- Pronouns
- He/Him
AN: Eidolon pt. 1 is going to be very, very long. I also got basically nothing done during last week aside from eating turkey and taking my daughter to meet Santa. So, it's not going to be done until Wednesday or Thursday. However, the update begins with a very long flashback that is done and works as a standalone section. So have this for now. I will delete this threadmark when the full update is ready, and this section will be incorporated into the update.
Horizon, City of Leviathan's Rest–The Apiary– January 26, 2068
You don't often remember your dreams, but, tonight, the visions in your sleep are especially vivid.
Your body is weightless as you float in the past, a passenger to events as they play out before you. You see yourself back at the Bastion, all those years ago. It was a tiny base, barely large enough for the original seven of you. And that was including Eve, who had no physical presence.
Your "conference room" back then was a circular table Rakeem and Nora had crammed into the basement. It didn't quite fit, so Nora had sawed off the lower third of it so you could position it such that you could all comfortably sit around it.
You see a much younger version of yourself, lounging and laughing while everyone else looks uncomfortable. You remember this day—it was the day after Ronin had destroyed the last stronghold of the Ghost Dragon Triad and killed your father. You had breezily announced his passing earlier that morning, and that afternoon Nora had called a mandatory meeting.
You see your best friend sitting at the head of the table, opposite the flat end. She looks unusually grave. Rosemary looks nervous, while Rakeem is unreadable as always. Harper gossips with Eve, while Yazmin doesn't take her eyes off you, her gaze firm.
You see the younger-you roll your eyes at Yazmin. You hadn't cared for her at first. Her idealism grated on you; her instance of what a "hero" was felt insincere and naive. She not only grew up with money, but was the heiress to the largest megacorportaion in the world. Her life was an endless series of her own preferences. How could she possibly understand how the world worked?
How little you knew.
"Alright," Nora says, rubbing her face, "You're probably wondering why I called this meeting. Well, Ronin finally fucking did it—the Ghost Dragon Triad is dead. And their leader with it."
". . . yay?" Eve offers, bored.
"Their leader was Zixuan's dad."
"Oh fuck."
"Zixuan," Rosemary says, turning to you. Her compound eyes are filled with sympathy. "I'm so sorry."
"Oh, don't be," you laugh, unable to contain your mirth, "I've had the celebratory party planned for a week now. Naturally, you're all invited"
She tilts her head in confusion. "You . . . what?"
"She knew he was going to die," Yazmin says, still looking at you, "Because she's the one who hired Ronin to kill him."
"As if, darling," you scoff, "Dear Akane was more than happy to do it pro bono. I merely facilitated the interaction."
"You . . . got your dad killed?" Rosemary says, hesitantly, "That's . . ."
"A problem," Uiara finishes, "That's not how we do things here. We don't kill people. We're not assassins."
She scowls and shakes her head at you.
"I'm disappointed, Zixuan. I thought you left this sort of thing behind you. I thought you were really a hero. Now . . . I'm not so sure."
Your younger self flinches. You would have rather died than admit it, but Yazmin's words cut deep that day.
"My word, the theatrics!" you shout, "Does the great Uiara disapprove of eliminating an entire organized criminal enterprise in one fell swoop? I'll inform the masses freed from menace of the Triad that they should be upset about their change in circumstances. The poor dears must mistakenly believe this to be a good thing!"
You let out a mocking laugh and look around the table for support. Rakeem's gaze is hard and he shakes his head. Rosemary is clasping her four hands together. Harper is watching the disapproving Uiara, while Eve seems uninterested.
You turn to Nora, who you know must understand. But your leader just runs her hand through her hair before addressing you.
"This is your one, Zi. This is it."
"I haven't the faintest what you mean—"
"Don't fuck around," Nora says, cutting you off, "Your dad was a shitbag? You knew for certain he needed to go? Fine. You've known him your whole life. I'll trust your judgement on that. But this is it."
She leans forward. Now, you can see how much saying these words hurt her. How much she hated talking to you like this. But, back then, it felt like a betrayal of the highest order.
"But you will never be able to be that certain that someone needs to die again. No more killing. Whether you hold the knife or not. If you do, you're off NuGen. Am I clear?"
Your cheeks flush. Your jaw drops in shock. She . . . she's threatening to make you leave? Now? Over this?
"You can't—"
"Am I clear or not, Lady Leizi?"
You feel moisture bead in the corners of your eyes and then feel a true, deep sense of humiliation as you realize how much Nora's ultimatum scares you. You stand up quickly.
"As a bell," and you stiffly turn to leave.
"Zixuan," Yazmin calls after you.
"Oh, I believe I've heard quite enough from you," you snarl.
Back then, it felt like everyone was against you. Just as you were beginning to belong, just as you were starting to feel safe, just as you started to feel something inside your chest but fear and pain, they threatened to take it away from you.
"Curious. I saw Nora's mouth moving, but I heard Uiara's words," you continue, "My, did you crawl into her bed just to put her up to this? Seems like you've gotten over your most recent spat rather quickly. Why, I wonder?"
Uiara's jaw tightens, but her gaze doesn't waiver.
"Why so concerned, anyway? Are you afraid I'll get caught? Afraid I'll tarnish Uiara's sterling reputation by association, hmmm? Afraid—"
"I'm afraid it's too easy," Yazmin says, "I'm afraid it's a simple, quick way to make problems go away."
There's a loud silence in the room.
You clear your throat to hide your unease at her words. "Sounds all like positives to me! Easy, quick, efficient—"
"And permanent, Zixuan," Yazmin says levelly, "You kill somebody, and that's the end of it. Their past, their mistakes, their future? The book's closed. And there's no taking it back."
"Again, a virtue!" you protest, "It sounds like a roadmap for all of NuGen's future operations!"
"Then you would be dead!"
Yazmin is on her feet now, her words vibrating through the room.
"None of us knew who you were when we first met. You were a crime lord involved in the drug trade, for crying out loud! You looked like a monster! If that's how we operated, we would have just killed you."
She shakes her head, very slowly, eyes still boring holes in you. Her voice is tight.
"We never would have known who you are. That you could be more," She swallows, hard. "We wouldn't even have now how much to regret it."
She breaks eye contact and swallows again. Now, as the woman you are, it's so obvious how badly she wants to reach you. How much the thought of never having met you tears her up inside. How were you ever so blind that you couldn't see it?
"Heroes don't do the easy thing. We do the right thing. Because, no matter how hard it is, the right thing is always the best thing in the long run."
You didn't understand those words that day. You . . . you're still not sure you fully do. But you can see the wisdom in them now, born of one woman's innate goodness. You want to tell Yazmin she's right and that you understand why this happened. That you're upset now, but you can see how she's upset too. That she's only doing this because she loves you.
But you can't say anything, because, even as you try to form the words to speak in your dream, the scene dissolves before your eyes.
Suddenly, it's months later. There's an emergency call in the Uni District, and you and Yazmin are the only two available to respond.
The scene is tense when you arrive. An office building downtown has been turned into a whirling kaleidoscope of painted color. Attempts to enter are met with daggers of red and orange, as the dozens of injured individuals can attest. Yet, apparently, there are even more trapped inside.
Man o' War is already there, four extra arms sprouting out of his body. He sports a bloodthirsty grin.
"Oh, good. The children are here," he scoffs, "Leave. I'm about to have some fun, and I don't need Arc in my ear if you get in the way and get hurt."
"What's the sitrep?" Yazmin askes, unphased.
"Tch," he scoffs again, rolling his eyes, "Some loon got fired and went postal. Apparently, he was a metahuman. He's got hostages in there, and no one can get close. But, don't worry. I'm just ramping up. Once I'm ready, I'll be more than happy to solve the problem."
"Ah, well have at it then," you say with a dismissive wave of your hands. This situation was not well-suited to your talents. But, as you turn to go, you see Uiara staring at the building.
"He was fired . . ." she murmurs under her breath, "This is an English-McLeod office, isn't it?"
"I believe it is. So?" you ask, impatiently.
She gives you a small smile, "The great Lady Leizi doesn't already something? Today is a special day then."
You fume, but she goes back to building.
"English-McLeod is mostly construction and real estate. A lot of their jobs include housing, complete with furnishing, as part of the compensation. But it's contingent on staying employed with them . . ."
". . . so if this man was fired, then he's likely lost everything," you finish.
". . . yeah," she says with her eyes closed, "Probably thinks the world is ending."
"Well, if our multi-armed friend has anything to say about it, he'll only need to feel that way for a few minutes longer."
Yazmin wets her lips. "Lady Leizi . . . can you go on overwatch for me?"
"Darling, what exactly are you planning?" you say, incredulous, "No one can even approach that building."
She walks forward with her hand raised. A strand of red shots out and pierces her palm, but fails to break her super-durable skin.
"I think . . . I think the colors react to emotion. His emotions. I just need to convince him I'm not a threat, and I can get through."
"Or he could just kill you faster," you say, "Please do not make me explain to Valiant Silver later why her lover is now a pincushion!"
Yazmin looks back at you and smiles again. "Oh, you didn't hear? We broke up."
Then she walks into the building.
"Again?!" you shout after her, but she's already gone. All you can do is watch her through her camera.
The colors are even more vibrant in the building, a swirling mass of constantly shifting light and pigment. A spike of red, larger than you are, falls from the ceiling and bites deep into Yazmin's collarbone, drawing blood.
"I'm . . . not going to hurt you," she says out loud, "I promise. No matter what you do to me, I won't hurt you."
She grabs the red, pulls it out of her, and marches forward.
More colors strike her, jagged reds, swirling blues, spiraling greens, each digging deeper wounds and drawing more blood. But Yazmin is undeterred, her face calm. She never raises a hand in protest, never calls a flood to strike her foe.
She will not hurt him.
The colors frenzy, hitting Yazmin over and over again, until she resembles little more than hamburger meat. But still, she does not fight back.
And then . . . they slow down. The attacks become less frequent, and then stop. Yazmin marches up several flights of stairs, and finds herself in a sea of cubicles.
There, in the middle, sits a crying man covered in paint. He's cowering under his desk. Yazmin limps over and crouches down.
"Hello," she says gently, "I'm Uiara."
". . . I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry—"
"Shh. Shhhh. It's okay. It's all going to be okay."
"It's not!" he shrieks and the colors go wild, "I didn't mean it! I l-liked my job! I came to work, everyone l-left me alone, and t-then I could go home to p-paint!"
"I see," Yazmin says looking around at the furious colors, "You're very good. You must practice a lot."
"E-everyday . . ." he stutters, "I . . . I can't talk to people. They d-don't understand me. They don't hear me. But when I paint . . . it's like I can let everyone know how I feel."
He looks around at the melting world around him.
"Then one day, I realized I could make the colors leave the canvas. They could really tell people how I felt! I-It was my secret for so long, but I was so happy . . . but now it's a curse."
"What happened?" Yazmin says softly.
"Ms. Fitzpatrick . . . she said my department was 'r-redundant'. A-asked why I thought I should keep my job. I tried to tell her . . . but I couldn't explain it right. So she fired me. Then I thought, m-maybe if I can't say it with words, I can show her? I-I brought the paint to work and made the colors, but then she just started screaming. S-she called security and they started h-hiting me. So I p-panicked."
"And then this happened," Yazmin finishes, "The colors reflect your feelings. All of them."
"I-I hurt people!" he wails, "I'm so sorry! I . . . I'm a bad guy. P–please, get everyone out of here."
"Okay," Yazmin agrees, "But what about you?"
"I can't go to Wonderland. I can't. J-just get everyone out of here and . . . I'll take care of myself."
"I see," Yazmin says, "No."
"N-no?!"
"No," she repeats," I can't let you do that. And I won't let you go to Wonderland either."
She looks around, at the colors around her.
"You have a gift. I can see how you feel right now, how much pain you're in. I'm so sorry no one came to help you sooner."
She looks at him.
"And, it's going to be hard—so hard—but you can come back from this. You have to pay your dues for what you did, but a person isn't defined by who they are at rock bottom so long as they are willing to climb back up."
"I-I . . ."
"Hey, can I ask a favor?"
"Y-yeah?"
"Can I give you a hug?"
It would be an hour later, once the colors had all faded away and the terrified workers excavated, that you would find the man sobbing into the wounded Yazmin's costume.
She was as good as her word too. He did five years in an Ọsanyin detention facility, but he did eventually get out. Whatever became of him, you wonder—?
The scene shifts again. It's a week later.
You had never seen Yazmin so seriously injured before. Of all your teammates, only Adamant with his metal form and Rosemary with her multiple bodies were more resistant to harm. Punching Yazmin was like punching an old tire—you might be doing something, but it was imperceptible to your senses.
Yet, there she lay in the infirmary, body swaddled in bandages. She and Nora made up in record time; a fact you all learned when you all walked in on Nora on top of Yazmin in her sick bed, both half-naked.
The woman who was Valiant Silver fussed like a mother hen until Yazmin scolded her for neglecting her duties, and then life at the Bastion largely returned to normal. For everyone, that is, except The Red Huntress.
Harper has always struck you as an airhead. A bubbly, sheltered child with fluff between her ears. With her vapid disposition and lackluster power, you assumed she was only allowed to join NuGen because of her connection to Yazmin. But, as they say, still waters ran deep.
With Yazmin injured, Harper's sunny smile disappeared. She slowly started to grow irritable and defensive over any perceived slight. She wouldn't leave her room for days at a time, and she would demand you answer a series of increasingly complicated and invasive personal questions before she would even so much as have a conversation with you.
It was, as Nora sp eloquently put it after an incident where the feline heroine blew up at Eve, fucking daffy. So much so, that you decided to start digging into Harper's past. Clearly, there was something you had missed.
Now, it's the very night after you started asking around about one Harper English. You awake in your bed to a sharp stinging sensation on your chest. You fumble for the light, and, once it clicks on, you see a symbol made of three claw marks tattooed on your breast.
Harper stands above you in the room.
"Zixuan, s-stop asking questions, okay? Okay?" she says, her eyes panicked. She looks terrible. Her hair is lank and unwashed, her face is devoid of any of her usual cosmetics, there are deep bags under her eyes, "Stop it! You don't understand what you're doing. Y-you're going to ruin everything!"
"What is this?!" you demand, swiping at the mark on your chest, "What are you doing in here?"
How had she even gotten in? You lock your door at night, unless . . . was she waiting here, invisible, for you this whole time?!
"It's just until I'm sure you're not looking anymore, okay? Okay?!" she shouts, eyes wild, "Please. I-I'm finally happy. I'm finally safe. Don't keep looking!"
"Or what?" you say, unable to resist the implied challenge in her voice.
". . . that's what the mark is for."
And with that, she disappears from sight. You don't sleep the rest of the night, carefully inspecting every inch of your room for Harper's presence. Even when you find nothing over and over again, you remain on guard.
You consider going to Nora with your issue—surely, if she would threaten you with expulsion over your indiscretion, this would be enough to remove that lunatic—before discarding the idea. You are no child, hiding behind your mother's skirts. However, there is one person who might be able to give you insight to your new foe.
Which is why you find yourself outside Yazmin's room in the infirmary. You knock on it and let yourself in.
"Oh . . . Zixuan" she says, admirably hiding her confusion. You hadn't been to see her since she initially woke up, after all.
"Explain why your mad best friend stuck this on my chest," you say, exposing the mark, "And why I shouldn't just erase her."
Yazmin tries to sit up before wincing in pain and falling back. "She put that on you? Why?"
"Because I asked some questions about her childhood," you shout, "Now, what is it?!"
Yazmin lets out a shaky breath. "Her power. You know she's normally super agile, can turn invisible, has better senses than normal people, right? Well, that mark is her main power. She can put it on a target and then she'll always know where they are. And . . . she gets more powerful based on how strong the person she's tagged is."
". . . excuse me?!"
"It's fine, it's fine!" Yazmin tries to reassure you, "I'll talk to her. She'll take it off."
"I'm more concerned about why she put it on me in the first place," you spit. Then, as an afterthought, "And why was I not made aware of the true nature of her powers?"
". . . because no one except me knows," Uiara says, putting her head in her hands, "Including Nora. Shit."
You can see how your younger self is mollified at the idea of having been given secret information. Leviathan's Blood, were you truly that simple to win over?
Yazmin gestures to a chair next to the bed. You graciously sit.
"What I'm about to tell you can't leave this room, okay? Promise me, Zixuan."
"I promise."
"Promise me and mean it," she growls, "I'm betraying a friend's trust. The least you could do is take this seriously."
You frown and look at her, consideringly.
"Very well," you say, mostly meaning it, "I will keep it confidential for now."
Yazmin sits back and blows air out of her nose. "Fine, I guess that's the best I'm going to get. Okay, I've known Harper since we were . . . nine? Ten? We met at one of the million little social galas our parents expected us to attend."
"Ah, so 'Harper English' is one of those Englishs then?"
"English-McLeod, yeah," Yazmin confirms, "I think . . . her great-uncle owns half the company? Her parents are small-time players in the family, but they still go with the rest of the clan to charity balls and the like. Anyway, that's where I met Harper."
Yazmin looks up, lost in memory. "She was the only kid who wasn't trying to cosy up to me because of my last name. So, naturally, we became best friends. She taught me how to put on make-up, we started eating lunch together at school, having sleepovers, everything kids do. I was shocked at how much she ate for lunch, and she practically lived at my house with how often she spent the night. Then . . . I went over to dinner at her place."
Yazmin's brow furrows. "She never had me over before. There was always some kind of excuse. But one day her driver was sick and so her mother had to pick her up from school herself . . . so I invited myself over."
She shrugs. "I was curious."
You hate that you can relate to that feeling.
"So, I get over there and, immediately, something is off. Her parents are normal for all of five minutes before going blank and hardly acknowledging us. They went back to normal when it was time for dinner . . . but that was odd too. Harper spent the whole day saying she wasn't hungry and begging not to eat, but her mom grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the table."
You get a sinking feeling in your stomach.
"Then, the food came out. It was rotten. All of it. The smell was unbearable."
Yazmin scrunches her face at the memory.
"But her parents didn't even react to it. They gave the plates of the disgusting food to Harper and told her to 'eat every bite'. I was a little freaked out and tried to tell them that it had gone bad. But they didn't get it . . . it was like the concept wasn't registering with them."
Yazmin's expression turns stormy. "Harper started crying and begging to skip dinner 'just for tonight'. So, her dad walked over and slapped her so hard she fell out of her chair."
Your breath hitches. This is hitting too close to home for you.
"I went ballistic. I . . . kind of had a temper. Have a temper. Whatever. I tackled her dad, punched him in the face, and grabbed Harper and we ran as fast as we could outside. Eventually, I called my avó to come get us. I didn't let Harper go home that night, or for the next month."
Yazmin looks at her hand, clenching and unclenching it.
"That was apparently normal for her. It's why she always gorged herself during the day; because she wasn't being fed edible food at home. It's also why she knew about make-up. She had to hide the bruises. She told me not to ask any questions and let it go, but . . . I couldn't. I went to Avó, told her what was happening, and begged if we could get someone to investigate Harper's parents. But, as soon as we did, their behavior changed."
She looks up at you.
"They came and apologized. Said things would be different. They were still stiff and creepy and weird, but things did get better for Harper. She started to gain weight at least. And she kept pleading with me to let it go. She wouldn't say why except, 'Mom and Dad weren't always like this'. She was so, so terrified I gave her my word. And I'd promised I'd be there for her."
You don't say anything. You feel sick in your stomach.
"It was a relief when she turned out to be a metahuman too. She could always be by my side and I could keep my promise. But, now that we're in NuGen she's . . . she's getting better. She doesn't freak out if I'm not around, she's making friends, she's happy. I think she finally feels safe."
Yazmin turns to you with burning eyes, and you know you'll agree to whatever she asks next of you.
"So, please. I'll take care of it. Just let it go, and don't make Harper leave. I'll bear the responsibility. Please?"
You consider her words for a long movement and then let out a long breath.
". . . so you've just let this dark secret in her past go unexamined then? And you want me to do the same."
"Yes," she says, guilelessly, "She'll come to us when she's ready. Have faith. So . . .?"
You close your eyes. You can't believe you're going to say this, but, ". . . very well. But this mark comes off, now."
"Of course. And, um, please let me tell Nora what I told you? She's going to be pissed I kept this from her, but it will be better coming from me."
"Just get the mark off, Uiara!"
"Yes, yes, of course!"
The mark did come off. And Yazmin did talk with Harper who, though never exactly apologized, was careful to not offend you. Her behavior did get better, less erratic, and you honestly . . . felt bad for her.
You understood the pain one's parent's could cause.
But now, you know that it wasn't really her parents at all, was it? They were likely clones, made by her sister. Had Socialite Butterfly created them and ordered them to treat Harper that way? Why? If so, it was easy to understand why Harper acted the way she did—how could she be certain the person she was talking to wouldn't be replaced by a copy who hated her?
You try to tell your younger self this—you try to take control of the dream—but there is a burning light behind your eyes growing brighter. You feel like your vision is simultaneously blurring and growing sharper. You squeeze your eyes shut, open them—
—and wake up.
Mentions of suicidal ideations, descriptions of child abuse
Horizon, City of Leviathan's Rest–The Apiary– January 26, 2068
You don't often remember your dreams, but, tonight, the visions in your sleep are especially vivid.
Your body is weightless as you float in the past, a passenger to events as they play out before you. You see yourself back at the Bastion, all those years ago. It was a tiny base, barely large enough for the original seven of you. And that was including Eve, who had no physical presence.
Your "conference room" back then was a circular table Rakeem and Nora had crammed into the basement. It didn't quite fit, so Nora had sawed off the lower third of it so you could position it such that you could all comfortably sit around it.
You see a much younger version of yourself, lounging and laughing while everyone else looks uncomfortable. You remember this day—it was the day after Ronin had destroyed the last stronghold of the Ghost Dragon Triad and killed your father. You had breezily announced his passing earlier that morning, and that afternoon Nora had called a mandatory meeting.
You see your best friend sitting at the head of the table, opposite the flat end. She looks unusually grave. Rosemary looks nervous, while Rakeem is unreadable as always. Harper gossips with Eve, while Yazmin doesn't take her eyes off you, her gaze firm.
You see the younger-you roll your eyes at Yazmin. You hadn't cared for her at first. Her idealism grated on you; her instance of what a "hero" was felt insincere and naive. She not only grew up with money, but was the heiress to the largest megacorportaion in the world. Her life was an endless series of her own preferences. How could she possibly understand how the world worked?
How little you knew.
"Alright," Nora says, rubbing her face, "You're probably wondering why I called this meeting. Well, Ronin finally fucking did it—the Ghost Dragon Triad is dead. And their leader with it."
". . . yay?" Eve offers, bored.
"Their leader was Zixuan's dad."
"Oh fuck."
"Zixuan," Rosemary says, turning to you. Her compound eyes are filled with sympathy. "I'm so sorry."
"Oh, don't be," you laugh, unable to contain your mirth, "I've had the celebratory party planned for a week now. Naturally, you're all invited"
She tilts her head in confusion. "You . . . what?"
"She knew he was going to die," Yazmin says, still looking at you, "Because she's the one who hired Ronin to kill him."
"As if, darling," you scoff, "Dear Akane was more than happy to do it pro bono. I merely facilitated the interaction."
"You . . . got your dad killed?" Rosemary says, hesitantly, "That's . . ."
"A problem," Uiara finishes, "That's not how we do things here. We don't kill people. We're not assassins."
She scowls and shakes her head at you.
"I'm disappointed, Zixuan. I thought you left this sort of thing behind you. I thought you were really a hero. Now . . . I'm not so sure."
Your younger self flinches. You would have rather died than admit it, but Yazmin's words cut deep that day.
"My word, the theatrics!" you shout, "Does the great Uiara disapprove of eliminating an entire organized criminal enterprise in one fell swoop? I'll inform the masses freed from menace of the Triad that they should be upset about their change in circumstances. The poor dears must mistakenly believe this to be a good thing!"
You let out a mocking laugh and look around the table for support. Rakeem's gaze is hard and he shakes his head. Rosemary is clasping her four hands together. Harper is watching the disapproving Uiara, while Eve seems uninterested.
You turn to Nora, who you know must understand. But your leader just runs her hand through her hair before addressing you.
"This is your one, Zi. This is it."
"I haven't the faintest what you mean—"
"Don't fuck around," Nora says, cutting you off, "Your dad was a shitbag? You knew for certain he needed to go? Fine. You've known him your whole life. I'll trust your judgement on that. But this is it."
She leans forward. Now, you can see how much saying these words hurt her. How much she hated talking to you like this. But, back then, it felt like a betrayal of the highest order.
"But you will never be able to be that certain that someone needs to die again. No more killing. Whether you hold the knife or not. If you do, you're off NuGen. Am I clear?"
Your cheeks flush. Your jaw drops in shock. She . . . she's threatening to make you leave? Now? Over this?
"You can't—"
"Am I clear or not, Lady Leizi?"
You feel moisture bead in the corners of your eyes and then feel a true, deep sense of humiliation as you realize how much Nora's ultimatum scares you. You stand up quickly.
"As a bell," and you stiffly turn to leave.
"Zixuan," Yazmin calls after you.
"Oh, I believe I've heard quite enough from you," you snarl.
Back then, it felt like everyone was against you. Just as you were beginning to belong, just as you were starting to feel safe, just as you started to feel something inside your chest but fear and pain, they threatened to take it away from you.
"Curious. I saw Nora's mouth moving, but I heard Uiara's words," you continue, "My, did you crawl into her bed just to put her up to this? Seems like you've gotten over your most recent spat rather quickly. Why, I wonder?"
Uiara's jaw tightens, but her gaze doesn't waiver.
"Why so concerned, anyway? Are you afraid I'll get caught? Afraid I'll tarnish Uiara's sterling reputation by association, hmmm? Afraid—"
"I'm afraid it's too easy," Yazmin says, "I'm afraid it's a simple, quick way to make problems go away."
There's a loud silence in the room.
You clear your throat to hide your unease at her words. "Sounds all like positives to me! Easy, quick, efficient—"
"And permanent, Zixuan," Yazmin says levelly, "You kill somebody, and that's the end of it. Their past, their mistakes, their future? The book's closed. And there's no taking it back."
"Again, a virtue!" you protest, "It sounds like a roadmap for all of NuGen's future operations!"
"Then you would be dead!"
Yazmin is on her feet now, her words vibrating through the room.
"None of us knew who you were when we first met. You were a crime lord involved in the drug trade, for crying out loud! You looked like a monster! If that's how we operated, we would have just killed you."
She shakes her head, very slowly, eyes still boring holes in you. Her voice is tight.
"We never would have known who you are. That you could be more," She swallows, hard. "We wouldn't even have now how much to regret it."
She breaks eye contact and swallows again. Now, as the woman you are, it's so obvious how badly she wants to reach you. How much the thought of never having met you tears her up inside. How were you ever so blind that you couldn't see it?
"Heroes don't do the easy thing. We do the right thing. Because, no matter how hard it is, the right thing is always the best thing in the long run."
You didn't understand those words that day. You . . . you're still not sure you fully do. But you can see the wisdom in them now, born of one woman's innate goodness. You want to tell Yazmin she's right and that you understand why this happened. That you're upset now, but you can see how she's upset too. That she's only doing this because she loves you.
But you can't say anything, because, even as you try to form the words to speak in your dream, the scene dissolves before your eyes.
Suddenly, it's months later. There's an emergency call in the Uni District, and you and Yazmin are the only two available to respond.
The scene is tense when you arrive. An office building downtown has been turned into a whirling kaleidoscope of painted color. Attempts to enter are met with daggers of red and orange, as the dozens of injured individuals can attest. Yet, apparently, there are even more trapped inside.
Man o' War is already there, four extra arms sprouting out of his body. He sports a bloodthirsty grin.
"Oh, good. The children are here," he scoffs, "Leave. I'm about to have some fun, and I don't need Arc in my ear if you get in the way and get hurt."
"What's the sitrep?" Yazmin askes, unphased.
"Tch," he scoffs again, rolling his eyes, "Some loon got fired and went postal. Apparently, he was a metahuman. He's got hostages in there, and no one can get close. But, don't worry. I'm just ramping up. Once I'm ready, I'll be more than happy to solve the problem."
"Ah, well have at it then," you say with a dismissive wave of your hands. This situation was not well-suited to your talents. But, as you turn to go, you see Uiara staring at the building.
"He was fired . . ." she murmurs under her breath, "This is an English-McLeod office, isn't it?"
"I believe it is. So?" you ask, impatiently.
She gives you a small smile, "The great Lady Leizi doesn't already something? Today is a special day then."
You fume, but she goes back to building.
"English-McLeod is mostly construction and real estate. A lot of their jobs include housing, complete with furnishing, as part of the compensation. But it's contingent on staying employed with them . . ."
". . . so if this man was fired, then he's likely lost everything," you finish.
". . . yeah," she says with her eyes closed, "Probably thinks the world is ending."
"Well, if our multi-armed friend has anything to say about it, he'll only need to feel that way for a few minutes longer."
Yazmin wets her lips. "Lady Leizi . . . can you go on overwatch for me?"
"Darling, what exactly are you planning?" you say, incredulous, "No one can even approach that building."
She walks forward with her hand raised. A strand of red shots out and pierces her palm, but fails to break her super-durable skin.
"I think . . . I think the colors react to emotion. His emotions. I just need to convince him I'm not a threat, and I can get through."
"Or he could just kill you faster," you say, "Please do not make me explain to Valiant Silver later why her lover is now a pincushion!"
Yazmin looks back at you and smiles again. "Oh, you didn't hear? We broke up."
Then she walks into the building.
"Again?!" you shout after her, but she's already gone. All you can do is watch her through her camera.
The colors are even more vibrant in the building, a swirling mass of constantly shifting light and pigment. A spike of red, larger than you are, falls from the ceiling and bites deep into Yazmin's collarbone, drawing blood.
"I'm . . . not going to hurt you," she says out loud, "I promise. No matter what you do to me, I won't hurt you."
She grabs the red, pulls it out of her, and marches forward.
More colors strike her, jagged reds, swirling blues, spiraling greens, each digging deeper wounds and drawing more blood. But Yazmin is undeterred, her face calm. She never raises a hand in protest, never calls a flood to strike her foe.
She will not hurt him.
The colors frenzy, hitting Yazmin over and over again, until she resembles little more than hamburger meat. But still, she does not fight back.
And then . . . they slow down. The attacks become less frequent, and then stop. Yazmin marches up several flights of stairs, and finds herself in a sea of cubicles.
There, in the middle, sits a crying man covered in paint. He's cowering under his desk. Yazmin limps over and crouches down.
"Hello," she says gently, "I'm Uiara."
". . . I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry—"
"Shh. Shhhh. It's okay. It's all going to be okay."
"It's not!" he shrieks and the colors go wild, "I didn't mean it! I l-liked my job! I came to work, everyone l-left me alone, and t-then I could go home to p-paint!"
"I see," Yazmin says looking around at the furious colors, "You're very good. You must practice a lot."
"E-everyday . . ." he stutters, "I . . . I can't talk to people. They d-don't understand me. They don't hear me. But when I paint . . . it's like I can let everyone know how I feel."
He looks around at the melting world around him.
"Then one day, I realized I could make the colors leave the canvas. They could really tell people how I felt! I-It was my secret for so long, but I was so happy . . . but now it's a curse."
"What happened?" Yazmin says softly.
"Ms. Fitzpatrick . . . she said my department was 'r-redundant'. A-asked why I thought I should keep my job. I tried to tell her . . . but I couldn't explain it right. So she fired me. Then I thought, m-maybe if I can't say it with words, I can show her? I-I brought the paint to work and made the colors, but then she just started screaming. S-she called security and they started h-hiting me. So I p-panicked."
"And then this happened," Yazmin finishes, "The colors reflect your feelings. All of them."
"I-I hurt people!" he wails, "I'm so sorry! I . . . I'm a bad guy. P–please, get everyone out of here."
"Okay," Yazmin agrees, "But what about you?"
"I can't go to Wonderland. I can't. J-just get everyone out of here and . . . I'll take care of myself."
"I see," Yazmin says, "No."
"N-no?!"
"No," she repeats," I can't let you do that. And I won't let you go to Wonderland either."
She looks around, at the colors around her.
"You have a gift. I can see how you feel right now, how much pain you're in. I'm so sorry no one came to help you sooner."
She looks at him.
"And, it's going to be hard—so hard—but you can come back from this. You have to pay your dues for what you did, but a person isn't defined by who they are at rock bottom so long as they are willing to climb back up."
"I-I . . ."
"Hey, can I ask a favor?"
"Y-yeah?"
"Can I give you a hug?"
It would be an hour later, once the colors had all faded away and the terrified workers excavated, that you would find the man sobbing into the wounded Yazmin's costume.
She was as good as her word too. He did five years in an Ọsanyin detention facility, but he did eventually get out. Whatever became of him, you wonder—?
The scene shifts again. It's a week later.
You had never seen Yazmin so seriously injured before. Of all your teammates, only Adamant with his metal form and Rosemary with her multiple bodies were more resistant to harm. Punching Yazmin was like punching an old tire—you might be doing something, but it was imperceptible to your senses.
Yet, there she lay in the infirmary, body swaddled in bandages. She and Nora made up in record time; a fact you all learned when you all walked in on Nora on top of Yazmin in her sick bed, both half-naked.
The woman who was Valiant Silver fussed like a mother hen until Yazmin scolded her for neglecting her duties, and then life at the Bastion largely returned to normal. For everyone, that is, except The Red Huntress.
Harper has always struck you as an airhead. A bubbly, sheltered child with fluff between her ears. With her vapid disposition and lackluster power, you assumed she was only allowed to join NuGen because of her connection to Yazmin. But, as they say, still waters ran deep.
With Yazmin injured, Harper's sunny smile disappeared. She slowly started to grow irritable and defensive over any perceived slight. She wouldn't leave her room for days at a time, and she would demand you answer a series of increasingly complicated and invasive personal questions before she would even so much as have a conversation with you.
It was, as Nora sp eloquently put it after an incident where the feline heroine blew up at Eve, fucking daffy. So much so, that you decided to start digging into Harper's past. Clearly, there was something you had missed.
Now, it's the very night after you started asking around about one Harper English. You awake in your bed to a sharp stinging sensation on your chest. You fumble for the light, and, once it clicks on, you see a symbol made of three claw marks tattooed on your breast.
Harper stands above you in the room.
"Zixuan, s-stop asking questions, okay? Okay?" she says, her eyes panicked. She looks terrible. Her hair is lank and unwashed, her face is devoid of any of her usual cosmetics, there are deep bags under her eyes, "Stop it! You don't understand what you're doing. Y-you're going to ruin everything!"
"What is this?!" you demand, swiping at the mark on your chest, "What are you doing in here?"
How had she even gotten in? You lock your door at night, unless . . . was she waiting here, invisible, for you this whole time?!
"It's just until I'm sure you're not looking anymore, okay? Okay?!" she shouts, eyes wild, "Please. I-I'm finally happy. I'm finally safe. Don't keep looking!"
"Or what?" you say, unable to resist the implied challenge in her voice.
". . . that's what the mark is for."
And with that, she disappears from sight. You don't sleep the rest of the night, carefully inspecting every inch of your room for Harper's presence. Even when you find nothing over and over again, you remain on guard.
You consider going to Nora with your issue—surely, if she would threaten you with expulsion over your indiscretion, this would be enough to remove that lunatic—before discarding the idea. You are no child, hiding behind your mother's skirts. However, there is one person who might be able to give you insight to your new foe.
Which is why you find yourself outside Yazmin's room in the infirmary. You knock on it and let yourself in.
"Oh . . . Zixuan" she says, admirably hiding her confusion. You hadn't been to see her since she initially woke up, after all.
"Explain why your mad best friend stuck this on my chest," you say, exposing the mark, "And why I shouldn't just erase her."
Yazmin tries to sit up before wincing in pain and falling back. "She put that on you? Why?"
"Because I asked some questions about her childhood," you shout, "Now, what is it?!"
Yazmin lets out a shaky breath. "Her power. You know she's normally super agile, can turn invisible, has better senses than normal people, right? Well, that mark is her main power. She can put it on a target and then she'll always know where they are. And . . . she gets more powerful based on how strong the person she's tagged is."
". . . excuse me?!"
"It's fine, it's fine!" Yazmin tries to reassure you, "I'll talk to her. She'll take it off."
"I'm more concerned about why she put it on me in the first place," you spit. Then, as an afterthought, "And why was I not made aware of the true nature of her powers?"
". . . because no one except me knows," Uiara says, putting her head in her hands, "Including Nora. Shit."
You can see how your younger self is mollified at the idea of having been given secret information. Leviathan's Blood, were you truly that simple to win over?
Yazmin gestures to a chair next to the bed. You graciously sit.
"What I'm about to tell you can't leave this room, okay? Promise me, Zixuan."
"I promise."
"Promise me and mean it," she growls, "I'm betraying a friend's trust. The least you could do is take this seriously."
You frown and look at her, consideringly.
"Very well," you say, mostly meaning it, "I will keep it confidential for now."
Yazmin sits back and blows air out of her nose. "Fine, I guess that's the best I'm going to get. Okay, I've known Harper since we were . . . nine? Ten? We met at one of the million little social galas our parents expected us to attend."
"Ah, so 'Harper English' is one of those Englishs then?"
"English-McLeod, yeah," Yazmin confirms, "I think . . . her great-uncle owns half the company? Her parents are small-time players in the family, but they still go with the rest of the clan to charity balls and the like. Anyway, that's where I met Harper."
Yazmin looks up, lost in memory. "She was the only kid who wasn't trying to cosy up to me because of my last name. So, naturally, we became best friends. She taught me how to put on make-up, we started eating lunch together at school, having sleepovers, everything kids do. I was shocked at how much she ate for lunch, and she practically lived at my house with how often she spent the night. Then . . . I went over to dinner at her place."
Yazmin's brow furrows. "She never had me over before. There was always some kind of excuse. But one day her driver was sick and so her mother had to pick her up from school herself . . . so I invited myself over."
She shrugs. "I was curious."
You hate that you can relate to that feeling.
"So, I get over there and, immediately, something is off. Her parents are normal for all of five minutes before going blank and hardly acknowledging us. They went back to normal when it was time for dinner . . . but that was odd too. Harper spent the whole day saying she wasn't hungry and begging not to eat, but her mom grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the table."
You get a sinking feeling in your stomach.
"Then, the food came out. It was rotten. All of it. The smell was unbearable."
Yazmin scrunches her face at the memory.
"But her parents didn't even react to it. They gave the plates of the disgusting food to Harper and told her to 'eat every bite'. I was a little freaked out and tried to tell them that it had gone bad. But they didn't get it . . . it was like the concept wasn't registering with them."
Yazmin's expression turns stormy. "Harper started crying and begging to skip dinner 'just for tonight'. So, her dad walked over and slapped her so hard she fell out of her chair."
Your breath hitches. This is hitting too close to home for you.
"I went ballistic. I . . . kind of had a temper. Have a temper. Whatever. I tackled her dad, punched him in the face, and grabbed Harper and we ran as fast as we could outside. Eventually, I called my avó to come get us. I didn't let Harper go home that night, or for the next month."
Yazmin looks at her hand, clenching and unclenching it.
"That was apparently normal for her. It's why she always gorged herself during the day; because she wasn't being fed edible food at home. It's also why she knew about make-up. She had to hide the bruises. She told me not to ask any questions and let it go, but . . . I couldn't. I went to Avó, told her what was happening, and begged if we could get someone to investigate Harper's parents. But, as soon as we did, their behavior changed."
She looks up at you.
"They came and apologized. Said things would be different. They were still stiff and creepy and weird, but things did get better for Harper. She started to gain weight at least. And she kept pleading with me to let it go. She wouldn't say why except, 'Mom and Dad weren't always like this'. She was so, so terrified I gave her my word. And I'd promised I'd be there for her."
You don't say anything. You feel sick in your stomach.
"It was a relief when she turned out to be a metahuman too. She could always be by my side and I could keep my promise. But, now that we're in NuGen she's . . . she's getting better. She doesn't freak out if I'm not around, she's making friends, she's happy. I think she finally feels safe."
Yazmin turns to you with burning eyes, and you know you'll agree to whatever she asks next of you.
"So, please. I'll take care of it. Just let it go, and don't make Harper leave. I'll bear the responsibility. Please?"
You consider her words for a long movement and then let out a long breath.
". . . so you've just let this dark secret in her past go unexamined then? And you want me to do the same."
"Yes," she says, guilelessly, "She'll come to us when she's ready. Have faith. So . . .?"
You close your eyes. You can't believe you're going to say this, but, ". . . very well. But this mark comes off, now."
"Of course. And, um, please let me tell Nora what I told you? She's going to be pissed I kept this from her, but it will be better coming from me."
"Just get the mark off, Uiara!"
"Yes, yes, of course!"
The mark did come off. And Yazmin did talk with Harper who, though never exactly apologized, was careful to not offend you. Her behavior did get better, less erratic, and you honestly . . . felt bad for her.
You understood the pain one's parent's could cause.
But now, you know that it wasn't really her parents at all, was it? They were likely clones, made by her sister. Had Socialite Butterfly created them and ordered them to treat Harper that way? Why? If so, it was easy to understand why Harper acted the way she did—how could she be certain the person she was talking to wouldn't be replaced by a copy who hated her?
You try to tell your younger self this—you try to take control of the dream—but there is a burning light behind your eyes growing brighter. You feel like your vision is simultaneously blurring and growing sharper. You squeeze your eyes shut, open them—
—and wake up.
