6.39 Rubicon
22nd of May, 2011
{You seem [Pensive].} Theia points out as I close the door to my bedroom after coming back from Riley's new home with the help of a teleport.
I purse my lips as I consider her words while making my way toward the staircase.
"Because I am," I admit under my breath, "This whole thing has me conflicted, I suppose."
{How so?} The Coraline Shard asks curiously.
"Well, for one, because I apparently found an afternoon spent playing card and board games with an ex-serial killer and her felon guardian surprisingly relaxing," I answer back a little drily, "And for two, because Riley has a baby crush on me, and I don't really know what to make of it."
I mean, I know that Stockholm syndrome has never been proven, but surely getting butterflies into your belly about the girl who mercilessly killed everyone you ever knew while wearing your face has to be the closest match. It had been weird to witness the girl becoming more comfortable in my presence in real time despite the very real threat that I represent to her continued existence.
Besides that, like I said, this whole thing had been an ocean of calm amid the mediatic tempest I've been flung through for the past few days. And the rather tense ambiance at home. Uncle Alan had rolled with the metaphorical punches relatively well, and Emma has to actively refrain herself from worshiping the ground I walk on, but saying that my aunt hadn't been amused when I explained to her that I rammed one of the murder-Kaiju at Mach 'Fuck you' would be putting it mildly. And having to admit that I had to use the very spooky magic sealed into my right arm in order to do so – and the consequences of it – didn't exactly improve her mood.
Officially? I am grounded at least until my birthday.
Unofficially? It's not exactly like aunt Zoey can reasonably enforce said grounding when I can teleport outside of the house between two steps.
But I get it. The woman is worried, and nobody in their right mind would wish for a child to go fistfight with the three personifications of natural disasters. So I'm trying not to let it go to me.
Though it won't stop me from doing what I need to do in the meantime, since, again, it's not like she can really stop me.
I'll have all the time in the world to be a more well-behaved adopted daughter once Scion is out of the picture in any case.
{Ah, complicated [Feelings].} My brain roomie concludes, giving me the mental impression of a nod.
"That's one way to put it." I whisper with a thin smile as I go down the stairs.
"Heya, munchkin, how goes?" An almost familiar voice calls from nearby as I cross the last couple of steps, making me blink in surprise.
"Hello, Anne," I answer with a smile as I quickly find the voice's owner seated in the living room amid the rest of the family, "I'm–"
I realize that I've made a mistake as soon as my eyes land on the casually dressed older girl, an easy and slightly lazy smile on her lips, an air of content exhaustion wafting off her.
Two hands, roaming over a sweaty body. A cry of release.
I haven't mentally pulled away from my Eye, which means that I know exactly what she's thinking about right now–
A second pair of hands, palming her breasts. Her glutes flex as she matches her partner's thrusts–
–and I really, really wish I didn't!
"Ewww!" I wince and look away with a shiver, "Ewwwwwww!"
"...Eh? Is it something on my face?" I hear her call as one of my hands comes to rub at my temple while the three others make some concerned noise.
"...In the spirit of disclosure," I explain after properly pulling my attention away from what my Eye can see, "My left eye allows me to read minds."
An extremely awkward silence falls on the living room as I look back at my older cousin, who blinks dumbly a couple of times before flushing a shade of scarlet nearly as vivid as my hair.
"Oooh?" Emma is the first that puts two and two together, and, as the little shit that she is, promptly gives her older sister a shark-like grin, "My, it sounds like you had a lot of 'fun' at your little party yesterday~."
"E-Emma! Shut up!" the elder sibling stutter-hisses, eyes darting all over the room, before registering her father's stormy frown and her mother's pinched lips, "...I-It's– I mean– It's not what it sounds like?"
Now it's only the second time that I've seen her since I started living with the Barnes, but her defense sounds incredibly weak to my ears. And considering the looks she's getting, her deflection clearly doesn't pass muster.
"Did you at least use some protection?" Aunt Zoey delivers the proverbial coup de grace with the air of someone who's already running damage control.
"Mom!" If anything, Anne's complexion turns even redder, which shouldn't be possible.
"You told me you had it under control, Jacky." Uncle Alan turns my way, one eyebrow raised interrogatively.
"Yes, well," I cross my arms over my chest a little petulantly, "Since I'm going to be busy for the next couple, possibly three weeks, I went to meet with a friend–" I exaggeratedly word out the last two words, prompting him to blink before giving me a clipped nod of understanding while I keep speaking, "–this afternoon, and I needed to ascertain her current mental state to see if she was about to relapse."
"I see…" He hums in understanding.
"Jacky, you're supposed to be grounded," Aunt Zoey points out, her brows creased, "Not going gallivanting who knows where."
"Zoey, this was important." The man who looks so much like papa interjects calmly, "Don't get on her case about it."
Wife and husband trade a look, the former looking none too pleased while the latter looks apologetic.
"Fine," my aunt clips, before snapping her head back toward her eldest, whose shoulders slump in a telltale 'why me?' gesture, "Now, you still haven't answered my question, young lady!"
Emma snicker-snorts at that, and I can't help but shake my head at the chaos my mistake accidentally unleashed as I about-face.
"You're not hanging out with us?" My cousin calls while her sister's shame levels are getting stoked.
"Just going for a glass of water," I answer aloud, before muttering under my breath, "And possibly invent brain bleach."
Theia lets out a snort at that.
{You humans are weird.} The Coraline Shard comments amusedly.
I'd really like to have a good comeback to that, but the fact is that I do not.
I settle for grumbling impotently under my breath while filling my glass in the kitchen as I tune out the awkward explanations the next room over.
{I'm curious though,} Theia adds as I'm about to make my way back toward the living room with my glass in hand, {From what they're currently saying, the rest of your [Family Unit] seems to operate under the assumption that there was only one sexual partner involved. Why aren't–}
I snicker a laugh at that.
"Now, Theia, do you want to get the poor girl to never step back into this house due to her shame, or what?" I whisper back with no small amount of amusement, "Because that'd certainly be one way to do it!"
{...Humans are weird.} My brain roomie complains once again as I plop myself on the fluffy carpet to watch the shitshow from up-close.
I still have things to do this evening before my new pull, but it's not like I cannot spend some time with my family in the meantime.
***
"Do you feel him?" Her Summoner asks as the portal of hellfire and tortured souls wink shut at both of their backs under the nascent moonlight.
[Phobia of Dying in Chains]' nostrils flare a little as the Fiend takes a deep inhale, before nodding.
~~Oh, such misery,~~ she nearly swoons even as an anticipatory smile cuts its way across her face, ~~You keep bringing me to the nicest places, dearest.~~
Clad in her white-and-scarlet wargear that leaves her mouth exposed, her blackened lips twitch into the approximation of a smile even as her braided blood-hair lazily snakes into the nonexistent wind.
"You didn't answer my question, Dark-chan." Her Summoner points out.
Nothing more than a polite rebuke from the human-and-not girl, despite the power she wields over Duel Monster Spirits like her through the Items of the blasted book.
Truly, [Phobia of Dying in Chains] did well in answering the Summon all those moons ago.
~~I'd have to be blind not to notice his web, dearest.~~ She reassures her.
"Perfect," her Summoner replies, the crimsong glow of her wargear brightening somewhat as her feet leave the ground, "Then, I suppose all that remains is to wish you a good hunt."
~~If I may,~~ the Fiend asks, ~~What should I do with his spawns?~~
Because while the bulk of her attention keeps getting pulled toward the center of the web, [Phobia of Dying in Chains] isn't so green as to overlook the other Puppeteers present.
"...Honestly, I really don't care," her Summoner muses aloud with her head tilted in a way suiting her avian's guise, "Maybe try to keep the young ones alive?"
[Phobia of Dying in Chains] nods at that. She supposes it makes some sort of sense; after all, it isn't like his brood had much of a choice. Part of the misery and pain permeating the air belongs to them.
~~I shall only take the lives of those raising their hands against me then. As is proper.~~ The Fiend says.
"Fine by me," her Summoner shrugs, "Good hunt, Dark-chan."
~~And a good hunt to you, dearest.~~ She smiles back.
And as her Summoner, no, her Pharaoh flies away on a crimson trail, [Phobia of Dying in Chains] disappears in a blur of motions toward an isolated mansion at the edge of the town.
It doesn't take long before the screaming starts.
***
"You called, Geof'?" Margaret distractedly asks as she walks inside the control room while drying her hair with a towel.
"Something is happening," her lover says, a frown etched on his face as he looks at the array of computer screens in front of him with intensity, the cross tattooed on his face getting cast in sharp relief by the lines upon lines of codes rapidly scrawling by, "It is getting agitated."
"Truly?" She frowns while stepping closer to him.
"I am positive," he answers in a stern tone, his eyes darting in her direction for a heartbeat before going back to his screens, "Outside of an Endbringer attack, this is the first time that I've seen its activity spike so much. I'm concerned."
"You think Dragon found us?" Margaret asks, her towel and still damp hair now forgotten.
"Unclear," Geoff', no, Saint of the Dragonslayer clips, his frown deepening even further, "But this would make sense. Criminality is at an all-time low since the death of Leviathan, I cannot see another scenario that would–"
"Guys! You need to see this!" Mischa loudly calls from their rec room.
Margaret and her lover trade a look. She can clearly see in his eyes that he is unwilling to move away from the console.
"Come on," she pats his shoulder with a smile, "This could be our clue. And the fact that Mischa isn't beelining for the Isaiah tells us that we have nothing to worry about."
Begrudgingly, Geoff' nods as he stands up.
It doesn't take long before they stand next to their Russian friend, his eyes locked on their TV.
"This on every channel," he says while gesturing at the screen, where a rattled and wide-eyed reporter speaks, "Look!"
"–confirm another casualty in the long list of suicides that has overtaken our country. Our Prime Minister stabbed himself repeatedly with a steak knife while enjoying a dinner at his favorite restaurant in the company of his wife and children–"
"Quite shitshow, da?" The bearded man grins over his shoulders, even as Margaret turns a little green at the gruesome tale.
"What's the word, Dobrynja?" Their leader asks with his arms crossed over his chest as he glares at the TV.
"Nobody certain," the man answers with a shrug as Margaret gingerly sits herself on the couch's armrest, unable to look away, "People say it's Heartbreaker. Maybe he make a play, maybe he dead. Nobody knows for sure."
"–famous actor Laurence Christen jumped off his condo in Montreal–"
"Madness," Margaret whispers under her breath as she represses a shiver, "This is madness."
"This could be a ploy from it," Geoff' grunts, and Margaret can't help but to snaps her head in his direction in disbelief, "Plunge the country into chaos, then emerge as its savior. It fits."
"Doesn't fit directives." Mischa is quick to wave away the theory.
"It doesn't, but it could've slipped its leash." The other man counters, his eyes narrowed.
"Geoff', you're overthinking this," she tries to play the voice of reason, "Dragon is a lot of things, but she wouldn't unleash such chaos for so little benefit. Like Mischa said, it's against her directives, and we would've seen it if she had started slipping those."
"Maybe you're right," her lover seemingly concedes, before doubling-down, "But what if I am? What if this is the precursor that will lead to it unleashing a surveillance state on Canada for the good of its people? Did you think of that?"
Margaret frowns even as the casualties keep mounting.
"Geoff', Dragon wouldn't be able to mount a false-flag operation like you suggest. It's not what she does." She insists.
Her lover opens his mouth to answer something–
"You're correct. That's really not Dragon's style."
–only for his jaw to click shut as a fourth, young female voice cuts through the argument like a hot knife through butter.
As one, three heads snap in the speaker's direction, and Margaret pales as soon as her eyes land on the diminutive figure wearing the visage of a winking owl, an array of little scarlet orbs at her sides bathing their surroundings in a baleful glow.
"But that's absolutely mine." Nictimène the Endkiller calmly says.
Neither Mischa, Margaret or her lover have the time to react before everything gets washed away in a tyrannical crimson glow.
***
I let out a little sigh as I plop Dragon's console under one of my workbenches as the clock nears midnight, and with it, the dawn of a new cycle.
"You are pensive again." Theia points out for the second time of the day from where her frame sits atop another workbench.
"I am," I easily admit for the second time, "I have mixed feelings about the unrest Heartbreaker's death unleashed. I thought that giving the Panacea to Dragon would ensure that the aftermath would be minimal, but I guess she didn't get the greenlight to mass produce it in order to quell his influence in her country. Or maybe I just acted too soon. I suppose I'll never know."
"Do you regret giving Dark-chan the go ahead?" My brain roomie asks while emoting a head-tilt.
My lips twitch a little at the cute display, and I shake my head in the negative.
"No, if anything, the aftermath being so bloody will ensure that the law comes down even harder on human Masters, and I wager the stonewalling – if there was one – regarding the production of the Panacea will vanish like snow under the sun." I answer while taking a seat next to her.
"Yet you call your feelings on the matter 'mixed'." She remarks.
"Humans are complex, consider this me humaning all over the place." I answer with a sage-like nod.
Her eyemotes blink.
"That sentence made very little sense." She remarks confusedly.
I giggle at that, before shouldering her in jest.
"Don't worry about it, this is just me being silly." I grin her way.
A comfortable silence falls between the two of us as the timer in the back of my head keeps ticking down.
"What will you do with her?" Theia eventually asks, and I'm halfway through giving her a puzzled frown before I realize that she's looking toward Dragon's console.
"Nothing," I shrug, before gesturing toward the console when the Coraline Shard turns her vessel's head my way, eyemotes creased interrogatively, "I'm keeping her console as insurance in case Dragon ever turns into a genocidal monster like Saint kept alluding to – which is less than likely, mind – but that's about it. Unleashing an unrestricted AGI on Bet bears the risk of drawing the Warrior's eye, so I'm not about to lift her restrictions."
"But you already did." She replies.
"You and me both know that Dell couldn't give less of a crap about humanity's issues," I chuckle, earning myself a monosyllabic grunt of assent from the Ascended Machine-Spirit through my MIU, "I don't have to give him the order not to go making a mess of things, he doesn't want to in the first place. Dragon is… different. Given the opportunity, she'd start doing more and more things to safeguard mankind. Or at least that's what she would've done in the future. It's very noble of her, but golden man would eventually notice if it happened. And it could trigger him."
"I understand," she replies with a slow, slightly stilted nod, "You'll reevaluate the issue later, I imagine?"
"I'll probably end up giving her console to Armsmaster once everything is said and done," I shrug once again, "I already have too many responsibilities, I don't want to add 'taking care of another AI' to the list."
"Correction, Mistress-Maker," Dell calls in his synthetic cadence, "I'm the one taking care of you."
A smile worms its way to my lips, and I give my oldest ally's terminal a fond pat.
"Indeed, little buddy." I agree.
Once again, an easy quiet falls over the workshop. At some point, Theia's head finds itself plopped against my shoulder in a display of closeness.
Eventually, the clock nears midnight in truth.
"No last minute modification?" My brain roomie asks as her eyemotes lock with my visible eye.
I take a moment to think things over once again, the Coral lining my brain supercharging my cognition as I consider my priorities.
"No," I eventually answer as time snaps back like an abused rubber-band to my own perception, "Look for what we've decided."
"Alright." She nods.
And as the last second ticks by, the knowledge from the Tenet universe finally leaves me, ceding its place to something greater, more wondrous, magical even.
I close my eyes as I quickly parse through the data slotting itself in the back of my mind, before eventually nodding a minute later.
"That's the one," I say aloud, "If you need to take some samples, be extremely quick about it. The local head honcho is a particularly assolish god, and I really don't want to get cursed a second time."
"Noted," Theia replies, her eyemotes glitching for a moment, "And done. I got a sample of the substance permeating its atmosphere."
"Wormhole closed?" I quirk an eyebrow up.
"Yes," she nods, "Time elapsed: seventeen femtoseconds."
I let out a low whistle at that.
"Yeah, I wagger you were just a smidgen too quick for the prick to notice you," I jump off the workbench, a wide, excited smile cutting across my face, "Now, let's get started!"
"Are you certain that your theory will work?" my brain roomie asks, eyemotes set in a frown, "I'm not entirely positive that this new type of magic will mix with your current makeup."
"Now, don't be so pessimistic, Theia," I wag a finger her way, "After all, Ether, Ethernano; it's in their names! Basically the same thing, I tell you!"