[Worm] Pride

[Babblefish]

"What's up Princess God Complex? You calling to hire me for another fucking stupid plan?"
"I-"
"Lemme guess- you want to fight the Endbringers, but know that you don't have the brain power, so you're calling in outside help."
"Yeah." God Tattletale is a pain.
"Funny. Pretty sure like a thousand people way smarter than you have already tried that"
"Sure. Fine. We'll try again."
"Uh huh. Sounds like a recipe for failure."
"That's okay." Failure is fine. If its just a conversation we can fail ten thousand times and it doesn't really cost anything. Why not keep rolling the dice?
"Hmmm... lemme check my magic eight ball, see if its worth my while."
There's the sound of movement. Shouting in the background, and a distorted connection.


Toybox is shielded from direct telephone communications.
It'll be passing through a bunch of Tinkertech in order to reach me.
I kick at the black iron railing, pace as I wait for Tattletale to return.
Verity is on her own phone, pulling in favours of her own.
The city towers over and around and above us, but it doesn't feel imposing, instead... it feels like being held.

There's rustle down the end of the line, the sound of Tattletale getting herself seated again.

"Hey Bonebabby- magic eight ball says `signs point to yes', so guess you're not completely useless. get back to me once you've figured out the dates."
"Cool, th-"
Tattletale hangs up before I can reply

---

Hey Disco, Nice munted plane pics. Tell Brandish I'll send along info if we find it.

Hey Disco, Nice munted plane pics. Tell Brandish I'll send along info if we find it.

BTW, would you be interested in another S-class afternoon like we did over in Pittsburgh.

BTW, would you be interested in another S-class afternoon like we did over in Pittsburgh.

Bigger this time.

BTW, would you be interested in another S-class afternoon like we did over in Pittsburgh.

Bigger this time.
More people. Four or five days of sitting down, figuring shit out.

Figure we'll line it up for after Dad's court case.

Figure we'll line it up for after Dad's court case.

...​

After your Dad goes to jail?​

Figure we'll line it up for after Dad's court case.

....
After your Dad goes to jail?
And you'll still be talking to me then, huh?​

Dad ain't going to jail.

... ....​

Dad ain't going to jail.

Well then Mum and Brandish are going to show up at your gig to fight him.​

Maybe.​

Maybe.
Lemme Think about it.​

Maybe.
Lemme Think about it.
See what happens.​

---

Chene gets back to me with five possible venues, links to the discussion videos and conference papers coming out of the last thirty attempts at something like this, and a list of recommended invites.

Verity has a list of her own. Older people. Ex PRT directors. Bureaucrats formerly in charge of the recovery effort. University professors. People who might sponsor us.
"Old Jan Graham," she taps at the list "She should be the first one you call. She'll have a few other names."

I'll need an event organizer. Break things up into pieces.
Different questions in different rooms.

I find contact details for local teams from Buenos Aires, Suez and Odesa, other cities hit by leviathan over the past few years. Contact details for the Suits, the Guild. Add three or four of the young tinkers to the list, kids who reached out after my Brockton Bay speech. Most of them don't even have cape names, or Villain/hero designation yet. There's a young thinker who can touch dead bodies, see the world precisely as it was at the moment of a persons death.

I draft an email to the Candlelight general mailing list.
Try to think about questions, try to think about how we're dividing things up.

It's not enough to approach this as a military matter.
There has to be a reason.
There has to be a cause.
How do we access that?


​

---

​

Ihina.
I don't know where you are, or if you're alive any more, but I'm organizing a big scientific conference thing.
Trying to figure out he Endbringers. Trying to figure out all of everything. Figured you might be interested.

I'd really like to see you there.
I really hope you're okay.

Amy.

I stare at the message for a bit. Try to figure out what to say, how to say it.
Try to figure out all the weight of the words that I'm not saying, and just how fucked up it is that Ihina is just.... just gone.

I hit send.

My message disappears into the void.
Into the darkness of the internet, with no confirmation of reciept, with no evidence whatsoever of its fate.

Ah well.
​

---

​

There's a list of maybe one hundred people in front of me.
There's another list of a dozen or so tiny jobs and admin tasks that I'll need to think of, figure out, aminister so as to get everyone on board and capable and working together.

We'll need special sessions.
Sessions figuring out what the Endbringers

"We'll have a sessions on Coming Up With Dumb Ideas So Veterans Can Shoot It Down," I say, still staring at the list.

"Oh?"
Verity is sitting next to me. We're in a coffee shop now. Homunculi crawl around my ankles under the table.
"Its important for people to feel safe suggesting things, but we also don't want to waste time on strategies which have already been attempted."
"Mmmhmmm."

Except none of that really gets at this.

Why do the Endbringers only hit every three months. I write.
Could they hit harder? More frequently?
Are there more of them? Who controls them?


"They're toying with us, aren't they?"
"Who?"
"The Endbringers. Whoever controls them. They aren't going all out. They... they could hit us harder if they wanted to."

They're softballing.
Softballing softballing.
Playing.


What are possible reasons for the Endbringers to be softballing us?

I stare at the question written down. Try to make sense of it, try to wrap my head around what it means, what it implies.

Okay.
Sure.
Okay.
We'll make that one of the discussion topics.

I can work with this.​

 

[Tascion]

Ihina.
I don't know where you are, or if you're alive any more, but I'm organizing a big scientific conference thing.
Trying to figure out he Endbringers. Trying to figure out all of everything. Figured you might be interested.

I'd really like to see you there.
I really hope you're okay.

Amy.

Click to shrink...

While I liked the overall chapter, this stuck out to me. Is this the first time that Amy has tried to reach out to Ihina, since she vanished?

 

[Babblefish]

While I liked the overall chapter, this stuck out to me. Is this the first time that Amy has tried to reach out to Ihina, since she vanished?

Click to shrink...

Nope, not the first time.
The previous time was shortly after exiting Boston (See below)

Dear Ihina.
Professor Buttface
Hey. Dad says you and dad broke up, but also, that sounds like bullshit, and that you've got a husband who is skettchy or something, but dad is a lying liar who lies and I don't know where you are. Are you okay?
I hope you're safe, and I'm kind of freaked out, and also Blasto's homunculi did something really cool, and there are experiments and I think we need to talk and figure some stuff out, because like… some of this seems really importatnt and no one else seems to want to talk about it.

Also thanks for rescuing me for the space warp thing and helping me exceape the PRT and I hope they havent sent you to jail.
Oh shit- are you in jail? is that it? Is that why dad is being all weird about it.

hugs
bye.

Click to shrink...

It has been ... well a while however (to say the least)

 

[Tascion]

I accidentally skipped past the penultimate chapter. I found some errors when I got around to reading it.

Part of my worries that Messerene

Click to shrink...

Me, not my

go for a walk Love?"

Click to shrink...

Comma after walk.

 

[Babblefish]

The new safehouse is a semi-converted office building.
There's the plastic wheelie chairs, the kind of weird small kitchenette/sink combo you used for tea and biscuits (microwave, no oven), and some sort of reception desk still floating around. Male and female toilets, but no bath or shower.
I poke around in both genders of toilets because... uhh... no duh? No point being precious about shit after working at a hospital for three years, and no way in hell I'm leaving a portion of my own safehouse unexplored.

The Men's washroom has two urinals, a single proper real toilet (cubical door removed?!?), two sinks and an electric hand drier (currently off). There's the standard office roof tiling, and I climb up on the sink bench, slip it away, revealing pipes and telephone cables.
Hmmmm....
Should probably remove all this guff ASAP.
No point having roof crawlspace for enemies to hide in.
Not that it would hold their weight...
Or potentially I could use it for hiding?

Stealth and subterfuge are asymmetric, and I stare at the ceiling, the mirrors, and lino walls for a bit, trying to figure out which side of the asymmetry I am sitting on, and then climb back down to the floor.

---

The bedrooms are former office rooms. Bunk beds, mattresses on the floor. Very much a "camping in a weird office space" vibe. Each of the rooms has one or two peoples luggage pilled up in the corner, brought here by my hosts. Taurari and Absko are busy kicking their things into place, false faces lying peeled off on the floor. I've tweaked her body shape slightly before we headed in, in order to make her less recognizable. Took pictures first, should be able to set it all back after we are no longer in deep hiding, but useful for now.
Taur gives me a nod as I poke my head in, continues kicking at things, obviously displeased with the new lodgings, the lack of luxury furniture, lack of sniper proof walls.

The Kitchenette fridge has microwave pizza's in it. I grab one, heat it up, continue my exploration.
There's still desks in some rooms.
Abandoned computer screens.
A dehumidifier.
How hastily did Margret Holmes and her associates pull this place together?
How many corners did they cut in order to make it less obvious they were collecting things?

My room has Verity's hat, slung over the door handle. All my luggage pilled up just inside the door.

We've opted not to bring the remaining lawyers here. Only the people who are absolutely necessary.
Me, Absko, Taur.

Chene and Amber are elsewhere.

I grab the hat, peak it onto my head.
Lets do this.

---

I hop on the phone, use a couple redirects, order 60 kg of mushrooms for a particular hotel room in a part of the city I know Messerene has limited control over.
A section of the city where the Elites have enemies.

Maybe that will throw them off the track.

---

Me, Farah and Absko arrive at Thurgood Marshall Courthouse at three thirty six pm, for my meeting with Judge Brais.
Farah in her role as my lawyer, Absko in his role as bodyguard and hired muscle, all of us in disguise, all of us with slightly altered features. False faces, different clothes.

I leave Taurari in our safehouse to sleep off several long nights.
Presumably the courthouse is somewhere where I shouldn't have to watch my back quite so much.
At least... not in the physical sense.
Farah is my shield here.

The building has steps leading up between tall roman pillars, in the manner stereotypical for courthouses. There's a wide six story base, containing thirty five full court rooms in total, and a tall square tower in the middle, thirty one floors tall with a little narrow nub at the top. Used by bureaucrats, the judges, and their staff.

What am I here for?
Why have I been invited?
Is this my chance to negotiate, to make my demands, to buy them off?
Is this a trap?

It's not even four yet, but the sun is already strongly considering a dip below the horizon, and the eight thousand sky scrappers around us are already cutting off sunlight anyway.
I stare up at the court building, and rain falls down across my 'face'.

The building is imposing, but out of date. Bearded stone faces in side profile etched into the relief above us, a little iron plaque detailing the location of the wheelchair entrance.
Built before Scion, before Vikare, before trigger evens, Endbringers, Heroes, Villains, Capes, Me.
Before the world changed.

Verity remembers the world before. There'll be a Verity over on Earth Aleph, and she'll probably be mostly the same person. Still a journalist, still friends with Margret Holmes.
Kosuke remembers that world. Over on Earth Aleph there will be a Kosuke whose family wasn't killed by Leviathan.
It feels weird to think about that. Itchy.

Splitting date, February twelve, 1978.
A few years after Dad was born. There'll be a Dad over there too- but not the same. Very not the same.

He's what... late thirties now? Born... '75ish?
Gained his powers young, but how young though?
Oldest powers on record were '81, '82 ... so it won't have been before that... but it won't have been much after either....
Did he even know what was happening when it happened? There was no official acknowledgement of powers existing until Queen Armgard's royal speech, 1984, and then all the other official statements after in the hours and days after.
Had Scion arrived? Did Dad even know what was happening too him when it happened?

How long did he keep his power under wraps?
How long was he a street urchin, a nobody, before he decided to make a name for himself?
How was he able to build himself up with no knowledge? No friends? No allies?

Is that why he's the way he is?
One of the first, except instead of forming a team, claiming the spotlight, he just never ever told anyone for ten, twelve, fifteen years.

Absko nudges me, nods his head in the direction of the courthouse. Anxious families and uptight jurists hustle past. Police officers and PRT officers chat to one another on the steps.
I don't belong, don't belong, don't belong.
Cities are dangerous.
Better to be out in the country.

Right. No.
Focus Amy.
Time to go.
Move.

I shake myself. Farah smiles unhappily.
She thinks I'm going to let her die.
She thinks we're going to lose.

"Farah,"
She perks up. Pulls herself together. Does her best to be ready, professional, present.
It's the wrong play. I shouldn't tell her.
"You're going to live," I tell her "I already cured your cancer."
...fear of death is too much of a distraction.

I don't bother to watch her response, don't press on her with my eyes. Instead I stroll up the steps to the court house. , leave her behind.

I don't... don't like getting tangled up with other peoples big emotions, it turns out. Confusion. Gratitude.
And I don't like having leverage over people.
It's useful. Necessary, but I don't like it.

Me and Absko tromp up the steps, hit the courthouse doors, push on through, through the hustle and bustle of people into the cool echoing entrance hall.

Creamy marble walls, marble floor. Glass "fencing" and regularly spaced security guards. Farah scurries up behind, catches up with us, but doesn't say anything. There's journalists/reporter/paparazzi types around, apparently waiting for the outcome of some court case or another.
That'll be me soon.
Gotta answer to the press.
Put out my side of the story.


A figure approaches us, motion fluid, steps crisp and direct. Not quite security, not quite jurist, dressed in a green and dark grey almost-suit. Outfit recognizable, but not designed to stand out.
Absko steps between me and the figure casually, flickers eye contact, enough to bring the man to a halt, but not enough to get him to go away.
The man smiles.

Dark skin, gentle complexion.
The gaurds are watching him. Taking cues from him.
Local security cape.

"You appear... falsely,"
The words are honeyed. More invitation than accusation, and yet still with a hint of danger.

"We're expected," I reply.
"So you are, Miss Lavere. Welcome to Thurgood Marshall Courthouse."

Right.
Right. This is where it will happen, isn't it?
This is where I have to win my Dad back.
Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but here.
Okay.

 

[Aldorel]

All right, straightforward transition. I like how she told Farah.

Not quiet security, not quiet jurist. dressed in a green and dark grey almost-suit.

Click to shrink...

Not quite security, not quite jurist. Dressed in a green and dark grey almost-suit.

 

[Babblefish]

It takes us several minutes to verify Sia's identity and role.
The process involves a call to the office of Judge Brais, checking in with the courts security personal, outward calls to the PRT, and poking the man with a bundled up roll of paper. (He declines to let me use my power on him, but takes the stick poking in good humor.)

"So... I am not a hologram?"
I use the bundle of paper to prod and poke at him a few more times, before finally nodding.

He talks like Mirage.
He feels like Mirage in some way, and I don't like that.
Mirage, or one of Accord's capes.
Blehk.

He's also, apparently the local eye-cape for he courthouse, verified and on first name basis with most of the staff here, definitely not a hologram, and admittedly we have shown up in a law building heavily disguised.

But he feels like Mirage though.

I squirm. And keep my eyes peeled and feel stressed, and try to remind myself that Mirage is dead and I have allies.
Dead dead, superdead. Right?

Doesn't feel great though.

Sia leads us down corridors, through frosted glass doors off to a side room. The room is carpeted, roof mostly white marble, with a checkerboard of nine blue and red squares spaced in the middle, wooden flowers painted gold in the center of each square.

"You Protectorate?" I ask.
"Watchdog," he replies.
"Oh."
"Who watches the watchman?" Sai's voice is sing song, relaxed, even as he shuffles through our paperwork and IDs, gesturing for us to remove the mushroom masks covering our faces. "His dog, it turns out."
"Huh?"
"Its the watchman's dog who watches the watchman," he explains. I watch as he folds our documents away, back to Farah, movements natural, fluid.

"Are you a loyal hound?" I ask.
"We've been known to bite the hand that feeds us." He gives me a wink "When said hand needed biting."
I nod.

A reassurance, of sorts.
But are you more like Verity, or like the Los Vegas Protectorate scene?
What kind of observer are you? What kind of manipulator?

"You're more heavily disguised than you have been in past days Miss Lavere."
"You've been watching me?"
Sia shrugs. "My organization."

How?
Why?

"Not constant surveillance, only the occasional look in. We had one of ours on site during your visit to Legend and company, there to make sure nothing regrettable might occur."

Of course.
And you haven't commented on all the other times you might have been watching me.

"Nothing to worry about. You are not a suspect under investigation, just our little way of keeping on top a high profile upcoming court case. Such things can be... delicate."

You didn't have to tell me this. Why are you telling me this?

Sai smiles at me, and I can tell that he knows that I'm thinking.
"Sure," I reply.

---

Sai leads us up to the judges office.
Or rather, technically, Sai leads us to the elevators, and I insist on the stairs.

Watchdog is one of the factions I have to keep in mind.
I'd forgotten about them completely, this is their way of making contact.

We tromp up the stairs. Sai calls ahead to clear things up with opening the appropriate security doors.

The Protectorate. The PRT. The Justice Department. Watchdog.
None of them are perfectly aligned.

We pass other floors. The first few open to the public. Later ones locked tight.

Even the heads of individual PRT teams are only partially aligned.
It's all fragmented. Criss-crossing contradictory goals.


Sai is at the front during our climb. Then me, then Farah, Absko at the rear. Keeping an eye on thing. Me within grabbing distance our most immediate threat.
Close enough to kill him.
There's something in Farah's movements now. Not fear. Not dread. But determination.
Good.


Eventually we arrive. Three fifty four pm, and it is Judge Brais himself who opens the door from the floor to the stairwell for us, the man middle aged, dark haired, square shouldered, built like a wrestler or a football star. He wears a plain blue shirt. An incredibly high quality plain blue shirt.
Same for the shoes and pants.
There's a silver watch buckled around his left arm.

They picked the youngest healthiest judge they could find. A man with no health defects of his own. Not a single health defect in his entire extended family.
We investigated that. Or rather, me and Tom Starmers did. Not the sort of thing Chene or Justice Vance would be willing to be involved with.

"Miss Lavere," The man's eyes are cold, evaluating, grey, examining me for long seconds before he steps back from the doorway and indicates with a hand down the hall "Thank you for coming. Please step this way."

Sai smiles, allows me to file past.

The hall way is wide, lush. Thick carpets.
Sai moves like a dancer, Judge Brais like a rook.
We're enclosed on either side by cushioned walls, except its like that half centimeter thick fancy cushioning that is very expensive and does marvelous things for sound, and then perfect stained wood all around the edges.
There's fancy little brass light fittings, and doors with names on them, and Brais leads us to his office, which is in the corner, and has two square windows peering out across the city, bookshelves in between.

"Please, be seated." He indicates a chair.

There are two chairs. One for myself, one for Farah.
The desk is heavy, wooden, ancient. Wooden with a black leather inlay across the top, a glass of water, a stack of five or so manila folders. No computer. No computer anywhere in sight.
Behind the desk is a monstrous seat; somewhere between an office chair, a corduroy sofa, and a throne.
Judge Brais makes his way around the table and settles into it, hands balled up like fists, resting on the table.
Absko remains standing.
Sai remains standing.

Right. Okay.
This is the Arena.
I-
"Is he meant to be-?" I gesture towards Sai.
"I will remain present," the man says cheerfully "Make sure everything is above board."
Well Fuck. Not sure if that's better or worse than the alternative.
Sai gives me a wink.
He didn't even ask the judge. Just declared that things would be so.

"Thank you Sai." Judge Brais shuffles his hands around on the table. Like stacking or re-ordering rocks.

I watch the man's hands, and when I look up, catch him watching me.
Long seconds pass before the judge speaks.

"Miss Lavere... can you tell me why you are here?"
"Your office sent an email."
"And why was that email sent?"
"I... to talk about my Father's court case?"
"Hmmmmm..." Brais growls. "Miss Kazemi,"
Farah jumps.
"Do you know why your client is here?"
"I... I have some idea, your Honour."
"And you have not informed your client?"
"Not yet, your honour."

Sai rasises a hand. Judge Brais gestures annoyance.
"Watchdog can confirm that the last couple of days for Miss Lavere and her associates have been... hostile."

I watch as Judge Brais absorbs the idea, turns it over a couple times in his mind, and then returns his attention to Farah.
"Your client would be better served if you had briefed her on what to expect from this conversation."
"Yes, your honour. Noted, your honour."

The Judge nods, then returns his attention to me.

"Why do you think this conversation is happening?"

Why is he being Socratic? Rhetorical?
No, wait: Socratic questioning is a means of communication. It's a means of making sure he knows what I'm thinking, not just what he has told me.

Meetings like this are unusual.
Meetings like this are not part of the usual set up.

...

"I .... had kind of wondered if this was my opportunity to bribe you," I admit.
Your opportunity to blackmail me, use my father as a weapon.
Farah winces. Sai chuckles. Brais's face is like stone.
"But.... I'm pretty sure its not that... your honour."
"I am glad that misunderstanding has been clarified, Miss Lavere."

There's bookshelves around the room. The files upon the desk look somehow too small for Judge Brais's hands. People continue looking at me, and I am not prepared enough.

"It's because I'm an S-class threat isn't it?"
"The state has a certain interest in ensuring you remain stable."
I nod.
"And also," I guess "it's high profile, and there'll be lots of public pressure, and-"
"That also."
I fall silent.
None of these guesses are right are they?
"I don't know," I admit "It seems irregular, Your Honour."
"Yes."


I force myself to look at the man. His hard grey eyes.
"There is concern," he states "That you may attempt to tamper with the jury."
Ah.
"That you have both the means and motive to offer... certain enticements."
Right.
Yeah. Yeah, I could do that.
"Or that you might attempt to exert direct control."
Again, I blink. "The PRT assigned me a Master rating?"
"Yes."

I nod.

Right.
That's it.
Right.
No Masters in political positions. No political career for me.
They were paying attention.
Some stupid things I said or did, or Verity tipping them off.
I glance over at Sai. He smiles. Nods.
People like Sai. Thinkers. Watchers. Precogs.

Never really was on the cards, was it?
Always just... never going to happen.

There's a flicker of memory. Alcott snarling at me. Telling me that I'd make the selfish choice.
That I'd make the selfish choice every single time.

Oh well.
Oh well.
None of it matters anyway.

Behind Sai, Absko's face is carefully neutral. Calm.
But he's a spy too.
Trying to recruit me for some warlord in distant lands.
Everyone is just here to watch me.
And I'm a fish in the aquarium.
An octopus maybe. Some strange alien creature, with humans looking in,

I look back at Judge Brais. Look back and look him in the eye, and I feel... fine?
"I'm not going to tamper with the Jury," I tell him.
"Oh?"
This. This is why you brought me here, isn't it? So you could look me in the eye when I said it.
Fine.

"You? Sai? The rest of the PRT? The Protectorate? Yeah, I'd pressure you, extort you, bribe or threaten, or bargain or whatever else to get my dad back.... but ... I don't like tampering with civilians. They never asked to be part of this."
None of them asked to be in a world full of gods and monsters.
That's how people see me right?
Little Goddess.
Miracle girl.

"Hmpphh..." Judge Brais sits back, continues scowling at me, knuckles pressed against his cheek.

I scowl at him, hold his gaze as best I can, will him to believe me.
Come on.
I'm telling the truth.
Can't you just-

"Well..." the Judge leans forward again. Sets about rearranging books, shuffling documents "Be aware that Sai and his colleagues will have an eye on you. And your associates."
"There will be nothing for them to find, your honour. My Father made very clear that I should not risk my own legal position to defend his."

Brais picks up the glass of water upon his desk. Sips at it. Continues watching me. "Is that so?"

I can see the bio-mechanical processes as he swallows it down, his adams apple bobbing, the movement of muscles in his neck, water trickling down into his flesh bag, his-

Too many months on the hospital wards.
Too many hours watching patients swallowing their pills, muscles contract. A tube made of meat, dropping down into a bag filled with acid, vomit, semi-digested bacon and chips and a million billion cells all eating away at it and-


Judge Brais sets the glass down emptied, pulls a particular page from one of the manila folds, flicks it across the table. The paper slides; extra length legal-print page, thicker then regular paper. The page arrives in front of Farah, creamy, and she takes it, reading over the small type font carefully. Squinting.

"This is..... highly non-standard, your honour."

She shows me the document, the proposed schedule for my Father's trial.

Preliminary hearing. 10:45 am. Courtroom twelve.
Pre-trial motions, 11am-noon.
Selection of jury. 1pm - 4pm.

"Your honour, the proposed timeline for this trial is-"
"Short," Judge Brais states.

Trial: Tuesday 12th,​ Wednesday 13th​.
Verdict, Post-Trial Motions and sentencing: Thursday 14th​.

"Your honour, this proposed timeframe-"

"Mr Lavere has insisted on being present in person during his trial," Brais folds his hands together, examining me over two interlocking fists. "As is his due. Mr Lavere has made assurances to the court that he will be on his best behaviour, make no attempt to escape, nor threaten the judiciary... but, of course, given that he is accused of more than fifty charages of murder, along with conspiracy, corruption, intimidation, racketeering, pimping, falsification of educational documents, falsification of medical records... his word alone is not generally considered sufficient. Certain modifications to the standard trial structure were deemed necessary and appropriate."

Is this.... is this how he escapes?

"Given the security risks involved, and the significant costs and personal required to provide said security, Mr Lavere's court case will take place on an accelerated time frame. I wished to keep you informed, Miss Lavere, so that-"
"Your honour, you are saying my clients father will not recieve due process?"
Gooood Lawyer.
Judge Brais eyes her suspiciously. "Do not interrupt, Miss Kazemi."
"Yes your honour. I apologize your honour."
Welllll... alright lawyer.

"Such modifications are not without precedent. You will have seen similar modifications in, for example, Miss Paige Mcabee's trial."
The mouth cage.
The chains....
"Your father and his legal team have agreed to these modifications. They suggested several of them.
I am telling you now so that you and your lawyers do not make a fuss on Monday."

Monday.
Right.
Dad's trial starts this Monday.

My fists clench beneath the table. I look at Farah, at Judge Brais, down at my hands.
Tentatively, I reach up and touch at Verity's cowboy hat, except it isn't there, because we left it at home, because we're meant to be in disguise, and bringing it would be an obvious tell and...

Dad suggested this.

Dad planned for this.

I look at the schedule document. Trying to figure it out. Trying to understand what Dad is trying to do.
No. Wait.
Best not to solve that here.

"Thank you, your honour,"

Is this how Dad wins?

The man continues to scowl, continues to eye me.
I try my best not to let on, not to let any hope show.


"Would you remove your Father's power, Miss Lavere,"
What?
"If that were the sentence. Remove his powers and spare him imprisonment in Baumann Parahuman Containment Center"
"I...."
"Miss Mcabee was considered too dangerous to be detained in a regular prison. You removed her power and changed that. Would you be willing to do the same for your Father?"
"I...." do I tell them? Do I tell them? Do I tell them? "Can we discuss this with fewer people in the room?"
"No."
Fuck.
"I... can't."
Judge Brais drums his fingers against the black leather of the tabletop. "How very inconvenient."
"I can't," I repeat "My power won't-"
The man holds up a hand; a flat stop sign "I do not care for the specifics of your power, Miss Lavere. That path is closed, this is the only information I require going forward. If in the future you miraculously decide that you can remove your Fathers power, then contact my staff."

But I can't.
I can't I can't I can't I can't.
I can't heal him.
My power won't let me.
I can't.
I want to but I-

"Will that be all, your honor?" Farah interjects.
"No." Judge Brais waves Farah off. He interlocks his fingers, cracks his knuckles. The muscles of his arms twitch.
"I have instructed the prosecution that it would be inadvisable for them to call Miss Lavere as a witness."
"I- what?"
"I will not be issuing them a subpeona. Should they call you as a witness you will have the option to take the stand, but you will not be compelled to testify against your father."
"New York state recognizes some limited level of parent-child privilage," Farah clarifies from the side. "Children can only be compelled to testify against their parents in circumstances of national security or-."
"Yes," Judge Brais agrees. "I have concluded that Mr Lavere's case does not reach that criteria. Unless the facts change, any subpeona will be denied. There is also the fact that I fully expect Miss Lavere to perjure herself rather than testify against her father,"
Well.... yeah, probably true?

"Any attempt by the prosecution team to examine you would mostly likely bea ploy to build a credible legal case against you which could then be leveraged into forcing your father into a plea bargin. I do not appreciate such underhanded games being played in my courtroom."

Right.
Trying to catch me in a trap.

"Th-thank you?"
Judge Brais shrugs. "The fact that you are an S-class threat who could murder everyone in my city also factors into the equation,"
"I... yes. I apologies."

The apology doesn't seem to interest or bother him either way.
I hate this.
Hate being me.
Having to apologies for having my power.
For not using it to save everyone, for being a threat, for-

"Please note, Miss Lavere, that should you choose to speak in witness on behalf of your father's defense, then the prosecution team will have opportunity to cross-examine you. With this in mind, I would recommend, that you do not take the stand at the behest of either side during this trial."

Ahhh. Right.
So that's what this is... that's what this is about....

"Any statement made by you in your father's defense will be heavily discounted by the jury, and will be of limited value. Cross-examination will place you at substantial risk."
"I-"
"If questioned on why you are not taking the stand, you are free to state that this is judges orders. I will instruct the jury not to read into it one way or another."

But of course...
Of course they will.
They will....

My hands ball up into fists. Fingernails cutting into palm, and the room is big and unfamiliar, and-

I'm getting sidelined.

That's what Dad wants.
That's what Verity wants.
That's what the PRT and the Judge and-

"Do you understand Miss Lavere?" Judge Brais repeats.

I look up. Take a moment to re-orientate myself. To the room. To the building. To this barrel chested judge, and mousey Farah at my side, and Absko, and Sai, watching, and-

"I'll need to discuss this with my Lawyers," I say.

"...." Judge Brais watches me.
Evaluating. His eyes are cold and grey.
"See that you do," he says, and then, turning to Farah "I will be disappointed if you provide your client with reckless council."
"Yes your hon-"

Already his focus has returned to me.
Jowls and jaw muscles tense. Blotchy skin, a perpetual look of disgust upon his face.

This is the man who will sentence my Father, if we fail.
This is the man who will send my Dad away.

Somewhere deep
and cold
Where I will never ever see him.

"This is not your court case, Miss Lavere,"
"Yes, your honour. I understand your honour."
"Do you? Do you understand that your lawyers are not relevant. That the case will be negotiated between the judicial system and your Father's lawyers, and you will not be involved with that?"

Fuck that.

"Yes, your honour. I've heard you, your honour. I'm being watched. This is not my court case. I'm not going to interfere."

You're going to take my father from me.
And I'm going to stop you.

 

[Aldorel]

Sai moves like a dancer, Judge Brais like a rook.

Click to shrink...

Is this meant to be a rook as in a chess piece, or "rock"?

Either way I like the characterization of these two in general.

 

[Tascion]

I squirm. And keep my eyes peeled and feel stressed, and try to remind myself that Mirage is dead and I have allies.
Dead dead, superdead. Right?

Doesn't feel great though.

Click to shrink...

I like this simple callback to the trauma of that experience.


Overall, this chapter was not how I expected the implicit pressure to go; weirdly up-front about it. I don't mean it's bad, to any extent. I just expected less, "here's why were doing things this way, child".

 

[Aldorel]

I for one appreciate the occasional reasonable authority figure.

 

[riaantheunissen]

"Are you a loyal hound?" I ask.
"We've been known to bite the hand that feeds us." He gives me a wink "When said hand needed biting."
I nod.

A reassurance, of sorts.
But are you more like Verity, or like the Los Vegas Protectorate scene?
What kind of observer are you? What kind of manipulator?

Click to shrink...

No thoughts that the same kind of thing would be said by somebody being honest AND by somebody that was lying?

"Your honour, you are saying my clients father will not recieve due process?"
Gooood Lawyer.
Judge Brais eyes her suspiciously. "Do not interrupt, Miss Kazemi."

Click to shrink...

I notice that he never said that yes, her father would recieve due process.

"Such modifications are not without precedent. You will have seen similar modifications in, for example, Miss Paige Mcabee's trial."
The mouth cage.
The chains....
"Your father and his legal team have agreed to these modifications. They suggested several of them.
I am telling you now so that you and your lawyers do not make a fuss on Monday."

Click to shrink...

Dad suggested this.

Dad planned for this.

Click to shrink...

Actually, she doesn't know that her father suggest it or planned for it. The Judge told her and then she assumed. I wonder if she's actually going to attempt to confirm this.

I for one appreciate the occasional reasonable authority figure.

Click to shrink...

Reasonable?

Judge Brais makes his way around the table and settles into it, hands balled up like fists, resting on the table.

Click to shrink...

"Hmpphh..." Judge Brais sits back, continues scowling at me, knuckles pressed against his cheek.

Click to shrink...

"Your honour, you are saying my clients father will not recieve due process?"
Gooood Lawyer.
Judge Brais eyes her suspiciously. "Do not interrupt, Miss Kazemi."
"Yes your honour. I apologize your honour."

Click to shrink...

I am telling you now so that you and your lawyers do not make a fuss on Monday."

Click to shrink...

The man continues to scowl, continues to eye me.

Click to shrink...

"Please note, Miss Lavere, that should you choose to speak in witness on behalf of your father's defense, then the prosecution team will have opportunity to cross-examine you. With this in mind, I would recommend, that you do not take the stand at the behest of either side during this trial."

Click to shrink...

"Any statement made by you in your father's defense will be heavily discounted by the jury, and will be of limited value. Cross-examination will place you at substantial risk."

Click to shrink...

"If questioned on why you are not taking the stand, you are free to state that this is judges orders. I will instruct the jury not to read into it one way or another."

Click to shrink...

"See that you do," he says, and then, turning to Farah "I will be disappointed if you provide your client with reckless council."
"Yes your hon-"

Already his focus has returned to me.

Click to shrink...

(The above could even be taken as a threat he made against Farah.)

Jowls and jaw muscles tense. Blotchy skin, a perpetual look of disgust upon his face.

Click to shrink...

"This is not your court case, Miss Lavere,"

Click to shrink...

"Do you? Do you understand that your lawyers are not relevant. That the case will be negotiated between the judicial system and your Father's lawyers, and you will not be involved with that?"

Click to shrink...

I actually read it as more a case of him trying to browbeat her into not making trouble for whatever was planned at best. To me he comes off as unpleasant and he tries to bully her into doing nothing.

 

[Babblefish]

Thursday evening.

Absko drives us back to Farah's little single person 8th​ floor flat.
Justice Vance is working at the table in the middle of the room, her gown wide, papers and notebooks and lamps around her. The table yellowy and illuminated, the rest of the room bruised blue with shadow.

Everything feels wound up. Unsettled.
Full over energy, a need to do something, and I don't know what to do, and -

"I'll cook dinner!"

I end up clattering around the pantry. Looking for pots and pans. Ingredients. Spices that look familiar.
I flick the extractor fan light on, another isolated pool of light in a mostly darkened room. I cut onions, watch as Farah presses the trail schedule down in front of Vance. The two lawyers examine it, confer, discuss in hushed voices.

Neither of them has asked about Starmers.
Neither of them has said a word about Tom Starmers.

I catch Mrs Vance watching me, stare back, give her a nod.

Everything feels compressed. Urgent.
Like being blind, dunked beneath moving waters, with seaweed and creature moving in the darkness around me, and none of its threatening as such, but there's something to be done, some direction I need to move and-

I finish chopping the onions.

Scrap them off into a pot, fry them up in oil.
Add spices.

I let my hands move and my lawyers talk, and there is something I'm meant to do, but I can't find it yet and-

---

"Thank you," Farah says.

"Oh... ahhh.... its no problem." I nibble at our meal. Beans and rice and spices. "I mean its your ingredients, so kind of its you feeding all of us." We've got slightly more lights on. All four of us sitting at the table.

"Not for the meal" she says.

Oh.
Right.
Okay.
My phone jangles out a tone. Another message from Chene. More organizational shit. More advice. More... everything pressing in, and I don't really have the skills to manage all this, and-

"It's nothing," I reply "It was the right thing to do. You deserve it."

Farah nods, and we all return to work, and people are here, and I don't have to manage it all by myself, and I'm not alone, not alone, not alone....

"By the way... we think we might have something... a way for you to hurt them."

---

Saturday

I sit down in the plush plum pink chair.

"Thanks for coming in,"
Karrie Prace, `Full Disclosure', interview journalist. Works for CHP network, subsidiary of Eastern News, subsidiary of Global broadcasts, Employee of Mrs Margaret Holmes.

"It's good to be here." My payment for Holmes' Patronage.

I'm in designer bell bottom jean, a sort of red dress shirt, heavy fabric, colourful blue and yellow flowers embroided in. I'm not really sure if the colour goes with my hair, which is all tortoiseshelled up at the moment- black ink-gunk mixed in with the natural ginger fuzz, Verity's hat perched atop my head.

Not sure what I'm going for, but it make Trinket coo, and grin at me, and get excited about pairing things up, so that's...
... I'm not really sure what that is.


We're in a weird almost-room. Two walls. No roof, the larger studio space around us. The room is natural looking from certain pre-selected angles, from the point of view of the five or so cameras around is, but unnatural to be sitting.
Microphones on boom arms lean in and above and below and around us, inches out of view of the lenses, but kind of invasive for anyone walking around the room or sitting down.
One of the stage hands hands me another, small microphone, and I clip it to my collar. Every time I move there's the slight rustling of fabric.

Karrie Prace smiles at me, nods, fiddling fastidiously with her own microphone, eye liner and lipstick all done up, and I'm....
I'm dealing with my own make up. Using a faint frosting of fungus on my skin to keep everything tidied up, affect the right skin tone, maybe push-pop my freckles out a little bit, even though I hate them, because Amber says its cute, and Taurari rolls her eyes, and right now I'm pretending to be innocent.
Pushing that kid next door vibe.

Would Paige dress up like this?
I look at the shirt, the jeans, the cowboy hat.
Try to imagine myself with a guitar, and it feels like it might fit.
Probably about right then.

I touch at Verity's hat, the little leather tassels, the rim. I take it off carefully, put it on my lap. Fidget with it. Look at the camera crew, the mike people, the weird half-ass room, with a painting and a bookshelf and a `door to the kitchen' in the background.


It's Saturday.
Two days until Dad's court case.
I am a celebrity scientist. A young politician.
I try hanging the hat off the corner of my chair, try holding onto it, try slinging it over my knee.
"My name is Amelia Lavere... and I'm here because I was not ready.."
I'm someone tweenage villains and heroes look up to, not a mover and shaker, but an up and comer, a third path, a quiet voice, a-
I'm the hope that the world doesn't have to be this way.

And my father is a serial killer.

That's the set up.
That's the introduction,
What people coming in know. What they believe.
"Michael Lavere, Executive lead of the Candlelight institute, and father to Amelia Lavere, Parahuman healer, recently brought into custody for more than forty counts of murder and-"

The camera crew is minimal, mostly just Karrie and myself. Chene sits at a distance off stage, directly ahead of me, easy to signal to. Taurari is out amidst the soundstage, tapping her foot. Anxious, glamorous, hair boofy and figure athletic.

"That your girlfriend?" Karrie catches me turning around as Taurari paces in and out of view.
"Bodyguard." I reply.
Fuck.
Probably they'll look her up.
Investigate her now...
Except this isn't an interview about me, so maybe not, maybe...

Karrie nods, smiles knowingly, and I try not to be annoyed, try not to resent the fact that it isn't Verity doing this.

But they want Verity to be available to support me.
She can't do that and be my interviewer at the same time.

Karrie Prace is in her late thirties. Friendly. Plump. Professional. Just that sort of age where she is `not young any more', no longer eye candy, but instead someone who is known, recognizable, respected. A boofy Karen-cut of hair, and a relaxed, personable nature.

I've watched several of her interviews in lead up, reached out to previous interviewees.
She's what some might call a character journalist. A Correspondent. Similar to Verity.
She doesn't do fluff pieces, but she isn't like a pitbull, tearing into people either.

This isn't adversarial. She'll ask hard questions in order to get me to think, to sort of... soft unpeel to get at deeper layers. But she isn't here to tear me down.

Probably.
Probably she isn't here to tear me down.

"Do you know the format, Hon?"
"I... yes-"
"But it would still be good for me to go through it?"

I nod. Karrie smiles.
She's being kind to me.
How much of that is actual kindness, and how much of it is her being paid off by Holmes?
How much of it is her trying to put me at ease so I'll open up. How much is habit? How much is it just because I look like a kid, and maybe a bit startled, and maybe a bit traumatized?
How are other people going to use this interview against me.

I try to tell myself that something like this had to happen.
That its my favor to Margret Holmes, and besides, I've had eleven News networks hounding me, and they were going to keep hounding me until one of them got the exclusive interview, and this is good. This is fine. This is an opportunity.


"We'll be doing a long form interview," Karrie explains. "I've got some questions and topics written down, we'll talk, the conversation might wander a bit... and once its all done, we'll package it all up and edit it down for broadcast."

Right....
"So you can't put words in my mouth, but you can... sort of mess with the context that I say things in?"

Karrie nods, smiles at that "We also release the full recording of the original interview online. Less fancy camera angles, not so focused, so fewer viewers on that one, but the full details are out there, this conversation included, so people can call us out if James gets too creative with the editing. Full Disclosure. That's part of our brand."

I nod. Look at my hands.

There's bacteria crawling around on them. Huge goopy bean-bag sacks of machinery, squelching around, dividing, living there goopy little lives.

I flicker my will at them, remind the swarm to keep my skin clear, to keep my smelling nice.
I might not be pretty but at least I don't have pimples.
The lighting around us is soft. Naturalistic.


"Are you ready Love?"

I pause. Check myself. Pulse. Tension. The cold pit in my stomach and how bottomless it feels at this precise moment.
Not.... not too bottomless.
Okay.
I look up, meet Karrie's eye, flicker a smile, pinch really really hard on the rim of Verity's hat.

"Yeah." I say "I'm ready."


"So!" there's a little flicker swivel of lights, turquoise and green twirling past us, playing across the `room' we are in. "Welcome to the Full Disclosure! Tonight I have the Miss Amelia Lavere, here to talk to us."

'Full Disclosure'
Right, 'Full Disclosure', that was the name of the show.

"Happy to be here, Karrie."
I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, try not to sound... try no to sound too intimidated.
And of course this isn't some corner interest new bulletin. This out something to mixed in with the weather sport cricket international affairs, local interest celebrity gossip.
This is the story of the hour.

I can do this.


"From what I hear, you've had three major press appearances: one before and one after your work with Bad Canary and her trial,"
"That's right."
"And one speech you gave in the aftermath of the Leviathan attack on Brockton Bay."
"Correct."
"You'll be an old hand at this by now,"
I chuckle, shake my head. "Don't think I'll ever get used to this." I relax back into the chair. Smile "You're still scary as hell Karrie."
The woman gives me the raised eyebrows. Unimpressed. Clearly trying to hide her amusement.
That's it, that's it. I can be cool.
Someone for those tweenagers to look up to.

"All that was back in September." Karrie continues.
Recaping the events. Reminding the audience who I am, what is going on....
"For the last couple of months you've been out of the limelight."
"Yeah."
"And... a few weeks ago your father was arrested. Taken into custody."

"I..." come on come on come on Amy. You knew this would happen. That's the whole point of the interview. "...yeah." I look down at my hands.

"How are you feeling?"

I glance over at Ms Kerrie. Over at the Cameras. Taur.
"Tired," I resist the urge to scratch my face, resist the urge to reach up and just mush my checks around. "Left home to go to Paige McAbee's court case back in September. From there we went straight to the Leviathan attack in Brockton bay. Had about five kidnapping attempts and an assassination while we were in the bay." I tick things off on my fingers, shrug as I reach the end of the list "Went into deep hiding for a few months. Dad got arrested. That was...."
Blue sky up above. Exposed, Comet and Photon Mom hammering down. Dad's power pinning me in place and- I can't heal him I can't heal him I can't-
"... that was pretty damn traumatic, to be honest."

Karrie nods. Soft. Sympathetic.

I pull myself together. "Had to deal with a bunch of legal stuff to get myself out of PRT custody," I continue "you know, since I was an unattended minor and all. Been here in New York figuring things out ever since. Been a long time since I've had a chance to go home,"

I do my best to make eye contact with the cameras. With Karrie.
I do my best to gesture properly and not look like a robot, or some sort of hysterical sixteen year old.

Be like a nurse.
Be like the nurses you remember from the emergency department.
Pushing out sensible valid urgency or frustration even when everything is on fire and they want to cry.

I don't mention Panama.
Don't mention my time in Boston. Fighting Mirage. Fighting the Simurgh.
No need to add extra details.
No need to freak people out.

Precogs said I'm clean.
"Why haven't you gone home?" Karrie asks "You've had a few months since the events in Brockton bay?"

She'll already have the details on this.
It's a set up question, trying to get the words out of my mouth so that she can include them in he interview.
Probably they've already got pictures of the candlelight institute.

"House got blown up," I say "Evil dangerous Tinker got into the computer system. We reported it to the PRT, they came in with the fire and brimstone. " I gesture.
God damn I miss that house. I miss the little boats by the Jetty. Having my own Bedroom.

"Sounds hard."
I shrug. "It was the right thing to do," I tell her "For me. And it was right for the PRT to destroy it... I just...." Oh right... I'm... I'm allowed to say it aren't I?
I'm allowed to be vulnerable and sweet and shit, that's what this interview is about.
"...It's where all my memories with my friends are. First real Home I've had in a few years, first place where I've been allowed to have friends, and...." I hug an arm closer "... and now it's gone. I don't have a home I guess."
"Hmmmm..."

And I'll never go back.

Never ever.

That's where enemies expect me to go.

"The Candlelight institute, yes? That's where you lived?"

I nod.

"We've got a few pictures of it from the website, but if you have more, or give us the address, we could splice in a few more for the show. Before and after shots, that sort of thing."
I glance up at Chene, he's already typing away, sending them files, giving a location.
I nod. "Sure."


Maybe I'll get to see what its like now.
Maybe I'll get to see....
"I ummm... wait, actually, wait.... I... probably you shouldn't go there, or send photographers there."
"Oh?"
"I umm.... there's a bunch of security features in place... tinkertech," Accord. Dad. Blasto. "And I'm not sure if its been turned off, or if some of it might be half working, and ummm...." I think about the locust trees. The fire powder. The explosive switch built into the chassis of Dad's car. All the bullshit that Accord built into the house, all the... "You can probably do a flyby with a helicopter? But don't like... don't send people in on the ground, I'm not sure...."

Karrie watches me with concern. My eyes jump to the Camera crew out in the sound stage. I can imagine them getting exploded, eaten by flies, itching powder, all the magnetic traps and crossbow holes that Accord built into the house, all the bullshit Mirage might have done without telling us.

Did Mirage make the house more dangerous after we left?
Is there still a piece of mirage left in the house.

"Did your Dad set up those Security features?"
"The Architect."
Right. Of course. This interview is actually about Dad.

"You're Dad hired an architect who would implement unsafe security features?"

Yes. Can't win without a bit of killer instinct.

"It's Tinkertech," I explain "It's been damaged, no longer maintained. I.... I'm not the kind of expert who can say if it's safe or not" it isn't "so I don't want any of your crew going there and getting hurt."

It was my home.
It was home it was home it was home, and now....
And now its a bad place.

I try to picture it.
My house, my kitchen, my bedroom.
The Movie room with the beanbags where me and Chene and Trinket watched movies, and all of it broken in, scorched and crushed, and all of Accord's traps and all of Dad's contingency plans still lurking there, on the fritz, on a hairline trigger and-

"Could we remove this from the interview?"
Karrie seems taken aback.

Fuck.

Fuck fuddy fuck fuck, It's called Full Disclosure, and I'm-

"I told you because I wanted to keep your people safe, but the more I tell you about the security, the more I put my people in danger because-"

Fuck.

I watch as Karrie relaxes. Or... maybe only pretends to relax or....???
"We'll see what we can do," she says "Generally we prefer to publish a full transcript... but where safety concerns are involved, there can be some lee-way."
"Thank you."


I nod. Glance over at Taurari, who gazes back at me coolly, and at Chene, who is typing away on his laptop, glances up at me and gives a thumbs up, returns to typing.
Chene's on it.
Chene's.... Chene will fine a way to give them the images they need without getting people hurt or killed and I...
"You mentioned that the institute was the first real home you've had?"
"For a bit. Yeah."
"You mentioned that you weren't allowed to have friends before that?"
"I.... yeah?"
"By your father? Your father told you you couldn't have friends?"

I shake my head. Instinctively my eyes jump to Chene, Taurari.
My thoughts jump to Rey. T. Gilbert and Rose. Trinket and Discoqueen, and Coral and Paige.
"We traveled a lot,"
Chene gives me a nod. Holds my gaze. Encouraging.
"After I got my power, Dad figured... people were going to come after me. Villains. People who wanted that second chance, that miracle cure... for them or their loved ones... or just for power. We needed to disappear... so we traveled. We traveled and traveled and traveled, every week a new town, every month, getting paid to help out at a new hospital and...."
Was I happy?
I think I was happy then.
Out seeing the whole world. Building up plans. Saving funds.
Switching cars and names and hiking through the bush or rowing across a lake every couple of months. Vanishing.

"Weren't any rules about having friends, it was just-" I shrug "- we were busy being invisible. Didn't make sense really."

Just me and Dad.
Traveling around, living in our own little world.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.




"Is that what you've spent the last few months doing?" Karrie prompts "Being invisible?"
"I.... sightseeing mostly," I admit. "A couple mountain trails. Lots of icecream shops, ummmmm.... mostly I think we were just on holiday kind of?" I laugh. "We uhhh.... we visited all these dinky little towns. Made stupid meals in all the truck motel kitchens. We ummm... we visited this dinky little 'thread and lace' museum, which I'm pretty sure was just a couple spare rooms in some old ladies house and-"
"You and your Dad, were you on the run from the law... is that correct?"
"Huh? I- "
"You were on the run from the law?" Karrie insists. "You had friends, you made a bunch of promises to fight the Endbringers, and then you just.... disappeared, because you knew your Dad would get arrested?"

I fall silent at that.
Look down at Verity's hat.
Didn't expect her to come in so sharp so fast.

It takes a few seconds.
It takes a few seconds to pull my thoughts together. To tug at that tangled ball of emotion, figure it a out....
Fuck you.
Fuck all of you.
I can work with this.

"Yeah," I say. "I did. We did... Me and Dad dropped off the grid went... ``on the run from the law'' and ... look first off, we didn't stop working on Endbringer stuff. We spent some of our travel time talking to people, and talking over what happened in that fight" and Dad doesn't want me involved any more "Meet up with a bunch of kids recently triggered, talked to them, tried to help get them more prepared, more involved- not in the fights, but in the prep." Fuck I don't want more twelve year old volunteering to die today. "I'm currently setting up the next big conference thing where we take another shot at figuring those fuckers out. Figuring out... better strategies, new plans. Trying things out." Good thing Verity nudged me in that direction. "I didn't `give up' on fighting the Endbringers. I just stopped talking about it publicly, because I couldn't."

Karrie nods, and there's warmth to it now. Nodding like she's nodding along with me, like she's listening to what I'm saying.
This is fucking newsworthy isn't it.
A good speech.
Bit of drama. Bit of fire.


"And second..... yes! Yeah, me and Dad vanished after volunteering at an Endbringer event. Because Dad knew he was going to get arrested. Because.... me and Dad risked our lives that day, and I lost two people in that fight, and I don't know if they're alive, or dead or gone forever. People tried to kill me, kidnap me, enslave me... and Dad knew that I was really messed up, and he wanted to spend time with me to get me on my feet again before all this shit happened.
And you wanna know the reason they figured out who Dad was?"

Karrie Prace stares at me intently, nodding along. Lips pursed. All around us the lights are low and gentle, and I can feel the cameras leaning in.
This is what you wanted, right?
A story.
A story.
I'll give you a god damn story.

Fuckers.
Assholes.
Jackass manipulator motherfuckers.


"The reason is that Thomas Calvert, Deputy director of the Brockton Bay PRT was corrupt psycho who had kidnapped a child. And after spending the morning fighting an Endbringer, Dad was the one who tried to fix that. And he did. Dad succeeded. Dinah Alcott. She's back with her family right now, living in a safe house that I organized, and all it cost was me and Dad getting arrest warrants slapped on us by the most corrupt PRT director in history. "

"The reason is that Dad's old rivals are still sore about losing a cape fight twenty years ago, and were all too happy to act as stooges for a fucker who kidnaps children... just so long as it gave them a shot at Dad.
We volunteered and risked our lives at an Endbringer event, in their home town, and they used that to go after Dad's identity, because they couldn't put a grudge on hold for one day, and you know what? That's illegal. You can't do that, because shit like that undermines the entire Endbringer truce and if you fuck that up then people won't show up to help any more, and when Behemoth shows up next month Eidolon and Chevalier can go fight him without back up. And people will fucking die."

"That's the reason my Dad was arrested."

 

[LoserThree]

I like this simple callback to the trauma of that experience.

Click to shrink...

That's Ziz trauma.

The big bad schemer made her distrust a certain kind of person by tormenting her by proxy through Mirage.

She is shaped by Ziz in this way, which is creepy.

 

[riaantheunissen]

I hug an arm closer "... and now it's gone. I don't have a gone I guess."

Click to shrink...

Isn't that supposed to be "I don't have a home I guess."

"The reason is that Thomas Calvert, Deputy director of the Brockton Bay PRT was corrupt psycho who had kidnapped a child. And after spending the morning fighting an Endbringer, Dad was the one who tried to fix that. And he did. Dad succeeded. Dinah Alcott. She's back with her family right now, living in a safe house that I organized, and all it cost was me and Dad getting arrest warrants slapped on us by the most corrupt PRT director in history. "

Click to shrink...

The PRT will have to respond to this if it goes out.

"The reason is that Dad's old rivals are still sore about losing a cape fight twenty years ago, and were all too happy to act as stooges for a fucker who kidnaps children... just so long as it gave them a shot at Dad.

Click to shrink...

Kind of interested in seeing their reactions.

 

[Aldorel]

Reasonable?

Click to shrink...

Yes. Not nice, but reasonable. He is almost certainly correct that it is not in Amelia's best interests to testify, and he explains why. Farah has not made a good impression, since she failed to prepare Amelia for the likely content of the meeting.

Keep in mind Amelia is an absurdly powerful teenager who has just admitted to considering bribing a judge.

 

[riaantheunissen]

Yes. Not nice, but reasonable. He is almost certainly correct that it is not in Amelia's best interests to testify, and he explains why.

Click to shrink...

In my understanding a reasonable man means a fair man. A man who does not just gives but takes as well and one who does not just takes, he gives as well.

This one? Lets see....

"Miss Lavere... can you tell me why you are here?"
"Your office sent an email."
"And why was that email sent?"
"I... to talk about my Father's court case?"
"Hmmmmm..." Brais growls. "Miss Kazemi,"
Farah jumps.
"Do you know why your client is here?"
"I... I have some idea, your Honour."
"And you have not informed your client?"
"Not yet, your honour."

Click to shrink...

"Why do you think this conversation is happening?"

Why is he being Socratic? Rhetorical?
No, wait: Socratic questioning is a means of communication. It's a means of making sure he knows what I'm thinking, not just what he has told me.

Meetings like this are unusual.
Meetings like this are not part of the usual set up.

...

"I .... had kind of wondered if this was my opportunity to bribe you," I admit.
Your opportunity to blackmail me, use my father as a weapon.

Click to shrink...

The above shows he summoned Amelia either without giving any reason for the summons or just giving a generic "to talk about her father's court case" reason. In fact, it was vague enough that Amelia wondered if he wanted to use the meeting to blackmail her.

Now, is it fair, unfair or a neutral act to summon somebody without giving them an idea of what it will be about when it is about matters that important to them? I wouldn't call it fair. Rather, I'd say it is unfair or neutral, depending upon the rest of the interactions and the attitude displayed.

"Your honour, you are saying my clients father will not recieve due process?"
Gooood Lawyer.
Judge Brais eyes her suspiciously. "Do not interrupt, Miss Kazemi."
"Yes your honour. I apologize your honour."
Welllll... alright lawyer.

"Such modifications are not without precedent. You will have seen similar modifications in, for example, Miss Paige Mcabee's trial."

Click to shrink...

The above has a very important question asked by the lawyer. I believe that it is the kind of question that lawyers MUST ask. He's rude about it and doesn't answer a question where the answer is of vital importance to Amelia. Is that fair? Is that reasonable?

"Any attempt by the prosecution team to examine you would mostly likely bea ploy to build a credible legal case against you which could then be leveraged into forcing your father into a plea bargin. I do not appreciate such underhanded games being played in my courtroom."

Click to shrink...

"Please note, Miss Lavere, that should you choose to speak in witness on behalf of your father's defense, then the prosecution team will have opportunity to cross-examine you. With this in mind, I would recommend, that you do not take the stand at the behest of either side during this trial."

Click to shrink...

Now the above seems fair and reasonable if taken on it's own in my opinion but once you consider the below...

"Any statement made by you in your father's defense will be heavily discounted by the jury, and will be of limited value. Cross-examination will place you at substantial risk."

Click to shrink...

He's saying that the jury will not consider her words and statements fully. How does that work? Why won't they? How does he know how the jurors will feel about statements to questions where he doesn't know what the question will be and doesn't know what the statement will be? When he shouldn't know the jurors personally and not know their personal thoughts and opinions? Either he's lying or the jury will be manipulated in some way and he knows it. If he's lying then he's not a good or reasonable man, he's a lying manipulator. And if the jury has been compromised against Amelia and her father and he knows it? What kind of a judge is he then?

He doesn't create a favorable impression. At best I read it as more a case of him trying to bully her into not making trouble for whatever was planned.

Farah has not made a good impression, since she failed to prepare Amelia for the likely content of the meeting.

Click to shrink...

Let's see...

"Miss Lavere... can you tell me why you are here?"
"Your office sent an email."
"And why was that email sent?"
"I... to talk about my Father's court case?"
"Hmmmmm..." Brais growls. "Miss Kazemi,"
Farah jumps.
"Do you know why your client is here?"
"I... I have some idea, your Honour."
"And you have not informed your client?"
"Not yet, your honour."

Sai rasises a hand. Judge Brais gestures annoyance.
"Watchdog can confirm that the last couple of days for Miss Lavere and her associates have been... hostile."

I watch as Judge Brais absorbs the idea, turns it over a couple times in his mind, and then returns his attention to Farah.
"Your client would be better served if you had briefed her on what to expect from this conversation."

Click to shrink...

Firstly, Farah did not know. She had some idea. And the last few days have been hostile. So the judge really has no clue whether there was time to prepare Amelia nor, given how the email didn't tell them what this was about, whether Farah even had the right idea.

And then when she asks the question any decent lawyer should ask?

"Your honour, you are saying my clients father will not recieve due process?"
Gooood Lawyer.
Judge Brais eyes her suspiciously. "Do not interrupt, Miss Kazemi."
"Yes your honour. I apologize your honour."
Welllll... alright lawyer.

"Such modifications are not without precedent. You will have seen similar modifications in, for example, Miss Paige Mcabee's trial."

Click to shrink...

He's rude and doesn't answer the important question. So she doesn't win either way.

Keep in mind Amelia is an absurdly powerful teenager who has just admitted to considering bribing a judge.

Click to shrink...

Ummm..... Actually, she admitted that how he sent the summons and what was in the email gave the impression that he was providing an opportunity for her to offer a bribe. A small distinction.

"Why do you think this conversation is happening?"

...

"I .... had kind of wondered if this was my opportunity to bribe you," I admit.
Your opportunity to blackmail me, use my father as a weapon.

Click to shrink...

 

[Babblefish]

Saturday.
Full Disclosure.


There's a moment silence.
A lapse.
Everyone's staring at me, and there's lights and microphones hemming in and its hard to see, and I'm all alone, and I grip the rim of Verity's Hat tightly, and it doesn't matter.
None of it matters.

I don't need people.

I can stand alone.
I've got this.
I've got this.

It isn't Just.

Karrie Prace leans forward.
"These accusations against the PRT are... verifiable?"
"Yes." I glance over at Chene. He nods. "I can get the details to you after the show. It's all there. All compiled. On record. Who Thomas Calvert was. What he did."
I hug at my arms. Scowl. Feel my skin crawl.

"It sounds like this is personal."
"Yes." I nod. "I... she... I met her. Dinah Alcott. I saw her, and got to see how he treated her, and the things he did to keep her in a cage." Addiction. Malnutrition. Kept in a box far from the sun."If things had gone a little bit different, he would have done the same things to me."

I glance around the studio. Check the exits. The thick fabric of my shirt keeping nails from digging into skin. Taurari makes eye contact, gives a nod.

Is this right?
Is this smart?
Showing all my trauma out on TV?
Looking... looking weak.

I pull myself together. Sit upright, set things aside.
Look Karrie Prace in there eye.
"Sorry," I apologize. I smile ruefully. "I... I try not to think about it, but sometimes I do and.... it gets to me. Knowing what people are willing to do for the sake of power."

Karrie nods. Hesitant.
Are you horrified to see a girl just fold her trauma away so casually?
Afraid of the secrets I am telling you? Do you wonder who else might be listening?
Do you wonder if I might be one of those people who does things for the sake of power?
Are you looking for ways to box me in Karrie?



"I've given you some pretty sensitive information Karrie. If the PRT come to you... the NSA, Watchdog, whoever else it is that do the Protectorate's dirty work.... Will you delete this recording when they tell you to?"
Will you fold, when they threaten you? Threaten your media license, threaten your family?
Except now I've crossed a line.
Now I'm questioning you, threatening you... or at least, indicating that the secret I have told you put you under threat.

"There is very strong free speech and media protection laws in this country." Karrie replies.
That's not what Verity believes.



"Perhaps now would be a good time for a quick break." Karrie suggests. "I may need to re-organize some of my questions in light of this-"

"Be my guest."

---

Thursday
Dinner


"It's called fruit of the poisonous tree," Justice Vance explains "It's a legal doctrine that makes evidence inadmissible in court if it was derived from evidence that was illegally obtained."
I nod. Try face on hands, biting at my knuckles. Trying my best to listen. To really listen, not jump ahead or guess but just... absorb Jaqualine's words.

"So..." she continues "For example, if the initial evidence against your father was obtained through an illegal search-"
"- or during an Endbringer event" Farah cuts in.
".... or while volunteering at an Endbringer event," Vance nods. "Then... all evidence derived from that 'poisoned tree' would be.... inadmissible in court."

Farah flips her laptop around, displaying a webpage, a brief summary of the legal doctrine.
Okay.
I can... I can work with this...

"The poisonous tree doctrine is very robust," Justice Vance continues. "It even precludes testimonial evidence which may have resulted from excusable evidence, such as – for example, a confession."
"Now... the prosecution lawyers will argue that their evidence is non-excludable...."
"Events occurring on the same day as an Endbringer event are not necessarily within the scope of the Endbringer truce itself...."
"Or they'll try to separate the chain of evidence, in order to cut their primary evidence against your father off from that poisoned tree..."
"However-"

---

Full Disclosure.

"Let's talk about your Father."
"Sure."
That's what we're here for, I guess.
"What was he like to grow up with? The Basics, just to give people an idea."
A little out of order... but I suppose they'll tidy it all up in editing?

"I grew up in a small town."
"Which one?"
"Sorry- I don't comment on things like that. Last time someone figured out my home town they targeted my old classmates."
"In what way?"
"... Violence. Blackmail. Extortion."
".... I see."

---

"What was your Dad's job?"
"Professional Cape get. Security specialist. Banks and stuff would come to him, talk about how to keep their assets safe."
Banks and Warlords. Gangsters. Corperate cape groups.
Poltiicians.

---

"Dad like to see me think. Everything was a lesson."
"What kind of lesson?"
"How to keep myself safe. How to notice things. Thinking about how people and powers worked and how to use that. How to negotiate and de-escalate things."
"Thinking about your own power?"
"I didn't have a power back then."

---

"Anything else you'd like to mention about your childhood. Did you have any pets?"
"For a while...."

---

Karrie Prace has little cakes brought out. A tiny table of them- something to chew on, something to do with my hands.
Unlike my meeting with Messerene, this time I eat.
"Your father has recently been accused of being the Marquis of Brockton bay," Karrie taps at a document, a press release from my fathers. Theater. A Prop to illustrate her point to the viewers. "Part time warlord, renowned serial killer. More than forty murders to his name."
"Yes."


She lays the prop down, lays the press release down on the table, next to the cupcakes. "Is he? Is your father the Marquis of Brockton bay?"
"No," I reply. "Not any more."
"But he was?"
I shrug "Twelve... thirteen years ago. He gave that up. For me."
I pluck one of the cupcakes, unroll the paper wrapping.
For me, for me, for me, for me, for me. The cupcake tastes warm and sweet. I wish Dad was here.


"Do you think that's something someone can walk away from?"
"You mean... do I think people can change?"
Karrie leans forward, gestures for me to go on.
Yeah.
This is the guts of the interview isn't it.
The people part, the back and forward, the feelings.

"I think.... people are made by their circumstance, and how they respond to those circumstance.
And... Brockton bay during the 90's was rough. That effected the kind of person Dad could be-"
"...And his only choice was The Marquis of Brockton Bay?"
"-And when he walked away from the bay, he had the chance to be a different person."

---

"When did you find out about your Father's previous life? How old were you?"
"I was... eleven or twelve."
"He told you?"

"No. He didn't tell me directly. He... gave me notes.... on the Slaughthouse Nine. Just another puzzle for me to solve. I realized some of the notes were too personal, tracked down the fight he was talking about, and..."
"What was in the notes?"
"The notes were.... they sent kids after him. Dad always had a rule about not hurting women or children, so Jack Slash sent kids with guns after him, just to see what would happen. Whether he would break his one central rule." I shrug. "He didn't. He refused." I twist and tangle fingers through one another, hold Karrie's gaze. "I took the information, went online, tracked down some capes who were in Brockton bay at that time. People who could tell me where those notes came from...."

It was Brandish.
Brandish and Comet who told me.
I never did thank them for that....


"You figured it out?"

"I figured it out."

---

"You admire him don't you?"
"Yes."
"Even now?"
"Dad went toe to toe with the Slaughterhouse Nine, and protected civilians, even when those civilians were trying to kill him. Why wouldn't I admire him?"

---

"All of this.... these claim that the PRT is breaking the law by going after your father during an Endbringer event.... is that why you gave your speech about extending the Endbringer truce? In order to protect your father?"
"I-" Oh right... it... it would appear that way wouldn't it? "No. No, I didn't know that Dad's identity had been compromised when I gave that speech. The speech was genuine."
"Plenty of people might not believe those claims of honesty."

I look down at my hands. Jiggle them up and down with my knees. I glance back up at Karrie Prace "I can see how it looks, that's fair, but...." How the fuck do I word this? How the fuck do I- "That speech was mainly about Thinkers and Tinkers,yeah? My Dad isn't covered by that. That speech was all about giving more lee-way in the prep stage in the months before an Endbringer event. The shit the PRT pulled here? That was May 15th​ . That was during Leviathan's attack. When I gave that speech, I wasn't talking about that kind of stuff, because that's already illegal."

"So you say..."

---

"You talk a lot about your Father's ethics, his rules, about not harming women, not harming children. But your father is accused of killing Iron Rain. What do you think of that?"

I chuckle, shake my head. "No one believes that. Dad's enemies, don't believe that."
"They don't?"
"Way I heard it, Iron Rain was Allfathers daughter. Hookwolf killed Iron Rain, and then pretended like it was Dad so that All-Father would go after Dad instead of him. Allfather hit the birdcage a few days after, and control of empire Eighty-Eight was passed on, so... read into that what you will.
Me and Dad knew all about it, which is why Hookwolf came after me while I was in the bay-"
"-And Hookwolf's recent disappearance?"
I shrug "Couldn't say. If I had to guess, I'd say Kaiser finally figured out who killed his sister, decided to do something about it." And if Kaiser is smart, he'll play along, claim the kill, and we won't have to insinuate that he was in on the plan.

---

"So, we've discussed Thomas Calvert. His corruption. The illegal things he did."
"Yes."
"But.... Does any of that matter?"
"Eehhh?"
"Well, I mean... do you think all criminals arrested during Calvert's term as deputy director should be let off?"
"I mean... maybe?"
Karrie eye's me skeptically.
"Let me think about that." I nibble on the cupcakes. Some of them Carrot, some of them strawberry.


"I think," I say eventually "That there's a difference between warrants put out and evidence gathered while Calvert was in charge of the PRT, and warrants put out because he was in charge of the PRT," I grab another cupcake, this one coffee and chocolate, bite into it, try to calculate my next move.

"The PRT didn't start gathering information on Dad because they had probable cause or reasonable suspicious. They went after him because he undermined Calvert's plans. Those warrants weren't issued for the sake of upholding the law, or even just Calvert pretending to do his job... they were specifically issued in order to use the PRT as a weapon. To further Coil's plans, and protect Coil's interests... because Calvert and Coil were the same person."

"I think if you allow warrants like that to stand. Illegal searches conducted against the law... that leads to bad places."

---

"You've put an awful lot of effort into the Endbringer response," Karrie muses.
"Yes"
"Talking about it, planning for it, encouraging it."
"Yeah, it's important," I nod.

"Some might say, that by hammering so hard on this claim that the PRT betrayed your father... that you might be doing damage to the Endbringer truce yourself."


That's.....
I pause. Freeze up for a moment. My eyes drift, out through the forth wall, into the sound stage, past the jangle tangle of mikes and camera crew.
That's a good point.

"What do you have to say to that?" Karrie continues.
I gnaw at my thumb, my knuckles, try to remind myself to be respectable and Ladylike and then remember that none of that fucking matters. One of the Camera girls is looking at me, looking dead at me, with her big swoopy eye shadow, and I look back at her and wonder. Trying to understand her dark hair, her dark eyes.

"I think...."
Am I undermining the Endbringer truce?
Am I hurting people by doing this?
Do I value them more than Dad?


"I think the Justice system is undermining the Endbringer truce themselves, through their actions...."
I stare at the girl a moment longer, force myself to break eye contact, return my focus to Karrie Prace.
"Isn't it better that we talk about that before the court case? Rather than wait till after the court case happens? People will see the results, and make up their own mind either way. Me talking about it or not doesn't really change what people see?"

---

"And what would you be willing to do?" Karrie prompts. "For the sake of power?"

All the cupcakes are gone. I realize Karrie hasn't eaten any and I've eaten them all.
"I don't want... I don't want power."
"The power to save your Dad?"
"I..." I look at my hands. The crumbs. The sugary sparkly glitter-icing. "I don't know," I say eventually. "Lie and cheat a bit I guess. I think most people would.... but I wouldn't hurt anyone. I don't like... I don't like hurting people."

Hurting people is bad, right?
It doesn't feel good.

---

"What about the families of the men Marquis killed? What will they see? If your Father isn't punished? If your Father is allowed to go free based on some legal technicality?"

"I...."
I fall silent. Close my mouth, try to collect my thoughts.
It's a legal technicality that saves thousands of lives.
A legal technicality which keeps our cities standing.



"You talk about change, but there is no statue of limitation for murder. Is it Just for your Father to go free, given the crimes he has committed?"

And there it is.
Justice.
My own word.
Thrown back in my face.

"I don't know," I admit.
I look down at my hands.
Take off Verity's hard and fiddle with the rim a bit.


"I don't know if it is Just for my Dad to go free.... but the PRT is corrupt, and I don't know if its Just for the anyone to convict him, and if they do.... I'm not sure where that leads to.
I feel like that breaks things that we shouldn't be breaking."


"A difficult conversation," Karrie acknowledges "I guess that's why we will be having a court case."

 

[Tascion]

I quite like this chapter.

Both within the context of the story, and I'm how it makes me think more broadly.

I've heard a phrase, or just made it up, I suppose: "doing the right thing, but for the wrong reasons, doesn't always make things better because the wrong reasons are still a part of the changes being made."

A hard thing is how much justice should be about preventing harm as compared to punishment. In this chapter, should a person who is very clearly no longer acting in any criminal activities as similar to the Marquis of Brockton Bay be punished despite no longer needing rehabilitation to function as a part of society?

Michael gets no ongoing luxuries from his criminal activities, and uses his resources acquired then to ensure the standard of safety I'd expect most people innocent of crimes to say is appropriate for themselves.

Then again, maybe he should be tormented, tortured, and eventually killed in the Birdcage as a deterrent to others?

Well, Earth Bet is not reality, and reality certainly hasn't reached consensus on these questions either.

 

[Babblefish]

The Interview airs, Sunday night, in full.

All of it. Every bit. Even the bits I asked them to take out.
Some of the bits they've flipped around the order. Some of the bits they've like put the emphasis more on me, more on Karrie... but its all there.

Farah, Chene and Justice Vance watch the interview intently.
This is good, right? This is good.
I hate it, press down on the feeling of tightly coiled spring in my stomach, wanting to vomit.


Chene sits beside me, flicking through the internet, checking news sites, opinion blogs, PHO. There's people asking about my shirt, Verity's hat. It feels like a ripple. Words echoing out, bouncing around, coming back twisted or remixed. Individual snippets appearing as videos with French or Spanish subtitles. I hate the sound of my own stupid dumb voice. Hate the awkwardness of it, the hesitancy, all the stupid dumb shit she is saying.



Farah and Vance debate the details of the proposed Defense, search up Case law.
"It's good, Farah says "I think you did a good job of presenting a plausible defensive case without pretending to be a legal authority".
Vance shakes her head "You overplayed your hand."
"Oh?"
"All this focus on Calvert was a mistake. Calvert's corruption provides limited legal cover. The Endbringer Truce is a much stronger shield. You should have leaned on that."
But you're just seeing the law, not the politics.
Law is just a theater. Its politics, public opinion that the PRT fear.
You're busy thinking about the legal technicalities, but its their moral mandate I plan to destroy.

I look over at Vance. Just... really look over and examine her, while she pouts sourly, continues to watch the broadcast.
But of course... you are a lawyer.
A judge. A justice.
It makes sense that it is the legal mandate you would pay attention to.

---

Time passes. The interview comes to an end.
I've played out all my card.
The Interview.
This.
This was my one chance to push for something, actually change the result.

Maybe I'll be able to arrange other cards, other plans over the coming week, but for the time being-




There's legal blogs debating the nuance of my arguments, and memes of me eating cupcakes. People slagging me off. Fan art of Dad fighting the Nine.
There's a message, a confession of sorts, someone claiming to be one of those kids with the guns, way back when.





There's photos circulating. Pictures of men who went missing. Pictures of dead men, exsanguinated men. Bones sticking out of them, Grey skin, and blood pooling around beneath them.
"This is the fucker she it trying to protect."
"Fuck that bitch."

PRT officers talking about the friends they lost.
Some chick, talking about losing hey Dad.
Churches in Dad's territory being burnt to the ground.

But he's not like that.
He's changed.
He's not like that any more.




Discoqueen sends me a message.
Two
Three.
I don't read it. I don't read any of them.
I'm not ready to read yet.


I need to focus.
Discoqueen isn't that important just now.



I give up on scrolling the internet, trying to understand the response. It's 9:48pm. I feel wrung out, exhausted, satisfied, on edge.

We drive back to the safe-office. I go to the bathroom, think about throwing up, then scutter off to bed, collapse onto my floor mattress, toss and turn in the darkness beneath the raw concrete and exposed pipes.

---

Time passes.

Time passes, and somehow I'm still awake.
I'm meant to be asleep.
I'm meant to be awake, at my best tomorrow.
I'm meant to be asleep.
Go the fuck to sleep Amy.


The blankets don't feel right.
The geometry of the room is all wrong. The door in the wrong place relative to my head. Pile of ceiling tiles mish-mashed and threatening in the corner. There's a little green light blinking on my phone, remind me of Discoqueen's messages, and I don't want to be thinking anything, I just want to be asleep.

---

Time passes.

I give up on sleep, fumble about in darkness, first for my phone, then for the lightswitch.

The light from the phone is zealous and sharp.
The light from the roof not much better.
I can feel the light grinding at my eyes, forcing photoreceptive cells to put in work, firing and resetting themselves, forcing the weak muscles around my iris to reconfigure, straining at the darkness, the lack of moisture, oversaturated illumination of the cell phone screen, the messages coming in, news reports, the stupid fucking geometry of the hall, the phone clock: 12:37am.

Fuck.


Instead of going back to bed, I stalk the hallways, trying not to turn on too many lights along the way, for fear of waking Taurari or Absko (whichever one of them is sleeping just now).
The halls are cold. I'm cold. Like on the inside, in my bones. It's nearly one in the morning, and I'm meant to do something, and the one thing I'm meant to do I suck at, so instead I stalk the hallways, dark and empty. My body feels strange. The wrong size. The wrong shape.

I'm not sure about these limbs. There's meant to be more directions.
Things are meant to be easier to re-organize, but instead all my blood and bones and organs have a set place.
Gravity feels unnatural. My power itches to do things. The bathroom is wide and unfamiliar, poisonous neon light. There's still wheelie chairs around.


I find Absko in the kitchenette. He's drinking coffee, reading a book, keeping watch.
There's barely enough light to read by, the harsh glow of streetlights far below, illuminating the roof but nothing more, a single lamp in the corner.

"Little Bird?"
His accent is thick. I stare at him. At his words, his dark, wide, round face. Uncomprehending.
He pats at the table, beside an empty chair, my body stalks over and I sit.
Absko stands and shambles over to the kitchenette, flicks on the kettle. Calm. Unperturbed. Relaxed.

I should be doing something useful.
I should be talking to Farah.
I should be memorizing case law.
I should be investigating the jury.
I should be building alliances.
I should be making threats.
I should go back to bed.
I should go to sleep.
Go to sleep.
Go to sleep.


Absko returns with hot chocolate. Sets it down in front of me, and I drink it, and its warm and it quenches something.
Some fear.
Some hunger.
Some of the cold inside.

"Thanks"

I stand, shamble back to bed.
The blankets are warm.
Darkness claims me.

---

Time passes, and I wake up feeling hollow.
Ethereal. Like I'm made out of nothing, and a gust of wind could blow me away.
A puppet, made out of sticks, with nothing on the inside, all dried out and weightless, and trying to move things with my dry straw arms, and the world is made of stone, and there's no way for me to push it and-

---

We arrive at the courthouse at Eight thirty three.

It's the same as before, but it feels different.

There's the same tower up above, looming, taller then the sun, taller than the sun will ever be until high summer, until it stands directly ahead, blazing down like a gap in the sky connected to a universe of pure unbridled power.
This time we aren't headed up the tower, but instead to the courtrooms.
The Courtroom.

There's the same reporters and news hounds out on the stone steps out front, yammering to one another, seeking for prey or celebrities to accost, except this time they are looking for me.
No longer a background, instead a pack of hyenas.

We drift through, disguised, unnoticed, and once again, Sai joins us in the entrance hall.

"Good morning, Miss Lavere."
"Morning Sai."

The man smiles, and this time it feels nice. A familiar face. Someone pre-vetted to usher me through.


We strip down our disguises.
A security check.
Echoing hallways.
No weapons. No homunculi.

Eventually me and Vance and Sai and Taur end up outside the heavy wooden doors of courtroom four.
I'm meant to be doing something, I'm meant to be doing something, I'm meant to be-

"Relax," Sai comments.

I can feel my heart beat.
Air goes in and out.

There's... there's people walking by, and my brain tries to connect them to something, anything.

Instinctively my hands go to my phone- just for something to engage with, something to do.
Vance glowers. I flip through.

Disco's message is still there, waiting to be opened.

No.
I'm meant to do something useful now.
I'm meant to focus, I'm meant to, meant to, meant to-