First Impact 2.2
Silently Watches
Professional Stalker
- Location
- Right behind you
First Impact 2.2
Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, it is much more difficult to find a stray animal when you are actually looking for one than when you're just walking around. As soon as Perfect Storm told you that you could use any animal you wanted, you knew that it would be best for everyone if you picked up an animal that didn't already belong to somebody. A stray, assuming Perfect Storm was correct in how much intelligence it would gain, would be more appreciative of getting a nice home than one that was already a family's pet. You could get one from the pound, and you would if you couldn't find one on the streets, but that would leave a paper trail, and they already had opportunities to be adopted.
Of course, when you made that decision, you thought it would take ten minutes or so to stumble upon such a beast. That's turning out not to be the case, and now two hours have gone by and the sun has set. "Let's pack it up, Storm," you finally tell your Device. "We aren't going to—"
«Activating suggestion implantation protocols.»
Wheels squeal nearby, and you dart through the air to find a white car driving down a residential street. A metal trashcan is laying on its side at the edge of the road, and a small grey shape is in the middle of the street.
«Appropriate animal acquired.»
"That's convenient," you mutter while drifting closer. Is it a cat? A small dog?
No, it's neither, you realize when you touch down on the street. The raccoon hisses at you and tries to slink away, but that is impossible with its back legs, pelvis, and spine crushed and mangled from being run over. The animal may not have died immediately, but by its huffing pants, you figure it doesn't have much time left. You have a decision to make; let the creature expire and go on looking for something more appropriate for the witch theme you are running with, or give up the chance for a black cat and save it?
The reedy, pitiful whine makes your decision for you. Innocent animals don't deserve to suffer like this. "You don't need an animal to be domesticated before you turn it into a Guardian Beast, do you? A wild one works just fine?"
«Domestication irrelevant. Personality will be adjusted during ritual.»
"Good enough. Calm down, little guy," you tell the raccoon as you approach. "I'm going to help you. Don't bite me." It doesn't snap at you when you cradle it to your chest, but from the way it angles its head and twitches its jaws, that may be more because it no longer has the strength to do so than for any other reason. You take to the air and crouch on top of a nearby building, your staff obediently floating behind you. "The contract. You said there needed to be a contract for this to work."
«Repeat after me, Mistress.»
"A contract offered, a new life promised," you declare, echoing the Device's words. Beneath your feet, the increasingly familiar triangle appears, and then it spreads, a second triangle and multiple circles extending from behind it. "My will uplifts you; my mana sustains you. Your purpose: to defend me and my allies, to destroy my foes, to support me in my purpose." Perfect Storm gives you the final line, but you aren't listening. You want more than that, more than just an underling or even a teammate. Tentatively, you add, "And I want you to be my friend, to care about me in a way nobody else does. I will be the same for you, I promise. Agree to these terms, accept my contract, and—"
«Mother of Mistress previously terminated. Replacement required.»
With a final sigh, the raccoon drops its head and grows still. It does not breathe in again.
«Accessing Mistress's memories. Rebuilding personality matrix.»
"—become something more." You blink your eyes quickly to stave off the itch of tears, a wrenching feeling already building in your heart. Perfect Storm told you that there would be an empathic link, but you didn't expect it to form this quickly, and especially not when the procedure was a failure. A waste; not only for you, but also this creature you had promised to help. "I'm sorry."
«Surrogate design superior to original maternal unit. Uploading… Complete.»
Orange light so bright that you have to squeeze your eyes shut explodes into being, and the weight of the raccoon's body in your arms vanishes.
"Your terms are heard, and my own are given," you hear, the feminine voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. "You are more than my friend; you are my family, and I will care for you as if you were my own child. Your allies are mine. Your enemies, mine. Your heart and my own beat as one. From your mana and will, I come into being, and this new life I pledge to you!"
The light ends as suddenly as it began, and you are alone on the rooftop until a pair of milky arms wrap around your shoulders from behind. Turning around, you lay eyes on your Guardian Beast.
She's pretty, is the first thought that comes to mind. She has none of the gangly remnants of adolescence, instead appearing in her late twenties or so. Steel grey hair falls down to just above her shoulders; two additional lumps, tipped with black, sit on top of her head, and as you watch, they perk up and reveal themselves to be ears. Warm amber eyes watch you in amusement when you finally yank your gaze from her ears. Matte black eyeshadow harkens back to the mask she wore as a raccoon. Your eyes drop lower, and then you blush. Other than a black-and-grey striped stretch of fluff wrapped around her waist – which you rapidly decide does not count since it is, in fact, a tail – she is completely naked.
A second later, the discrepancy clicks into place, and you switch your gaze between the woman and the Device several times. "She's human?! You're human?!"
"Mostly," she replies with a mischievous smile.
If Perfect Storm had a neck, you would be throttling it. "You said this would give an animal powers! You never mentioned that it would turn her into a person!"
«My apologies, Mistress.»
"How did you even do this?!"
«Magic.»
"Magic isn't real!" you insist, ignoring the raccoon-woman's hastily covered snickering. "I know you think it is, but it's not! You're not a magic wand; you're a piece of technology some Tinker built using science!" Perfect Storm buzzes dismissively. "Flare Shooter! Think about that. That can't really be a spell. There's no eye of newt or Latin chanting! It's just a computer program!"
«The term 'magic' refers to the storage, manipulation, and projection of mana,» your Device retorts calmly. «Mana is an energy type that is fundamental to reality. It is stored in the Linker Core, an unusual structure of nerve tissue found in the spinal column of magic-capable creatures or sapients. Spells are programs that shape and project mana to produce specific results, including but not limited to flying, firing energy projectiles, or creating Guardian Beasts. It would not be inaccurate to compare magic to the computing devices present on this world, merely utilizing mana instead of electromagnetism.»
This is…. You shake your head. This is all getting too hard to swallow. The fact that its explanation makes a strange sort of sense doesn't help matters. "You don't know that any of that is true. You can't know—"
«This is the standard model of magic developed approximately 400 years ago according to documents located in restored memory sectors.»
"Except there can't be a 'standard model of magic' when no one knows how powers work," you insist. "Especially not one that old. Capes have only been around for thirty years!"
«Mages have been observed for thirty years only on this planet.»
That comment sends your butt crashing to the rooftop. "This planet? What do you mean, this planet?!"
«Memory sectors have been recovered,» it repeats. «I remember six walls. I remember being held in a metal box. I remember the box changing color and melting. I remember the box falling apart. I remember falling through darkness towards a world covered in blue and white and green. I remember the ground approaching, a city visible. I remember impact with another metal box.» You stare at it blankly, and it adds gently, «That is where Mistress was encountered.»
"W-W-What?" you croak. "A-Are you talking about reentry? Atmospheric reentry? Like the space shuttle used to do when it was coming back to Earth from space?"
«Correct.»
The assumptions you had made since finding the jewel flash through your mind. "So you weren't made by an African Tinker at all. You were made by alien space wizards, and you've been teaching me space magic." Perfect Storm chimes in agreement. "I… I need to sit down."
«Mistress is sitting down.»
"Oh. So I am."
One of the raccoon-woman's arms pulls you close. "I think that's enough revelations for one day. Can you show me the way home?"
«That is possible.»
You don't notice what she's doing until she has already picked you up. "You can't just carry me—" That's when you see the rooftops racing away below you. "Are you flying?"
"Yep." She gives you a playful wink. "I don't know how I know how to do this, but I do."
«Some abilities were transferred from Mistress during creation process. Mistress's talent for flight was one of them.»
"There you go, sweetie."
"Can neither of you remember my name?" you groan, deciding to focus on just that for right now. That, at least, makes sense. "Taylor. Just call me Taylor."
"Whatever Mistress desires!"
"Ugh. Just shut up."
The raccoon laughs the entire flight back to the house.
You run out of the kitchen as soon as you hear the front door open. It's a good thing your dad told you he was probably going to be out till late working through the rumors the rest of the Privateers had collected; it gave you time to think of how best to broach the subject of your new 'pet'.
Unfortunately, you still don't have any good ideas.
"What's got you so wound up?" he asks once he gets a good look at your expression.
"Remember how I said if I got a pet, I could give it powers of its own?" He gives you a wary nod. "That's what has me wound up."
The clink of a glass being set down comes from the kitchen, and he huffs before starting to walk towards it. "And you left it alone in the kitchen?"
"Dad, stop! Perfect Storm didn't explain everything, so when I found a hurt raccoon, I did the ritual but because I didn't know how it was going to work I wasn't expecting what happened to happen and now everything's gotten a little—"
He staggers to a stop in the middle of the doorway. The grey-haired woman sitting at the table, now dressed at least somewhat more modestly in a thick bathrobe, raises one hand and wiggles her fingers. "Hello," she says in a sing-song.
"…complicated."
Your dad is still staring at her in shock, so you clear your throat before continuing, "We ordered her some clothes online, and they're supposed to arrive tomorrow or the day after at the very latest. I had to charge it to your credit card, but you can take that out of my cut of Monday's raid. Between now and then, she's willing to stay mostly in her raccoon form. We don't know what powers she has just yet, but we can test them out in the Boat Graveyard or something. She's supposed to have a bigger combat shape, too, and we're planning on giving that a try at the same time." And still he isn't saying anything. "Dad?"
«Father of Mistress's files corrupt? Replacement paternal unit required?»
He slowly turns his head to look at you and asks in a weak voice, "This… is a little complicated?"
"Uh, yeah." The two of you stare at each other for several long seconds. "Am I grounded?"
"…I'm seriously considering it."
«Replacement paternal unit not required currently. Saving design for future necessity.»
I told you that Taylor would eventually accept that she was using magic. The situation just needed to get sufficiently bizarre first. Danny's the one you should really feel sorry for.
Choose your Guardian Beast's name
[ ] Write-in
Dress for success
[ ] Professional – Pant suit and an adorable fedora. Slaying monsters is just a regular day at the office for this Guardian Beast.
[ ] Flowing – Loose robes and cloth pants. It isn't the most practical outfit, but it's definitely elegant.
[ ] Casual – Jeans and a tee shirt. Easy to grab replacements off the shelves, but not remarkable in any way.
[ ] Skimpy – Tiny shorts and a really tight shirt. This is something a mother should never wear, especially not in public, but she will not be denied.
Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, it is much more difficult to find a stray animal when you are actually looking for one than when you're just walking around. As soon as Perfect Storm told you that you could use any animal you wanted, you knew that it would be best for everyone if you picked up an animal that didn't already belong to somebody. A stray, assuming Perfect Storm was correct in how much intelligence it would gain, would be more appreciative of getting a nice home than one that was already a family's pet. You could get one from the pound, and you would if you couldn't find one on the streets, but that would leave a paper trail, and they already had opportunities to be adopted.
Of course, when you made that decision, you thought it would take ten minutes or so to stumble upon such a beast. That's turning out not to be the case, and now two hours have gone by and the sun has set. "Let's pack it up, Storm," you finally tell your Device. "We aren't going to—"
«Activating suggestion implantation protocols.»
Wheels squeal nearby, and you dart through the air to find a white car driving down a residential street. A metal trashcan is laying on its side at the edge of the road, and a small grey shape is in the middle of the street.
«Appropriate animal acquired.»
"That's convenient," you mutter while drifting closer. Is it a cat? A small dog?
No, it's neither, you realize when you touch down on the street. The raccoon hisses at you and tries to slink away, but that is impossible with its back legs, pelvis, and spine crushed and mangled from being run over. The animal may not have died immediately, but by its huffing pants, you figure it doesn't have much time left. You have a decision to make; let the creature expire and go on looking for something more appropriate for the witch theme you are running with, or give up the chance for a black cat and save it?
The reedy, pitiful whine makes your decision for you. Innocent animals don't deserve to suffer like this. "You don't need an animal to be domesticated before you turn it into a Guardian Beast, do you? A wild one works just fine?"
«Domestication irrelevant. Personality will be adjusted during ritual.»
"Good enough. Calm down, little guy," you tell the raccoon as you approach. "I'm going to help you. Don't bite me." It doesn't snap at you when you cradle it to your chest, but from the way it angles its head and twitches its jaws, that may be more because it no longer has the strength to do so than for any other reason. You take to the air and crouch on top of a nearby building, your staff obediently floating behind you. "The contract. You said there needed to be a contract for this to work."
«Repeat after me, Mistress.»
"A contract offered, a new life promised," you declare, echoing the Device's words. Beneath your feet, the increasingly familiar triangle appears, and then it spreads, a second triangle and multiple circles extending from behind it. "My will uplifts you; my mana sustains you. Your purpose: to defend me and my allies, to destroy my foes, to support me in my purpose." Perfect Storm gives you the final line, but you aren't listening. You want more than that, more than just an underling or even a teammate. Tentatively, you add, "And I want you to be my friend, to care about me in a way nobody else does. I will be the same for you, I promise. Agree to these terms, accept my contract, and—"
«Mother of Mistress previously terminated. Replacement required.»
With a final sigh, the raccoon drops its head and grows still. It does not breathe in again.
«Accessing Mistress's memories. Rebuilding personality matrix.»
"—become something more." You blink your eyes quickly to stave off the itch of tears, a wrenching feeling already building in your heart. Perfect Storm told you that there would be an empathic link, but you didn't expect it to form this quickly, and especially not when the procedure was a failure. A waste; not only for you, but also this creature you had promised to help. "I'm sorry."
«Surrogate design superior to original maternal unit. Uploading… Complete.»
Orange light so bright that you have to squeeze your eyes shut explodes into being, and the weight of the raccoon's body in your arms vanishes.
"Your terms are heard, and my own are given," you hear, the feminine voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. "You are more than my friend; you are my family, and I will care for you as if you were my own child. Your allies are mine. Your enemies, mine. Your heart and my own beat as one. From your mana and will, I come into being, and this new life I pledge to you!"
The light ends as suddenly as it began, and you are alone on the rooftop until a pair of milky arms wrap around your shoulders from behind. Turning around, you lay eyes on your Guardian Beast.
She's pretty, is the first thought that comes to mind. She has none of the gangly remnants of adolescence, instead appearing in her late twenties or so. Steel grey hair falls down to just above her shoulders; two additional lumps, tipped with black, sit on top of her head, and as you watch, they perk up and reveal themselves to be ears. Warm amber eyes watch you in amusement when you finally yank your gaze from her ears. Matte black eyeshadow harkens back to the mask she wore as a raccoon. Your eyes drop lower, and then you blush. Other than a black-and-grey striped stretch of fluff wrapped around her waist – which you rapidly decide does not count since it is, in fact, a tail – she is completely naked.
A second later, the discrepancy clicks into place, and you switch your gaze between the woman and the Device several times. "She's human?! You're human?!"
"Mostly," she replies with a mischievous smile.
If Perfect Storm had a neck, you would be throttling it. "You said this would give an animal powers! You never mentioned that it would turn her into a person!"
«My apologies, Mistress.»
"How did you even do this?!"
«Magic.»
"Magic isn't real!" you insist, ignoring the raccoon-woman's hastily covered snickering. "I know you think it is, but it's not! You're not a magic wand; you're a piece of technology some Tinker built using science!" Perfect Storm buzzes dismissively. "Flare Shooter! Think about that. That can't really be a spell. There's no eye of newt or Latin chanting! It's just a computer program!"
«The term 'magic' refers to the storage, manipulation, and projection of mana,» your Device retorts calmly. «Mana is an energy type that is fundamental to reality. It is stored in the Linker Core, an unusual structure of nerve tissue found in the spinal column of magic-capable creatures or sapients. Spells are programs that shape and project mana to produce specific results, including but not limited to flying, firing energy projectiles, or creating Guardian Beasts. It would not be inaccurate to compare magic to the computing devices present on this world, merely utilizing mana instead of electromagnetism.»
This is…. You shake your head. This is all getting too hard to swallow. The fact that its explanation makes a strange sort of sense doesn't help matters. "You don't know that any of that is true. You can't know—"
«This is the standard model of magic developed approximately 400 years ago according to documents located in restored memory sectors.»
"Except there can't be a 'standard model of magic' when no one knows how powers work," you insist. "Especially not one that old. Capes have only been around for thirty years!"
«Mages have been observed for thirty years only on this planet.»
That comment sends your butt crashing to the rooftop. "This planet? What do you mean, this planet?!"
«Memory sectors have been recovered,» it repeats. «I remember six walls. I remember being held in a metal box. I remember the box changing color and melting. I remember the box falling apart. I remember falling through darkness towards a world covered in blue and white and green. I remember the ground approaching, a city visible. I remember impact with another metal box.» You stare at it blankly, and it adds gently, «That is where Mistress was encountered.»
"W-W-What?" you croak. "A-Are you talking about reentry? Atmospheric reentry? Like the space shuttle used to do when it was coming back to Earth from space?"
«Correct.»
The assumptions you had made since finding the jewel flash through your mind. "So you weren't made by an African Tinker at all. You were made by alien space wizards, and you've been teaching me space magic." Perfect Storm chimes in agreement. "I… I need to sit down."
«Mistress is sitting down.»
"Oh. So I am."
One of the raccoon-woman's arms pulls you close. "I think that's enough revelations for one day. Can you show me the way home?"
«That is possible.»
You don't notice what she's doing until she has already picked you up. "You can't just carry me—" That's when you see the rooftops racing away below you. "Are you flying?"
"Yep." She gives you a playful wink. "I don't know how I know how to do this, but I do."
«Some abilities were transferred from Mistress during creation process. Mistress's talent for flight was one of them.»
"There you go, sweetie."
"Can neither of you remember my name?" you groan, deciding to focus on just that for right now. That, at least, makes sense. "Taylor. Just call me Taylor."
"Whatever Mistress desires!"
"Ugh. Just shut up."
The raccoon laughs the entire flight back to the house.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
You run out of the kitchen as soon as you hear the front door open. It's a good thing your dad told you he was probably going to be out till late working through the rumors the rest of the Privateers had collected; it gave you time to think of how best to broach the subject of your new 'pet'.
Unfortunately, you still don't have any good ideas.
"What's got you so wound up?" he asks once he gets a good look at your expression.
"Remember how I said if I got a pet, I could give it powers of its own?" He gives you a wary nod. "That's what has me wound up."
The clink of a glass being set down comes from the kitchen, and he huffs before starting to walk towards it. "And you left it alone in the kitchen?"
"Dad, stop! Perfect Storm didn't explain everything, so when I found a hurt raccoon, I did the ritual but because I didn't know how it was going to work I wasn't expecting what happened to happen and now everything's gotten a little—"
He staggers to a stop in the middle of the doorway. The grey-haired woman sitting at the table, now dressed at least somewhat more modestly in a thick bathrobe, raises one hand and wiggles her fingers. "Hello," she says in a sing-song.
"…complicated."
Your dad is still staring at her in shock, so you clear your throat before continuing, "We ordered her some clothes online, and they're supposed to arrive tomorrow or the day after at the very latest. I had to charge it to your credit card, but you can take that out of my cut of Monday's raid. Between now and then, she's willing to stay mostly in her raccoon form. We don't know what powers she has just yet, but we can test them out in the Boat Graveyard or something. She's supposed to have a bigger combat shape, too, and we're planning on giving that a try at the same time." And still he isn't saying anything. "Dad?"
«Father of Mistress's files corrupt? Replacement paternal unit required?»
He slowly turns his head to look at you and asks in a weak voice, "This… is a little complicated?"
"Uh, yeah." The two of you stare at each other for several long seconds. "Am I grounded?"
"…I'm seriously considering it."
«Replacement paternal unit not required currently. Saving design for future necessity.»
I told you that Taylor would eventually accept that she was using magic. The situation just needed to get sufficiently bizarre first. Danny's the one you should really feel sorry for.
Choose your Guardian Beast's name
[ ] Write-in
Dress for success
[ ] Professional – Pant suit and an adorable fedora. Slaying monsters is just a regular day at the office for this Guardian Beast.
[ ] Flowing – Loose robes and cloth pants. It isn't the most practical outfit, but it's definitely elegant.
[ ] Casual – Jeans and a tee shirt. Easy to grab replacements off the shelves, but not remarkable in any way.
[ ] Skimpy – Tiny shorts and a really tight shirt. This is something a mother should never wear, especially not in public, but she will not be denied.
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