley, the Tenno had expected massive turbulence. She was already exiting the Forward Artillery, ascending back up to the front of the ship when she saw the shot connect. Space folded into itself, tearing into the Void Storm. It reverberated and rippled across the main body of the phenomenon, like fireworks in the rain. But the howl that followed came from nowhere and everywhere: pure terror. Or rather, it was something that wanted to cause terror. It would have been easier if it was just a shockwave — something physical. The vileness resonated against her, infringing on the light within. She forced it out, stumbling back to the helm. Within her view, she could see other Railjacks sway side to side before righting themselves.

They returned fire against both the storm and the terror, causing further reactions within and from without. Streaks of orange started to smear across the Void patterns. It crackled and flickered like embers, but only for a moment. Those motes of light started to cluster together, blossoming into something sinister. Organic, but sickly. Bright, but putrid. Spider-like limbs, as though they were branches on a great dead tree, snaked out into realspace. They wiggled, blind, groping, but eager.

"Freaky. Prepare evasive maneuvers."

They cast long shadows, and as the Railjacks dodged the initial sweeping blows, those same shadows turned themselves solid. They stabbed backwards in the wake of their originals, striking true.

It was not enough to completely stall the Tenno, but it was enough to scatter them. Several of the Railjacks were punctured through and were nearly sucked into that gaping maw of orange and blue. Those still caught by those fanged limbs, put all their thrusting power to swing themselves into their targets. The Reliquary Drives imploded, acting very much the same as their newly crafted charges. She didn't know if her fellow Tenno could come as Drifters like she did, but that didn't matter. They sacrificed their lives as if they only had the one. Perhaps sensing this was a situation best left to the Tenno, the Corpus Pillar started to flee. It steered itself around, preparing to vanish elsewhere from this battlefield. One particular limb reached within its vortex and plucked something from inside.

Like a great spear lobbed by a primitive hunter, the object was flung with precision through space. Unlike a tried and true spear that remained straight to the point, the brunt of the body flopped onto the Corpus Pillar, crushing it underneath its massive weight. It was not a spear; it was a corpse. One that which weighed heavily on the Corpus ship, causing it to sag in space and become easy prey for the piercing jabs.

One-two-three.

And the ship was dead in the air. The way it was dragged into that impossible maw was like an insect dragging a prey back into its dark domain. There was something foul at the way the corpse was used as a weapon. It had bludgeoned the ship into submission. So shocking the sight was that it took her a moment to recognize the straddling corpse. Orowyrms weren't just relegated to Duviri; sometimes they could even traversing the Void. Whether they originated specifically from Duviri or elsewhere… it did not bode well if either was true, and one of them had to be because of the fact that this storm had easily killed one.

She shook off her disbelief, and continued her own charge. What fellow Tenno were left continued their assault in the face of the slaughter, each and every one of them ducking and weaving. She yanked hard to the left, dodging a strike as tall as an Orokin Tower. The bottom of the ship scraped against the blackened, gigantic leg as she struggled to keep the ship from being damaged. Crackles of energy danced, rippling explosions like bugs on a carcass.

"Void storm integrity at 15%. One more shot should quell the storm."

The Railjack dove under a pincer attack, flying straight toward a target.

"Keep the momentum, Cy." She hopped out and sprinted toward the back, acting as both pilot and gunner.

"If your pilot is on leave, the remaining crew should be made into adequate replacements."

She did not want to get into her disastrous attempts at providing her Lich and Sister some proper Railjack training at the moment. The Tenno dropped into Forward Artillery, already charging up the shot. By the time she barely managed to align it, the charge was already launched. That last one sucked everything in, before burping out a shockwave that spun out the Railjack. She was slammed about in the gunner seat before pulling herself up back into the ship proper.

"The storm is cracked open like an egg. Yolk everywhere."

Dagath stood by the pilot's seat, staring at the result of their work. It was all spiraling, like a black hole slurping up space and light into its center. Those legs were now curled around the center— a spiral within another spiral. In the middle was a pulsating orange vortex, belching out smoke… not smoke.

A Fog.

It started to spill into realspace, distorting and warping its surroundings.

"I cannot perceive a negative within a negative. A color out of space. Tenno, assess the situation."

She watched the vortex leech at the Void to fuel its own power. The blackened limbs swelled, whereas there was a byproduct of this symbiosis. The Void spat it out, causing the Fog to glitter and sparkle with energy. It was very like an explosive barrel leaking gas all over the place. It would be subjected to all the volatile triggers of the outside world. A powder-keg that could not be sustained. Were it to go off, the Origin System could be looking at another hole into the Void.

But there would be no Zariman to plug the hole this time.

"Fight's not over. Something inside that vortex is what started all of this." She steeled herself within Dagath. "Inform the other Railjacks that I'll be heading inside to better resolve the situation. They need to be on standby in case anything goes wrong."

"Acknowledged."

"Heading to Slingshot."

Dagath's feet marched toward the back of the ship, where the mechanism for launching herself was located. The actual cannon was atop the Railjack, and was affixed with accompanying Archwing systems. She would not be completely helpless to the whims of a vast and uncaring space, but maneuverability would ensure she wouldn't be utterly stranded.

As she loaded herself in the Slingshot, Ordis chimed in.

"Operator. I had finished decoding the numbers through various strains of ancient ciphers. The actual result is surprisingly —boring!— mundane, but perhaps it would make sense to you."

"Might as well."

"Very well, Operator."

It was another string of numbers. It took her a moment to recall the importance of the numbers: a date in time. By the time she realized this, the Tenno had already been fired out of the Slingshot. The sheer power propelled her through the stars, the Archwing around her keeping her trajectory straight. At best, she might be able to slowly nudge herself slightly in another direction, but she'd doom herself by becoming vulnerable to the vortex's limbs.

It was best to stay on course, even as she realized what the message entailed. The numbers were the date that the Lotus celebrated quietly with her every Earth cycle. It was the date when the Lotus first woke her up into this fractious system, and what she considered the start of her journey with her memory initially muddied.

It was an occasion that very few actually knew. She pretty much wiped out the Grineer that were there at her first awakening; Captain Vor was stuck in the Void; and the Lotus didn't advertise it. The fact that it was so small, yet so poignant, there was no other conclusion that it was a taunt mocking her. Someone, or something, wanted her specifically, here and now.

And it was already too late.

She smashed through the orange vortex with the Void spiraling into it. Images flashed in her mind, flickeringly fast, and she couldn't make heads or tails of it. The Tenno screamed though Dagath, who didn't even have a mouth to scream. It reverberated within the interior machinery, bordering between the biomechanical form and from which the Oro — the soul — operated in. Somewhere in the screaming, there was bastion of sanity, of clarity. And it was like fingers of a dark shadow of a god stirring inside her brain, reconfiguring into a spiral.

Through Dagath, she heard the Lotus's voice.

"Tenno, something is interfering with your power matrix. Your abilities and agility have been disabled. I have identified four roaming conduits that are the source of this distress. Should they finish transferring their energy to five generators, your warframe will be shut down and you'll be in danger. Two swift blows to these conduits should disable them temporarily. I have deployed several sappers in the area that you'll need to hook these conduits to so that they may be drained safely."

No… this isn't right!

She threw her head back, hands gripping at both sides of the hoop that made up her head. Her hands pulled as if she could split the head apart. Dagath crashed down onto a hard ground, the Archwing blowing up underneath her. Still, she roiled and thrashed on the ground, screaming never ceasing.

Her vision faltered for a few seconds before she rolled onto her stomach and saw a pair of boots. The Man in the Wall, aping her Operator form, gave her a wave. They crouched down, smiling with her own face. The Man in the Wall smiled and held her chin in the crook of her thumb and an extended index finger. It was clearly mocking the fact that she didn't have a face from which to emote with. The point, having been made, was turned into a flicked finger at the top of Dagath's head. There was a sense of emptiness that replaced the forced clarity. It felt like she could breathe again. Or rather, she could finally stop wasting her breath on screaming.

"That's another favor you owe me, kiddo." The Man in the Wall giggled. "But see this through, and I'll call this particular favor squared. But remember. You. Are. Mine."

Then they were gone.

Dagath forced herself back up, heaving with emotional exhaustion. She examined her surroundings, seeing that she was clearly in the Void, but it felt… different somewhere. If the Void she knew was a mirror in the dark with nary a light but her own, this area of the Void was a pit. It was like starvation without hunger, that half-second before death of deprivation. There was no gnawing ache; only absence.

Was this the Void?

Or a facet of the Void that she knew not?

Perhaps there was some overlap with what she knew and what was currently before her. The truth of the matter was that she could speculate from now till the end of time and get nowhere. What mattered was acting.

Priorities.


There were stone ruins with no particular features, like stones that have been eroded by a great and terrible river that knew no end. A dark statue was jutting out from the ground. It was of a veiled figure, arms outstretched and head looking up. It looked familiar, like déjà vu but it reversed. It looked like something she would know in the future. When she briefly looked away to examine the limits of the environment, the statue had changed to a dirty white and had a more downturned expression, staring at the floor. The entire area was adrift — a platform, an island on an unforgiving sea. There was only the Void. Staring upwards revealed an burning orange vortex, swirling and churning.

With her Archwing destroyed, she wouldn't be able to reach it no matter how hard she bullet-jumped. She skulked around, trying to find some clue that would allow her to navigate this situation better. There was a hook hanging from a pole from which she could sense a hunger and a bloodthirstiness from it. Even as this area of the Void sapped every emotion it could gobble its hands on, these hooks still carried a resonance of their original purpose. It did not speak well of this place and whatever intentions had imprinted onto it.

A flicker of movement caused her to snap into cover, unholstering her pistol. Peering out of cover, she spotted a shadow — a phantom of a phantom. It lingered lifelessly in the air, with dead and hollow eyes. There was no legs, only the dangling backend of a spine. The form was monstrous with spines curving from the head and back. The only bit of life was a core of Voidstuff within its chest, pulsating blue light faintly.

It looked like a small, sad thing.

And the Tenno felt pity for it.

She approached with her gun concealed behind her back. The moment she approached it, the creature's head snapped to Dagath. The Voidstuff in the chest flared in sequence, like the first heartbeats of someone resuscitated from the cusp of death. When it spoke, it was something that had once been human, but had been regressed. Its words were desperately torn from a lexicon, because it would not be able to compose a sentence otherwise.

"I… remember! I… am! Your… your light… it's so… strong! " It shuddered in ecstasy. "More than those scraps those survivors and killers give me. You need to make me real again—"

A phantasmal hand reached out for the Tenno before it was wiped away in a flood of blueish energy. It gushed from the ground like a geyser. Everything had happened so fast that she hadn't even realized that she had drawn her pistol. Once she was satisfied that there was no immediate danger, she examined it and came to the conclusion that it was a portal. With no way to reach the portal up above, she entered into the more available portal column. She stepped out into a cornfield, yellow stalks obscuring good portions of the environment. Dagath turned around and saw a rather ancient looking house, made of wood of all things. It was only two stories tall and looked even more rundown.

Sensing danger from the cornfield, she spun around and saw a blade falling towards her. She managed to grab the blade between her palms, yanked to the side, and with, great strength, snapped it in two.

A tall muscled figure draped in crude and, frankly anarchic, armor snarled. A horned, red mask with a fixed, menacing expression thrust its face at her while two huge hands brought out a studded, war-club and nearly caught her off guard. But Dagath had already deployed her Wyrd Scythes. The spinning blades had cut the hands clean off from the man and then swarmed him, shredding him to pieces. He barely had enough time to even make a sound to cry out. The pieces had been launched toward the raised fence around the boundary, the giblets bouncing bloodily across the soil.

Now on guard, she pulled out her crossbow and carefully stepped into the cornfield. Hearing someone up ahead in a clearing, she hopped out, weapon out first. A timid looking man with glasses and a tie froze up at the sight of her.

She was in the process of putting the weapon down and raising a friendly hand before he snapped out of his shocked stupor.

"Everyone, there's a new Killer!" he shouted, throwing down a flashbang and sprinted further into the cornfield. It did nothing to the beyond creating a loud flash of light. Her hand dropped and she sighed airlessly.

All in all, not the worst reaction to a Tenno, but it certainly could have been better.
Kind of a weird crossover, right? But with the Haunted by Daylight event introducing the Void as a gameplay mechanic, I got inspired. Since I was in the middle of grinding for Dagath in Warframe, I used her as well. I actually considered using Voruna, since ya know: werewolf. But maybe for something else. I was actually hoping to get this done before Halloween since the Halloween events were what prompted this fic.

The Haunt, the ghost person in the Void, being rejuvenated is in similar vein to the Holdfasts, basically Void ghosts in Warframe, where the Tenno's mere presence stabilize them. So, by the transitive property, a Tenno will do far more for the Haunts than the Survivors and Killers.

Speaking of which, I did take in consideration on how quickly the Oni got taken out. That was sorta the point, because he's a Killer as adjusted for the Trials. He's gonna be bass-boosted by the Entity for the rematch. The Entity does sorta… equalizes things that I feel like it might be easy to lowball the Killers. Like, I feel like there's an idea like where there are Killers that the Entity is "afraid" of or can't "control." I feel like that some Killers may bend the rules a little, a la Tombstone Myers, or try to fight back, like the Trapper, but at the end of the day, if a Killer is hooking Survivors, they're playing by the Entity's rules. If the Entity didn't want the Executioner in the Trials, it wouldn't be there. If the Cenobites hook them, then the Entity doesn't care that they occasionally mori them into their personal hell dimension for a bit.

I like my characters having autonomy, which includes the Entity. And the Killers. Though I did playfully allude to the White Eyes theory (in which the Entity messes with the perception of certain killers to show their victims as people as they hate) when the Tenno had that vision of the Lotus, I personally don't believe in it. The Entity certainly stokes the hatred in some of them, like the Spirit, but it doesn't come from nothing. It diminishes the Killers — taking away their autonomy — if they're only "righteously" punishing others, even if it's only in their head. It's like, have you ever been angry enough that you're on the precipice, it becomes a choice. And once you cross that threshold, the same choice becomes easier and easier. The Entity doesn't need to keep a Killer in a delusion; it just has to keep them dehydrated and then lead them to water. They'll be drinking on their own soon enough.
 
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