Eliza stood, one hand on her hip. The other held a small piece of paper between two fingers. She didn't look frustrated, exactly - but she'd shifted direction. Now she sounded more like someone making a final pitch without much hope of closing the deal.
"I get that you're hesitant," she said, addressing Millie, though her eyes flicked to where Junior sat on the edge of the couch. "I'd be asking questions, too, if our roles were reversed. But just so we're clear - I don't have any way of verifying who's Reclaimed. There's no checklist, no scanner, no database." She stepped forward, arm extended. "If someone needs help, all they have to do is ask. I'll take their word for it."
Millie glanced at the card, tilting her head to glance at the text. It was nothing more than matte cardstock, slightly creased from Eliza's pocket. A line of randomized letters and numbers spanned the top beneath a web address. A login ID. Temporary, anonymous. Paper, not digital.
Low tech for a high-stakes secret.
Millie accepted the card. "If I hear of someone in need, I'll pass it along," she said, noncommittal but polite.
Eliza nodded humourlessly. "That's all I wanted to ask." Then she stepped to the exit and closed the door behind her as she left the unit. The faint sound of boots receding down the hallway faded quickly.
Millie waited until the footsteps were just a memory before exhaling. She crossed the room to a random pile of clothes, unerringly reaching in to extract a laptop from somewhere inside. She held the two objects in either hand: the small piece of paper and the comparatively larger laptop. She looked between them as if contemplating something, then returned to where Junior sat, patiently waiting.
In a moment of thoughtfulness, she realized she should do a better job of keeping Junior in the loop about things he couldn't see. She quickly summarized as she plopped back down on the sofa beside him.
"The coastie gave me a card before she left. Nothing fancy, just a paper with a web portal address and randomized login credentials."
Junior nodded acknowledgment but didn't answer immediately. He angled his head toward her, hands resting in his lap.
"She thinks it's you," he said instead in a slight non-sequitur.
Millie knew what he meant. "Yeah, that was the idea," she confirmed.
Quiet settled between them - not awkward, but weighted. Familiar.
"You've done so much for me," Junior said. He didn't phrase it as a question or even an accusation. But the words hung between them, begging for a response.
Millie turned to face him. Her eyes searched his face, briefly noting her reflection in his mirrored glasses. "I want to help you." She hesitated. Searching her own feelings; her own reasoning. "I know it might not seem this way to you, but . . . helping you is the best thing that's happened to me in a while. Maybe my whole life. Even before the arrival of the Failsafe System, I lived and breathed for this sort of thing. My only regret is that I don't get to experience some of the things you do directly. At least I get to live them through you."
Junior nodded slowly, like he already knew but needed to hear her say it out loud.
"Maybe we should reexamine who exactly is the 'follower' in this relationship," he said wryly.
Unlike Eliza's attempted dry humour, Millie chuckled in appreciation.
"I'm just a late bloomer. You're just my guide for when I unlock my full potential. Every MC needs a guide," she teased back, gently punching his arm. Junior laughed, though he only half understood what she was saying based on the context of what she'd told him about LITRPG.
Millie continued after a companionable moment of silence.
"She shows up, claiming she's Coast Guard. Talking about Reclaimed like it's a box you can check on a census form," she said, steering the topic back to Eliza. "She's offering to help now, but what about later? What about when her orders get changed? What happens when people start getting disappeared instead of getting recruited?"
Junior's mouth twitched. "This is Galatea, not a low-budget action-thriller," he said. Then he admitted softly, ". . . though the thought has crossed my mind a time or two, too."
"I think she's not telling the whole truth," Millie stated. "She might be genuinely ignorant, but it doesn't mean someone else can't know more. Or have an agenda. 'Need-to-know' is the military's bread and butter, even a pseudo-beach-patrol like the GCG. I think trusting a uniform just because it's clean is a mistake we can't afford to make."
He leaned back slightly, hands curling into loose fists.
"Do you think I'm dangerous?"
The question left him feeling vulnerable. He braced himself for rejection. It surprised him how much the potential worried him. A few days ago, Millie was a total stranger; he didn't even know she lived in the same building.
But now she'd literally saved his life. He realized that he'd already grown to hate the thought of losing her friendship.
"No." Her response was immediate, to his relief. Shoulders he hadn't noticed he'd reflexively hunched, relaxed. "Not for a millisecond. But idiots might try to treat you like you are."
That had turned heavier than expected. They shared another momentary pause.
"What about your visions?" Millie asked eventually, interrupting Junior's musings. "Did you see anyone on our walk? How about the coastie and the cop?"
Junior shook his head negatively. "Still just Achilles."
Millie leaned in, close enough for Junior to pick up on her warmth.
"What does that mean to you?"
"I don't know." Junior hesitated. "He's blurry. I can't see details. Just his shape. Like a visual presence. And movement. Still not quite used to it."
"Unsurprising," Millie said sympathetically. "Take your time. Sorry if I'm rushing you. I'm just . . . eager."
Junior nodded. "It's okay. I feel like I need to talk about this. It's not like the System is any use. My screen hasn't changed. Still says 'Apeirosis: 2.37%.' No further messages. No directions. Nothing."
Millie frowned in thought, arms crossing.
"And I still don't know what it wants from me," Junior added. "What am I supposed to do?"
The last word came out frustrated, plaintive. Junior turned his head away as Achilles whined inquisitively.
Millie wanted to say it would be okay. But it would be a lie. She had no better idea than he did.
Silence spread between them again.
"Look," Millie said gently, "I don't care what percentage some blue box assigns you. You don't need a guidebook or a map or permission. You're not a risk to me, Junior. You never will be."
He turned his face slightly toward her voice. "Even if I change?"
"Even then."
She extended her hand, touching his. Junior grasped back, their fingers intertwined. The squeeze they shared was quiet and firm.
A promise.
"Thank you," he said. "For . . . thanks."
Her thumb brushed once over the back of his knuckles.
"You don't have to thank me. But you're welcome."
Millie lingered near him for a while longer before slowly drawing her hand back. Her fingers brushed the login card still resting beside the laptop.
"I guess we should give it a chance," she said, more to herself than to him.
She flipped open the laptop and typed in the address. The site that loaded was as barebones as promised - text-only interface, monochrome grey. At the top, a simple login field blinked patiently.
After entering the randomized credentials, she was met with a dashboard that looked more like a relic from the earliest bulletin boards than anything modern. A dozen usernames - random strings of nonsense characters - lined a feed filled with short, cryptic posts.
Most were single sentences. A few contained broken links to external resources, blocked by the site with no option to bypass.
[voidharrow84: Can anyone else hear . . . something in the wind?]
[delta.eel: Apeirosis 5.22% – Is this normal?]
Millie's eyes flicked to that last one. Her pulse picked up.
When she read it aloud, Junior murmured,
"That's ... double mine? Is that good or bad?"
Millie tapped her fingers against her thigh, thinking. She still suspected a trap - some kind of test or data collection scheme. But ... what if it wasn't? What if this was real?
What if this was exactly what Junior needed?
She didn't like it. She still didn't trust it. But it wasn't her call.
As much as she might wish otherwise, this was Junior's life. He was the one who had the strange visions, the system error messages, the nightmares.
Okay - so the monster hadn't been all bad. Fighting it with Achilles had actually been kind of exhilarating, if she was honest. And if she was being really honest, even the idea of dream-fighting sounded more like awesome than scary.
But still. The fact remained.
She turned to him and offered, "Want me to ask?"
Junior hesitated for a moment longer.
Then he breathed out, slowly, and nodded, firm and steady.