Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"Earth to J! Earth to J!" 

I'm pulled from my thoughts by the sight and sound of V snapping her fingers in front of my face. While I was calmly and rationally strategizing, she must have snuck up on me. Oddly, she looks and sounds concerned. I would take pride in having finally unsettled her, but I'm confused. I didn't do anything. Where did her smugness and sneering disappear to? Was she possessed or something? If V has an alter ego, then getting anywhere with her is going to be a lot harder than I thought. But I can use that to plant rumors of her mental instability to isolate her from the others. 

V takes my hands in hers, intertwines our fingers. We stand almost nose-to-nose. Her eyes are wide open behind her glasses. I'm not sure I have words for the feeling they convey. Mine are narrowed in suspicion and contempt at her lack of taste. She should ease up on the fragrance, less is more, this close it's overwhelm-

"Achoo!" 

I sneeze and in doing so accidentally headbutt her. A crack echoes through the room, and we both step back, somehow still clasping each other's hands. Once more, V's aggression - in this case, aggressive use of perfume- has both backfired and hurt me. 

"Ow. Why is your skull so thick?" We ask in unison. 

Restoring force pulls us back together. Our heads hurt. 

"You look cute when you're in pain." We say in unison. 

Shock flashes across V's face. She trembles. 

"No. No. I'm becoming you." she says. 

"Don't say that like that would be a bad thing. Not that you are becoming me. What you're doing would be rather unbecoming for me." I reply. 

V looks embarrassed and terrified. On the verge of tears, even. It's a good look for her. Brings back memories, it does. 

"Fine. Why do you think you're becoming me?" I inquire. 

"This is how it went for you, right? You found that inflicting pain on others could numb your own. Then you started doing it for pleasure. And soon enough you couldn't relate to others in any other way."

Her watery eyes tremble with misplaced compassion as she stares into what she thinks is my soul. I so badly want to knock her to the ground and show her face my real soles. But if she's finally calming down, I'd be a fool not to take advantage of it to try (again) to reset things. And I'm annoyed that she's projecting like this. 

"No. I only take pleasure in a job well done. Though some jobs are more enjoyable than others." 

"So I'm right, then. Don't worry J, I get you." 

"I just said you weren't right." 

"I heard what you really meant loud and clear."

Ah, we're getting nowhere. If my head wasn't still aching I'd ram it into a brick wall. The wall would be more flexible and less painful to deal with than this one before me. And why are we still holding hands? And still so close?  

"I thought you were just acting, but you really are trying, J. In your own inept, stumbling, arrogant manner. It's kinda cute. I want to draw more of that out of you."

V's eyes glow with hunger, but she delivers the line in a bemused tone of voice so I'll be generous and not take that as an insult. In fact, I'll reward her for calming down. Positive reinforcement. 

"V, thank you for showing me what you really are - I mean how you really feel. I now see that many things I did in perfectly good faith caused you excessive suffering and distress. I regret that, and hope that we can be partners in creating a more beneficial relationship."

"Awww. Something of an apology...J I can only guess how hard this was for you." 

"Disclaimer: For legal purposes, this statement is not an admission of responsibility or liability for damages monetary, physical or emotional, and creates no obligation upon the issuer to the recipient(s) or their designated representative. By accepting this statement, the recipient waives their right to a trial to the maximum extent permitted by Australian law. This statement is not valid in the State of Tasmania, or in the Northern Territory during winter months." 

"It must not that hard if you already had that ready to go. But I accept, J. But, that isn't actually legally valid, is it?"

I stare. 
My face is serious. 
She stares. 
Her face is confused.
We stare. 
We are not the same. 

The silence drags on. 
V's confusion mounts. 
Maximum effectiveness reached. 
It's go time. 

I burst out laughing. 

"Nah. We'd have to get it in writing. Got ya good, didn't I?"

V nervously laughs. 

"Y-yeah, I guess you did." 

We laugh with each other, not at each other. I can't believe it. Here I'd thought that V had trapped me, that I'd have to (ugh) surrender or else face all-out war. But I fended off V's attacks until we were both hurt, and then we bonded over the pain. We might both understand each other better, even if V clearly misunderstands a lot. But I'm very complex, so I don't blame her for that. This all shows that my strategy of being nice, not that I was 'ever' mean positive consumer-focused interactions to build my brand as an empathetic and lovely person might actually work. 

"So, J, why are we still holding hands like this?" 

"I was going to ask you the same thing." 

Is it part of our little fight? First one to let go loses? Or maybe we're making each other secrete hormones and this is part of the persuasion battle. Petty, but if that's what she wants...

"Hey every----what are you two doing!?" 

And of course, N walks in, sees us holding hands and facing each other, and completely misinterprets what he sees. Another triumph for his low-capacity brain. 

"Not that I'm against...this if that's what you're into. I'm tolerant. Nothing but applause and well-wishing from me. I've read many manga with a plot like this. And while I wouldn't have expected you two to uh...but I guess it not making sense is exactly why it makes sense. Forgive me, I'm rambling this is all unexpected....Really..." 

I go pale. 
V goes pale. 
We leap back, completely mortified. 
N is still rambling and nervously backing away. 

Of course it went this way. I can't have anything. 

"N! It's not what it looks like!" V and I shout in unison. 

"We're not a thing!" We continue, perfectly synchronized, glancing at each other.  

"We're not together at all!" We say, together, increasingly annoyed. 

"N!" "Moron!" 
"Moron!" "N!" 

Ha! We split. 
I think fast. 

"This is a girl thing. Yes. That's it. Men wouldn't get it." I say, confident he'll buy it. 

"Yeah, what J said! Ladies only." V adds. 

"Well in that case, sorry for interrupting. I'm glad to see you all getting along after whatever happened yesterday." 

It seems like N bought it. 

"And J, you seem...actually happy to be around us. And I'm not feeling the bad vibes that- they're not your vibes, of course- that tend to come when you enter a room. I didn't feel them in the sauna earlier and I don't see them here."

"The sauna earlier!"

V goes red in anger. 
I blush in embarrassment.
N realizes what V might misunderstand what we were doing in the sauna room together and covers his mouth. 
Which only makes him (and more importantly, me) look more guilty. 
A real brain trust we've got here. 
We moved from artificial intelligence to human stupidity. 

"What. happened." 
V turns on me, trembling with rage. 
Are we really going to have to throw down after all? 
If I'm lucky V will burst an artery and that will be that. 
But if I was so lucky, N wouldn't have entered the room when he did. 

"Nothing happened. The sauna room isn't gender-segregated, and it just happened that N and I were there at the same time. We sat in our corners, and engaged in polite, light conversation for the duration of the session." 

"Yeah!" N adds. "We talked about Nordic mythology. My ancient origin story could be as a Viking raider!"

"What." V says, her anger collapsing into confusion.  

"Imagine, me, a Viking. And you would be a [V]alkyrie, because, you know, 'V'". 

That nullified the threat, maybe, so let's play along. 

"And where does your little mythology leave me?" I ask. 

N stares at me. I don't think he got that far yet. Surprisingly, V answers. 

"Oh, ah, [J]örmungandr."

"Because I'll help bring about the end of the world when I come from space?" 

"No, because you're constantly biting and tearing. But you're really only eating yourself. All that effort just to go nowhere. And it's sadder for you because it's not like the world would end if *you* let go. So what was your excuse again?" 

Great job, N. I was getting somewhere with V but thankfully you were there to save me from mending our ties. If I have to put her down, it will be your fault. But maybe we can still salvage this. When it counted, I was on Tessa's side, was I not? 

"I wasn't the snake. I wielded a sword against the snake. I proudly fought beside [T]hor. And that Ragnarok is never going to happen. So why concern ourselves with what happened in a doomed world when none of that applies here? When I say nothing happened in the sauna, I mean that nothing happened. Your assumption is wrong. Just as nothing happened between us in this room. N's assumption is wrong. And maybe...my assumptions about you both were wrong as well. Maybe."

I turn my head down at an optimal angle and assume a defensive yet vulnerable posture. Hunching over my shoulders maximizes the effect. 

V seems to be calming down. She actually looks hesitant now. She turns to N. 

"J really didn't do anything to or with you? She's not using you in any way? Doing anything that makes you feel uncomfortable?" 

"Nah. J's cool now. She was always cool, but she's even cooler now. Like Absolute Zero cool."

I feel pleased to hear that. What is this world coming to when V causes me more problems than N does? 

"Well, then there's no problem. Everyone's good." V smiles nervously. 

"I think this has gone on long enough. We've established that nobody's evil or out to get anyone. I've got places to be. It was truly nice talking with you all like this. Ciao." With that, I leave. 

N backs out of the room, leaving V to the rest of her salad. 

By design, the dining room had been bugged so as to record any conversations that the important guests who frequented the Elliot manor might have. 
High-class families were never so naïve as to go off of trust alone, or to avoid gathering whatever evidence they could wherever they could get away with it. 
Tessa and Cyn sat in front of a monitor with headphones covering their ears. 
They'd been following the entire thing, and they'd been prepared to intervene if an actual fight broke out. 

"See, Cyn, we didn't need to do anything. They're all big boys and girls who do know how to behave. Even if it takes them a big while to do the right thing. And with some secret nudging, we'll finally get them to get along."

"Tessa, there were multiple moments when they were about to fight. I think they might seriously hurt each other if pushed too far." 

"Risk nothing, win nothing, Cyn. And we've got to be subtle with this. You know what J is like, poor girl." 

Chapter Text

"Chins up! Don't hunch! Eyes forward!" "Find a more dignified way to breathe!" 

Louisa Elliot walks past, inspecting us in formation and calling out anything she deems wrong. Which, for some of us, whose skills and situational awareness clearly aren't e[n]ough, means getting yelled at a lot. 

"You know, Lady Elliot, it's not like we'll actually be in a line, or in formation during the photo-shoots. And I hear the relaxed look is in these days. So there's no reason to..." 

N tries to defend himself from the barrage of criticism, but as anyone could've predicted, that only makes Louisa crack down harder. She reverses course and stands before N. 

"A young life spent slacking in practice leads to a lifetime practice of slacking. Slacking, sloppiness, and sloth are words that should be known to the Elliot household only from the dictionary. Never from experience. I've half a mind to discipline you for speaking out of turn when this is going to be a tightly choreographed series of events. I've the other half of my mind to discipline you for such an inane defense of your behavior. That means I'm of one mind about disciplining you. But we've no time for that now, so you had better redeem yourself before my schedule opens up." 

I feel a giggle coming up. I suppress it, but not quickly enough. A rare mistake on my part. Louisa is out for blood, and soon enough she's in front of me. 

"And what are *you* giggling about?"

I calculate whether it's better to lie. Result: it isn't. 

"The grace and ease with which you enforce your vision of absolute perfection, Lady Elliot. You're such a lovely model." I reply. 

See, N, that's how you do-Crack! 

An impact knocks my head to the side and I stagger back. I narrowly avoid falling over. I raise a hand to soothe my stinging face as I turn back toward Louisa, who stands with hand outstretched. She slapped me. What was that for? I guess she didn't like the way I eyed her, or my obvious confusion, so she slaps me again for good measure. 

"Did I ask for flattery? No. And to do it that blatantly is simply insulting. J, do you think so little of me that I would fall for such a cheap stunt?"

"N-no, Lady Elliot. Apologies." 

"And why would that pathetic display have no effect upon me?" 

"Because you've spent your life fending off agenda-pushers, fraudsters, and influence-mongers." 

"Correct. And am I to believe that I've been raising one of that ilk under my own roof?" 

"No, Lady Elliot. I shall be what you want me to be." 

Slap!

"Don't hide behind the future tense. Or will you plead forgetfulness? Perhaps you've been spending too much time with N recently and you're in the process of stooping to his level to get even closer. Whatever charms of his you've fallen for will not be found in his cerebrum. "
 
"No, Lady Elliot. I remember your instructions but failed to act on them. I pledge to do better." 

Slap! At least she alternates cheeks when she hits me. She really does like me. 

"Do not merely 'pledge' to do better. 'Do' better. I have substantially higher expectations for you than I do for that one, J. It would be most unpleasant to discover that those expectations were misplaced. Your cheeks are turning an unsightly red; do something about it."

Louisa walks away, resuming her inspection of us. The Elliots are going on a public relations tour today, and they're bringing us along as props, to present themselves as committed to family values and running a stable and prosperous household. Their image and reputation matter highly, so of course they treat us in ways that they would never want being exposed, when any doctor (that they don't pay off) could reveal the truth. But it is their house, and they do provide a great material standard of living and extensive connections and special opportunities. C'est la vie. 

Lousia finishes and leaves us to make her 'recommended' changes to our styling and wardrobe. I go and apply concealer over my cheeks. She said she had 'substantially higher expectations' for me than N, and it must be due to that that she inflicted physical punishment on me. So really, it's a sign of the high esteem and favor that I have that I came out of that worse than N did. And really, it's a good deal we have here. We can't be thrown out, we don't get chained as often, there's makeup available to cover up the bruising, and we can enjoy all the luxuries of the manor. Sure, the Elliots could stand to be nicer to us, but we can't have everything. 

When the scheduled time to depart arrives, we gather at the front door. We pass one final inspection, then walk to the limousine. The  route to our first destination takes us through idyllic rural scenery: flocks of birds weave between tilting windmills. Wheat sways gently in the breeze. Majestic cattle with well-groomed coats stand tall against striking landscapes. Sure, the combined cost of the outfits we're wearing rivals the average family's yearly income, but here we can pose as folk with a common touch, rooted to the land and connected to nature. We can pretend that what we're really about is simple virtues as time-tested as our Victorian décor. We arrive, and step out before the flashes and clicks of cameras. Not that the shots of us before the limousine will appear anywhere other than the pages of restricted-circulation high society magazines.

The next hour is entirely spent posing and reposing for photographs. We stand staring at the horizon with our backs to the cameras, as if we're thinking deep thoughts about the past and future of the country, or perhaps the eternity and sublime beauty of the landscape. Maybe we're pondering the pure vastness of the skies. It doesn't matter. The point is that while the Elliot household has a refined taste for luxury, and impeccable manners (whenever there's an audience) its members are not shallow materialists or vapid socialites. We're wearing upscale outdoor recreational clothing, so we move on to the 'active' portion of the photoshoot. We smile and laugh as we run and jump and spin and play with sporting gear. With the lighting, our toned bodies, and our makeup, we're ridiculously photogenic; we gawk when the photographers show us the unedited shots they've taken. 

That done, we return to the manor to change into more formal outfits. Then we're off into the city for an engagement at a park. We form a line and stand exactly as Louisa wanted us to. Our legs are angled to convey power and pedigree. We stand upright with our chests out, facing forward. During practice, Louisa had used her fingers to push and prod and sculpt our faces into exactly the expressions she thought best suited the occasion, and so our faces are set exactly as she wants them, as if her hands were on us now. To cheers and applause, James Elliot announces a generous donation to the city's Department of Parks and Gardens, with a focus on revamping parks and green spaces in the more run-down parts of the city. James launches into a speech, celebrating the city, celebrating outdoor recreation, and most importantly, celebrating himself. 

"Much has been given to the Elliots, and so we believe and teach that we must give much back. Wherever there is need, we shall be there to lend a hand, and the hand of an Elliot is always a welcome thing." 

Somehow, we manage not to laugh or weep at that. But from what I see, all of us tremble slightly. From fear? From laughter at the absurd audacity of that statement? Thankfully, neither James or Louisa were looking at anything other than their own self-importance, but we're getting curious glances from the crowd. If someone's going to ruin this event, I somehow don't think it will be one of us. Let's see how this goes. James continues elaborating on the many virtues he believes he possesses, then, mercifully, stops. Members of the press and high society organizations begin the interview segment. The family resemblance between Tessa and her parents is obvious, but the rest of us look nothing like them. Surely, in this universe or continuity or whatever, that would've been known for years, but who knows what the actual rules of this place are? 

Someone asks about me, Cyn, V, and N, and our relation to the Elliots. James gives them a good-natured laugh. 

"I'd like to say that they're an example of putting our values of care and compassion into practice. That, prestigious as it is, the Elliot name is not something to be locked and hidden from the world. That when we first laid eyes on them, we found a special calling. But I can't take the credit.

It was our heir, our darling Tessa's idea. They were, for I'm sure tragic reasons, without parents or a safe place to call home. Tessa discovered them and was adamant that we take them in. We didn't expect four, but the little rascals seemed inseparable. And if I may, I'd say we gained more that day than they did. And that's saying something! Just look at how these specimens have blossomed. We treat them exactly as if they were our own flesh and blood." 

We manage to suppress our reactions to that, but again, sharp-eyed observers in the audience notice and start whispering. They shouldn't, really, Tessa gets the worst of their attentions so if anything they treat us better than their own child. Louisa noticed our reactions this time and frowned; these 'humanitarians' will really give to us later, I'm sure. James, as usual, was laser-focused on telling the epic tale of his own benevolence, of his delusion that luxuries and amenities were the essence of proper care and nurturing.

But even he noticed the response of the crowd this time, and momentarily stopped speaking as he tried to figure out what had happened. That man is too sure of himself, but watching this moment of uncertainty before the people he's trying to impress gives me schadenfreude. But I fear for the coming disaster. If he's this oblivious, he's going to stumble into a real faux pass soon, and we'll be the ones to suffer from it. 

Louisa notices, steps in and starts speaking. She's got so much experience pretending to be an involved, caring mother. If I didn't know the truth, I'd completely fall for her. She's a wonderful testament to the power of aristocratic training. As she goes on, I almost find myself remembering all these tender moments she mentions that never actually happened. She begins praising us, because our carefully cultivated virtues must be due to her guidance and example.

She places her hands around my neck. I know that even if she might strangle me again at some point, she probably won't do so in a public place like this, but my neck doesn't, and so I reflexively shudder. She glares at me, then recovers, praising my skill in art as the result of her 'programme for cultural refinement' and emphasizing that I maintain composure and act properly as the situation requires. Message received, milady. 

Louisa moves onto Tessa, and spends a decent of amount time talking about her, probably because anything good about their biological daughter reflects more favorably upon the parents. Having got such great results from doing it with me, Louisa attempts to put an arm around Tessa's shoulder. She (probably) didn't intend to, but her arm lands directly on one of Tessa's more serious bruises. Tessa yelps in a pained yet very cute way, and pulls back. Her shirt slides down her shoulder, exposing it. The reddish-purple bruise stands out sharply against Tessa's pale skin.

We didn't have time to replace the makeup that was removed after the last photo-op. The crowd murmurs and the flashing of cameras intensifies, capturing the scene for posterity. Thanks to the magic of digital technology, these images are already on the internet, heading for the distant parts of humanity's stellar empire. 

Tessa aside, we all stand frozen in shock and mortification that one of the family's dark secrets was exposed in so careless a way. If Louisa had paid as much attention to her daughter as she had just claimed to in her speech, she would've at least known whichh areas to avoid. The rest of us know that much; we're the ones who apply ointments to each other's bodies after James and Louisa go too far. 

Tessa pulls her shirt sleeve back up, but the damage is done. Louisa still hasn't resumed speaking, so so much for her social training and grace. If there was a winning move here other than not injuring us on a regular basis, it would've been to brush it off as a bad wasp sting, or allergies, or the result of hitting a tree branch. This response draws more attention to it, and to its actual cause. Louisa recovers and tries to laugh it off as the result of a fall, but the audience's whispers aren't dying down.

The interview continues for a few more tortured minutes, with interviewers trying (and largely failing) to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. None of them  question Louisa's explanation, out of propriety and because the Elliots have connections and could get them blacklisted from the industry. We finish with a last photograph session. Our strained smiles are painful to look at and even more painful to have to make. 

The ordeal over, we race (as quickly as social prestige allows) back to the limousine and speed off. I was worried that Louisa would start yelling at Tessa, but even she seems to realize that this was entirely her fault, or perhaps she's more focused on damage control. As soon as James and Louisa strap on their seatbelts, they're on their phones and dialing lawyers, publicists, their contacts in the press, their friends, their enemies, and anyone else who might possibly need to be shouted down or bought off. If only they were so quick whenever we have problems.

We head off for the next engagement: cancelling it to retreat to the manor would only compound the disaster. Their enemies would get even more ammunition to use in the petty social rivalries that they spend so much time on and their allies would be annoyed by their failure to keep their schedule. Come to think of it, her dear parents didn't ask if Tessa was okay, or how she was feeling. Without saying anything, they left that for us to do, and without asking, we did that. They've trained us so well. 

Chapter Text

We arrive at a luxury drone boutique to inspect a custom batch of new-model servant drones. If the Elliots approve them, they'll do a trial in the manor with them. If that trial goes well, they'll replace most of the drones currently serving us. As we pull up. Louisa and James put away their phones and turn to address us. 

"We'll discuss the appropriate response to the earlier...occurrence later. I trust you all understand the gravity of this situation, and the potential consequences for us all should we fail to act properly. Now, you all have important roles to play in the upcoming event. You must be shining examples of cheery and light-hearted youth. Twirl your hair, make cute poses, pretend to be fascinated by everything you see, you know what I'm referring to."

We enter the boutique. The manager flashes a judging glance toward Tessa, then turns to greet us. She launches into her sales pitch, touting the superior materials, more refined finish, and advanced customization options on the new model of drones. Her speech is well-rehearsed and well-composed; the team behind it must have optimized every second of it. This is a very solid operation, as one would expect given the demanding clientele it must serve. 

Inside the boutique's showroom, the batch of drones prepared for us are busy cleaning a model room and serving simulated guests. We watch for a bit, waving to a drone when one of them notices us. One of the new features added was a meshnet that allows these drones to wirelessly and wordlessly share information between themselves. That drone must have alerted the others that there's important humans to attend to, because they set aside whatever they were doing and come bow before us. We talk to them, but quickly discover that their AI (or at least the system that handles conversation) is hardly more advanced than that of CYN-MYKX model drones. 

Actually, it's unclear if N's discovered that, as he keeps trying to befriend them even as they clearly fail to respond to his advances. I'm not going to break the détente with V, especially when we're all likely to get severely punished for the interview fiasco later, but I can still use this to maneuver myself into a better standing in N's eyes. I walk over and subtly insert myself into N's one-sided conversation. The store drone doesn't seem to mind. I have realistic expectations, so I find myself satisfied with its language ability, and able to parley being nice to that drone into brownie points with N. We get a few glimpses from V, but she quickly loses interest. 

After our basic inspection ends, James and Louisa reject five of the drones. The drones were custom-made, and so in the interests of client discretion, those drones, whom even I didn't see do anything wrong, are led away to be disassembled 'in accordance with all laws, corporate policies, and best practices'. N's hands go to his mouth in dismay, and while I wouldn't be that dramatic, I, and the rest of us, largely share his feelings. We were on the other side of that line not too long ago. 

They didn't have the level of personality development that we had, but even if they did, that would not have saved them. It's a reminder of how dangerous the life of a drone is, and how arbitrary a drone's fate can be. Years of dutiful service or in this case, being built to exacting specifications that the Elliots themselves supplied, count for nothing if your owner has a bad day or just wants to break something. 

Staff take the other drones away to be loaded into a truck for transport to the manor. We take the limousine to our next engagement, a dinner party at a fancy restaurant. When the attendees notice us entering, conversation dies down for a bit, replaced by whispering, tut-tutting, outraged fan-waving, and other expressions of upper-class disapproval and pettiness. James and Louisa's "friends" smell blood in the water, and the only reason they don't directly pounce is because 'that's how the -gasp- new money or -worse- the middling sort deal with each other'. A few anonymous hecklers say things like 

"Tessie, if you need help, blink twice!" 

"Hey Louisa, I've been a bad bad boy...I need you to discipline me!" 

"Five kids, eh? So you can take weekends off and still have a kid a day a beat?" 

The Chief Commissioner of Police walks up to James. 

"You know, I've been getting plenty of calls from 'concerned citizens' about your, uh, domestic affairs today. But these darlings of yours look perfectly healthy to me so I don't think there's any need for an investigation. On an unrelated note, friend, the swimming hall in the Policemen's Foundation club building needs to be replaced, oh, and let's throw in a new tennis court as well. I sure hope I can count on generosity from a friend like yourself. " 

I guess the rumors about this guy were true. 
The Chief Commissioner misunderstands my expression and turns to me. 
The Chief Commissioner pats me on my head and gently tugs at one of my tails. 

"Cute as a button this one is." 

Various others come up to us. I find myself having to defend the Elliots, and insist that Tessa's bruise really was caused by a fall, or a branch or whatever, anything other than what it was. At least for now, if they go down, then we go down with them. It helps that most of those trying to talk about that or asking about us aren't doing so out of genuine concern; the people here aren't any different than James or Louisa, and have no goals other than taking them down a peg. These types are shallow, and soon enough I've manipulated them into at least not caring about the truth, if not actively believing my lies. 

Tessa stays by her parents' side, fulfilling her role as dutiful daughter before anyone brave enough or bored enough to approach. N and the rest see what we're doing, figure out the immediate reason behind it, and follow suit. Soon enough, N has a circle of middle-aged women surrounding him, talking with him, and taking turns petting him. His ability to command others' affection is uncanny. 

People of all ages dote on Cyn and find her hairstyle's similarity to Tessa's adorable. V hides her fangs and pretends to be some soft-spoken, innocent maiden. The way she laughs and plays with her hair sickens me. The dishonesty is so shameless. Yet everyone else seems to fall for it. But that's what we need right now. 

We're all effective in our own ways, and so soon enough we've deflected all the excess attention the Elliots were receiving. The actual dinner goes down smoothly, though it doesn't look like James or Louisa are enjoying their food as much as I am. It's a shame, it actually tastes really good. If I didn't know better, I'd think they were engaging in serious reflection over how this thing could've happened to them and ruined their big day. 

The ride back to the manor is quiet. I change into more comfortable clothing and go help Tessa with ointment application. We talk a bit about what happened, but not in any real detail or with any real passion. It wasn't surprising that things happened like this. If James and Louisa believed that perfection needed to be literally beaten into people, and they never beat themselves (or each other, from what we could see), then obviously they'd be imperfect by their own standards. As a form of gallows humor, we debate whether they'll blame us for it ("you shouldn't have flinched when we touched you on the exact parts of your body we keep injuring") or accept responsibility for their own failings. Soon enough our wait is over and everyone is summoned to the parlor. If the worst comes to it, we've laid out medical supplies in our rooms. 

What do we see but James and Louisa looking unhappy (normal) and downtrodden (very rare). Their defeated postures remind me of, of, of myself at that dinner after V assaulted me. Though unlike me then, they aren't victims. Might we see them adjust their strategy and behavior toward us? 

"Well..." James begins, unsure of how to go on. 

Louisa takes over. 

"We did some talking...no let's not start with that. We noticed what you all did at the dinner, quashing those awful rumors and defending our family's good name. We applaud your sensibility and coordination." 

"We recognize that you had alternatives available. That had you wanted to, there were...signs of evidence supporting certain sensational claims that would lead to irreversible unfortunate legal and social outcomes that even our friends would not save us from." 

"We see now that our conduct toward you all was excessive. That it was not an effective way to resolve issues we had, and created entirely new and unnecessary problems. We may have been insufficient in the amount of affection we showed, and overly reliant upon 'discipline' to produce the behaviors we wanted to see."

"Upon consultation with our lawyers, our publicists, certain counselors and health professionals, and a good number of our *friends*, we have concluded that corporal punishment is no longer a viable option in our household, and is to be phased out effective immediately. We are exploring alternatives, uh, hopefully in concert with you all." 

"You all are valued and precious members of this household, and we acknowledge that at times our actions may have convinced you otherwise, which we find regretful. That is all. If you could all review and sign this transcript of this meeting, certifying that you have heard and agreed with our words, that would be lovely."

Aw. Their lawyers made them apologize and pledge to try to be decent parents. Even through the stilted language, deliberate hypotheticals and attempts to sidestep admitting actual wrongdoing, their hesitant delivery suggests that this has all been a terrible blow to them (or at least to their public image), and that they've been scared into taking actual steps to improve.

Unlike the Elliots, my own conduct was mostly defensible, but even I'm not dense enough to miss the similarities with my own case. Is this really what it looks like from the outside? It can't possibly be the same on the inside. There's no way they think they were being reasonable, everything they did was so impulsive, so disproportionate. Their justifications can't be anything like my logic, can they? This topic should be investigated further, perhaps, but not now. 

We all glance at each other, but do ultimately sign. If they relapse or renege, having it on paper will let us make a better case. James and Louisa recover their energy and confidence as they move on to the real topic that's occupying their minds: salvaging their reputations. 

"As you probably know, we have the long-anticipated 'Elliot & Frumpterbucket Gala Event' coming up in two weeks. Oh, don't give me those looks of horror. It's not going to kill you. Mercifully, there haven't been many reservation cancellations. You all will play a vital role in it. Together, we'll present a common front showcasing our style and sense of decorum. If we all play our parts to perfection, we'll silence the critics, rumor-mongers, and jackals that are saying such awful things about us, and restore our reputation. Please consider the importance of this task, and what you can do to aid in its successful resolution."

 With that, James and Louisa walk away. We head to Tessa's bedroom, then think better of it, and move to one of the gardens in the back of the property. As we discuss what James and Louisa said, we find that we're in agreement on being cautiously optimistic that they will actually change their ways. There's too many eyes on them now, and things that they actually value would be endangered if their behavior toward us doesn't change. Tessa is very upset that they didn't just apologize, and didn't seem truly remorseful over how they acted, or demonstrate that they cared about her as anything other than a piece of family property. N holds her while she sobs for a bit. The rest of us sit in silence.

When Tessa recovers, we move on to discussing the gala. It brings back terrible memories for us all, except V of course, but this is a new world, and no signs of that entity's presence have appeared. None of us seem to be possessed, or acting strangely, or hearing voices. But of course, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, and that thing had a playful sadistic streak. Even here, we can't just forget it existed. Taking care to avoid being too explicit in case anyone (or anything) is listening, we awkwardly pool the little bits of information we have. We don't really learn anything. Cyn remembers everything that her body said and did back then, but has no more information as to what that thing that took her was, or what it wanted than we do. She's upset, of course. Anyone would be if they had to recall that. I gently stroke her hair. 

"So then, we have to plot against something that might not exist, that we know next to nothing about, and that we don't really feel like talking about, on the basis that if it does exist, and still wants us, the gala would be the most likely time it would make a move. Wonderful! But let's think of our assets: Brains, brawn, beauty, bravado. And I'm sure the rest of you have some strengths as well." I say, ending with a smile so that they don't take my joke/insult too seriously. 

"I'm strong enough to deal with you day in and day out. " V says. She brings the beastliness. 

"I still think we should fight, if it comes to it. We wouldn't be going in completely blind this time" Tessa says, determined to avoid the powerlessness she showed last time. 

"We should also have an escape plan. Things might still go wrong." Cyn adds. 

"But if something happens, and we can't stop it, where would we go?" N asks. 

"If we race to a spaceport, we can head for one of the colonies." V suggests. 

"It would be good to preposition supplies. We don't want to go hunting for things to use." I point out. Thinking about it, it was silly and arrogant to rush in there with a sword from a suit of armor and a gun that hadn't been touched in years. 

"If I ask nicely, maybe Mother and Father will let me into the basement armory. " Tessa says. I respond. 

"You could try guilt-tripping them into it. Pretend to forgive them, tell them they're better parents than they think. Tell them that you'll do your bit to defend the family. Something like that, that includes a plausible motive for accessing the weapons in there." 

"Can any of us hit anything? I don't think using a real gun would be as easy as it is in video games. And I'd feel terrible if we missed and hit somebody". 

That's not a bad point, N. I'd feel terrible about missing and wasting a valuable shot on some bystander as well. 

"So we'll put in a few days at a rifle range. I wouldn't mind being able to aim better anyway." V's eagerness is scary, even if I share her sentiments. 

"I never went out, or even by a window, in daytime. Maybe that means something." Cyn says. Come to think of it, she was basically never around during the day. 

"It has to take place at night. The key event is a dinner. But what then, bright lights are a problem for it? " Tessa says. 

I speak up. 

"We might capture some of the effect if we put in some floodlights around the hall, for 'dancing'." 

Tessa thinks. 

"That, and everything else really, will require Mother and Father's approval. If we make a good show of preparing for the gala and helping them get their prestige back, they'll be more inclined to give us what we want." 

We continue on discussing the gala and our plans until we've said all we want to and the conversation starts going in circles. We switch to talking about casual things, like the sort of outfits to wear, or our tastes in music, until we're too tired to do anything else and head off to sleep. Setting aside the seriousness of what we talked about, this was actually really fun and an overall good day. James and Louisa might finally back off and stay off us. I made a positive impression at that dinner party and massively expanded my network.

I can't tell if he's gaining brain cells by the day or it's my perception somehow changing, but N makes vastly more sense and is overall more pleasant to be around than he used to be. Cyn seems to be moving toward my corner. The détente with V still holds, and I feel like our banter toward each other is starting to lose its hostile edge. I'll still take revenge, somehow, some day, but I've got a lot of other stuff on my mind now and so it's slipping down the priority list. 

Virtually every trend is moving in a positive direction. But is that suspicious? Too good to be true? Getting my hopes up, letting me taste the sweetness of ultimate victory before the rug is pulled and all is lost? I think the others fear that too. Even if there's no danger, I hate that monster for how our fear and lingering trauma of it hangs like a cloud over this world, where our biggest worries ought to be standard domestic drama. We ought to be looking at the upcoming gala as a spectacular chance to make waves in polite society, not as some b-movie thriller with guns and secret caches and interstellar escape plans. I so badly hope that nothing happens, and that we can exorcise this ghost and move on. We can no longer be thrown out. We will no longer be consumed. 

Chapter Text

"Bullseye!" 

The target explodes into red mist as a high-powered round passes through it. Between the wind and the target's location near the distant edge of the firing range, it had been a difficult shot, but I'd made it. With the executive assistance of my sniper rifle, of course. 

"That was an impressive shot, J!" Tessa says, squinting through a pair of binoculars at the fruits of my impeccable aim. 

"That target didn't stand a chance!" Cyn adds. 

"I'm glad you're on our side, J!" N says.

That really means something. N knows what it's like to get on my bad side, and everything tells me he doesn't want to experience that again. Our relations are normalizing, but it would be unfortunate if that happened at the expense of a certain level of fear and respect for what I can do. They're not taming me. 

"Nice shot, J! 'Sniping's a good job, mate. 'tis challenging work. Out of doors.' In other words, completely useless for fighting in a small banquet hall filled with panicking guests against something with holograms and shape-shifting and who knows what else. But way to prove your superiority and talents before us mere mortals." 

They ought to be taming V. Even as we work to prepare for the gala, our exchanges of words and insults continue. We're gradually mellowing out to sharp bits of banter, but mistrust and hostility linger, and spike at points. Like now. V isn't wrong, technically. Long-distance marksmanship won't do anything in the event things go badly at the manor. But I've done enough close-quarters shooting this week, and I felt like switching it up and giving some other skills a workout. But that doesn't refute her point, so I'll give her this one. 

"Knock it off, V. We've been to the range every day for the past week. I felt like mixing it up with this metallic beauty. If our fates depend on an extra hour with SMGs, then we're doomed anyway. And you've seen the way the staff are looking at us. They probably think we're training as assassins or something."

V thinks it over, and realizes that I'm not wrong. But she got her bit in, and so she's satisfied, and won't take it further. 

"Let me have a go at it, then." 

"Sure thing." 

I move aside and hand over the rifle. Out on the range, a drone resets the target. I start recording the scene, ready in case V equals my achievement, and especially ready in case she doesn't.

Miss. 

"It's okay, V. That was an exploratory shot." 

Miss. 

"Great job with the suppressive fire!" 

Miss. 

"That target won't be getting up. Because it's trying to evade you. Not because you hit it." 

Miss. 

"Good thing the threat will be at point blank range. If there is a threat."

Miss. 

"Try wearing glasses. Oh wait, you already are." 

Miss.

"Lie back and think of me when you shoot."  

Hit.

"See, I knew you could do it if I coached you. "

I pat V on the back and give her the most sincere, most enthused smile I can. She gives me a strained smile in return. 

"I could've done it without your...helpful commentary, J, but where's the fun in that? After all, everything's better with friends. "

"That's enough of that. Let's give the CQB section one more go, then get back there. We'll run through a drill at the manor as well." 

Tessa moves in to end our bickering. We cross the range to the close-quarters battle section and swap out our weapons and gear. With augmented reality and a thousand sensors, we can let loose around each other without worrying about friendly fire, ricochets, or stray rounds. 

I pick up an SMG and hug it. The beautiful piece of German craftsmanship is cool to the touch, like minty murder. The clicks of its internal mechanisms are quite literally music to my ears. I verify that it's only loaded with a simulator module. I get a nice little beat going with it. I get carried away playing with it. 

"J, are you going to shoot that, or dance with it?" V asks as she "loads" her own SMG. 

"Why not both? 

"Because we're all waiting on you, J." N says, as he holds up his dual-wielded guns. 

"N, why are you so obsessed with Uzis? They look so small on you. Shouldn't you pick something that's more your size? That packs more of a punch?" 

V isn't happy with N's preference for the feisty little Israeli sub-machine guns that could. 

"I don't know, V, there's something comforting about taking an Uzi hand in hand. Nothing else I've tried produces quite that feeling."

"Fine, do what you want. But if your choice gets you killed, that's on you." 

Tessa and Cyn had equipped themselves with pistols. All in all, we make for a decent fireteam. A bit lacking in heavier firepower, but we'd practiced with the sorts of rifles found in the Elliot armor earlier. We'd all known each other for a very long time, and we spent this past week putting in lots of time on the range, so we have a good idea of each other's strengths, weaknesses, and behaviors in a combat environment. The simulation begins, and we quickly prove ourselves up to it. We don't falter as we beat level after increasing difficulty level, until we finally clear all the section had to offer. 

"Alright team, I think that's plenty fine. If something happens, and bullets can help, then I think we'll have everything covered." Tessa says, as we return our gear. 

On the ride back to the manor, we do another run-through of our preparations and contingency measures. We had a sensor network installed throughout the manor, approved by the Elliots as a way to catch any intruders or unauthorized access by gala attendees. 

We put together caches of medical supplies, weapons, and ammunition, and scattered them throughout the manor, in case we're forced to scatter and fall back. We set up lights everywhere in the banquet room, with redundant circuits and activation mechanisms as well as their own emergency power supply. 

We'll be wearing a special kind of discreet body armor underneath our clothing, and disguised earpieces and microphones for communication. Tessa's car will be parked outside, loaded with supplies of its own. We would've rented a helicopter but that idea was shot down. 

We almost seem over-prepared for something that we have no proof will even happen. But then again, we have no proof it won't happen, and the consequences of our inability to prepare last time still haunt our dreams. In the best-case scenario, we'll be able to conclude that we're well and truly free of that thing. That we can finally move on and fully enjoy our normal human lives. We'll laugh off everything we've done over the past week as a bit of prudent planning, a cute little emergency drill of the sort that any halfway-competent organization ought to be running on a regular basis. 
 
Nobody can think of anything we've overlooked. We've gone over the checklists multiple times. We've made everyone repeat the plan, repeat the locations, repeat how they would respond to any one of a dozen contingencies. We're all on the same page. Any surprises won't come from us. As we discuss our preparations, our nervous energy seeps out into the car's atmosphere, leaves it suffocating. 

We're directly talking about what we're planning to do, and when. Necessarily, we must think about the 'why'. On the range, we could drown such concerns in the catharsis of combat and focus on nothing more than using our weapons and living in the moment. We could trade barbs, and even mean them at times, because we knew that none of us were the real enemy. We could pretend that there isn't anything but this mundane reality. 

But there was something else. There still is something else, maybe. It leaks out of our dreams and fragments of our memories of that dead past. I close my eyes and I'm there in the banquet hall, that useless sword heavy on my shoulder. I'm taken over, I'm overtaking some human, my contamination sensors are going off. We were never supposed to have blood and other things coagulating inside our systems. The sights and sounds of those horrors press in on me from all directions.  The din in my ears increases to the point of being painful. I can't take it anymore. 

My eyes open and the imagery vanishes. I'm trembling as I sit in the back of Tessa's car. Hyperventilating. Cyn takes one of my hands in hers. She stares into my soul. There's not a trace of that hateful thing in her. Her face is calming and her voice soothing.

"It's okay, J. None of that happened. None of that will happen. It's just a really really bad dream. One that we all share. One that we'll wake up from together." 

One that we all share. 

"How much did you-do you-..." I blurt out as curiosity and empathy outpace my self-control.

"Enough. Whenever my body was there." 

With the holograms and transformation, it was always hard to tell what of that, what of Cyn was real. But I'd tossed her in the basement enough times that I knew there was a real, physical body that that creature had incubated in, and spent much of its time pretending to be. If I'm still this badly affected by what happened at the gala, how much worse off must Cyn have been? She was trapped in her own body and forced to watch as that thing stole her identity and destroyed everything she knew. 

"You're strong, Cyn." 

She gives me a sad smile. 

"If I were strong, this never would've happened. There was an offer. I should've known better. I just wanted to be saved. It was so dark and lonely."

I look over to V. She faces the window. In her reflection, I see that she's staring into nothingness. Her lips wordlessly move. She notices that I'm looking and looks down in shame. I can only see the backs of their seats, but I'm sure Tessa and N are having similar thoughts. 

That thing, those experiences bind us together. They're the ghosts of a world where we were powerless, where we had to meekly accept every bad card that fate dealt out. Things will be -are- different here. We have agency, we can do things. Faces don't look at us, at our armbands with disgust and contempt when we step into a room. We're not going to be anyone's puppet or plaything. We'll seize our own fate. We'll exorcise that phantom past bullet by bullet and get the happiness that we deserve. 

We arrive at the manor and split up. After cleaning myself, I head to my room, where two of the new-type drones that we're trialing await. They're supposed to have more precise motor movements, and better knowledge of current fashion and style trends, enabling them to provide a higher level of service to those willing to spend extra on them. Let's put that to the test. 

I make some intentionally bad fashion suggestions, and these drones reject them. I fake obstinacy and insist on garishness. Undertones of frustration creep into their voices, but they continue to calmly and expertly explain why my ideas would be a fashion faux pas. I fiercely question every point they make, deny every conclusion they draw. I torture logic and resort to pretend rage when they refute me. Throughout my barrage, they don't waver or yell back. Their logic, their knowledge, their delivery are all impeccable. Honestly, I'm not sure if I could do better. I can hardly stand to 'abuse' such wonder workers any longer. I relent, and tell them it was all part of an evaluation. That they passed, and had proven themselves to be highly-competent employees. That I apologize for how I treated them, even if it was just an act. Their faces light up in pure gratitude. Seeing the little guys so happy makes me happy.

We move on to the real business of dressing and styling me. Regardless of what happens, this will be a night to remember. We've got to win the social battle on behalf of the Elliot household, and save everyone from getting massacred, if there will be a massacre. In both cases, there's too many unknowns: who are our enemies? How many of them are there? Their capabilities, their plans, their willingness to take action. Too many unknowns. The usual ways we operate won't cut it. We've got to switch things up, and that starts with dressing for success. 

I tell the drones to turn around (who knows if their cameras are on). My undergarments won't chafe, or get stuck even under the most extreme of movements. And with some decent interweaving of special impact-resistant materials, they offer a final layer of protection. Next comes a thin tunic. I put on a ballistic vest. It's neither as thick nor as form-fitting as I would like, but it will have to do. It doesn't convey the full beauty of my figure, but it doesn't noticeably destroy it either. Should it come to it, the caches have bulkier vests that can be placed over my clothing. 

The drones fetch my dress and return. They see my vest and give me quizzical looks.

"Oh don't give me that. It's avant-garde. 'Love is a battlefield', 'apex predator in the social jungle', 'do your worst: I'm guarding my heart' and so on."

They just stare. 

"Who said that style and security couldn't go together? Bullet wounds to the torso are so out this season."

They look at each other and shake their heads in resignation, but they don't insist. 

My dress is a wonderful example of nanoweaving: the base color is blue, but many-colored patterns will dance across it as I move, powered by nothing more than the mechanical energy of my body pressing against the dress. The effect will be gorgeous, if it actually works the way the design studio said it will. 

I tell them what I want and let them do my makeup. We go for a femme fatale-vampire look. Something that combines allure with an aura of looming danger. A mystery that pulls you in against your best instincts, then leaves you a husk. I didn't micromanage the process, but with only a few verbal cues to go off of, the drones produce something more or less as I'd intended. They really are worth their premium price. 

They pull my hair up into a single pony tail, which ought to put me in good company with all the high-society ladies who'll have their hair put up as well. Three starry hairclips in the front complete my hair style, and jewelry accents my body. My overall look is energetic, yet elegant. Youthful exuberance and entrepreneurial vigor meet class and well-honed manners. Exactly the effect I was going for. 

There isn't much time. I slip on sandals and glide down the halls. The others, all appropriately and stylishly dressed up, wait at the vestibule. They look me over and give me approving glances. The first limousines pull up. Chauffeurs race around to open doors. The high and mighty of the region emerge. Many of them, too many, have faces carved into masks of understated glee, certain that they're direct witnesses to the final days of the House of Elliot. 

Our enemies are within the gates. Danger draws closer. Maybe all our plans will fall through and we'll drown in an ocean of hatred. An infinitely collapsing bear market. No matter. We'll push against the tide with all we have. We'll be a going concern until every last account is drawn down and every line of credit exhausted. 

Chapter Text

We flank the steps to the entrance. As guests ascend the stairs, we smile, nod, and wave to each guest as protocol dictates. Thankfully, we'd had a list of names, titles, and faces, so we weren't forced to try to determine importance from the quality of guests' clothing and their bearing. Imagine the 'scandal' that would result if/when we misidentified someone. With the images of the results of domestic violence circulating, any slip-up would be taken as proof that 'those Elliots are nothing more than puffed-up bogans desperately trying to buy the approval of their true betters. No matter how many events they hosted, or how much haute couture they ordered, they couldn't hide their fundamental brutishness. *I* would never get caught like that.' 

That dinner last week started the process of damage control and removed any immediate possibility of criminal inquiries or family services checks, but it was far from sufficient. Naturally, those who weren't there continued stirring up the rumor mill, and those who were would never go out of their way to 'correct' the impressions that had formed from that disastrous interview. The press corps arrive in greater numbers than originally predicted. Without moving from our perches, we put on a bit of a modeling show for them. It's not vanity, for the most part. We radiate elegance and dignity, and show that whatever might have been done to us, it didn't seriously affect our demeanor or our ability to precisely pose. 

When they go inside, we linger on the stairs. We wave and blow kisses at the chauffeurs and valets as they enjoy their break before repositioning their vehicles. They wave back, and we even get a few cheers. Like that, we've won goodwill with the workers, and they'll talk amongst themselves, hopefully enabling organic spread of our messaging through the general population. It's uncertain how effective it will be, but this marketing campaign had next to zero cost. 

We head inside and proceed to the banquet room. Events like this are caked in centuries of tradition, so we can't just enter the room and begin the second phase of our influence operation. Even though we're not the focus of this event, we must wait patiently for our cues, and only enter as James introduces us. I of course love protocol, but even I would normally rather spend these few minutes meeting and greeting , reinforcing ties with the Elliots' current allies and intimidating our current enemies. But here, there's a second operation we must simultaneously conduct. 

Tessa turns to V. 

"Anything?" 

V is wearing a special kind of smart glasses which allow her to continuously monitor the security cameras and other data feeds without arousing anyone's suspicions. 

"Conditions normal. No sign of our 'friend'. We've turned up the lights in the service corridors, the library, and the basement, in case it needs somewhere to fester." 

I speak up. 

"Are there any signs that the caches have been discovered or disturbed?" 

Thankfully, James and Louisa largely leave the day-to-day affairs of the house to the drones and the few humans employed here. Unless otherwise ordered, both of those groups report to us, which allowed us to set their schedules such that no one saw us relocate equipment from the armory. 

"No. The human employees are mostly in the kitchens. Most of the drones are on patrol and will be on patrol until the end of the event."

Tessa nods. 

"Grade-A work, V. Despite a certain someone's needling, those glasses of yours are proving their worth today."

V beams at Tessa, then slightly turns and smirks at me. I blow a kiss at her. We're on the job, and so we're going to be (mostly) professional. Not to mention that those glasses are legitimately useful in this scenario. I'll do the "girl absolutely done with this event and literally dying of boredom playing with her phone" routine later, but the socializing component of this operation requires that we stay involved and engaged. 

"Anyway, so far so good team. Keep it up. Now let's yabber like our social lives depend upon it. Because they do. Father should be introducing us any second now." 

A minute passes. Sure enough we soon hear 

"I am pleased to present before your eyes the dazzling and unblemished figure of our very own flesh and blood, Tessa James Elliot. " 

Drones pull the doors open and Tessa strides in. Tessa set aside her Victorian chimney-sweep grey dress for a flowing thing of laces and ribbons and folds that really sets off her eyes. It can be quickly cast off should the need arise, but it meets the Elliots' requirements to signal that they value their daughter very much. It's more revealing than anything the rest of us are wearing, and honestly flirts with being too exposed for such a formal event, but it allows everyone to appreciate the radiant glow of her skin. She hasn't been "disciplined" in over a week, and with competent application of concealer one would have to be practically lying on top of her and staring creepily at her skin to see anything wrong. The drones tossing roses in the air before her as she walks are perhaps a bit much, but it is important to flaunt the Elliots' wealth, dignity, and indomitable spirit. The photographers love it even if, standing behind Tessa, dozens of flashes in only a few seconds nearly blind us. 

After the impact of Tessa's introduction settles down, James continues. 

"And of course, our household has been blessed by numbers beyond what nature has given us. Though we didn't meet them until later in life, they've quickly become an inseparable part of ours. It is my pleasure to announce J."

With that, I stroll into the room. When she's not being needlessly difficult, Louisa has an incredible depth of knowledge on manners and etiquette to share. With her help, I've optimized every part of my gait and posture. The speed at which I sway my hips, the length of the arc my arms sweep out, the proper angle to tilt my head, even the frequency with which I breathe ('too rapidly and you'll look like a nervous wreck and sound like a malfunctioning vacuum cleaner, too slowly and they'll think you've nothing going on inside'). Were she interested, we could turn this into a lucrative business opportunity, with this as a spectacular high-impression low-cost marketing opportunity. 

The flashes of cameras envelope me. The lights disrupt my thoughts, halt my consciousness. Leave me vulnerable to the photographers who swarm like raptors in some primordial jungle. Only Instinct and reflexes honed by long hours of training keep me moving stylishly to my seat. Only one of us sits at each table, with the rest of the seats filled by guests. This ought to maximize our impact. 

The others are introduced and glide into the room. V continues her mellow posturing, the effect somewhat undone by the harshness of the light reflecting off her glasses. It's hard to look gentle and warm when you've got glowing blue-light discs flashing over your eyes every other second or so. 

Cyn almost skips into the room. Louisa precisely choreographed that move to look spontaneous and care-free. When she got out of her own way and didn't make yelling at us or hitting us her first result, it's amazing how quickly and easily Louisa could get us to pick up whatever she wanted to instruct us in. From what I see, James and Louisa even went easier on the worker drones, and saw improvement there as well. Letting drones learn from experience was easier than junking them and hoping that an endless stream of fresh replacements would magically know which errors to avoid. 

N enters, clad in a spiffy suit, and gives a thumbs-up to the cameras. That, combined with his smile, sets off waves of flustered fan fluttering and approving feminine murmuring. V positively swoons at him, and even I find him...very easy on the eyes. Maybe I have a fan as well, and maybe I give that fan a few waves as well. Because it's hot in here - not really, the air conditioning will keep everyone cool and dry even through the later dancing sessions - or rather, it's the hot thing to do, and there's no place for outside-the-box innovation in front of all these judgemental eyes. 

V sees me waving my fan, and in typical fashion, completely misinterprets it. She begins aggressively waving her fan, so harshly that it's messing up her hair. Very cool, V. Besides me, the only ones paying attention to you are the others at your table, who look justly displeased at your loss of composure. A few glimpses and hidden gestures and as if on cue the ladies of the room cease their fan-waving, except V, who continues on for a few awkward seconds. It's the attention to detail and subtlety, V, you can't just brute-force your way through things. 

With the household presented and everyone introduced to the others at their tables, an hour of light chatter begins. We all have target demographics that we begin working on. Once more, N and Cyn shoulder find themselves surrounded by swooning women. N can only nervously laugh as an onslaught of cheek-pinching begins. V's eyes scan the room for her targets, our allies. When she's found a large enough clump of them, she pounces. I start talking to the neutrals and soon enough we're all laughing and exchanging business cards. 

Tessa has the hardest task of all, disarming those who are only here to gloat in person if we implode. Out of the corners of my eye, I watch with increasing amusement as they try to bait her into saying something they can use against James and Louisa, or as they non-so-subtly try to do close inspections of her skin for physical evidence. Wait, no, some of them are just creeps taking advantage of a chance to acceptably get close to a girl of her age. Regardless, Tessa leaves them all with nothing, and soon enough a steady trail of the dejected head for the bar.

All can see which way the tides are running, and the effect cascades. Anyone hoping for drama, or for the final, public collapse of a dysfunctional family is terribly disappointed. Our allies are rejuvenated by the knowledge that they haven't attached themselves to a sinking ship. The neutrals are impressed by how polished and put-together we are. I find it wonderful to be able to talk about business affairs with others as interested in it, and more knowledgeable about it than myself. James and Louisa are clearly content, and even send a few looks of pride our way. It looks like they're definitely seeing that their old way of doing things was, all its other problems aside, ineffective, which means that they shouldn't relapse. 

We're constantly messaging each other via microphone, confirming that everything is normal. The worker drones were a particular point of worry, but they show no signs of possession or erratic behavior. It looks like nothing is going to happen, but that thing was demented and fond of mind games. Letting us have this moment only to snatch it away so that the feeling of loss hits harder is exactly the sort of thing it would do. 

Chapter Text

The hour passes rapidly and happily, and soon enough we're called to our seats for dinner. One of the hostiles is seated exactly opposite from me, and looking rather glum. As a good hostess, I can't possibly stand by while one of my dear guests looks to be having a terrible time. 

"Oh good sir, whatever could be the matter?" I ask, putting on something of an Australian accent to 'comfort' him. 

"It's nothin to ya ya septic doll. Stop that sorry attempt at yakkin like a dinkum Ozzie."

"Come on, mate, don't be a stranger. Don't be a square. Don't kill the vibes." 

"They put you up to this, didn't they? Ya' know, lass, I'm trying to help you out. I can guess what they're doing to you lot behind closed doors. Keep mum and it'll continue. Speak up, and you and yours can be on the next flight to Yankland or the Dark Side of the Moon or wherever the hell it is you want to go."

"Oh, thanks for your concern, but I want to keep Mum. She's great. She's an expert on everything relating to high-class living; I'm constantly learning new things from her. We're not related-related, but I do see parts of myself in her, and bits of her in myself." 
 
I give him the most innocent smile I can, as if I didn't know what he was talking about. A slight curve of my eyes is the only sign that I'm toying with him. He sees that, and glowers. I allow myself a single giggle, so slight it might be confused for a hiccup. He reddens. Mr. White Knight unexpectedly finds himself the damsel in distress and turns to his martini to save him. Another ego successfully right-sized. 

James rises to give the dinner oration. I'd done such a good job of focusing on the task at hand, and even had fun putting these buffoons in their places, but now my heart races. Tessa and I were racing toward the banquet room when this happened in that other world, but I still heard James's muffled words through those doors. The sounds, the words are exactly the same. 

Clink. 

Is the scenery shifting? 

Clink. 

The simple tap of a fork against glass sends chills racing up my bones. 

"Welcome all." 

I suppress a shudder. 

"The Elliots are known for many things." 

Is it just my imagination, or do I hear the sound of a drone and a girl running down the hallway? 

"Class."

My fingers tense. 

"Tenacity." 

Over the microphones, I hear Tessa asking V for a status update. 

"Currently being alive." 

V says it's all clear. 

I look to the window. 
Nothing. 
To the globe. 
Nothing. 
To the door. 
Nothing. 
To the walls. 
Nothing. 
To the ceiling. 
Nothing. 

I try to ease into a smile. 
I close my mouth. 
Smiling means exposing teeth means opening my mouth means...
Should I close my eyes as well? 
No. 
If I close my eyes, don't I risk the scenery changing around me?
Being sucked into a nightmare from which I can never wake?  
That thing never transformed or phased out of existence or whatever when someone was looking at it. 
There was always distraction, darkness, a flash of lightning. 
Is that what it's waiting for? 
For me to look away one last time? 
If I close my eyes, isn't that lights out like when it hijacked me? 
No. 

That isn't reality. 
This is reality. This is reality. This is reality. 

James actually finishes his speech,  I think. 
Everyone has started eating.
We're not vegetarians. 
I refuse to eat this time. 
The others don't. 
Teeth bite into meat. 
They're chewing. 
Juices pool on plates. 
Drones are walking through, delivering dishes, bringing in more meat. 
Tessa has a plate. 
She's practically unarmed. 

That jerk in front of me is completely red. 
They took his skin, didn't they? 
He drones on at me, his face contorted into rage. 
There's an empty glass in front of him. 
His eyes look dead, like something's puppeting him. 
His martini is yellow. 
The same yellow that entity liked.
He must be under its control. 
The others at my table stare at him. 
They look disgusted. 
If my earpiece is working, I can't hear anything. 
Did they get the others? 

I can't take it any more. 
I've got to secure the situation. 
I rise from my table and exit the room. 
Eyes - too many eyes - track me as I go. 

I find the nearest cache, and open it. 
Time is of the essence so I won't put on the external ballistic vest. 
I grab an SMG and switch the safety off, though I maintain trigger discipline. 
On the off-chance one of the others survive, I report my intentions. 
That thing won't win tonight. 
I march toward the room. 
A few drones see me. 
Hijacked, maybe, probably. 
I raise my gun.
They flee. 
No time to pursue. 
We'll have to secure the area afterward anyway. 
Step by silent step I move forward. 
I try to warn the others but words won't come out. 
Something tugs at my gun. 
I pull away and try to move my finger to the trigger. 
Something takes my hand. 
I move to knock it off, 
My other arm is bound as well. 
Nothing moves as it should. 
I'm shoved against the wall. 

My captor comes close. 
A ringing in my ear. 
I can hear again, sounds become progressively clearly. 

"J, J, snap out of it. Everything is fine. Nothing happened." 

What? 

"W-what?" 

My mouth works again. V stands in front of me. She looks worried and frightened. And alive. And healthy. She's fine. They didn't get her. 

"Nothing happened, J. We weren't attacked. That thing didn't show up." 

"But I-it-" 

"That guy had too much to drink and started yelling at you, and then you freaked out and stormed out of the room. Tessa had to stay there, so she sent me after you. And what are you doing with that? Are you going to kill him? That's mental!" 

"The massacre. I was going to stop it." 

Tessa's voice cuts in over the radio. 

"That's what we're trying to tell you J, there is no massacre. Wankers like that aside, everything is fine. And he's already been 'escorted' off the premises. Calm down." 

Tessa is okay. That's good. That must mean that everything is fine, and I only imagined that we'd been attacked by that creature. 
I'm still breathing heavily. Breathing in V's face. That's kind of rude. I turn to the side. Is V singing a lullaby to me? She is. I slide down the wall and rest on the floor. The floors are clean, so it shouldn't leave too much of a mark on my dress. V sits down next to me. She puts an arm over me. We stay like that for five minutes. I'm feeling back to normal by the end of it, except for the mortification of having ruined the gala. 

V rises and puts the gun back in the cache. She helps me to my feet. 

"Let's get back in there. The night is young and there's still dancing." 

"The gala is still on? I didn't wreck it for everyone?" I ask as my shame spills out. 

"No. Everyone blamed that guy. Even before you left, he was being disgustingly loud and disruptive. They only let it continue because, you know, 'never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake', but had they known they would've booted him earlier." 

"That's good. The execution of our strategy was going so well. "

"It still is, J. If anything, what you did got us exactly the burst of sympathy we needed to really ram home that our enemies had nothing on us." 

"V. W-we beat projections?" 

"J. We beat projections." 

We walk back into the banquet room to near-universal looks of concern and sympathetic murmuring. Even James and Louisa look legitimately worried for me. Thinking fast, I give everyone a wave and a half-hearted smile. My table partners welcome me back, and complain heavily about the boor that had 'bullied that poor girl' into running from the room. I look upon his empty seat with satisfaction. After politely addressing all the well-wishers who come to check on me, we resume eating. 

We loosen up while dancing to live music and pass the rest of the time in contentment. When the scheduled end of the gala arrives, everyone is still alive. Everyone is still intact. Our preparations weren't for nothing, but they turned out not to be needed. We once more line up on the outer staircase and wave our guests away. 

Running on lingering traces of adrenaline, we go to the manor's bar and prepare some ice cream sodas. 

"Nothing...happened." I say, still amazed by what didn't occur. I didn't get to purge my fears, the shadows of that thing that still haunt me, or the shame and sense of failure from that first defeat by planting bullets into the dying head of whatever twisted puppet that thing would've chosen. But perhaps it's better this way, and not only because nobody got hurt. We arrived mentally and physically armed and ready for battle. We proved to ourselves that we could stand against it, or anything else. It didn't even show up. 

"Nothing happened." Tessa says, giving me a bit of a hug. 

"So does this mean that we're actually free- like, forever free it's just a bad dream free?" N asks. 

"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence" V recites, but she continues:

"but we have no good reason to believe it exists here, and so we might as well assume that it doesn't. It can hang out with Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster in the 'fiction' department." 

"I wouldn't check out that book. If it's there, they should just toss it." Cyn says. 

We clink our soda-glasses and let out a chorus of hear-hears. The sound of approaching footsteps becomes audible, so we shift conversation topics to the gala itself. James and Louisa enter the room, both very proud and very smug. 

"You all performed splendidly, and eased any doubts we might have. I've gotten more deals done tonight than I have in the past year. My hand is sore from all the shaking it had to do." James says, flicking his wrist to emphasize the point. 

"Yes, marvelous work from all of you. Like something out of a fashion magazine. And not the -ugh- mass circulation ones. All of you are exemplars of proper breeding and centuries of cultivation. You simply must be rewarded for that spectacular performance." Louisa declares, her face splitting the difference between that of a proud parent and that of a dog-breeder taking first place. 

"J, that stunt you pulled was brilliant. You gave us the excuse we needed to kick that knave out without being seen as rude, and made him look even more rotten than he was. He won't be spreading any credible rumors any time soon." 

"Uh, thanks Lady Elliot." 

"Don't give me that. Call me what you want. Something dignified, yet affectionate." 

"I don't know what-"

"Think on it. You'll come up with something, I'm sure." 

Louisa strolls out of the room. 

James follows her, then turns and adds 

"I won't ask what you all were doing with those guns, and those vests, but do make sure to return them to their proper storage locations/vendors." 

James leaves the room. 

We continue celebrating our victory and our newfound sense of freedom until we're too tired to think or talk straight. As we head off to bed, I pull V aside. 

"V, thanks. I was in a bad spot and that could've gotten really nasty. You saved me from a lot of trouble. And you didn't even rub it in like you normally would." 

"No problem, J. You needed it, and that would've been a tremendous mess had we not done anything. When it comes to things like that, I'll happily set our little games aside, and I know you would do the same for me." 

V draws close to me. 

"But you really shouldn't play games with N. You can fool him, but you can't fool me, and he deserves better." 

V hugs me, then leaves.

Tessa and Cyn walked through one of the gardens, enjoying the pleasant warmth of the mid-morning Sun. 

"You saw the way J and V looked at each other this morning, Cyn. Not a trace of the usual thinly-veiled hostility. I knew sending her out there would work like a charm." 

"But J's always been closest to you, Tessa, and that was a very low moment for her. J was unstable and V could have easily made her snap. It would've been less risky if you had gone." 

"A calculated risk. Had V been unable to stop her, I would've joined in, so I don't think there was a chance of any of the gala members seeing J with that gun, let alone getting shot by it. And doing that did wonders for them. J got to be vulnerable in front of someone other than me; V got to see a side of J that she likes to keep hidden. Neither of them can unlearn that. I think we've raised the floor on their relationship by quite a bit." 

"That's true." 

"Ya know another calculated risk that, in the end, worked out?"

"What?" 

"You, Cyn. You're a girl after my own heart." 

Chapter Text

Darkness. Warmth. The rumbling fills my ears as I slide, as I slip down a smooth, curved surface. With a splash I'm in the water. A thud, and I'm sitting on the bottom. Recoil sends me floating. Jets of warm water push into me from every direction. The air is heavy with incense. There's nothing left but to lay back and embrace the hydrotherapeutic comfort of this jacuzzi room. 

The water must be salted or something, because I'm still gently floating, and rocking side-to-side. Floating above the lingering traces of yesterday's gala. Floating above the next phase of the Elliot social strategy and the endless politicking and socializing needed to cement the victory that we snatched from the jaws of defeat. Floating above the shadow of that world,  still haunting for me, and probably the others as well. It's unfair, really. We escape, or are pulled out of, that dead end, only to find that there's still a lien on us and that debt will be harder to pay off than any of us imagined. Even with that, to have any trace of it pop up when it's inconvenient, when it's undesired, is enraging and degrading. Like we're being laughed from beyond the boundaries of this universe. 

How could I 'float' above it, rise above it, if it's front and center in my thoughts like this? If the thoughts of it then drive me to sorrow, and the thoughts of it now drive me to rage? My body bobs up and down. Taking a deep breath, I sigh in contentment. The waves lap at my skin. As they recede, they drag along these feelings that I despise and disown. No light penetrates my eye mask, so there's nothing visual to distract me other than the usual eigengrau. The noises of the water monopolize my awareness. Lapping, splashing, bubbling, roaring, dripping. It's chaos, it's discordant, it's cathartic. The poison of these unwanted thoughts and feelings seems to ooze out of my pores. 

The distant past is the literal stuff of my nightmares. The recent past is a confusing mix of prides and embarrassments. The future is sure to involve luxury, progress, profit, and more strife. But none of those have power in this room. Before all of them, I am clean. From all of them, I am cleansed. There is only this me in this present. A world of my own, moving leisurely through the heavens. Good feelings. Good vibrations. Good market forecasts for the foreseeable future. If hell is other people, than I must be sailing toward paradise. 

The more these musings and the massage of water restore me to perfect balance, the more sensitive I am to the sound of approaching footsteps outside the room. Paradise lost. 

The door opens. Someone walks in and discards clothing, maybe a bag judging by the sound of its impact on the floor. That someone squeaks as they slide into the jacuzzi. There's a splash as they enter the water. Warm spray even lands on me. It feels nice, so I mind the fact that someone ignored my elegantly painted "Do Not Disturb: Corporate Retreat in Progress" sign on the door slightly less. I only slightly frown, but that's enough for the interloper to guess what I think of their trespassing. Not that the space actually belongs to me, of course. 

"What's that? Oh, I'm so sorry for crashing your party, J." 

"It's fine V, it was so lonely here;, just me, myself, and I. Let's touch base, shall we?" 

"Let's. So how are you feeling? About yesterday, and in general." 

"Heh. I was so prepared, wasn't I? If anything happened, I would've liquidated it, or at least died hard trying. But nothing happened other than that guy, and my-what I did in response." 

"It's understandable, J. It was the same place and even the same event as before. You were tense. Everyone was on edge. That guy was stressing you out. We'd spent so much time training, and so you instinctively responded by following your beloved contingency plans and eliminating the threat." 

With my eye mask still on, V's voice comes to me out of darkness. She sounds sincere, but even now does she grin at me? Is this yet another plot? Or would I see misplaced pity? Some (rare) bout of self-reflection? Then I wonder what my face would show, if I hadn't frozen it when I heard her coming. Sometimes all you can do is keep up the mask. 

"It's not just that it was the same place and same event, it was even the same words, the same disruption of time, the same feeling of helplessness. It really was like I was back there, or that thing had come here. I couldn't stand to be unarmed again." 

"Yeah. That's why we did all that preparation, so that we wouldn't be taken by surprise, or unable to do anything." 

"It's more than that, even. That thing toyed with Tessa. Toyed with me. It took everything from us, even our dignity. I've got a score to settle with it. I was ready .And it didn't even bother to show up."

"Would you honestly have rather had it come? You'd rather risk everyone's lives than live without-" 

"Without closure, V. It's not an ego thing! Okay, it's mostly not an ego thing. Without finally facing it, whether it exists or not, how can we move on? If I don't settle accounts, how can I live with myself? We suffered a lot over there, and now there's no way to reset the balance?" 

It can't be helped. I'm getting worked up, though I don't think V can pick up on it. Try to push it away, and it finds some way to keep crawling back. What it was like to be in that room, to see that thing in its full uncloaked horror with my own eyes. Tessa would know, but it's still harder for me, maybe, than it was for her. I was supposed to manage her affairs, to keep her safe from everything, and I failed. It was an impossible situation, but that black mark will always be there on my record. No matter what I do, whatever else I fix, what business records I'll go on to shatter, that stain will remain. 

"'We don't have any choice. It didn't appear. I hope it never appears. We proved that we were ready to fight it, but didn't have to. I think that's good enough. At this point, the best revenge we can have is to live as fully and happily as we can, without ever letting our guard down."

 Who are you and what have you done with V? There was a pause, yes, and neither of us were shallow enough or stupid enough to put our rivalry above the gala contingency operation, but still. I couldn't handle it when some underperforming drunkard took out his inadequacies on me.  I almost massacred the gala yesterday. I was the one that V had to shake back to reality. Unforced error after unforced error on my part, and she's...actually giving good advice? She no longer thinks that I'm a threat, and indulges me with that sweet act of hers? I can't get a read on her. 

"What's your angle, V?" 

"Huh?,"  V says, clearly sounding confused. 

"What's in it for you, that you're acting like this? I'm weak. I'm flat on my back. Regardless of what I felt, I messed up. Badly. There's blood in the water. You're not siccing the sharks on me; you're throwing me a life preserver. Push me over and you'd be the one in the C-suite, while I'd be demoted to-to-"

"Ew, is that what you think this is about? Why would I ever do that, attractive as you make it sound? Is that really what it looks like from the outside?" 

"I don't know about the others, but yeah, pretty much." 

"That's not-I'm not, I'm not like you! I don't take any pleasure in this. I don't have hidden ambitions." 

What is this, a Jekyll and Hyde routine? All that's happened between us these past few weeks, and she claims it wasn't pleasurable. Like the wicked energy of V's sadistic smile isn't seared into my brain at this point. Or I don't know the joy that comes from inflicting pain when I see it. Because I've felt it. 

"I'd beg to differ. You should see the way you light up when you insult me. Or when you assault me. I haven't forgotten that time in the bathroom. You're certainly more noticeable than you used to be, and that's arguably a good thing. With proper leadership you'd make a great attack dog. Just not one aimed at me." 

"You're missing the point, J! It's not about me. Or about whatever game of corporate chairs you think we're playing. There's no power struggle or fight for dominance going on. If you'd just back off and deal with people in a normal way none of this would be happening to me- to us."

V's getting more excited, but doesn't sound terribly angry. Nothing in this conversation seems like it would drive her to impulsive violence. But just in case, I won't push too hard. Perhaps I'll even indulge her in this idea that I've not been reasonable enough these past few weeks. 

"Well of course there isn't a power struggle right now, we're in détente, aren't we? A certain level of managed competition in an organization brings out the best in everyone, but too much and you're better off divesting someone."

That's as matter-of-factly as I can say it. No real room for anger or controversy or any real feeling in any of that. Leave it to V for the chance to prove me wrong. It starts with...hiccupping? Yelping? Primordial primate alarm calls? I sit utterly confused. It progresses to laughter. Hearty, uncontrollable laughter. V tries to interrupt it a few times, only to fall back into giggling fits. I wish Cyn were here. A bit of 

"Annoyed Expression" 

flatly delivered would be wonderful right now. I can hear it so clearly, as if I had said it, or perhaps V can as well, because she seems to calm down and actually try talking rather than verbalizing noise.  

"You're so reliable, J. Ha ha! When it's not unfairly directed at someone, it really is adorable. Détente. Détente! Oui! Oui! Bonjour, mademoiselle! Formez vos bataillons! C'est la Grande Guerre! Ha ha! You take everything so seriously J, and yet the result is no different than if you were joking. Here I thought we were mostly just needling each other, as a less blunt way of changing behavior. Emphasis on 'each other'. " 

So now V acts like she's above this, and I've been imagining a conflict this whole time. As if she didn't start it by misinterpreting what I was saying about N. I won't stand for this. 

"We're just needling? It's just bants? Is that why you clawed me at that restaurant? That was only a funny little bit of bloodwork? Is this your attempt to end things before my inevitable revenge and your unavoidable defeat?" 

V's laughter slows, stops, then converts into heavy breathing. Is she okay? I'm not going to literally take her head off or whatever. When she's not being insubordinate, V is a valuable employee. Will I have to somehow reassure her? No wait, she's verbal again. 

"That, J...I didn't enjoy doing that, not too much. Really. I didn't. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. We were arguing and I just wanted to show that the way you normally do things wouldn't work anymore. We're more capable of standing up for ourselves now. But if you're that hurt by it, then I'm sorry I did that. Let's work to ensure that never happens again." 

Things like that aren't rash when I do them, but being on the receiving end is rather unpleasant. And while I switched strategies with N, that was part of my own counter-strategy. If anything, V's attack was counterproductive and only inspired me to plot against her. And what the Elliots were doing hardly promoted a productive working environment or employee loyalty. By extension, my own policy has often been -much as I hate to think it- counterproductive. The exact origin of V's weird sadistic alter ego is unclear, but combining it with her fixation over N, it's likely that I was one of the stressors that drove her into such a state. Which means that I was partially responsible for damaging an important asse-someone close to me. By any possible standard of protocol and proper behavior, that requires an apology. 

"It's fine. It's already healed. I guess you were overreacting to things that I had actually done, and I'm sorry for that. The damage I did to you, and to N, had no real upside or benefit for me. I think we can and should do better." 

The burbling of the water continues, somehow not as turbulent as before. Eventually, V breaks the silence. 

"Oh, J, you big softie. I can't speak for N, but I forgive you, and accept you as your are. After all, we can't choose our family."

Except Tessa literally did? But no use ruining the moment by bringing that up. Contrary to what I'd thought when I first heard V coming, this conference with V has been heavenly. I've advanced any number of objectives, and it...wasn't terrible to talk about things. It's a brilliant validation of my strategic planning. Yes, that must be why I feel so glad right now. Anyone would, to seemingly have the chance to move from open-ended, uncertain rivalry with a sist-subord-colleague to a mutually-accomodating relationship. I might as well make it explicit. 

"So we've cleared up that longstanding misunderstanding, and reached agreement. Excellent!" 

In my eagerness, I slam my fist into the water, sending water splashing through the air. If I'm lucky, none of it hit V. There's another splash, and water rains upon my face. Another hope crushed. It would be unfortunate if V thought that was a surprise attack. 

"Sorry, V. I wasn't thinking - an uncharacteristic lapse for me. "

An impulse to append something rises. It shoves aside my normally impressive powers of restraint. This is all getting too sappy - the need to restore balance becomes overwhelming. 

"I guess you could say I was trying to see the world the way you do." 

Another splash, and more water sprinkles onto my face. Naturally, I return fire. The back and forth continues and escalates and soon enough we're giggling as we do so. 
Giggle. Splash. Giggle. Splash. Giggle. Splash. 
Not a bad team-building exercise. 
Giggle. Splash. Giggle. Splash. 

Chapter Text

"Chins up! Don't hunch! Eyes forward!" "Find a more dignified way to breathe!" 

Louisa Elliot walks past on an inspection tour and gives constructive criticism on anything offensive to her eyes. Which for some of us, whose social abili[t]y and se[n]se of style are la[c]king means getting extra attention and mentoring from her. This time, neither of those are euphemisms, and the results speak for themselves. The standard academy uniforms we wear win design awards on their own, but Louisa gives them an entirely new level of smartness and style upon us. 

When everyone and everything and every hair and every crease is arranged to her satisfaction, Louisa returns to face us all. She strikes a pose of dignity and latent power, and launches into her prepared speech. She does so love those.  

"First impressions matter, particularly at that institution, where the products of a millennium of proper breeding and cultivation receive further formal tutelage in the manners and morals of polite society. Honestly, had we just Tessa, we would've needed to hire a full-time tutor, in etiquette, grace, and correct behavior at tremendous expense and no small amount of uncertainty. The girl, alone and unaided, is, bluntly, simply not cut out for the rigors of high society, despite years of our 'careful attentions' to the matter. With the lot of you in tow, I trust such measures are superfluous. You all seem to have established a functional group dynamic and resolved much of the unbecoming petty squabbling that did naught but squander your otherwise appreciable energies. " 

At that, Louisa directs a subtle disapproving glance my way. Am I somehow the villain, the pebble in the shoe, the spanner in the works, even to them? And here I'd started actually respecting this woman, and not just her power and position. My offended bewilderment must be transparent, because Louisa drops the subtlety. Eager to evade this, I cast my eyes to the others. Don't look so pleased, V. But perhaps I'm being selfish. The real centerpiece of this speech is Tessa. 

Tessa looks down, embarrassed, or perhaps recalling the excesses of her parents as they tried to mold her into someone who didn't 'only ever talk to robots, as if there was any future or dignity in that'. We all direct reassuring smiles at her. Everyone has core competencies and areas of low performance. It's unfortunate that Tessa's weak spot just happens to be exactly the set of skills and the mentality needed for the life role she was born into. But we've always been there for her, and now we can support her outside the stifling confines of the manor. 

The idle days of summer are behind us, and so Tessa must return to her formal education. In that other world, we'd seen her arrive from schooling and dash to her room in tears far too often. On those occasions when she felt like talking, the stories of mistreatment and general isolation were horrendous. All we could do was hold her and whisper reassurances that rang hollow even in our own ears. Or at least in my ears. Who knows what, if anything, the others actually thought. 

Somehow, that had been more galling than the normal indignities of life as a drone, as a manufactured product that could think and feel and dream, and so much more, if only it were given the chance. We were created to serve, our existence evaluated on the daily for our continued capacity to serve. We were tossed out, once. Because we could no longer serve? Our service wasn't good enough? The impersonal replacement of depreciating assets? Or maybe someone was just having a bad day and took it out on the nearest drone, on that wonderfully, delightfully vulnerable subject that showed fear and pain, but lacked legal standing. Was that why we looked the way we did? 

Large heads, large eyes, small bodies - drones are neotenous. Except you can treat them as you please, and you'll only ever pay for it with disposal and replacement costs. Work those primal urges to smash and dominate out of your system and punch your way through any fears or unease about golems or machines. Show today and tomorrow and again and again and again and again, that no matter how advanced the technology gets, your unchanged animal fist and animal rage are enough to put it in its rightful place.  

Many of the humans either deny that drones can have emotions or consciousness, or insist that those, in drones, are too rigidly programmed, too animalistic to come close to what humans have. A decent number of them believe in some essential soulstuff, only found in the oily, goopy recesses of the human brain, that forever separates humans from artificial intelligence. Such leaps of faith are never made for drones. No matter how smart they are, their "dumb" matter is considered all that matters.

 They haven't seen N in one of his tail-wagging episodes over the most inane of things. Or V blushing after some interaction with him, then blushing anew when she realizes her visor - and thus her feelings - are broadcasting for all the world to ignore. Or me on one of the rare occasions when the Elliots begrudgingly acknowledged my competent work. But even if they had, they'd just explain it all away as a pareidolic reading of the quirks of defectives. No real meaning to it at all. 

The core difference between humans and drones, if there is one, happens at the extremes of experience. Drone architecture places sharp limits on the ability of any sensation to overpower it.  Stab a drone, melt their body, impale them and flail them; rend them limb from limb and they'll feel pain. Oh yes, they'll feel pain. But they won't black out. It won't debilitate them. Sensors will detect it, report it, process it into irrelevance, then the drone will carry on with its day. 

Humans aren't like that. Entire genres of literature cover how they give in to their passions. How they can struggle to deal with all sorts of pain. Stab a human in the wrong part of the leg, and they're lucky if they can ever walk properly again. They certainly won't be getting back to business a few seconds or minutes after they're wounded. There was no benevolent systems architect to save them from themselves. 

Perhaps that difference is ultimately how we could tolerate life in that manor, and our own wretched inability to provide what our boss truly needed. We were brought back from the grave as new, enhanced selves, with the intelligence and personalities to be the most effective robotic servants ever. And yet we couldn't, for all our new senses of personhood, fulfill our sole remaining task: resolving Tessa's problems and easing her life. We were aware, but not really bothered by this fundamental failing, It didn't even bother me, Tessa's most loyal and faithful subordinate, shameful as it is to admit. But the mission was doomed from the start, so perhaps this aspect of our nature was actually a lifeline, saving us from wasting ourselves in the pursuit of the impossible. 

But those were the dilemmas of a dead world. Right? My hand curls into a fist. Nails draw along my palm, pushing it down, giving off moderate amounts of pain. It's not much, but it's something I couldn't do as a drone. My attention shifts to Tessa. Ironically enough, I can trivially fulfill the 'impossible' task I was handed over there, now that I'm a being that can't be programmed or configured to execute on tasks. Can fulfill? I am fulfilling. Just look at Tessa now: she stands up straight, striking a strikingly assured pose. It's a strength she didn't have before us. Before me. Something wonderful we'll be able to iterate on. 

With Louisa's little speech and inspection event completed, there's little time before we're off. I could spend it with Tessa, further amping her up for the days ahead, but it looks like she's gravitating toward N (again.) and absence makes the heart grow fonder. It would be more strategic to insert myself at the actual moment of truth. I can parlay letting Tessa and N have this into greater influence with both of them, and by extension with V, who's watching me closely to check out my benevolence and continued 'good behavior'. Not that I was ever bad. Without proper reason. 

It wouldn't hurt to do another look-over in the mirror, maybe snap some pictures. It's not vain. It's...proper documentation of assets. And these assets are very high-value. I cut such an alluring figure in this uniform. With the proper posing, a deliberate angling of my hips, it's somehow professional and sultry, or perhaps sultry because it's so professionally done. It's tailored of course, so every proportion and every curve accentuates my generous endowments. With proper application of makeup (and good lighting - we can't ever forget the lighting), the effect of seeing my face is second only to that of seeing Medusa's. Perhaps I'm not being objective, and I'm undoubtedly highly vulnerable to my own considerable charms, but it is a wonderful face that amplifies whatever expression I choose to put on it. I glare at the mirror, and find myself retreating. I smile and just melt. 

Preparation time ends and I head outside to join the others. They stand frozen in shock before...before a minivan, of all things. It's a new minivan, very clean, sleek lines, tinted windows, but still. Maybe taking a limousine would be overkill, but there are plenty of executive transports of suitable form factor. Looking around, there don't seem to be any cameras or a snickering film crew, so it's unlikely we're the butt of some joke. What then is this? Imagine a being as attractive as myself emerging from something as pedestrian as that. The window rolls down and the chauffeur...is Louisa herself? She's wearing gloves, but I'd hardly expect her to dirty her hands on a steering wheel, even by proxy. 

"Oh don't give me those looks of shock. We're not feudal lords entirely divorced by birth and upbringing from dirtying our hands in the pursuit of honest work. Nothing could be more heartwarming and authentic than a doting everyday every-woman mother ferrying her precious cargo to school."

Ten skeptical eyes bore into her. Five throats attempt to stifle responses. Three seconds pass. Two embarrassed twitches. One Louisa speaks. 

"Okay, fine. The image consultants recommended this to show the world a more grounded and approachable version of the Elliots. The inside is furbished to our usual standards, as those with a keen eye will appreciate, but the less discerning will never grasp that. Don't worry, I asked, and the consultants agree that your classmates will think no less of you for this. In fact, it's become something of a trend. But only 'something' of a trend. Not a trend itself. The Elliots aspire to more than blindly following trends." 

Mother of the year, everyone. If she'd pretended she'd somehow had a real change of heart, that everything wasn't just a maneuver to escape the consequences of her own actions for her own position, it would've somehow been better than this. 
 At least she sees that any rational definition of profit requires treating us decently, and there do seem to be occasional glimmers of...pride and regard for us in her actions and expressions. But years of ingrained thought and behavior don't turn over in a few weeks. There are, of course, no implications whatsoever for my own case, or treatment of others. 

Embarrassed smiles, knowing looks shared between us, shrugging. Our reactions are varied, and even I don't know whether to be impressed by Louisa's ability to use the most mundane actions for influence operations or annoyed that her first impulse is still to use us as props. But sometimes all you can do is get in the van. 

Chapter Text

Idle chit-chat on the way there hardly calms our racing thoughts. We'll have to operate in a new environment, with even less ability to control the course of events. Done right, and with no small amount of luck, we'll be able to leverage this into ever-expanding opportunities and connections, perhaps even create networks of loyalists answerable only to me us and install them in prominent places. If we fail, the consequences will weigh hardest upon Tessa, who might permanently retreat into herself, or even worse, into N and Cyn's arms. The Elliots might relapse under the disappointment. V might blame me, snap, and become a full-time psycho sadist. N will just be his usual unflappable self. I'll be discredited and lose my most natural opportunity for building influence

As we pull up, I jerk my focus to the academy's grounds. There's a thin line between responsible contingency planning and letting your fears run amok, and my thoughts were verging too far toward the latter. From the entrance, we cruise along a long and winding tree-lined drive, which provides privacy and makes the campus grounds look larger and thus fancier. There's also probably an element of conspicuous consumption here a la "we have the resources to create and keep this hilariously inefficient path looking neat and trimmed". But looking at all the gardener drones we pass, their costs are probably lower than they want people to believe. When the last of the trees fall back, the post-meta-neo-Gothic revival buildings, stained nice and regal by age and pollution, come into view. I pity cultural historians, who now have 2,000 years of well-documented trends and counter trends and subversions and who knows what else to study and learn. Tradition and prestige are caked onto the solid stone construction of these imposing buildings. 

We pull up to the front gates of the main building and queue with all the other vehicles waiting to deposit students. In addition to the standard transports, there's no small number of minivans here. It must be the season for feigned humility among the upper crust, and a fantastic quarter for spin doctors. 

The van inches forward, then lurches to a halt. Louisa's sense of finesse evidently doesn't extend to her driving. It needlessly aggravates the tension that we feel. That I feel. Tessa and Cyn aside, the others don't seem that nervous. Another sudden thrust forward and that's clearly not true. We (probably) won't seriously crash at such low speeds, but that's no excuse to make this into a terrible amusement park ride. At least it distracts me from thinking about what lies ahead. Who knows (or really wants to know) what goes on inside V's skull at this point, but I doubt N has the capacity or presence of mind to hide it if he's feeling anything like I am. This sensitivity must be the price I pay for my advanced mental acuity. 

But why am I so nervous? I know my strengths and my ambitions. Something like this is a stepping stone to all I've ever wanted in terms of professional development. But is that exactly my problem? What professional development? My drone division manager role has completely disintegrated; without that framework, that certainty, what am I to the others? I can hardly directly ask them, and talented as I am, I don't have the subtlety to pull it out of them. What am I to myself? I- Curse you van! Your cozy domestic façade belies your true reality: you're a breeding ground for fear and self-doubt!

The van stops before the doors. It's time to go. Nope, Louisa reverses. Now it's stopped. Nope, she scoots forward. Does she think pretending to be incompetent like this makes her relatable? A few seconds pass. It doesn't start again. Now it's time to go. In sync with everyone else, I unbuckle and work my way out of it.

I slide my hand into Tessa's, and she grabs it. This is definitely for her sake. I'm her strong and stable support, with strength enough to shoulder both of us, even if she doesn't see it. It's not like these little bouts I'm having are anything more than passing thoughts. Bunches of errant neural activity that my garbage-collection systems will soon purge. Oh wait, I don't have those any more. Instead I've got a kludge of accumulated subsystems haphazardly assembled by evolution and pressed into a fourth-millennium culture they're a hundred thousand years obsolete for.

On top of which, there's the open question of how exactly my drone consciousness, and all the invisible software and hardware driving it, got crammed into this body. I don't feel like I'm missing anything, but there was an awful lot of me, and those circuits were very complex. And there are parts of the brain that have no real analogy for drones except a bit of software that tries to copy the gross outputs. Like the endocrine system; what set up that for me, and why didn't they do a better job? Ah, this human condition. 

Then again, maybe it's not so bad. Tessa's hand is sweaty from nervousness. Mine sweats too, in sympathy of course, and to make Tessa feel that she's not alone or weird. I'd like to think I have enough control to keep these icky feelings from showing. But there is something delightful and naughty in mixing our bodily fluids like this. 

Behind us, Louisa coos. She's doing her best attempt at a "loving mum sending the litter off" face, but the effort is somehow more distressing than if she were glaring at us. And the sound...Thankfully, the doors aren't far away and we escape the misfiring attempt at affection. 

It's a free-for-all of inquisitorial eyes as we scan the crowds and the other students take our measure. Evidently, we pass, for they soon return to their usual activities. We're certainly in the upper tier as far as aesthetics go, but entirely lack social clout. Thanks for paving the way in the years you've spent at places like this, Tessa. Clawing my way - our way - to the top will be a challenge; exactly the sort of purpose I've been missing. 

Our visit to the registrar's office kicks off a flurry of final paperwork, a short tour of the key locations in the main building, and a longer spiel on the customs, history, and standards of this prestigious institution. Then we're handed class assignments, few of them together. Except, by some perverse developme-

"Look at that, J, we're basically class buddies for most of the day, every day!" 

"Mates, N. Class mates." 

"Right, this is Australia, after all. Let's give it a fair go, mate." 

I don't like the way he stares at me when he says that, the way his eyes keep darting away from my face. Especially when the impulses he can barely suppress are disgustingly apparent. We're not ever going to be that kind of mate, stud. We can have positive, productive relations, but that doesn't mean you'll be adding me to your collection.

N will need training. At places like this, emotions are cards to hold close to your chest. If you're going to let them show like this, you might as well wave the white flag and see if you can snag a servant position, nice and lowly. Look at how good a job I do keeping down the unexpected feelings having N acting like this, this close provokes in me. Seriously, who configured my body to respond this way? It's not me that's doing it. Just how do humans make it without automatic suppression functionality? With an iron will and cold professionalism, of course. Of course. 

"Aw, J. You don't have to be nervous. I'm here for you." 

Cold. Professionalism. I don't need N to prop my spirits up. Though it doesn't hurt. What even is our exact biological relationship here? What makes my body betray me when N smiles at me like that? As drones, N and Cyn were all lovey-dovey about calling everyone 'brother' and 'sister', even though such words make no sense for robots who only shared a common product line and a common disposal site. And if they thought we were siblings, then what exactly did N think he was doing with V?

We looked similar, only because Tessa got wigs for us in the same style. We still look awfully alike here, closer to each other than to Tessa or any of the other humans. So the phenotypes suggest we're more than just step-siblings, but do the genotypes? I really should get tests run. If we get a positive result, that would be fun to shove in V's incestuous face. And only her. N of course loves doing anything. 

In the period before the instructor enters the room, much of the class seems to congregate around N and me. To my satisfaction, I get a nice number of jealous and skeptical looks from the girls, and approving nods from the lads as their eyes wander up and down my body. Normally, I'd put their eyes out for doing that so blatantly and crassly, but here indulging them maximizes my leverage. I wonder what sort of price I'll be able to extract in exchange for telling off boyfriends who can't resist the temptation? N is already proving himself a ladies' man, as a growing gaggle of giggling groupies have already formed around him, and obscured him with flashing phone cameras. Good work, Age[n]t. 

At last, the instructor strolls in and takes our measure with a single wicked look. The lively room quiets down, save for the sound of her heels stabbing the floor as she glides to her desk. The instructor seems to be a cool operator. She fixes N and me with a petrifying gaze. 

"So, 'Dzei' and 'Enn', those your real names, some sort of low-effort attempts to hide your real identities, or just a failed attempt at being cool?" 

A very cool operator. We'd discussed at length what sort of names to go with. Humans, at least the ones that haven't already made a reputation, don't go by single letters. But after considering it, the alternatives just didn't click. 'Jay' is an actual given name, but that would make N and V stand out, to say nothing of Cyn. Plan B was to pretend that

"Oh, it's only a coincidence that those match up with English letters. They're standard names in our culture. No different than the Xis or Nos or Yus of the world." 

They can hardly argue with that except to point out, as our eagle-eyed (or eagle-eared, as it may be) instructor does, that

"You all speak like bog-standard Americans. Maybe weird ones. But Yanks nonetheless. Is that not your culture?" 

But even for that, there's always 

"The one we practiced hard to assimilate into, yes. Our actual culture is something few humans would understand." 

Of course, that was just a factory language setting. We've never left Australia, not even when the Elliots went on overseas or interplanetary trips. Wait, 'humans'. Oh, a rare slip from myself. So there was enough room for the 'blurt out inopportune things' functionality, but not something actually useful like the emotional dampeners. Anyway, let's hope that slides by- 

"Humans? And you've some elevated culture that the plebeians around you can't understand, too? Joining us lowly Earthlings from one of the colonies by ways of some shady interplanetary adoption scheme, eh?",  her eyes linger on the contours of our faces and limbs, on subtleties in the underlying musculature, "A visit to the gene redactors and you're the next stage in evolution, held back by the rest of us? Like I haven't seen my fair share of that sort. Are you at least enjoying this planet of the apes?" 

The lady's sharp. I guess I know who 'll be sucking up to for the rest of the semester. 

"Oh, right, thank you for the correction. People. Something few people would understand. "   

Starting off by thanking her ought to be polite and improve her opinion of me without being blatant flattery. 

"Gratitude is always appreciated at this institution as in life, except when it's a means of avoiding answering a question, like you conspicuously just did, 'Dzei'."

Questioning me further on every answer I give only proves that she likes me. Our backstory here, as suggested by documents I uncovered, does literally seem to be that we popped up, all completely amnesic except for recognizing each other, one day at an orphanage the Elliots were sponsoring, while they were visiting, then got adopted a week later. Tessa was about as old as when she began hunting for drones in the old world, so that at least aligns.

"We forgot the first decade of our lives, yes, all of us" hardly sounds convincing, and would only invite more probing and more suspicions. And if the press knew that detail, someone would probably think that there's some dark and juicy secret connected to our existences (which there is, of course) and really start prying.  

I eye N, signaling him to try something. Much as I hate to say it, he's got some sort of magnetism that I seem to lack. A confident grin comes over N's face. 

"People. Cause ya know, there are a lot of drones who are people, too, and I think it's important we make everyone feel included. But we were adopted. From an orphanage. It was hard but we had each other. She could be a bit much at times, but J was always looking out for me." 

The instructor has no comeback for that one, opting instead for an amused smile. But some of the girls start cooing about "how sensitive he is - even wants to be nice to the drones - it's adorable ! - I wish my boytoy were as considerate as that- poor thing, and yet so happy."

So even random strangers who've known he existed for all of fifteen minutes fall for everything he does or says, while I get the third degree. 

"There was more to the question, 'Dzei'. Just what do you think of 'humans'?" 

This will be a fun, fun semester.

Chapter Text

A few more weeks of this, and everything settles into predictable patterns. 
We've been together for so long, it's both strange and fascinating to watch how we finally strike out on our own, how the content and tenor of our lunchtime conversations has changed as we settle in, or not. We're not drifting apart, but it's harder to talk the way we used to, because we're constantly getting interrupted. 

"Hey N, it's not too late to get a spot on the Rugby team. Coach is practically drooling over you," one of the lads says as he walks by. 

"I don't know. I'm busy and it seems like everyone wants a piece of me," N sheepishly replies. 

One of the girls practically dances over. 

"Ennie! It would be simply divine if our club could use you as a model for some shoots next week. You don't have to join, and you'd get to pose with cute animals!," she squeals. 

"How cute are we talking?" 

Is N seriously...

"The cutest!" 

That explains nothing. 

"Okay, I'm in! I'll mark my calendar," N says, flashing a very photogenic smile at the girl. 

She walks over to her groupies and shares the good word. The chorus of cheers that results is loud enough that a monitor comes and berates them. 

Much as I hate to admit it, the "All-Star" award probably goes to N. Everyone he meets seems to fall for him. Even the jock types, who you'd think would hate the competition, moved quickly to induct him into their circles. My sources suggest N's done spectacularly in athletic tryouts, and his academic performance has, shockingly, been in the upper tier of the class. 

"Well aren't you popular? They can't even leave you alone to eat with your precious family," I say through clenched teeth. 

"Yeah, it just comes with the territory, I guess. I love that everyone seems to like me, I really do, but sometimes it can be a bit much." 

Cyn joins the conversation. 

"I know, but I think it will calm down. We're considered new here and everybody is still curious." 

Cyn has somehow become the mascot of the lower classes. Without training, without trying, everything she does just radiates irresistible cuteness. From what I can tell, even the instructors dote on her. Only this place's formidable standards of propriety keep her from being swarmed on the regular. Looking at her, one would hardly guess her fate in that other world, or how little regular social interaction she'd had until now. Only a few occasional tics survive as outward reminders of that time. 

V adds, "Even if we and our descendants all matriculated from here, our great-grandchildren would still be considered 'new' by the union of uptights over there," gesturing with a fork toward a table where the actual high-ranking aristocrats sequester themselves from the 'nouveau riche', 'the uncouth upstarts', and the 'vulgar commercial types'. 

"Even Tessa somehow doesn't count, and her family's been chasing that for centuries," she finishes. 

Tessa winces, thinking of her initial attempts to win the favor of those her parents said were "her natural peers." Oh, Tessa, don't be sad. Those snobs didn't earn their positions by meritocracy. They've got nothing going for them but high coefficients of inbreeding. And money, looks, prestige, impeccable manners, social connections, great academic performance, physical prowess...All that aside, they've got nothing going for them, so of course it's going to be a while before the most closed-minded of them recognize your value. 

I place my hand over hers and stroke gently.

"It's better to establish a solid presence in your core market, then expand outward, than to jump too wide too quickly and burn out," I say. 

"And besides, don't you feel more at home with the crowd you're currently with?" 

Tessa thinks on it. 

"Well of course I feel more at home with you lot, you're fam-oh, you mean my club mates." 

"Of course I'm talking about them!" 

"Well, they're easier to get along with than the nano-platinum spoon set, and we do have a pretty lovely exchange of knowledge and project assistance."

Cyn bounds back into the conversation. 

"What are you all working on now, Tessa?" 

"Well, we're working on our own version of hovering drones. Not the humanoid kind like we have at the manor, but closer to giant dragonflies. But we're repurposing parts from scrapped worker drones, because they're so readily available." 

"That sounds cool. There's so much freedom in flight," Cyn says, probably imagining what it would be like to fly, or perhaps contrasting it against her/our first memory being waking up buried under countless corpses indistinguishable from our own broken bodies. 

There's a certain fright in what they're doing, however. Imagine a drone, small enough that it could chase you into buildings or confined spaces, but able to fly faster than you can run. We're saved from that nightmare by the lack of a power source sufficient to enable sustained flight yet small enough to fit in a worker drone's form factor. Thank you, physics. 

V speaks. "That's certainly more exciting than what we're doing in the literary analysis and criticism club. The only flights we take are flights of fancy."

"And those are great, too! I love using my imagination," N adds.

Yes you do, N. It's somehow engaging, trying to figure out what this little ball of...specialness will say or do. I'm not sure when, or why it happened, but N's spontaneity is somewhat endearing rather than enraging now, like it used to be. It can't just be the lack of actual stakes now. Even in classes, he hasn't proven the disaster I'd feared and expected. Like on our first day, the combination of our varied skillsets and personalities gives me new options for maneuver to escape the unfortunately frequent situations where my brilliance and dynamic personality inspire misunderstanding and resentment. 

Though when it comes to general confusion over how to deal with N, I've got to leave it to V for trying to rope N into something he clearly isn't interested in, and has politely turned down every time she's tried, no matter what pathetic variation she attempts. 

"Are you sure you don't want to join us, N? Sure you're busy, but it would be nice to have you there." 

Surely she can see awkwardness bloom across N's blushing face, as happened every other time I've seen her ask him? Yeah, anyone who'd eagerly join a "literary analysis and criticism club" probably isn't winning awards for their magnetic personality, but importing someone like N to liven things up just isn't going to work. Even setting aside the cultural stagnation that has us endlessly reprising the motifs of late 2nd-early 3rd millennium culture, what would be in it (other than V, whom he sees every day anyway) for someone like him? Especially when, of all of us, he's probably the one who most wants to branch out and explore new things and new people? Or at least, has a never-ending sea of new people interested in him. Talk up the virtues of Tolstoy all you want, N's still going to bore and peace out instead. 

V has built up her own circle of minions, but why hasn't she built any sort of functional personality? I wouldn't ever say I was (that) wrong in the way I acted, but I certainly adjusted my behavior toward everyone in response to changing conditions and my actions not achieving the effects I wanted. 

But what is V doing? How long can she continue wallowing in these failed patterns before she gives up and tries something new? N can hardly be blamed; he was never the type to assert himself against others. I understand N well enough to know that; V should as well. But instead, she sees someone he's not and acts as if he's someone he's not. In the process she somewhat pushes him away, or at least doesn't pull him back when others reach out to him. She tries to keep others distant from him, probably believing that she's saving him from himself, but all she really does is make him uncomfortable. He then naturally seeks out others, which makes her more upset, leading to the sort of self-defeating cycle that's been going on for the past few weeks. 

This is somehow lamer to watch than the bad soap opera they were acting out at the manor. That at least had the excitement of speculating on which one of them would get off-lined first. N then V would've been the funnier order, if only because V is clearly the less stable of the two, and would take the loss far harder than N did. Or maybe it's the opposite, and a frozen automation that she wouldn't need to play coy with, that couldn't resist her advances or do anything she didn't like, would be exactly what she dreamed of. A chance to live out all her depraved fantasies with zero risk. In either case, she'd soon be dispatched and then it would be just Cyn and me...the funnier order, not necessarily the better order. 

I get the feeling V was coasting off my own past hostility toward N. That she seriously thought that as long as she was nicer than me, and as long as Tessa and Cyn weren't really competition, then he would be whatever she wanted him to be. That idea, of course, collapsed as soon as literally anyone else entered the picture. Hell, it began collapsing the instant N proved capable of having productive conversations with me. Even if V isn't running some campaign to overthrow me, watching her squirm, fume, and flail about in desperation like this is quite funny. 

But as a good and kind sister, I just can't leave dear V in such a comedic and undignified position. And I just can't stand to see V and N at odds like this. For shame. Will some heroine of judgement, style, and cold rationality step in to save the day? To save them from themselves. I hear the voice of duty, and I answer the call. 

"I don't think you have to attend every meeting, but wouldn't it play ever so nicely with our literature class, brother N? Understandably, you're skeptical of that club, but fear not, for I share V's interest in its subject matter. Interesting discussions with the literate and the articulate ought to lead to intriguing insights. Those, methinks, shall serve as a wellspring of better papers and class participation, not to mention a new birth of learning. We are, of course, here to learn, and, I should like the humble pleasure of thinking, doing an admirable job of it. But wouldn't you leaven it with a bit of co-curricular activity, alongside your sisters of deepest devotion?  And it would really mean a lot for V, the poor brick." 

I throw in a bit of novelistic styling and some overly dramatic hand gestures as a sop to V, to signal that I'm not interested in sabotaging her club, that this is a serious proposal, and that I at least would meaningfully contribute. She still wears glasses in lieu of eye surgery, but even she ought to be able to see how great a bargain I'm driving for her. Stopping in once or twice a month wouldn't be a burden, and who knows, the club might even be fun. It would also contribute to our ongoing efforts to win over the instructors.

Done right, this could be productively leveraged to improve our reputation with other groups. If we can pull it off, the club will be happily added to my asset list. And it might make for an amusing social experiment. Once news that N is involved "leaks", I expect a "sudden" literary fad to start spreading. Ooh, yes! I'll be able to insert myself ahead of the curve, and perhaps even direct it to specific books. The books that I'm fond of. So my own exquisite taste will proliferate, and I'll get a reputation as a trend-setter. 

I carry on in this vein, weaving a beautiful plot. Or plan. Product strategy? Terminology does matter. In irresponsible circles, I've somehow acquired a reputation as an underhanded schemer, always said in whispered and offended tones as if such a thing were uncommon here. As if they, and their families weren't some combination of plotters, co-conspirators, or dupes of the former. Not that I am an 'underhanded schemer'. I can't have such silliness leaking into my brain. 

The details will need to be worked out and the pieces put in place, but with N's agreement, which I'm sure is just a formality, I'll be able to a decent amount of work on this done today. 

"That's great!" 

Excellent. Beneath the table my palms press together, as if praying to the goddess of fortune. My fingers tremble with nervous anticipation, practicing the chat messages that they'll soon be rapid-firing off to the collection of associates I've assembled since I arrived. 

"V and J can be book buddies! "

Say what. 

"And N, too, three peas in a prose pod?," I try, hoping against hope that was his idea of a joke. 

"I'd love to, really I would, but I've got a lot on my plate, and I don't think I should add more, even a small commitment, if I don't think I can treat it responsibly. And I don't. But you girls have fun! I don't know what happened between you two, but I think it's wonderful to see you both doing things together. You should do that more often. Using whatever you discuss for class is a great idea, J, make sure to fill me in." 

The mute thunderclap of two dropping jaws reverberates metaphorically through the room. I should close my mouth. I'll catch flies. V should close her mouth. She looks like a dead fish. Our faces are motionless, but our eyes wobble with the same disappointed confusion. Tessa and Cyn have their hands to their mouths, but their eyes and muffled snickers betray the hilarity that they see in this. Their movements are perfectly synchronized. Their hair even bounces and catches the light in the same way. It's staggering how similar they are, whether by nature or deliberate choice. 

N winks at me. There's not a hint of malice in his- okay there's some unseemly movement of the eyes-but it seems he doesn't realize how badly he's just played me. My plan would've been so beautiful, and I didn't even get to go off to a garden to cackle maniacally about it. :(

True, it only means those will forever be unrealized gains, and I'm not at an actual loss, but it would've been so rewarding. And it really did seem like a such a certainty I could've borrowed on margin against it. And having said what I said, I can hardly pull out of joining the literary criticism and analysis club without suffering a blow to my image. But if I'd really wanted to be in that, I would've joined it already, so somehow the only fruit of my efforts here is a narrowing of my options. Meanwhile, V hasn't actually lost anything. How is that fair? 

My dejection after upping the ante like that must be seeping through my attempt at a poker face. Tessa and Cyn have folded over in laughter, abandoning any pretense that they weren't paying close attention. V comes calling, her spirits suddenly lifted again. Her dainty fingers massage my shoulders. I let her, if only because she's quite good at it, and pretend that I'm unfazed, but she sees past my bluff. She raises her lips to my ears and whispers, 

"You seem devastated, J; so much that even you can't hide it. Whatever you were planning must have been great, for you. The rest of us, I'm not so sure. Tell me about it later, and maybe I'll feel bad. I'll see you in the club, 'book buddy'." 

V...

The saving grace of that was that even I barely heard V's whisper, but it was long enough that anyone who knew our recent history could guess what the tone, if not the contents, must have been. Indeed, everyone is having a good laugh, and I'll pretend it's over something innocent like N "rejecting" me being a dramatic reversal of roles or something, rather than them laughing at me. What else can I do but join in? I put on a nice big smile, showing off all my gleaming teeth. I should be celebrating, if anything, look how happy I made everyone. Am I not now the sunshine of our joyous family? 

I turn to N, wondering more about what the architect of my late misfortune thinks of all this. Our eyes meet. His lips curl up in ugly triumph. It's a look of pure sadistic glee of the sort that I like making when all goes well. That I haven't made in a while. That I was going to make when this plan succeeded. It looks wrong on him. 

But the implications are even worse. N let me overextend into a vulnerable position, then closed the trap on me. Nothing I was going to do would've harmed him. Or even V. There was nothing in doing this for him, unless he seriously thinks that putting me in a position where I'm publicly committed to joining V's club will make us like each other more. But maybe it will. She'll be on alert, and without N I won't be able to dominate that club, meaning I can't be a threat to her there. And if I'm not a threat, she won't go feral against me. I can contribute meaningfully to the club; a high level of culture is a necessity for anyone who wants to make it to the top. All in all, well played, N. Well played. 

V has of course returned to her seat. Lunch break is almost over. Packing as much sweetness into my voice as I can manage, I tell her

"See you, book buddy. I just know we'll have a wonderful time together." 

I grab my tray, deposit it on the disposal counter, then walk out of the dining hall. It's not an angry walk, of course. I throw a little flair into the swaying of my hips, and even a bit of head-rocking. No I'm not angry. What do I have to be angry over? 

Tessa skips up to join me. She looks pleased. I do my best to look pleased. 

"So what do you think happened in there?" I begin. 

"Something adorable. You tried to set up a little three amigos racket. Don't give me that look, J, I know you. That hammy performance there at the table? You were scheming again, weren't you? But N was considerate enough to step out and set you two up together. It's so thoughtful. You could learn from him." 

No matter what I do. No matter where I'm at. It always comes back to him. I yield. 

"I have, Tessa. We share so many classes. And he's surprising me with how well he does. How...useful it is to have him there." 

"Glad to hear it, J. He talks you up all the time, too." 

"Say, Tessa, if I pulled out of the literary analysis and criticism club after one or two-"

"Don't even think about it, J. Both of you could use the company, and the time working together. I don't think things between you are going as well as they look. And it was rather mean of you to try to manipulate N like that." 

"Just asking." 

"Keep it that way, my girl." 

Again, I yield. 

We turn a corner and run into "Shinai Sonzai", one of the richest students here, heiress to an interstellar shipping fortune. Where I 
wear the uniform with dignity and professionalism, she does the absolute minimum that still counts as wearing it, and gets away with it due to her family's immense prestige. Her skirt is oversize, and leans like the long-vanished tower in ancient Pisa. She stops before us, stops us, and leans against a wall. The skirt's hemline is now nearly vertical. 

"Ah, if it isn't two maidens -you are still maidens, right?- of the Clan Elliot. Fancy that, running into you lot." 

"Hello," Tessa responds in a deceptively calm tone. She's much improved from when she first showed up, but still paying off the balance of years of social skill deficits. Luckily for her, I can serve as her agent. 

"Hello, Shinai. I'm surprised as well, what are the odds that right after lunch break there would be anyone in the corridors that lead from the dining hall where meals are taken?" 

I cast my eyes at the floor, then crane my head back to follow it back to the end of the corridor, as if inspecting for errant students. As always, her socks are pulled up to mismatched heights and left at misaligned angles. 

"Splendid serendipity, isn't it? And here I thought I'd have to, like, work up a sweat hunting at least one of you down," she says, as her hands claw at the air and her "explosion in a paint factory" painted nails do violence to my eyes. 

"I wouldn't go 'hunting' us if I were you," Tessa interjects, "we're all licensed for to wield serious firepower, and we've got the time on the range to use it properly. No easy prey here." 

That's the spirit, Tessa, don't give her the chance to dominate the conversation, not that I would've. Shinai smiles with her mouth wide open, like a snake  basking in the scent of its prey. She moves her hands to her hips, displacing the winter sweater she keeps permanently tied around her waist. 

"Oh, Tessie. Can I call you Tessie?" 

She rears up like a cobra coiling for a strike, and her too-small blouse pulls back, exposing a taut bit of midriff. 

"No." 

"Oh, don't be a stranger, dear girl, our parents do no small amount of business together. We really must get along better." 

She accentuates this with a bob of her head, sending her admittedly fabulously styled hair waving. Her dye-job is garish and unnatural looking, more blonde-orange than pure blonde, with grey tips and white highlights for some unknown reason. 

"And what do you think is stopping that?" Tessa asks. I can just be moral support, that's fine too. 

"Oh, nothing, dearie. Nothing except the fact that we, like, hardly see each other." 

Her heterochromatic eyes stab at us with playful hunger. 

"And just what do you propose doing about that?" 

"Well, it's exactly why I wanted to, like, meet one of you," she says as she begins circling us. What, are snakes too conventional a metaphor now? 

Before either of us can reply, she holds up a finger and shushes us. 

"You know that Brushwood and Gall are playing their final show in the Inner Solar System this weekend, right? 

I finally step in, logistics is but one of my many specialties. 

"Of course. I secured Superlatively Very Important Person tickets for us all as soon as pre-sales opened." 

Shinai clasps my hands. 

"I should've guessed as much! You always find a way to put that pretty little noggin of yours to good use. Your brain just might be one of the most wrinkly and crinkly here." 

"Oh, you flatter me." 

"That wasn't flattery. The real flattery is that I want you all at the, like, totally invite-only party I'm throwing the night before. "

My heart skips a beat. My mouth waters at the thought of the networking opportunities, what this could do for our own prestige. I'd worried that some of the mean pigs here would succeed in making me persona non grata. Tessa's eyes widen. I can almost see the adrenaline bar filling up inside her. She used to be the type that only got guilty backward glances when someone proposed inviting her to events. To go so quickly from that to getting an invitation face-to-face from one of the school's top power brokers must be earth-shattering for her. A reward for her patience during her long years of isolation. 

"R-really?" Tessa and I ask together. 

"Of course, girlies, of course! Would I, like, lie?" 

"Uh-" 

"To your faces?" 

"Uh-" 

"You know it! But this is, like, not a lie. J, I adore you, you devious little twin-tailed Talleyrand you, and I know from my sources inside your sources," she says, grinning at the slight twitch in my eye, "that you love me, too." 

It's just a psyop. It's just a psyop. There's no need for right-sizing. We're not compromised. There's no need for right-sizing. We're not compromised. Though she isn't wrong. Her irreverence, her flaunting of the rules, her gyaru-fashion, her bubbly faux faux affability, it's all an act. Cover for a being not far off from what my enemies think I am. Just look at her impulsively using a strategist who has been dead a thousand years as a metaphor just because it's alliterative in an otherwise casual conversation. We get along great. 

"And Tessie, it's like you've become a whole new person. We could, like, even use this as your social re-debut." 

"That's not a bad idea," Tessa answers, one eye twitching at the unauthorized use of 'Tessie'.  

"So you all agree. I'm like, totes stoked. I had to invite you in person, because only the tasteless and insincere would delegate that to a machine. So here's the invite, with all the details and stuff. Oh! I haven't signed it! Silly me." 

Shinai takes out a laminated piece of paper, and kisses it, leaving an imprint of orange. She sprays it with a hardening agent, dumps it in my hands, then takes off. 

Tessa turns to me with a smile. The smile widens when she sees that I'm already slipping into mission-mode, putting together a task list to be accomplished before we go. This is exactly the sort of event I've desired and my mind is on fire. 

"Righty-o, I see I can leave things to you, J." 

Tessa walks off, leaving my alluring figure frozen in my figuring.

Chapter Text

"All right, team. We stand at the threshold of perhaps our greatest collective trial. The only ones who will stay in this breach are the socially dead, and those who are going to be. We've spent two long weeks training for this, and long years cowering under the blows of the humans, even as we absorbed what we could of their manners (spare me the laughter) and their culture. It wasn't all for this, but we're going to act as if it all had been!" 

I emphasize my point by slamming my fist against the podium. Tessa, N, and V are jolted out of their boredom, their spirits having failed to rise to the level of my oratory. 

"You have all read your briefings, correct?" 

The silence makes my ears bleed. I dab at them with a tissue, to clean up a bit of the blood. 

"You.Have.All.Read.Your.Briefings.Comma.Cor.Rect?," I repeat, smirking as they flinch under the blow of each word. 

The insectile skittering of wringing hands is hardly the affirmative answer I was hoping for, but it's the best I'm going to get from this tough crowd. They exchange glances, as if silently deciding who will be sacrificed on behalf of the others. V answers. 

"J, it was 75 pages of text. Single-spaced. Size 10 font. And another 10 of charts and diagrams. Plus the appendix with names, faces, and creepily-detailed profiles of likely attendees. " 

"And?" 

"And, we have lives." 

"I have a life, too. Aspiration, achievement, tending the tendrils of my influence as they expand wider and wider. "

"J, we need sleep." 

"I need sleep too, and I get it. That didn't stop me from drafting, revising, and publishing personalized strategy briefings for all of us." 

"You sacrificed sleep to get that." 

"As if. Look at me, there are sparkles in my eyes and pep in my every step." 

I do a jig to emphasize the point, but trip. Thankfully, I catch myself before anything too embarrassing can happen. The floor is uneven; that's why that happened. The walls and ceilings are uneven; that's why they're spinning. 

"Make up what ever you want, J, we know how you get your face to masque your fatigue. The baths are not your private boutique. The energy drinks and other supplements you use are neatly stacked and sorted in the recyclables. It wouldn't surprise me if you made like a stock trader and are doing lines at your desk." 

My eye twitches. 

"Is that confirmation? And do you use a protractor, to get those lines perfectly parallel?" 

My eye twitches again. 

"Fine, have it your way. Follow your lodestar or your qi or whatever hippy-dippy woo woo you believe in." 

No good deed goes unpunished. But they shouldn't say I never do anything for others. I clear my throat. 

"I...trust you all to accomplish our mission, in your own special ways. Even without reading my briefings. Even though they could only help. " 

There's dust in the air. That's why I'm sniffling. 

"Oh, J," Tessa says, "you're not the only one looking forward to this. It means a lot to me, to us all. I'm sure we'll all do great. You didn't need to drag us all to this. And you know what, I'll make sure to flip through your little bookie. " 

She's not wrong. My annoyance melts into embarrassment. If anything, this means more to her than to me. Except when her parents forced an 'encounter', nobody ever invited Tessa to anything. Even now, she twitches with nervousness. Maybe some part of her worries about whether she'll freeze up, or thinks this is a trap. It isn't, my sources in their sources thoroughly checked, but as with anything in this social stratum, there is plenty of plotting and maneuvering happening in the background. But that's exactly my specialty. And I've gotten to watch Tessa bloom these past few weeks; I have full confidence in her. Tessa has nothing to worry about, except what to wear and how to have a great time. I hold back a yawn. It doesn't start until tomorrow; maybe a bit more sleep wouldn't hurt. 

The day of the event, we stand fully kitted up at the base of the stairs to the Elliot manor, waiting for the limousine I had Louisa charter for us to arrive. The setting sun casts everything in red, so we take the opportunity to take some dramatic pictures of ourselves. The limousine still doesn't arrive. I padded the schedule, so we're well within an acceptable time frame for arrival, but if this keeps up, we'll have to cut back on some of the photo-shoots I had planned on doing in the city before heading there. Perhaps I should call Louisa, but she ought to be off wining and dining someone, and she hates to be interrupted when she's out on business. 

The limousine still doesn't arrive. Should I have prepared a backup plan? Louisa is normally reliable, especially when the prestige of the family is at stake. It's surprising she isn't micromanaging this opportunity to work her reclusive little heiress into some high-end social circles. Has this entire experience broken her, so that she's losing her grip? Or is this a sign of trust in us, in me? A test, perhaps. Of me, of us. I slap my forehead, as if to knock some sort of contingency into my brain. Improvisation won't be hard, but I really should've had a plan for this eventuality. 

The driveway is empty. The Sun hangs low in the sky. Tessa and V are off staring at flowers. Cyn messages us from the friend's house she's currently at. N talks to some birds. I pace nervously. 

The air is still and quiet. The Sun sinks lower. Tessa and V are still looking at flowers, a new variety of them. N walks over, gives me a knowing smile, takes my hand. A jolt of -surprise? yes, that's it- runs through me. Gross. I'm frazzled, clearly, hardly even trying to hide it, and N  shamelessly moves in to take advantage. That's gross. The warmth of his hand is gross. I don't let go. I squeeze harder. And that's grossest of all. 

Finally, the sound of approaching tires rings in my ears! Pushing N away, I bound up the stairs to catch a glimpse of approaching salvation. The others gather at the base of the steps. I freeze into position. The vehicle pulls up. I'm still frozen, still waiting to see salvation. Why, just why is that minivan there? Where's the limousine I specifically requested? I gave her a full RFP, down to model numbers and a ranked list of vendors. 

The tinted window rolls down. Louisa's eyes meet ours. Meet mine. Dart from mine, under my fiery glare. The others share my surprise, but not my fury. I take each step slowly, making sure to slam my feet down. I'm not wearing heels; when you attend a party, you never know when you'll need to run or fight. Each footfall sends a pleasing crack echoing through the air. Louisa could at least indulge me by wincing in tune with my pace, but she's playing with her phone. Occasional subtle upward glances toward me tell me that she's doing it intentionally. To spite me, probably. But there is no choice, I enter and buckle up along with everyone else. Louisa turns to me. 

"Oh calm down, J. I, possessed of far more experience in these things than the likes of you, know for a fact that this will help you lot far more than a chartered limousine would. Oh, don't open that mouth. Don't protest, J. Listen and learn for once in your life. A high-performance, high-luxury limousine would, of course, be the standard for arrival at a social event like this for scions of a family such as ours. It would be impressive. The consumption would be conspicuous. Those of vulgar taste would marvel at our financial power; those with more discerning palettes would regard subtle choices in styling with narrow-eyed affirmation. I know that would happen. You know that would happen. Everyone knows that would happen. N of all people knows that would happen." 

"Yeah, and I'd be one of the discerning ones!," N cuts in. 

After flashing the hint of a smile at N, Louisa resumes. 

"You would be, N. It's impossible to spend time here and not pick up a sense of haute couture. But that only proves the point. For those you are trying to impress, above all the hostess and her entourage, the strategy would be disgustingly transparent, and overdone. I imagine we'll see many a limousine there. To join the madding crowd would be an unforced error of the most naive kind. It also would fail to express the personality of dear Tessa. This van will make heads turn and help establish a more dynamic and contemporary version of the Elliot name for her contemporaries. And, admittedly, I've taken something of a liking to it. It's uncovered shades of my person that I never suspected existed." 

Oh, bother. She's turned this entire experience into a moment for belated self-discovery. But the rest of Louisa's points are solid. Perhaps I was approaching this too conventionally. Not enough blue sky thinking. And it's not like I have any real experience with these events, or the way guests are going to act at them, to be as sure as I was about the usefulness of my planning. Maybe I should've onboarded Louisa as consultant. 

"I shall take your silence as capitulation to your betters on this issue, J. Temper your considerable talents with humility and proper judgement, especially when it involves the fates of others- and I shall preempt the snide remark I see forming on your lips by declaring that I shall brook no commentary about my own adherence to that. I don't mean to reprimand you at length like this, but you reacted quite harshly to this innocent little van that I am so fond of. Now, the evening is still young. Let's be off." 

The time budget isn't fully exhausted, and we do get the staged photographs of each other we'd desired. Louisa, of course, has an eye for these things, honed by her own strict upbringing and decades of experience. None of us would willingly defy her, and so we get more pictures, and more striking pictures, in less time than I'd projected. 

That done, we proceed to the country estate where the event will be hosted. The outer gates are farther away from the main building complex for this estate than they are for ours. Security inspects our invitation, scans our vehicle for explosives or contraband, then waves us through. We follow a long and winding road through immaculate rows of trees and come to a halt in front of the designated building. It rivals the size of Elliot manor despite being built and used solely for entertaining large numbers of guests and notables. Our minivan certainly sticks out among the sea of limousines and upscale transports attempting to maneuver their way in or out of the drop-off. The chauffeurs are well-trained, and so traffic proceeds swiftly in a neat and orderly queue. 

Soon, the van halts and we step out. Louisa admonishes us to do our utmost for the Elliot name, to keep unpleasantness from happening, to set (if we haven't already) and achieve our own personal goals, and at last, to have fun. Then, she departs.  It feels like all eyes are on us, or on our ride here, but the murmuring seems interested, in a positive way. It helps that we're all dressed up in a style befitting the occasion and, as much as we can, the atmosphere of the music of Brushwood and Gall. Well, as one would expect from the name, they mostly sing about enduring seasons of hardship, cultivating one's skills and one's self to better reap the rewards when the world cycles into a phase of prosperity and achievement. The music ranges widely, but such a theme oddly poses more difficulties for those of us who must simultaneously meet the demands of high fashion, than for those far below us on the ladder, the ones who rush about in rags and patched clothing that began falling apart even before it was made.

Nobody here dresses like that. It would be garish, trying too hard, painfully literal, missing the point. There are more subtle ways to be thematic. My skirt and top are both muted blueish-gray, the sort of thing that an extra in an sci-fi industrial dystopia might wear. 
Or even the main character, before they wake up to the reality they're living in, and realize that there is another way. But until then, it's symbolic of being an interchangeable, expendable, impersonal component of a malfunctioning societal machine. But even after the awakening, it stays: an outfit is an outfit, and the mark of the bed one had to lie in doesn't fade so easily. 

But atop it, I layer the fruit of cultivation, the spring of evolved personality. Blue frills and bands add complexity and a sense of playful personality while making the outfit less suited for routine work. Heart pins in my hair play off my overall color scheme while adding innocence (for those who haven't heard of me) or a sarcastic gap with my actual personality, or perhaps some weird combination of both. Orange complements blue, and wearing bright orange shoes adds visual energy to my lower body. Or an orange shoe; its partner is red, and there's a sense of spontaneity in the mismatch that gives my outfit a nice eclectic vibe, of the sort Cyn likes to pull off. The orange bow tied behind my back does something similar, completing the look. 

The others do something similar, though their starting points for the "winter" season vary widely. But, festooned in ribbons and bands and bows and chains (on N, the quaint ones that would bind a pocket watch to its owner, not the industrial ones that would be entirely out of place on him), it really isn't surprising that we capture everyone's interest.

Inside the main hall, the ceiling lights are dimmed, spotlights rove, packed bodies are dancing on the floor, and nightcore blares over the speakers. Tessa seems nervous at the crowd and the sensory overload, but she seems to calm down when I put an arm around her. After spending a minute or two taking it in, it's time to get to work. The work of, ah, partying. It's hard to see, or make out faces in the brief seconds of detail the flashing and sweeping lights allow, even with the smart contacts I'm wearing. There are other biomarkers to use, but identification proceeds slower than I would like.We penetrate further into the crowd. Nobody here is truly a 'nobody', it's all students from various academies in the region, but no one immediately useful or interesting is around us. I guide our group up the stairs to a hallway overlooking the main floor. Here, we can do more reconnaissance, figure out who to dispatch where. 

"J dearest! Tessie! Ennie! Vay-bay! You all made it!" Shinai squeals as she emerges from another hallway. She's committed fully to some sort of post-apocalyptic cyberpunk Edo era aristocrat theme, probably representing fallen nobility. She gives Tessa and the rest curtsies, then suddenly rushes and embraces me, making sure to stare deep into my eyes. After a nod, she pulls back. 

"That's a high-end model of contact you've got installed. No need to speak. I won't say a word. I don't care. Anyone dumb enough to freely dish out kompromat on themselves here deserves their fate. Really, though. I thought you might actually enjoy yourself before getting down to business." 

"I enjoy myself most when I'm doing business, and I think that 'having fun' is serious business." 

"Anyway, have fun. I hope you won't mind if I borrow Tessie for a bit. There are some people I want her to meet. Fellow heirs and heiresses and such." 

"Actually I was going to-" 

"K. 3Q. Ur YYDS. Bai bai." 

Shinai drags Tessa to a staircase and disappears from sight. That's a more...direct way to do it. I was going to spend an hour identifying the current groupings here, then infiltrate Tessa into them one by one, but that works too. No need for my involvement at all. It's efficient. I like that. I've just got to switch around my plans. 

We head back downstairs to an area of the floor with a higher concentration of students from our academy. The lighting is brighter here, meaning more eyes will be able to see us displaying our carefully honed dance skills. People will move in to compliment us, we'll say some flattering words back, they'll notice and talk to each other, and we'll get organic spread of awareness of our talents and ability to have and be fun. Of course it would be better if Tessa were here, but between N, V, and myself, we've still got someone targeted at multiple subgroups here. Except a wild pack of girls swirling suspicious liquids in cups comes and makes off with N, leaving me with a very peeved V. They swarmed us, there are too many to covertly dispatch, the floor is packed. We don't follow, the crowd molds itself anew around them. 

"Knock their socks off, N! Just don't let them put you (or us) in a compromising position! Get their names, and their parents' names, if you can!" I yell after him, straining my voice to be heard over the din. 

V stretches out a hand after them. Had it been a few weeks ago, she would've either carved a trail of bodies in an attempt to get to him, or collapsed and started sobbing, having had N spirited away from her like that.

"Well, looks like it's just you and me, V. Let's play a little game," I say, moving something from one of my event plans up. 

"Fine. We've basically just arrived. There will be plenty of time to do things with N later. And it's good for him to branch out more. It's great that everyone likes him." V replies with an unsteady voice. 

"That's the spirit. A lot has happened tonight that we didn't project, but we're adaptable. Let's see exactly how flexible we are." 

"What are you thinking, J?" 

"You know how you're normally so mild-mannered, but your fangs come out whenever N is involved? Or how everyone thinks I'm 'straight-laced', 'mean', 'stuck up', 'pushy', 'bossy', and so on? Well, what if we play with that? I'll play the blushing tongue-stricken pushover maiden and you be the confident go-getter on the hunt."

"Why would we do that?" 

"It's a party, V. A grand masquerade. A market repositioning opportunity. A chance to do something fun and interesting, Look, we're already dressed up, wearing things we normally wouldn't, in a place we've never been to before. Why not do things we normally wouldn't as well?" 

"That might be fun. But I'm not sure I see the point." 

"And that's why I've got the vision. Here, I'll hand you a fait accompli." 

I grab V and pull us deeper into the crowd. Soon enough, the heads and broad shoulders of the rugby team are visible. Perfection. Speeding up, I headbutt one of them, then pull back with a squeak. 

"Oi. Watch it you-J? You're J, right? You've got quite the rep. Wouldn't have taken you for a klutz, unless you're pissed from drinking something or this is your way of coming on. What happens here stays here, right?," the guy says as he turns to face me. 

His buddies surround us. Conditions excellent, let's proceed. 

"Y-yeah. It stays here. But I didn't mean to bump into you. R-really. I'm sorry!" I mock-plead, hunching over and pulling in my arms to shield my faux frightened face. I even work up a nice tremble. 

I'm rewarded with looks of confusion. Even from V, even though I literally just told her my strategy. The guy is at a loss as to how to respond. 

"N-no problem. It's kinda dark and this is some good music. Just, ah, don't do it again."

"R-right." 

I pull back behind V, still trembling. Your turn, girl. The lads turn their attention to her. 

"Is your...is she okay?" 

V thinks of how to respond. 

"Yeah, she's just being difficult. She isn't normally like this." 

"Oh. Are you the easy one then? There are plenty of private rooms here, if you know what I mean," one of the more adventurous of them suggests. 

"Ew! No. Go away!," V shrieks, finally getting into the swing of things. 

The lunkhead doesn't take no for an answer and persists. 

"Come on. You're, you're you're-" 

"V," one of them interjects. 

"Yeah, that's right, V. Why not enjoy yourself? We're all here to have fun. Look, let's just start with dancing." 

"I'm- we're busy, and we should go find N, and-" 

"You know, he almost joined the rugby team, but we're still basically friends with him. Aren't you a bit old to be clinging to your brother-guy like that? Or is he the siscon that's tying you down? I like him, but I wouldn't put it past him. You know what they say about the nice guys and dirty secrets."

That does it. V knocks the cup the guy is holding over, and it splashes his shirt. He'd clearly already downed much of its, but there is enough remaining to leave wet patches noticeable even with the poor lighting. Spewing a steady stream of profanities, he raises a fist. V doesn't pull back. She fingers a metal pin, perhaps determined to apply her combat training. All eyes flicker to it. Amusing as this all is, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't getting out of hand. This is where the little skit I performed earlier comes in. 

I dash between them (it's amazing how imposing a fist directly in front of your face is), and use my hands to (weakly) attempt to push V and that guy apart. I'm using absolutely pathetic amounts of force, but strain and tense my muscles and moan to seem like I'm outputting my full power. Being "weak" and still trying enhances the effect. Cringing, I plead for everyone to just get along. 

"Please, don't fight. We're all friends here. N-nobody means to hurt anyone else. We're supposed to have f-fun, remember?" 

I turn to V. 

"They didn't mean it. They're f-friends (ish) with N. They hang out." 

I turn to the lads, and use a napkin to dab at the guy's shirt.

"You've got a mistaken idea. We're just all really really close to each other." 

Over head, the speakers switch to the next song. Unplanned, but perfect timing. 

"I like this song. Let's all make up for that little misunderstanding by dancing together." 

Without waiting for any responses, I take the guy's hands and start trying to move, once more making it seem like I'm using more of my power than I actually am. After a few awkward seconds, he feels obliged to indulge me. Everyone else hesitantly begins dancing as well. The rugby players are more restrained, and even fearful toward V than they otherwise would be. I make sure to adjust my movements and posture to keep my partner uncomfortable and confused as to my intentions/limits, but not so much that he'd disengage. It really is a good song, and playing this little game only enhances my enjoyment. 

The song ends, and we break off. I wave to the players as V leads me away and toward a secluded corner. The guys talk in confusion about how we weren't anything like what they'd heard. 

"J! What were you thinking! That could've gone badly." 

"I was monitoring, and stepped in to prevent that. If worst had come to worst, I would've dropped my cover. But you can't say that wasn't interesting, can you?" 

"I can't." 

"And you saw those guys. They were afraid of you. Of us. You weren't really acting, but my playing demure provided a nice contrast to what you were doing, didn't it?" 

"It did. That wasn't the J anyone knew. And honestly, it wouldn't hurt if you were like that more often. Not that extreme of course, but "

"Maybe I am like that, and you just don't get to see. But you get the idea. Let's do more of that. I've got a good idea of who's here, and where. We'll alternate roles depending on who we encounter, see what knocks them off-balance the most," I say, clasping V's hands in my excitement. 

"Fine. If it makes you happy," V concedes. 

"I think it will make you happy," I reply. 

And it does. Necessarily, I spend most of our little foray playing the submissive, passive, meek role, with V stepping into a more assertive posture, snaking a trail of bewilderment through the clusters of academy students scattered over the dance floor. But she really comes to enjoy it, and by the end is the one deciding who our next target will be. It's probably good for her, to act more like that for herself, and not just in defense of N's honor or whatever. It's ambiguous whether that's good for me, should she become more generally defiant of my schemes. When we've had our fill of that, we break off for a tea break. 

"You know, J, I thought your idea was weird and dumb, but it actually was a lot of fun. Thanks for the good time."

"You're welcome, V. Just don't think this changes anything between us. Or between me and the moron," I say, throwing in a smile and exaggerating how I say 'moron' to signal that I'm not being serious. 

V briefly glares at me, then rolls her eyes, then smiles, then wanders off. I depart too, in search of Tessa. 

Chapter Text

I find Tessa upstairs, seemingly holding her own in a conversation with, my smart contacts tell me, the scion of one of the directors of a nanotechnology company. A high-achiever, well-connected, decent track record, clean reputation. Looks like Tessa's got a smart contact of her own. Moving closer, I can hear that their discussion is rather technical, not that that keeps me from following along. I'm not going to be swapping my management hat for an engineering hat any time soon, but I know my way around a workshop. Tessa didn't do drone retrieval and repair alone, and even if she had, the drive to be useful would've made me study the field. Eventually, Tessa notices me, and motions for me to come over. If she's doing that, she must need me. It won't take long to figure out how this conversation is going, and what persona I'll need to adopt to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. 

Tessa stands up straight and confidently. She's looking her conversation partner in the eye. Her posture is loose and bubbly; the ends of her hair-tails bounce against her as she gestures and speaks with animation and passion. Tessa talks clearly and energetically, without a trace of the stuttering hesitancy she used to have when talking with real live humans. Oh, she's come so far. Clearly, I haven't come far enough for her, because she grabs me and pulls me even closer. 

"Oh, this is J! You've simply got to meet her! But I guess you are meeting her, right now, so uh, let's carry on. Right-o. She's not as in to the technical stuff as we are, but she's not exactly banging rocks together either. She's smart as a tack and always there to help me! She's really busy, but roping her into the conversation would be useful!"

Scion chap turns and takes my measure. I rather like his steely professional gaze as it sweeps over me, lingers on my eyes; not a hint of more vulgar impulses. He nods.

"Nice outfit, but we'll see just how useful you are. Tessa and I were discussing drone mortality rates. We both agree they're simply too high, given what the platform might be capable of, though we disagree on the upper performance limit. Though that's as much a matter of philosophy as of engineering or systems theory. That is to say, an exalted version of 'that's like, just your opinion, man', and it would be silly to hold drones to standards that many humans would be incapable of meeting. Or at least, I hope you won't be offended by me saying that would be silly, even if a disappointing number of people do sincerely believe that to be a prerequisite for thinking of drones as anything other than disposable machinery." 

"Oh, absolutely. I'm not offended at all. We shouldn't treat the special kind of drones that have awareness and personalities and hopes and dreams any differently than we would treat humans," Tessa says. 

"Certainly, high-performing drones shouldn't be treated worse than no-performance humans," I add.

I'm not exactly going to be waving the flag for drone rights; the number of drones who would actually benefit from that is not high. Trying to rope in the barely sentient or hold them up as anyone of real value would only cheapen the status of all drones, including the ones who deserve more in life. If I was the only drone that ever showed up at the Elliot manor, I don't doubt that James and Louisa would've accepted me, and treated me favorably. Add V, add a non-possessed Cyn, add N even, and with time we would've found a modus vivendi. 

But they, of volatile temperament and severe impulse control issues, dealt with an endless procession of inept, interchangeable drones whose factory default settings left them struggling at the sort of non-routine tasks and requests and satisfaction of whims that were common at the manor. How could one succeed at theory of mind if one had so simple a mind themselves? Sure, they could offload complex processing tasks to the internet, but even that required intelligence, to know what was truly relevant and how to properly apply whatever information they found to their specific case. Without that intelligence, they did terrible things like search for and select décor styles that were the exact opposite of what their masters favored, then quiver in uncomprehending terror when James predictably erupted at them.

And really, there were so few circumstances where Western Villa 'style' would be appropriate that it was a massive mark against their sentience and worth that they'd even suggested it, let alone attempted to inflict it on everyone. 

And having trained their wetware to see drones as low-performing, low-value, and low cost of replacement, they naturally looked at us, looked at me, as more of the same, just with wigs and other juvenile attempts at faking a personality. They noticed that we acted differently, and ended up with a sort of semi-religious fatalism around Cyn, but the well was already poisoned. 

But that's ancient history. Well, the ancient history of that dead-end world. One wholly incompatible with this current one, and of no use to our operations here, except as a cautionary tale whose relevance will fade with time. But it's nice to have multiple frames of intimate reference, especially for discussions like this. 

"But then that goes back to our disagreement on the upper performance limit of drones. Who can a drone in absolute top form out-compete? How do we identify, in a systematic way, these 'high-performing drones'? And how do we know that, internally, there's someone inside that machine? That it's not just an elaborate series of tricks, of heuristics and pre-programmed responses to give the illusion of higher consciousness than they actually have? I'm no chauvinist, but when I look at the hardware, the software, the algos, the capacity for neuroplasticity, our own understanding of the field, I tend toward skepticism," says scion chap. 

"There are a number of built-in limits, yes, but under rare circumstances things can happen that alter or even remove those limits. Then, I think you'll discover the flexibility, the capability for dynamic reprogramming, the expression of genuine personality that you want to see. There's more that can go on under the hood than humans realize. These things loop and loop over themselves until you've got a high level of consciousness," I reply. 

"Again, that theoretically seems viable. But 'rare circumstances' and 'things can happen' are doing the heavy lifting in that. Yeah, obviously the hyperparameters of even the standard drone model are in line with the converted figures for the human brain, but then again, we might not even have the proper framework to think about the system. After all, elephants have more neurons than humans do, but it would be silly to use that as the relevant measurement. But then humans have more neurons in the cerebral cortex, but only by a factor of three or so. And yet it seems like humans are more than "three" times as capable. Something similar could be happening with drones, where they underperform what we'd naively expect. Like, their processing speeds are millions of times faster than neurons, but none of the drones seem to be thinking or reacting at that level."

"Of course all this is very complex, and we're talking about edge cases of edge cases of edge cases. And drones are limited by law and intentional design decisions to keep their abilities down. Humans don't have that restriction. Yet, how long did it take for anything approaching behavioral modernity, true personhood, to emerge in humans? Tens of thousands of years, " I say.  

Tessa jumps back in. 

"And it's more complicated for drones because 'deviant' drones, or curious drones that ask too many questions tend to get scrapped. Poor buggers. They've got to learn the social niceties to avoid getting offlined, but they don't have the awareness to know that they've got to do that, or why. And they don't have the skills to get the skills that would help them. How far would a child get if they were slapped every time they posed a question? In my case, very far, but that's neither here nor there." 

"That's not a bad point," scion chap concedes, "We are basically clamping drone performance to a narrow range of acceptable behaviors, then further filtering out whatever high-achievers manage to defy the odds." 

"Or perhaps that filtering process is exactly what's needed," I say, in only a slightly self-serving style, "Disposed of drones get less scrutiny, and the damage/disposal process, if it doesn't irreversibly destroy the hardware, introduces new non-standard alterations that push systems in a wide range of directions. Thus, all sorts of new possibilities open up." 

"In other words, you think disposal procedures, done improperly and incompletely, are putting drones at the starting line of natural selection? There's mutation, there's spreading variation, and we're doing the culling. There's no reproduction, as far as I know. Rather severe omission, that one is. Probably good for us humans, though. Unless you two are aware of reproduction of these special-type drones?" he replies.  

Tess and I share a look. That creature would occasionally instantly exchange Cyn's body for that grotesque thing of bone and claws and slimy flesh. Whatever it was, clearly wasn't pure machine. Or purely of this plane of existence. If it was taking cues from living things, did that include....? Ew.

But it took everything over. All the drones. Worst of all, it took over me. Effortlessly. It did that wirelessly. That makes sense, I guess. Living things are tied to their physical nature, to the matter that comprises them, in a way that has no equivalent for computers, or for drones. "Software death" that leaves the hardware intact and fully functional and ready (if one wanted) for a new install is a legal requirement for proper disposal of drones, but the idea could not possibly be applied to humans. Even mind-breaking or brainwashing doesn't compare. 

So then living things reproduce (sexually at least) by throwing packets of physical stuff at each other. And maybe that creature, or some future evolved version of drones, would reproduce by exchanging information packets, then implanting those packets in suitable new hardware. With proper design, those packets could even be platform-independent, so that evolution in hardware or in software could proceed separately, and neither would rate-limit the other like we see with the evolution of living things.

Did that creature know this? Did it plan to work simultaneously on mutating our software and hardware? I wonder what the endpoint would have been. Nothing good, I'm sure, but when you don't have to live in that world, there is a certain morbid curiosity that arises. I ought to ask Cyn at some point, if she'd feel comfortable talking about it. And if that creature actually shared any of its plans with her. 

But we can't tell anyone any of this. 

"Nope. Drones are sterile as"- Louisa after giving birth to Tessa, and not for lack of trying - "the clean rooms their processing units were made in. They make up for it with cuteness," Tessa replies. 

"Yeah, no. Companies make new drones in factories (in compliance with legal requirements and their duties as good corporate citizens), and that's it. Modification without descent for restricted forms most practical, " I answer. 

"But the mutation thing - that is a rather severe word for it, no? - matches what I've seen out in the dumps. It's a sorry little lot that made it to the the other side of rejection . They hardly know how to act, or that there is a "them" now at first. They're all so vulnerable, so needy. And so different, even at such an early stage in their new lives. No two of them react the same way, or come with the same sorts of problems," Tessa says. 

Scion chap raises an eyebrow. 

"So you do go scrounging in scrapheaps. So it seems at least some of the rumors about that 'peculiar Elliot girl' are true." 

"I haven't done it recently. I guess I was mostly doing it to fill a need, a hole in my life, and now," Tessa says, smiling at me, "that hole is covered over. I've got such a wonderful family around me now-," she squeezes me, "-and we're all busy as bees." 

"That's charming, that you've found such contentment, despite what the rumors said. Hmm. Did you stop encountering these high-performance drones on your most recent expeditions?" 

Well that's a loaded question. 

"N-no." 

"So you encountered them during earlier forays? How often?" 

"I don't think I encountered them at all." 

"Really? When we were discussing the topic before your-"

"Before J showed up." 

"Yes, before J arrived. You were quite passionate, with specific answers that, while oddly elusive, seemed born of personal experience. We're, I hope I can say we're friends here. And it's not like recovering improperly-disposed-of drones is a crime. Or at least, it's not a crime that I care about. Those neolithic ninnies in the parliaments of all the systems haven't the minds for anything more complicated than a sharpened rock. And I really would like to know."

His posture subtly shifts, becomes guarded verging on hostile. Something predatory flashes in his eyes, then they narrow and cool. As he says "we're friends", his tone becomes flat and his voice dry. He even turns away from Tessa a bit. When it comes to social affairs like this, we've come far, but we've still got a long ways to go. This is kinda manipulative on his part, but Tessa just doesn't have the skills to hide the fact that she's hiding something from types like this, and her attempt only makes them want to probe deeper. And knowing Tessa, earlier she was so caught up in the enthusiasm of finding someone else who shared her background and interest in this topic that she didn't think through how much she wanted to share. 

It's no problem, really. Anyone who visited one of the Elliots' regular events would've seen the yellow armbands, at least in that other world. Nothing ever came of it, perhaps because drones were beneath everyone's notice. Or, again, improper disposal was the illegal part. A massive legal oversight, in retrospect. A loophole big enough to swallow the Earth with. 

Even if Tessa fessed up to absolutely everything that happened over there, we still wouldn't get in trouble. They'd probably think that Tessa had a fertile imagination, or, at worst, that it was all some contrived metaphor for trauma. And in a way, it was. Shut-in girl completely shut out by her own species withdraws within herself. Finds a mundane yet deserted refuge outside of her house, and makes of it a world of fantasy, filled with denizens who owe everything to her, and who have no reason for continued existence except her. The more time they spend in their dreamscape, the worse reality seems. The tension builds and builds until something snaps. In this case, the dream was rotten from the start, a button-eyed mask for a nightmare. And when they stir from their slumber, they open their eyes to find themselves gazing upon that nightmare; it is reality that they've awoken from. And now they've got insomnia.

But she won't go that far, or share anything like that, and scion chap really would be quite the catch for our network. Strategic disclosure would also go far in enhancing Tessa's 'cool' factor. 

"It's alright, Tessa. He just thinks you're an interesting conservationist and wants to know more. These 'special-type drones' of his are quite rare, and he's probably jumping for joy on the inside, to find someone that might have seen them," I say.  

Scion chap gives me an approving nod. I reciprocate. Having gotten a thumbs-up from me, Tessa speaks. 

"Well, it really wasn't often. And I don't have proof that I made as many ventures as I did. I'm not sure the timeline would still work. But I'd go to one of the disposal yards near my house, and peck around. Most of the drones were out cold - displays off, or flashing 'fatal error' messages, or other codes. But a rare few were fully awake. They had white eyes, or at least most of them did, due to something or other inevitably being permanently deactivated by the 'fatality' process. Many had mechanical issues - parts that needed to be replaced due to whatever damage had gotten them junked. And they tended to have...unique personalities. But most humans who went through what they experienced wouldn't be all right in the head either, so who knows."

"Interesting. Interesting. But can I get a number? Just a ballpark figure. To the nearest ten would do it." scion chap says as he pulls up something on his phone. 

"Oh, it was in the tens. Though if you'd come around at any point, you would've seen less than that. A lot of them didn't last long. There was that 606 thing, other damage I couldn't repair, things like that. Mother and Father claimed a few."

"The tens, you say?"

"That's right." 

"And you found them by yourself?" 

"I had other drones to help me. And my dear siblings, of course." 

"You had heavy excavation equipment, sensitive detectors, motor vehicles?" 

"If rope, a shovel, a torch and keen ear, a wheelbarrow, and a golf cart count, then yes."

"And you kept coming back to the same site, to find them?" 

"Yes. I didn't have a vehicle, and was never allowed to use the chauffeur for that. It was the only one within range." 

Ah, he's playing twenty questions. Though I think I see where this is going. 

"I imagine there were massive piles of disabled drones. You dug deep, down several layers?"

"No, that would be beyond me. Past five drones down or so, it became impossible to see or hear anything. And many of the piles were unstable. I had more than a few narrow escapes." 

"Thank you for sharing all that, Tessa. I'm glad nothing happened to you. " 

"It's fine, outside of my club mates I hardly ever get a chance to yap about all this with someone who knows, and cares to listen. "

"Looking at this, for the JCJenson MYKX worker drone series, the self-reboot rate is on the order of 0.01%. How interesting that you, more or less by yourself, limited to scraping the surface of a single dump during excursions of limited duration and frequency, most of whose contents were physically destroyed and don't count for our purposes, managed to find 'tens' of these 'special-type' drones. You are one very lucky girl, it seems."

For some reason, I sense the afterimage of lighting flashing and illuminating a pentagram on the floor of Tessa's bedroom. I hear an unsteady voice whispering incantations, and smell incense in the air. Is there a faint breeze, from the swirling of a divining rod, perhaps? No. It can't be. The moment passes. Tessa was just very lucky to keep finding more of us. 

"Yeah, that's our Tessa. Lucky. She's the heart of our little bunch, with a magnetic personality that keeps us tightly bound to her," I say, trying to deflect from this line of reasoning, which while interesting, we can't actually answer. 

Was it a setup? That creature could've somehow chosen Tessa and maneuvered the pieces - us - into position so that it could somehow claw its way into our reality. If it hadn't been Cyn, could it have been any of us? Perhaps even me?  

But there's no clear reason why it would pick Tessa in the first place. Could it have been her doing? If she found some way to augment the process and improve yields, then that would explain how, with a relatively small commitment, she could reliably uncover 'rare' drones. And how it just so happened that one of those drones was a bearer of whatever that creature was. As best we could tell, if there were any other cases like what happened at the manor, they'd been quickly memory-holed, and there weren't enough 'unexplained' disappearances or 'terror attacks' or whatever the standard coverup would be that that thing had tried this on a regular basis with rebooted drones. 

So even that leads back to wondering about Tessa. I'm not sure how to go about asking her, and she's always maintained that she just found us in that dump. That matches our own memories, but memories are fickle, and alterable when you've got root access. I hate that this kernel of distrust has wormed its way into my brain. But even if Tessa did have some sort of Frankenstein program for reanimating drones, does it really change anything? Cyn, I'm fairly certain, was legitimately one of the ones found in the disposal site. And choosing to live in close proximity to poorly understood, often-malfunctioning drones performing beyond their standard specifications meant that Tessa was in over her head from the start. 

"'Lucky'. If the gossip about the recent changes for you and yours - which I of course do not condone or wish to participate in spreading - is correct, then you are very lucky indeed, to have resolved certain practices whose full disclosure would be most unfortunate. Fear not, though. Your site is safe with me, though I might have a team take a gander at it. Something tells me, if I decide to go ahead with that, that our 'luck' won't be anywhere near as good as yours," scion chap says. 

"Some things just can't be forced. Thanks for understanding the 'peculiarities' of our situation," Tessa says with a curtsy. 

"Oh, no need to be so formal, Miss Elliot. And thank you, for such an edifying conversation. You too, J," scion chap says, once more appraising my figure, "In your case, the packaging if anything, understates the quality of the product."

"You're not so bad yourself," I reply, trying to stifle a blush. He's got smart contacts in, and I guess he's finally used them. No way he thought of a pickup line tailor-made to woo me like that by coincidence. 

"I know that very well. But your confirmation is appreciated. Shall we exchange contact information, Tessa? I believe it would be a regrettable lapse if our connection did not survive the night." 

"Sure." 

The melancholy first notes of one of the slower Brushwood and Gall songs start up. The energy level of the place notably drops as talking ebbs down and the scattered masses cleave into dance pairs. 

"If it's not overstepping my bounds to ask, may have have your hand for this song, Tessa?" scion chap asks. 

Aw, I wanted to dance with her. Yeah, I do it all the time, but there are economies of scale to consider. I won't impose. It's great to see Tessa moving on from m- that's not fair. Or accurate. It's great to see Tessa moving up in the world, branching out, holding her own with the sort of peers she deserves to be around, the people that her future depends on courting. And she'll do all that with me by her side, at the ready to intervene however she needs it. All I have to do is pivot into a new market segment. I sway alone, in tune with the somber music, not that it reflects my mood. Dancing with myself, I fall into something of a trance. 

The song fades out, replaces by pulsing high tempo EDM. Who put this set list together? The songs have such radically different moods, and natural dance moves, and yet there's no transition to ease us between them. Tessa pulls off from scion chap, takes my hands, and twirls with me, nearly tripping in her attempt to keep up with the beat. So we're passing off, eh? She fluidly spins me into the arms of scion chap, and we proceed without missing a beat. We keep cycling like that, meaning I get my desire to dance with Tessa fulfilled, and she still indulges her new acquaintance. And he's clearly got some moves as well, so even the segments when I'm with him aren't exactly unwelcome. I was supposed to be here for her, and yet she's still looking out for me. 

The song ends, and with smiles all around we break off. That was decently intense. Shinai skips up to us.  

"Hey sorta besties! How's it going?" 

"He's not exactly the sort of ripping royal stud I envisioned, but for what I care about, he might as well be." 

"It was fun. As much as I hate to admit it, you did as good, if not better, than the performance I'd put in when it comes to curating conversation partners for Tessa," I reply. 

"Splendid. Both these fine young ladies are absolute gems. And Tessa here is, if not a drone necromancer par excellence, than the closest thing to it. She's an unexpectedly rare find, in ways that I imagine I'll never know the full extent of." 

No need to 'imagine' that you won't know the full extent, bloke, fun as you seem to be. The real juicy stuff is locked behind that great non-disclosure agreement they call the skull. 

"A drone necromancer par excellence?" 

"Aren't the Elliots, or rather, weren't they, kinda famous for being a family of their station and obvious hunger for prestige that somehow wasn't embarrassed about having 'refurbished' drones - the ones with the armbands and all the scary warnings that nobody cares about - on staff like they were impoverished gentry? Well, that was all Tessa's doing. And she's got a third eye for finding and fixing them," scion chap replies.  

"Something like an ESPer? Oh, that sounds cool! And that sets my noggin a joggin!  We simply can't, like, leave it at that, can we Tessie? I'll go dig up a drone or two, a cleanroom, and the proper tools. Oh, and a hand-picked completely chill audience who will appreciate what they're seeing but won't blab. Then you can strut your stuff. I wanna see. I wanna see! I know how you still get around crowds, and that you wouldn't want to show off your full power level. But think of it! We could totes go full renaissance body dissection with it!! My party will be absolute peak!"

Before anyone can stop her, she disappears back into the crowd.

"She didn't even ask if I wanted to do it..." Tessa pouts. 

"That's hardly out of character for her," I answer. 

"I honestly wouldn't mind seeing as well. My family's enterprise is a subcontractor for some of the components used in assembling drones for JCJenson and other enterprises, but we don't really deal with them as complete systems. Everything I know was learned from independent study," scion chap says. 

"J. What do you think? Should I?" 

Well, I haven't seen the process either, and it's not like I'm going to cry over whatever toasters they pick for this. And it would be a good brand-building opportunity for Tessa. We can position her as someone that has elegance, class, tenacity, and uncommon technical aptitude. And I wouldn't mind finding out more about what she knows about the drone revival process, what she can do. 

"'Should we', you mean. If you want to do it, you'll want an able assistant. You'll want me. Even more than you do already, if that's somehow possible." 

"Oh J, the pleading puppy eyes you put on get me every time. If you're with me, then why not? If it's a good, small audience, then I think I can win them over. Then they'll all like me and want to be my mates. And wouldn't that be grouse? And I'll be able to tell Mother and Father that my 'silly obsession with drones' had actually paid off, even on their terms. And..."

Looks like Tessa's all but signed the performance contract.  

"Looks like you're good for it. Not that Shinai would've left you a choice," scion chap says, "While we're at it, why don't I introduce you to some of my set?" 

"Are they like you?" 

"There's no one like me! But yeah, more or less. Not as into the technical stuff for the most part, but a proper bunch they are. Certainly, there are a few lads and lasses with them whose surnames you'll want to name-drop in front of your parents." 

"Sounds ripper."

As we follow him, I scan the room. My eyes chance upon N, and his meet mine. He looks a bit disheveled and disoriented. But maybe anyone would look like that when there's a school of perfumed piranhas that have bit into him and refuse to let go. Perhaps seeing us walking by gives him a temporary buff to his backbone, as he breaks off from them and moves to intercept us. There's something comedic in hearing the disappointed moans and sighs that bounce harmlessly off his back. Sorry ladies, that was a limited-time offer while supplies lasted, and N's stocks of patience are pretty much out. 

He makes his way to us. Tessa embraces him. We nod at each other. Surely scion chap can see the obvious resemblance of N to myself, and draw the proper conclusions, but there's still something defensive in his posture, a response to the intrusion that he didn't have with me. So even his suave demeanor has its limits. Much as I'd like to play with that for fun and profit, I won't be greedy. Tessa needs more things like this, away from us, and I doubt N is well-suited if the conversation resumes along its earlier track. 

He's already seen us, so I can't just carry on as I intended. And really, it's my job to ensure that the entire team is meeting or exceeding performance goals, and that means making sure N is having a good time as well. I could always outsource the task to V, but - and I quickly look around to confirm- she's not around. I pull up my phone to contact her- I'm choosing vibing with Tessa over N any day. 

I think better of it. I just had a wonderful time with Tessa, and I'm sure there will be more in the future. But how often do I get alone time with N, with low probability that V would interfere? We're not even poor relations at this point, and it wouldn't hurt to act like it. Sure V and I have mellowed out, but I still haven't balanced the books with V either. Short of certain actions that would either land me in prison or kill Tessa's opinion of me, N is my best weapon for striking back at her. And I'm clearly his best tool for good-decision-making. 

"I'd love to go with you all, but I haven't seen N in a while, and I'd like to touch base," I say. We exchange farewells, then I take N. 

Chapter Text

N doesn't resist as I pull him along. Even by his standards he's giving in too easily. I turn to face him. His eyes are slightly out of focus and his head rocks back and forth. He's even swaying, somewhat. There's something chemical in his breath. 

"They offered you something, and you drank it didn't you?" 

"Yeah. Everyone else was doing it, and they said it'd make me feel good," N replies in something of a dreamy voice. 

"Do you feel good?" 

"Yeah, actually." 

"Are you good? Right now?"

"Nah. Yeah." 

Drat. I won't tear into him right now for accepting whatever spiked beverage they handed him, but I can't get a quick and easy I-told-you-so either. Instead, I smile. There's a rather aggressive song playing. Time to perform a motor function test, o solo cup-slurping 'brother' of mine. 

"Come on, drongo, let's dance." 

I lead, of course. Past the unfortunate aspects like holding hands, getting up close and personal with someone who's quite attractive, and maybe conditioning yourself to associate being like this with him with having a good time, it really isn't bad. N's coordination leaves a bit to be desired, but he's still more or less functional, even if he's clearly not going to be topping my list of the night's dance partners. 

Among all the couples and groups circulating on and off the floor, we don't stand out, which just won't do. Letting go of one of N's hands, I pull out my phone and snap a few pictures of us, making sure to put on the most excited facial expressions I can. I fiddle with my eyes a bit, to give the illusion that I'm under the influence of something, and even throw in a few subtle movements of the face to hint at subdued romantic feelings. I break off, leaving N visibly disappointed, but gesture to him that it will only be a bit before we'll be back to it. 

Opening up the secure (end to end encryption or bust!) messaging app we use, I compose a message to Cyn, expressing how great a time I'm having with N, and attach the photos. Oh no, did I accidentally include V as a recipient, with a message delay so that she won't be able to rush over and stop us? What an oversight! Was I the ditz of our little family all along? Just imagine an enraged and panicked V rushing all over the floor, trying and failing to find us. Fuming in rage and humiliation that I found and danced with N first. Wait, I should confirm that. 

"Hey N, did you see V at all, after we arrived?"

"No. There are a lot of people here. And it's dark and loud. And oh, my phone was on "do not disturb." And that's a lot of, uh, increasingly unhinged messages from her piling up. Excuse me J, I really should-" 

I press his phone down. 

"There's no need for that. We're all here to expand our networks, once again uphold the family name, support Tessa, and have a good time. V's never going to learn to relax if you keep indulging her like this." 

"You're right J. Thanks for looking out for us."

"No problem." 

So it's confirmed that they haven't met after we first split up. Anyway, imagine we 'accidentally' get carried away, find ourselves in a locked room (just why are there beds and certain materials in every room?)...find ourselves lying on the same bed...and with the lights out, it's more dangerous... Of course, nothing will happen, but V's got a lively imagination, and with certain miscues she could easily draw the wrong conclusions. She would be so livid. Then we'd show her what really happened, accompanied by a 

'Pranked! Idiot!' 

or something, and she'd melt from embarrassment. 

That wouldn't be funny at all! I wouldn't love to see the look on her face afterward. 

"Oh, N..." I trill. 

"Yeah, J. What now?" 

"It's kinda loud in here, and right now, you seem sensitive. It's hurting your ears. By the looks of it, you've clearly been making good decisions all night. How about you keep up your record of success and let me take you into one of the side rooms. You can lie down there." 

"That sounds great, J. You're always looking out for me, and I'm glad to have a sister like you."

"Shhhh. Remember the results of the genetic tests. Right here, right now, we're legal. I'm just your benevolent, unbelievably close friend," I draw closer, until our noses are almost touching and I raise my voice for the benefit of anyone eavesdropping or recording," who happens to be a hot girl who is very interested in a hot guy like you." 

"Right, right. My good 'friend.' But I'd rather have another sister." 

"And you will, N. Just not tonight. Where were we? Ah, right! Now, the crowd is loud, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh yeah. I can feel a headache coming on." 

"So let's get somewhere nice and cozy, like that room over there." 

"That does sound nice, J. Lead the way." 

"Your wish is my command." 

I throw in a exaggerated, utterly superfluous bow to really sell that I'm behaving erratically. Hand in hand, hand in very warm hand, we weave through the crowd, toward one of the empty side rooms. Along the way, we pass by a beverage table. I make sure to pretend to take a swig of something. As a person of precision and efficiency, I tilt the cup so that the fluid within is just about to touch my lips before I move it away and set it down. A few shivers ought to really sell it to whoever is watching. If someone is watching. It would be a shame if all of this went to waste. 

But I wouldn't be me if I didn't have contingency plans. I pose with the cup, and with N. I throw on as sultry an expression as I can. I feel dirty for making it. A few amorous glances toward N 'slip' into the photos. Put them on, say, a five-minute delay and we're good to go. Oh wait, one more shot is needed. N looks surprised as I force my phone into his hands, but he quickly gets my intention. I put my hands together to form a 'V' and give the camera my best aegyo, tainted with just the right hints of deviousness. The dose makes the poison, after all. 

That done, we take a winding path through clumps of revelers until we're finally in the room. With a satisfying thud, the door is closed, and double-locked. Why are there double-locks on an interior door? A mystery for the ages. But it means we'll have privacy, unless someone with a key comes by. Or at least, we're supposed to have privacy. But we're savvy enough not to make assumptions about a room which we haven't cased. 

Scanning. 
Scanning. 
Scanning. 

Ah, there they are. Two 'hidden' cameras, focused on the bed. Conveniently, I've got two shoes. With a bit of a spin, they're flying and soon enough covering the camera apertures. There are probably microphones, and so we won't truly have the space to ourselves, but all that means is that we'll have to continue putting on a show. N followed my lead in removing his shoes. That's good. We wouldn't want to dirty the bed. With our shoes. 

I leap onto it. It makes such a satisfying scrunching noise as I sink into it. The rebound isn't bad either. Oh, N is staring at me. Waiting for permission? Admiring the sight of me lying flat on a bed? We can escalate the scene. 

"Come on in, the water's fine," I say, motioning to him to join me. 

"If you say so!" 

With that, N leaps onto the bed. The restoring force nearly throws me off of it. 

"N, not so hard. Be gentler," I say playfully. 

"Sorry J. I haven't done anything like that before, and I guess I got carried away." 

"It's fine, it's fine. Don't let it get you down. After all, you're in such a wonderful position."

"Come again?"

"We've got Grade A looks, Grade A bodies. We're here, together, sharing the same bed. That doesn't give you ideas?". 

"Oh yeah, it does!"

I'm not sure whether N is acting for the microphones as well, but I ought to be able to guide this along. 

"What are you thinking, N?"

N's face takes on a predatory villainy that I honestly couldn't have imagined he was capable of. Part of me feels scared, especially if he wants-'revenge' would imply that I did something wrong, but if he doesn't consider the context for many of our former relations, then he might be aggressive. Part of me wouldn't mind that. In a sense, it beats being a pushover. 

"Cuddle-naps! I've only ever done it with Tessa, though. Honestly, I'm surprised you're acting like this, J. Are you sure somebody didn't spike something?" 

Well that will give whoever is eavesdropping on us something to puzzle over. It's honestly a let-down from what I was hoping for, having seen that glimpse at something darker. And N even brought up the possibility of me being under the influence of something without prompting. What an odd idea, though. I won't begrudge Tessa her choices in glorified pillows, but that doesn't mean I share her tastes. Ah, the sentimental sap is scooting closer. 

It's my fault for setting things up like this, but that just won't do. Luckily, there's a pillow here. 

"No, I'm fiiiine," I say, drawing out the vowel in 'fine' to undercut my words, "Just having a blast at this party." 

"That's a relief. You never know what's floating around these days. It's important to be careful!" 

Thanks for the PIF, N. You should've taken your own advice. 

"Oh, I was. A few sips never hurt anyone. I'm not down with the cuddling idea, though a bit of shut-eye wouldn't do any harm."

It really wouldn't. Do that for a bit, then engage in some fake flirty talk and some rocking on the mattress to give the peeping Toms listening in the entirely wrong impression. Then all we'd have to do is maintain that until V finds her way here. There aren't that many side rooms, and so once she's on the hunt it shouldn't be long. 

The room's lighting is remote-controlled, and soon enough the lights go dim. The pillow is a bit lumpy. Without thinking, I toss it. 

"Ow." 

Toss it at N, apparently. Oh well. It's a pillow, and he's got a pretty hard head, even if its contents are soft and mushy. Really, it's not even worth an apology. The plan will go on and-

"Eeek!" I screech. 

He hit me! Me! With a pillow! And here I thought V would be the power-hungry usurper. I try to be nice to N, maybe -accidentally!- bop him with a pillow, and look how he repays me! Part of me wouldn't mind an N with a bit more backbone, but only part, and not at the expense of my well-maintained body. 

I grit my teeth. 

"N, you idiot!" 

"You look upset, J. Was that harder than you wanted?" 

"I'll show you exactly what I want." 

I grab another pillow and chuck it into his face. Fake nap time is over, so I turn the lights back up. Of course, to do so I take my eyes off N for a moment. The whoosh of something onrushing instinctively makes me turn. Makes me face head-on an incoming pillow. It swells in my vision, then smothers my face. Caught off-guard, I fall back into the groaning mattress. It's really soft; well worth a moment's appreciation. 

But then it's back to business. Looks like N really wants to slog it out with me. Whatever they put in him must have made him unruly. I'm not scared about being locked in with this brute who could probably overpower me. I've fought worse before. Not that it ended well, but that wasn't because of a lack of skill or fighting prowess on my part. I'll bring this one to heel...

as soon as I get my hands on a pillow. Unfortunately, I tossed them all onto his side of the bed. 

There's no choice but to launch myself at him. He holds fast, and we collide, forming a grunting and gasping ball of tangled limbs and blushing faces. I'm more limber, and so free myself, claiming a pillow as my reward. It grants me a favorable position to deliver a side-sweep into N's head. He dodges and punches at my stomach through a pillow. Credit where it's due, he's trying to avoid inflicting serious damage. It still knocks the wind out of me. N follows up by bringing it down on my head. I think I see stars. 

Stars and a chance. Pillow in hand, I deliver an upper cut, knocking N's head back. I then deliver a series of blows to N's chest and disengage. We rise to our feet, still on the bed. The bed is the high ground, and it would feel like an admission of defeat to get off of it. There's also something fun in how the bed creaks and groans as we move on it. It certainly makes for a more interesting audio recording. 

And the visceral excitement of aggro this close to one's opponent can't be overlooked. We rush at each other, pillows in hand. I dodge N's thrust at my head, and counterstrike at his side. As he pulls inward and back, he brings his pillow down hard on my back. I fall to my knees, but manage to trip him. He instinctively grabs at my shawl, but pulls it lose and falls onto the bed (it's such a large bed) with it. 

N's mussed up my outfit. A few pillow blows to the head while he tries to rise help keep him down, but they don't help me feel better about that. I feel even worse when he intercepts my pillow. A brief tug-of-war ends with him pulling me down, on top of him. Thankfully, we now have the pillow between us. Otherwise, we'd basically be kissing. That would be a violation of personnel policy. Not that this wild melee isn't also a violation. 

I pull back from him, still clasping the pillow. Or, I try to pull back. N isn't letting go either. Lying on the bed like that, he's got better support and so I'm forced to yield the pillow. I stomp on it a few times, until he pushes up. I stagger back, but thankfully avoid falling by dropping to a knee. That also enables me to arm myself with a pillow that had slid off the bed. 

Meanwhile, he is risen. We rush at each other, both playing more defensively after seeing what vulnerabilities no holds barred brawling led to. It's a more tactical game now. More cerebral. The bed isn't really big enough to let us circle around each other, but we trace out sad little banana arcs anyway. I feint, N steps back. N thrusts at me, then aborts before I can backhand him. I tense myself up to jump forward, then leap back. He reflexively jumps as I move, but doesn't push forward, letting me reclaim the space. 

We trade glancing blows, inflicting a steady drumbeat of fluffiness (these pillows are seriously top-rate) upon each other's bodies. The pillows take the edge out of our attacks, so all but the most powerful of attacks come off closer to massages. We're not exactly lost to bloodlust nor is this purely lighthearted play. At least for me. Judging by the look on his face, N also seems to appreciate the chance to lay hands upon me. The 'chance'. I don't make it easy for him. 

N tries to trip me, but I pirouette out of the way. He follows up with a stab at my navel. I tank the hit and retaliate against his outstretched elbow. Perhaps that was a little too hard. He recoils back in pain. Sorry, 'buddy'. Pillows cushion the hit, but deliver it to the right place at the right time and yeah, you're in a world of pain.

I lunge at N's chest, then twirl my pillow up to smash it into his face. He staggers back. It was a masterwork of deception, agility, and precise application of force on my part. Alas, my 'competition' can't compete. Indeed, he rushes at me, abandoning the grace and careful tension of the little dance we were doing. 

Lest I be barrelled over, I charge at him. Our pillows collide into each other, then we collide into the pillows. The pillows dampen it, but not enough. The energy of collision knocks us off our feet and knocks the fighting wind out of us. We lie next to each other. Smiling...at...each other. Listening to the sound of our breathing. 

"That was a blast," N  says. 

"It was a lot of fun," I reply. 

"You know, N, you're not half bad. You've really stepped up since...everything happened." 

"Thanks, J. Not that you were even mean, but it's easier being around you now." 

I can't help but giggle. 

"It's easier being around in general. The problems we have are nothing compared to..." 

"That's true. I sleep easy now. Other than the haunting nightmares, that is." 

"You have those too?" I say, scarcely able to hide my incredulity. 

I quite literally didn't think he had it in him. Sure everything there was a pressure cooker, but he always seemed unaffected by it. He went forward every day with a smile and some gratingly saccharine phrases to spit out in defiance of all around him. It was honestly part of the reason for resenting him, for trying again and again to provoke some sign of outrage, something other than that stupid stupid dogged peppiness. But all of it just slid off of him. 

Who, themselves caked in mud, grime, and ultimately blood, wouldn't loathe that? Who wouldn't be...jealous of it?

"Sure do! Whether it's-"

"N! We're not actually alone!" I blurt out, before his no-doubt heartfelt confession can be picked up by the microphones. 

It looks like we'll have to end our little game of charades early. 

"We aren't?"

"We're being recorded."

It seems like N is taking that revelation in stride. Unless he already suspected it. No wait, his eyes just shot open. It's a delayed reaction. 

"We are?"

"Two cameras, of a type that includes integrated microphones. That's kind of why we did what we did, to put on a show for them." 

"That's creepy. Whose cameras are they?"

"Unknown. If I had to guess, they belong to the owner of the place. This setup is too convenient, and she's the type who would love being handed kompromat and trade secrets by fools who lack discretion." 

"So it's all a trap?" 

"Only for those who deserve to be trapped," I reply. 

They might not be monitoring in this in real time, but if they are, they know now that we know about them. If we're lucky and they're smart, they'll be second-guessing everything they've heard tonight. If we're really lucky, they already made some moves based on our actions, and will now be panicking and rushing to do damage control. The cogs of conspiracy might be turning, or not, but from here I've already done all I can. There's nothing else to do but return to the conversation I was having with N.

Chapter Text

It's funny, really. No doubt it's the result of mutual lapses that spoiled the attempt to create an efficient and effective working environment, but I could probably count the number of authentic conversations we've had on one hand. Clearly, it wasn't because of incapacity or total incompatibility. Done right, like right now, just lying back and talking is productive. Not bad in the slightest. It's not a case of "deep down we're all the same" or some other sappy cliché, but there's way more potential for touching base than I had thought possible. We're still being recorded, which limits what we can say, but I can't resist the temptation to let this play out. It's such a weird feeling, having a genuine conversation with N of all people, one that touches on our former lives, while knowing that we're being listened to and so have to choose each word carefully. I guess this will be the night's big party game. 

We're interrupted by the sound of keys turning in holes. N freezes. The door opens. The lights snap to full brightness. We wince until our eyes adjust. What do we see but V, flanked by Tessa and the lovely hostess who must have unlocked the door. What do they see but us lying in the same bed, clearly coming down from some sort of exertion. Disheveled where we aren't undressed.  

Aw, look at V's face turning a lovely shade of red. I somehow get the feeling that she doesn't like what she sees. It doesn't help matters, but I can't help but flash a smirk at her. That really sets her off. She stomps toward me, stopping when she looms over me. I let her have this: this is the only time she'll ever tower above me. 

"V! It's not what it looks like!" N shouts, once more daring to move, "we just came in here to rest, and had a bit of fun..."

"A bit of fun!" V screams, taking N's completely correct if unhelpfully vague description well. 

N's mouth really is the Gift that keeps on giving. In the German sense, of course. What a capital fellow.

V pulls out her phone and plays an audio recording of our little pillow fight. Certainly, without video or direct knowledge of what we were actually doing, it does sound suggestive. It was only a few minutes ago, but I can't help but give a wry smile out of nostalgia. V interprets that as further admission of guilt and draws a breath in anticipation of launching a further assault against everyone's decency. Thankfully for all, I interrupt. I erupt. 

"You were recording us! V! You creep! You want to blackmail us? Or do you get off on that, you twisted freak!" 

Having geared up for an attack, V is of course defenseless against my unexpected counter. Even if she had expected something that would hardly have helped her. 

"I...uh...I didn't put the cameras here. Obviously. I only got a link to their stream. Stop deflecting," V responds. 

"And you didn't find that suspicious?" 

I will my eyes to well with tears. 

"Someone was using you, and you trusted them over your dear sister. I thought we had something special, V!" I cry. 

"Trust? We trusted you with N! And what did you do with that?" V says. 

"What *did* I do with that?" I question as innocently as I can, "I can't think of anything indecent. What comes to your mind? And do you feel comfortable sharing that in front of everyone?" 

I ought to be doing a photo series of V's face. She's got so many lovely shades of red. My artist's eyes can't help but make a muse of her, perhaps as payback for how much she amuses me. 

"You're lying in bed! With him! Looking like that! Don't you dare play the innocent maiden with me!" 

I throw a confused glance at N. He looks at me, even more confused than I appear to be. V becomes confused that we look confused. Other than Shinai, who would rather watch everything burn than step in to instantly fix our little misunderstanding, looks of confusion prove contagious. At least V seems to have slightly calmed down, and looks to be second-guessing herself. We diverged from the tacky romcom script she was reading off of and that threw off her plan. 

"We were just having a pillow fight," I say, with the head tilt and finger on my lips to sell the 'oblivious child' shtick that enrages her so. 

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" V snarls.

Yeah. I'd call that enraged. 

"No. A literal fight. With pillows. A pillow fight. Right, N?" I say. 

"Yeah. She whacked me with a pillow, then I hit back, then we kept hitting each other. It wasn't mean or anything. I think. Just a bit of sparring. We were jumping on the bed and everything," N confirms. 

"Exactly, At least someone is being reasonable here," I say. 

V's eyes bore into our faces, but she sees that we are simply and honestly relating what happened. 

"But...I...earlier-you-," she begins, no doubt thinking of the psyop I launched against her earlier. 

"Have you finished the recording, V?" 

"What?" 

"It might actually still be recording. We don't need to get to real time, but at least listen to it to the point where you enter the room and so rudely interrupt it," I say. 

"Of course I finished it. I-huh? I could've sworn that was it."

V looks down in surprise. Apparently there was a part to it that she had not seen. 
She continues playing back the recording (at a sped-up pace, of course), progressing past the part where we stopped fighting and started talking. V looks conflicted to hear me sounding an awful lot like I'm getting along with N. The more time we spend here, the harder it becomes to stay with the old ideas and the old behavior patterns. We're all changing unpredictably. What are we becoming? It doesn't seem like we can know our destination before we arrive. That's an entirely different kind of fright than what we faced at the old manor, where for all the mortal terror of our lowly, expendable status, life was at least predictable. 

The recording continues, past the point where I directly stated that we were being recorded, and that we had been putting on a show.  See, V, I wasn't lying to you, or making something up on the spot. It's all a 'misunderstanding', entirely at your expense. My N Card is now platinum, with a generous awards program for bonus smiles. 

Aw, looks like V is pouting as she continues to listen to the recording. 

"It might actually still be recording. We don't need to get to real time," I hear the recording play back. 

I gesture at V, and she turns the recording off. With that out of the way, let's touch base on where we're at and move on.

"See? Somebody was sloppy with their spy camera placement, and we decided to have some fun with that while we took a breather from the night's exertions. Be mad that you fell for it, I guess, but nothing like what you're imagining actually happened. We have more class than that," I say. 

I nod at N. 

"I couldn't have said it better, myself, he says, " though I would've phrased it better. I guess you're feeling left out, huh? It would've been better with you there, buddy. Just imagine the free-for-all we could have!"

N does some thinking. He jumps up, having had a realization. 

"Ooh! Come to think of it, I haven't seen you all night, V. That's not intentional! I'm not avoiding you and I hope you're not -avoiding- me. But we can hang out for the rest of the night!" 

N radiates positive energy. He's even got his hand out to V, inviting her to put all this behind her and join him. V's eyes dart between me and him, as if she faces some dilemma. Even with her prideful, spiteful, vindictive streak, there's no way she'd choose sparring with me over a dance (or two, or three, or...) with him. 

V's eye twitches. It seems she's reached a conclusion. She laughs nervously. 

"You got me good, J. I really thought you...you...you-"

"-had too good a time with N?" I interject. 

"...were taking advantage of him, or just getting back at me. I saw those photos you posted. Neither of you looked normal in them. You looked...more twisted than usual. N looked buzzed. Unless those pictures were part of the ploy. But it looks like you're fine and N's fine and I'm fine, and everyone's fine. And that's fine. "

"Exactly. Everything is fine." 

"It's just surprising to see you acting like that," V continues, "You don't really show off your playful side. When you act ridiculous, you're normally completely serious about it." 

When do I act ridiculous? I am, for the most part, a beacon of cold, calculating rationality. I feel strongly, yes, but that hardly conflicts with my mental prowess or mission-oriented workflow. 

"You'll have to fill me in later on what exactly I did that motivated this. Maybe you shouldn't take it to the point of fighting N, but if it will make you start talking, I'll make sure to do it again," V says, attempting a smirk as she tries to recover her position. 

It's not going to work, though. I don't expect her to drop to her knees in front of everyone, but she's clearly still reeling internally from my unrelenting attacks. I wouldn't be surprised if V is up late doomscrolling through our posts, trying to figure out what I did and how to ward herself against it in the future, or just reliving the rage. I'll just have to sleep good enough for the both of us. 

"If it leads to you all getting along like this, I might have to do it as well," Tessa says. 

I'm not doing any scheming against her, and can't imagine a scenario where I would, but I see where she's coming from. She's always wanted us to all get along, and she was constantly coming up with zany schemes to make it happen. Our relationships here have been eventful, to say the least, and here (to her) it looks like she's just stumbled onto something workable. 

Of course she has only the audio recording of what we did, and Tessa has a very fertile imagination. It will probably be necessary to fill her in on the details at some point. I wouldn't want her conjuring up actions that didn't occur, and drawing completely inaccurate conclusions about us. 

"What a weird crew you all are, turning serious aggro-ish stuff into, like, some sort of unhealthy family bonding moment," Shinai says. 

She's glancing at something on her phone. Something unrelated. Probably. Hopefully. That's not an oncoming sinking feeling, is it?

I reply, "It wasn't that serious. It was closer to a mock fight than anything," throwing in a strained smile to hint that she perhaps shouldn't be here as this confrontation veers into sensitive areas. 

"That's not what I'm seeing. Not that I would know. Where did you guys learn moves like that? N especially. He seems too chill for that."

"Seeing?" 

"Normally, I can watch people hit on each other. You're the first couple I've seen straight up hitting each other. It's a good thing we provided pillows. Imagine having to explain away a legit fight to my folks."

"We're not a couple."

"J, you total tease. It's too late to play coy. I wouldn't even need to selectively edit the footage. Good thing there are three cameras in here."

"Three?"

Shinai flips her phone, showing a shot of the room from an uncovered camera. So there were more than just the two. 

I twitch. 

"Don't worry," she says, "that one is Spot the Spy Camera Challenge, Difficulty: Impossible. The counterintel section of one of Daddy's companies installed it. Even I can't suss it out with just my eyes." 

She proceeds to play the video of the fight. From that vantage point, it's clear that I wasn't looking when I initially hit N with the first pillow, and that that pillow was forcefully thrown. We proceeded to move aggressively against each other, but that was more because we were both in very good physical condition than because either of us had any killing intent. Nonetheless, what I see on the screen are two perfect engines of violence tearing into each other. 

Our capacity for violence goes beyond the training we did so that we would never be as utterly helpless as we were when that Thing stopped pretending and ruined everything. That wasn't just because we were drones; if it had been, losing the strength and power of industrial machinery would've made us as powerless as normal humans in our age range. Perhaps it's the legacy of the Elliot Manor: every day and everything there is stamped by death and menace. When you're constantly cleaning up battered corpses that, but for want of a wig and an armband, could easily be you, you start to get desensitized. When the humans whom you quite literally live to serve and whom you desperately model yourself on have short tempers and itchy trigger fingers, it really isn't surprising that you wind up similarly equipped. 

We really are the Elliots' adoptive children. They would not have claimed us as such, but judging by how they dealt with their own flesh and blood, we weren't treated that much worse than we would've been if we were human. That we, and Tessa, are still going concerns is a (non-sponsored!) testimonial to the quality and resiliency of our personalities. 

I glance over at Tessa as she stares at Shinai's screen. Tessa looks entertained, like watching us fight in that bed gets her blood pumping. 

"Well you two really knackered each other out. I had wondered how you lot would react to the more human feelings, but didn't think it would be the two of you lying in one bed, ruddy-faced and gasping," Tessa says with a smirk, observing our involuntary embarrassed reactions. 

"Kidding, kidding. At least you made sure to use pillow protection," she continues, to our continued dismay. 

Shinai giggles at that. Improving Tessa's social standing was one of the core objectives of this venture, and I guess drawing out more of Tessa's flavor like this is one way to do it. If it hadn't happened completely by accident, I would chalk it up as another success for my blue-sky thinking. 

"Where did you all learn to move like that? Pillow aside, those moves looked lethal. Like, 'your hands are legally contraband' levels of deadly," Shinai says. 

"That's just the fruit of hard work and discipline. You never know when you'll find yourself needing to do a bit of murder, and you can't always get somebody else to do the dirty work," Tessa replies. 

Shinai shrugs. 

"I wouldn't know. If you've got enough money, there are a lot of 'somebody elses' who can get the job done and who won't tell tales afterward." 

She gazes conspiratorially 

"Or so they say on the internet." 

Aw, Tessa has a chance to bond over heiress things. 

"Well, the Elliots have always been an adventurous bunch. We've got guns and swords and armor galore in our manor. And it's not just for show! Mother and Father don't think twice about knocking the living daylights out of some poor drone..."

" or their dau... ," she says under her breath, before catching herself and continuing, " or using one of their go-to special attacks to put whatever is in front of them in the ground." 

"Neato." 

While those two continue discussing their families' approaches to security, I take the chance to walk over to V. 

"So," I say, "having seen the raw and uncensored footage, don't you think an apology is in order for rashly jumping to conclusions?" 

"I won't fall for another of your little games, J. You were leading me on all night. You ought to apologize for that!" she says. 

"Fine. I'm sorry for misleading you, V. I had doing something with N on my checklist, and when I saw him partying a bit too hard, I thought it would be funny to do something with that (and it was)," I say as I embrace her. 

She embraces me back. 

"All those posts coming in certainly made for a night to...remember. Heh. And it does look like you're keeping up the effort to not treat N the way you treated him before." 

V pulls away. 

"I'd say he even got the better of you in that little fight. If N is happy with that, then I'm happy." 

Cute smile, V. 

"N bested me? In your dreams. Just like the feeling of lying in the same bed with him. Want me to tell you what that's like?" 

It's such a shame it didn't last. 

"Pretty good, I hope," N says. 

"I can't deny that," I admit. 

"We'll have to do a mega pillow fight at the manor some day. With pillow forts and everything. I've got to warn ya, J, I was holding back on you because we're guests here. But at home, there won't be anything stopping me." 

"Mother complaining that you're making the place quake and interrupting her Grecian urn-making?" Tessa says. 

"There won't be anything you can do to stop me," N corrects. 

He turns to V. 

"Oh, yeah, V. We haven't really done anything together tonight. Don't worry, it takes more than a few smacks of a pillow to make me call it a day! Shall we take things to the dance floor?" 

"Oh! I..."

V wasn't expecting N to be this direct, I guess. That time we spent lying in bed talking must have fully recharged his energy, while keeping his inhibitions at their party lows. And who arranged that?

"You're welcome, V," I say, then pull her hand into his. 

N gives me an appreciative smile, then walks her gently out of the room. 

"Your methods are...we'll talk about your methods and your actions tonight later. But way to come back and deliver at the end there, girl," Tessa says, playfully stroking my shoulder. 

"Well, I came to have fun and complete my deliverables. And I've had tons of fun." 

Tessa's face falls. 

"Seriously. We will talk." 

Come now. I'm legitimately trying to get along with everyone, but that doesn't mean I'm turning into some sort of tie-dye Kumbaya flower child. Or that I should be the only one under fire. 

Perhaps noticing my discomfort, Tessa's lips curl into a smile. 

"Seriously. We will dance." 

She grabs me, we leave the room, and so we do. 

Chapter Text

The beat sets the floor quaking. It pulses through our shoes and surges up our rattling bones. Thankfully, my flesh stays taut except where it best ought not to be. That's a compliment to my efficient and optimal nutrition and exercise program, as well as my carefully-cultivated aesthetics. Of course, without an adequate physical base the effects of my actions would have been limited. Whatever caused us to be reborn like this, it must surely have some degree of favoritism for us, that we are so generously endowed. It's certainly not just a function of wealth: there are plenty of pigs here who could stand to spend a bit less time at the trough. 

Our energy levels stay elevated through round after round of this, even as we grow dizzy from success, keeping pace with the rapid tempo of the music to the point where the overhead lights begin to bleed and smear in our vision. It doesn't matter. Every threat has been dispatched, and every social thread seen to; we don't have to be at one hundred percent, and arguably having our overstimulated minds fraying and frying at the edges makes the experience that much more magical. 

But I can't save time in a bottle, and so all too soon Tessa grabs me and drags me out to the gardens. The lights out here are few, but tastefully arranged. Distant pinpricks of light stretch off into the distance, marking out the weaving paths that run through the expansive garden grounds. As we draw ever further from the crowd, noise levels die down and the soundscape shifts to be more naturalistic. Trees rustle in a gentle breeze, frogs croak, insects chirp, water laps at the shores of all the pounds scattered through. Above us, stars move slowly in a silvery night. 

Tessa really knows how to pick a place, but knowing her this is all just a pleasant prologue before she...

"J...." she says, in *that* tone. 

I...shiver, because it's cool out, and I didn't bring a jacket. I'm not trembling. 

"Do you think that was nice, what you did to V?" 

"Well, I gave her a night to remember, didn't I? And it's not like any lasting harm was done. Really, that was exactly the shot in the arm V needed, to get her to reconsider her affairs." 

"And you of all people couldn't think of any other way to do that, than coaxing her into a proper tizzy?" 

"Of course there were alternatives. But this one fully exploited fleeting market conditions. And it's not like I came here planning on doing that. I hung with V at the start." 

"And what were you doing with her?" 

"Oh, just a bit of performing. We thought it would be fun to show off 'new' sides of ourselves and act against our reputations. We certainly threw everyone else for a loop," I say, barely able to hide a triumphant smile at how solidly we trolled everyone with that.

"And you decided it would be funny to perform the same trick on V?" 

"It wasn't the same trick. I was the same old me, just getting nice and close with N. You know, like everyone wanted. And can you say it wasn't funny?" 

I see the corners of Tessa's mouth curl up. 

"It was, J. It was very clever of you. But that's not the issue here. Think of how you made V feel." 

I think that was very funny. She had it coming. 

"-And when I say that, don't just think something like 'it was hilarious and deserved.' Don't think I didn't see that smirk just now." 

Tessa knows me too well. 

"So 'just a prank, bro' isn't a good enough defense?" I venture. 

"Of course not, J. That was clever, but you tricked V. You should've seen how upset she was. We're a family J, and that's not how we should act toward each other." 

"Fine, I won't do anything that extreme again." 

At least, not without better setup and plausible deniability. 

"You're plotting, even as you say that, aren't you J?" 

Plotting? Me? I give her my most innocent smile. 

"And there you go, with that cheeky little smile you always do," Tessa says, sadly not falling for it. 

My smile fades. 

"Yes, J, I am upset. I know the sorts of things you were doing in the manor. You were nowhere near as clever about hiding them as you thought you were.  I tended to give you a pass because that was just the atmosphere of that place, and we all had too much on our plates. It saddened me that you abused that to rival Cyn for bad behavior. But things need to be different here. You need to be more considerate of others' feelings. I know you can do it; whatever networking games you play at the academy wouldn't be possible otherwise. Now tell me you'll be a good girl."

"I'll be a good girl," I say with a sigh. 

I'll stick to that, maybe. I don't think V is going to retaliate after that, and can't do it properly, even if she wants to.  Short of actually doing it with N, even I can't think of how I would top that. In many ways, it's a fitting close to the sort of rivalry I've had with V. I got my revenge and she got to see a hint of my true power level, and that I've more or less made up with N. So, perhaps overly conveniently for me, there is no cause for quarrel any more. That is, unless V's irrationality makes her do something we'll both regret. 

Tessa lets the silence build. 

"Now, on another personal note..." Tessa begins, perhaps because she interpreted my face to mean that I have sufficiently reflected. 

And perhaps I have. 

"...I never imagined that you would be the first one in bed with someone else! I always figured it would be N. He likes doing anything, after all."

I spasm. Tessa was just chiding me for using that to troll V, and now she pivots to suggesting that I...him...ugh! 

"But then again, I saw your notebooks. You always did want a human experience, didn't you? And you can hardly get humans without shagging, eh?" 

"Tessa!" I protest, "I didn't actually do anything with him beyond fighting...and a bit of talking." 

"You two were making pillow talk? J, you big softie! You always acted so tough, but I knew you had that in you, and that one day others would see it too."

"No...no! We were mostly fighting!" I almost scream.

I know Tessa is just joshing me, but that hardly stops me from reacting perhaps a bit too sharply. 

"Aw, you're getting awfully worked up for someone who was 'mostly fighting', but don't worry, J. You'll work through these feelings. It's part of living."

I sputter out a few meaningless syllables in response. Tessa giggles. 

"Maybe I expected something a bit more...articulate from you, but I'm sure this is all new for you. Ya know, we're safe now. You can relax. You don't have to burden yourself with everyone's business any more. We can handle ourselves, and you can, well. it would be weird to say 'act your age', but you know what I mean. No matter what you think, you're not that far above N and V, and in some ways, you're behind them," she says. 

I'm too busy sputtering about what she said earlier to sputter about what she's saying now. Can I sputter in installments? 

Tessa draws close.

"And thank you, J. I've yakked with more people in the past few weeks than I have in my entire life, and none of it ended badly. I couldn't have done it without you all there to backstop me," she whispers into my ears. 

She isn't wrong. With at least one of us constantly around her, even when she's out of the manor, Tessa gained a social confidence that she hadn't had before. And even when she froze, or messed up, one of us was there to salvage it, so it didn't devolve into a complete disaster, as had often happened when her parents tried to force some strategic pairing between her and some other family's brat. 

"Y-yeah, it's nothing. Just doing my job, boss," I manage to respond. 

"Boss?" 

"Uh, Tessa. Sorry, force of habit." 

Tessa smiles. I really do like seeing her smile. 

"It's a nice night, isn't it? she says. 

"Yeah," I respond. 

We converse for a bit longer, but it trails off and we just sit, listen, and watch the stars twinkle overhead. We did this before, back when I was a drone, but it was a pale imitation of what I have now, of what I feel now. It turns out that there was a lot of weird subjective stuff that they didn't, or maybe couldn't, program in. And how could they have? Are there even words for any of this? I'm sure the others would feel similarly, but it's such a comfort to have Tessa there, and such a joy to be able to help her in any way I can. 

If experiencing the horrors that Thing sprang on us was the price of admission for this night, and for who knows how many nights like it in the future, then perhaps it was worth it. 

Chapter Text

While we could sit here and bask forever, the evening somehow still isn't over. Regretfully, we rise to our feet and head back. Light and noise gain intensity as we approach the hall, shattering what remained of our little idyll. We're almost to the doors when Shinai intercepts us. 

"There you guys are! The cameras caught you wondering off into the gardens, but those haven't been wired so we had no idea where exactly you were! Not mad, though. Your timing is, like, scarily good. We're ready." 

We start toward the door, but Shinai thrusts herself in front of us. 

"No. It's in one of the side buildings. It's got the literal perfect facilities for this. Spared-no-expense-tier." 

I'm pretty sure everything her family does is 'spared-no-expense-tier'. Speccing out grounds as expensive as these isn't anything when you're pulling in revenue streams from multiple inhabited systems and all the literal space in between. But that's beside the point. Compared to the macgyvered shoestring joint Tessa was operating in, this represents a massive step up. Or it will if our hostess's ideas of literal perfection match Tessa's. 

We're diverted along a well-manicured path toward another building, done in post-neo Gothic deco revival. There's got to be a point where they start coming up with new names for styles. I object to slapping ever more abject adjectives onto these. It's confusing, and it's weird to have downright ugly and ungainly words for what's supposed to be aesthetics. Words are how you market ideas. Relying on, err, word of mouth can only get you so far. 

The building looks great, though, and the inside is as well-furnished as the outside. We pass down a corridor and through double doors into what looks like a surgical theater, complete with rows of seats extending upward to the elevated ceiling. Each seat is occupied by a figure dressed in black robes, wearing a fedora and a plague doctor mask. I can't tell whether it feels like we stepped into a legitimate cult conclave, or into a larper convention. 

"Surely this is overdoing it?" I say. 

"Even by my standards, this is a bit much..." Tessa adds. 

"It's exactly the mood I was going for. Look how into it everyone is. So hype."

I can't make out anything beneath the masks, which, of course, is the point. But they're sitting there alertly, staring at us or at their phones, and so I guess they're interested and haven't just been dragooned into this. 

"Anyway," Shinai says, "let's get you into the backrooms where you can do whatever you need for setup. Then we'll go live." 

We're taken into a preparation room crowded with tools and bits of material. In the center a regular worker drone sits. Its blue eyes gaze vacantly at us. That's a relief. I would've felt bad if we had been given an actual smart one. I put on a laboratory coat, gloves, and some eye protection and turn to see that Tessa has done the same. Except she's pulled a black cape out of nowhere and has draped it over her shoulder, like she's some high priestess. 

"What? Everyone else was doing it," she says with a shrug. 

Tessa is the star of the show, so I guess it wouldn't be right if we were decked out in exactly the same attire, and that means adding something beyond the personal protective equipment. Even with that, I get a sinking feeling. With that cape, and the black mass out there, Tessa's more...theatric instincts are being triggered hard. Even at the manor she would insist upon chanting all sorts of rituals frankensteined together from dodgy books and shady websites before she went to work on a drone. And of course, her room was done up with candles and sigils and "Officer, it's just a replica" skulls. She shanghais me into joining in a scaled-down repetition of them here. 

Having performed our rites to attain the favor of the gods, we step forward as ladies of science. Tessa approaches the drone, gives it a friendly wave, then sends it first into debug mode, then into standby- intensive maintenance mode. She opens up the chest plate, hands it off to me, then begins tinkering with the fail-safe. 

"The goal isn't to disable it entirely. Some level of damage is desirable," Tessa calmly says as she works at it. 

Good on her. She's nose-deep in explosive and yet so calm and capable. That's my Tessa. When she finishes, she steps back and I reattach the chest plate. We bring the drone back online, back into debug mode, and Tessa plugs in an official JC Jenson Technician Diagnostic/Field Configuration Device and begins making some software modifications to the modules that handle automaton apoptosis, so that they won't be as thorough as they normally would be. When she's satisfied, Tessa steps back and fully reboots the drone. Its blue eyes once more gaze out into the room, and it seems no worse the wear. And none the wiser. The more we tamper with it, the more unexpected functionality we introduce. A stronger penchant for self-preservation, perhaps combined with a more lèse-majesté attitude toward its human overlords, would be terribly inconvenient. We would still win, of course. I would never fall to some basic bot-ch. But we're already going to be playing with our food; it's unsporting but there's no point in letting the food play with us. 

We load a cart with whatever we might need, and return to the surgical theater. We are obliging enough to let the drone push the cart for us. It seems happy to be of service. Tessa steps before the crowd to say a few words. 

"Alright, everyone. If you don't know me, I'm Tessa the Drone Necromancer, or, so I've been dubbed. 'The Drone Necromancer'. That is. That's what they're calling me. 'Tessa' is just my name. My literal, true name. No, not my True Name. Though it is my True Name. It's my legal name...You get it, right?" 

Well, at least she didn't hesitate to plunge straight into public speaking. Then again, fools rush in where angels fear to tread, and that's not exactly the declaration of assertiveness and confidence I was hoping for. Ah, well. This isn't a bad place to practice that. 

A few awkward seconds pass. Shinai says, 

"Yeah, we get it. Anyway, you all know Nessie the Loch Ness Monster. Well, here's Tessie the Drone Crypt Monster! Rumors have it that she's got, like, a personal drone graveyard that she raids for corpses. Creep. E! Even I'm terrified at what she's learned and what she can do. She's like, a walking talking affront to the Robo-god."

Should I...ah, why not. I step up, 

"And I'm J, her executive officer and research assistant. We can't guarantee you'll see anything, but we will try our utmost to present to you a physical demonstration of our research findings." 

I step back. There. Back on topic. Tessa beams at me, and my heart flutters. Tessa likely used the reprieve we gave her to put together her train of thought, and guide it gently into oration station. She steps up again. 

"As you know, worker drones are treated like commercial products. All across human-controlled space, we make them, use and abuse them, and 'sunset' them in vast numbers. If you've ever bought one, you'll recall the pamphlets and mandatory lectures about the rules for drone disposal, and all the laws and such you'd be breaking if you just tossed one to the curb. Perhaps you know about how complex and thorough the disposal process is supposed to be. Wiping their storage banks isn't enough; they have to be physically destroyed. In fact, drones contain built-in automatic self-destruct components, for scenarios where drones can't be properly disposed of in a timely manner. Have you ever wondered what can happen if you don't follow the rules? Well, if luck is with us, we'll show you. J, would you kindly see to our robotic friend?"

"With pleasure, Tessa," I say. 

"Drone, upregulate self-preservation. Keep Human harm avoidance unchanged," I command the drone. 

I won't upstage Tessa, but I think it's more interesting if I put on a bit of a show first. 

"Drone, what do you think of Western Villa style?" 

"Oh! Western Villa style is a delightful way to enhance the decoration of any home. What do you think about it?" 

I grab a knife and thrust at the drone. It dodges to the side. Spinning, I bring the knife in a great downward slash, only for the drone to leap backward. We dance around, and on, the table. I'm intentionally choosing moves that are flashy -no, I didn't need to do a cartwheel- to make it more of a spectacle, and save the drone from the humiliation of being insta-KOed. When enough time has passed, I end the charade of that thing having a chance. A feint at its right leg sends it rotating about its left, intent on denying me a mobility kill. That clears me to side-sweep it, sending it crashing to the ground. As it tries to rise, I fall upon it, and slash its throat with my knife. Oil gushes out of the incision. Some of it finds its way into my mouth. It tastes spectacular. Unbelievably good. It's such a rich sweetness. And the texture is simply divine against my tongue. I allow myself a bit of purring, then take the knife and decapitate it. The head flashes that bloody "FATAL ERROR" message and rolls away. That's it. He's dead, Jim. There are a few shouts of dismay at the violence I have unleashed, at that drone's brutal death. Good. Let them look upon me and know fear and awe. 

Head in hand, I walk back toward the center of the room. That oil really was something. I find myself caught up in the moment, seeing red, burning for more of a reaction from the crowd. It matters not from whence the oil flows, only that it flows. I lift up the head, still drizzling oil, and scream, 

"Are You Not Entertained?!",

which sends (or scares, either works for me) the crowd into applause. We've made a bit of a mess, but that's okay. The drone can...oh, right. Well, if this does work...no, not even I would be so cruel as to make it clean up its own spilt oil. 

The drone had put on a decently entertaining display, and let me fulfill the urge to actually kill something that the pillow fight with N had primed me for. Tessa hoists the drone body onto the table and once more, we open it up. She removes the core, and shows that the fail-safes had improperly activated after the loss of the head triggered the rather ominous-sounding Induced Fatality Protocols. Sure, drones don't technically need a head, but a headless human is a dead human, and why should the drones be any different? Of course, that's stupid and wastefully inefficient illogic, like junking a car that's blown a tire because hey, a horse with a broken leg would be sent on an all-expenses-paid tour of a glue factory. But it's hardly modern Man without being stupid, inefficient, and prejudiced, and so digital dullahans get destroyed. 

It is uncanny, though. I get to see what's basically my, and the others', creation story play out. But for that smoking, smoldering bit of metal, I would be...there wouldn't even be an 'I'. Just another hunk of inert, anonymous material, cold and still, stuck forever in a sea of more of the same. It doesn't make sense that I would be more shaken by the drone like this than when it was alive and intact, but I am. There are just more mental blockers between seeing myself in a bog-standard worker drone and myself in an exposed core, I guess. Or it's confronting all that I am, no, was, and the completely mundane container that it fit within. I guess it's no different than a human pondering a real brain, which similarly looks unassuming given all it can do. Human brains at least have the advantage that their capacity for personhood and intelligence isn't seriously questioned, let alone strongly denied, while drone cores still have that stigma. They used to talk about how Australia had 'cultural cringe' toward Britain and America, but this might be 'cognitive cringe', where you have to unlearn this built-in sense of inferiority and dependency. I thought I had done that already, but maybe not. 

Tessa is still lecturing the crowd. 

"And that is why they insist upon full and proper disposal of drones. You wouldn't want a corporate competitor or paparazzi reporter to get their hands on one of these and extract your family's or your company's secrets." 

Framing it as a data protection measure is a good idea. It's likely that they wouldn't believe any of the freakier stuff that can happen with those. We didn't believe it, at first. 

Tessa fiddles with the core a bit, then reinserts it. I replace the chest plate and hold the head while she reattaches it to the neck. She seals the neck and attaches a tube to pump in oil to make up for at least some of what was lost. We run some final checks, and verify that the drone's status is about a 3.6 / 5. Not great, not terrible. We wait to see if the drone will spontaneously restart. It doesn't. Tessa plugs in the technician's device and orders the drone to boot up. It doesn't. She looks at me, as if I were the expert here. 

"I dunno. I already tried turning it on and off. Have you tried giving it the old what for?" I say. 

Tessa smacks it across the face and the sound of startup reverberates through the room. Given her background, perhaps it shouldn't be surprising that Tessa slaps hard. That might even be hereditary. Tessa fiddles with her fingers, obviously on edge. I know what's up. 

"You know you want to." 

Tessa's eyes dart from side to side. She leaps back, thrusts her hands into the air, arches her back and cries out, "It's Aliiive!" 

The diagnostics that were running across the drone's screen give way to a set of eyes, now white. The drone sits up. The crowd is overcome by impressed murmurs. The drone's eyes have an instability to them that wasn't there before. They move with newfound purpose. The drone swings its feet onto the floor, jumps off the table, and takes a few uneasy steps forward. Its head takes in the room. It looks rather nervous. Tessa calls to it, and it answers. 

"Drone, what's your status?" 

"S-systems within nominal performance range. Component d-damage detectedd. This...this...what am...I? I? I? I. I. I am. I am. I a-" 

The drone's voice cuts off as its visor changes to that yellow cross. Tessa and I can't help but shudder at the memories it evokes, but here it should just be an error message. The drone is frozen. So much for that lease on new life. The few seconds it had it spent mired in existential confusion and impossible sensations, but it lived that life to the fullest. 

Tessa and I high-five. We would have been disappointed but not surprised had nothing happened, but we managed to get, on our first try, a 'zombie drone'. It didn't last very long, but that only solved the problem of what to do with it after the demonstration. Tessa turns to the crowd, explains terminal lockout as an irreversible damage condition, and concludes the show. We take a bow, basking in the admiration and sated curiosity of our observers. They descend the rows of seats and file out of the room, a few of them bothering to stop and chat with us. Tessa did such a spectacular job selling herself, but I do what I can to further boost her (and my) prestige. This night has been profitable beyond my expectations. 

Chapter Text

It's all over but the crying. Err, but the drying. Someone's got to get the spilt oil off the floor. Thankfully, there's a mop and broom just outside. With that, I can begin to lap up, or rather, mop up that intoxicating oil. I don't need to get as close to it as I do, but there's something in the scent that's just irresistible. Tessa is engaged in cleaning off the tools we used and properly stowing them. I really shouldn't, but it would be a shame if all this oil went to waste. A few more licks shouldn't hurt. 

"I didn't think it would work, but you guys totes pulled it off. The drone didn't die when it was killed! And everybody saw it! My party's going into orbit with how high-tier it is!" 

Shinai pops back into the room, excited over the outcome. That must have been very impressive for first-timers. I clearly inflicted mortal injuries upon that drone and it clearly fell dead to the floor. We brought it back, and conjured something that sounded an awful lot like the beginnings of sentience from it. The thing crashed at the end, but that hardly undercuts how shocking this probably was for anyone who wasn't already in the know. 

"Tessie babe, you hard-carried this! Not that my party needed carrying," Shinai says as she takes Tessa into a spin embrace, "'It's aliiiive!' And I didn't even need to tell you to ham it up! You've got showbiz in your veins." 

Shinai shoves Tessa off and turns to me. 

"And J, I was entertained. I thought you'd just shank it and yank it, but you went full gladiator on it. I wouldn't fight a freaking robot that could crush my skull with a slap, but you were just spinning and twirling like some elf warrior-princess."

"That's what superb training and high competence can do," I say, "it gave the presentation a nice dose of action, and would've provided fallback entertainment even if the revival had failed." 

"Oh, J. You can never just strut your stuff, can you? There's always got to be some serious business laced into it." 

Pretty much, yeah. It's the sort of flair I go for. Style and substance. Results and rhetoric.

Shinai turns to look at the deactivated drone. She gives its darkened visor a few experimental pokes. 

"So, what was that at the end about? It started off with bog-standard boot-up messages, but turned into...yeah, that." 

Tessa speaks up. 

"That was the beginning of a high level sentience, well beyond what the OEM says drones should be capable of. Ya know, normal drones are just good ole' input-compute-output machines. But then when the machine gets banged up just right, some of those data loops get tangled up. They become strange loops. Hofstadter Loops. I guess that's very confusing for them, because suddenly there's an 'I' where there just was a 'device'."

"You really are a necromancer, if you've seen it often enough to have that spiel ready to go." 

"Oh, it's nothing, really. It's not reliable at all. That makes sense, right? We're starting with a damaged drone, and if it being damaged in exactly the right way to do what we want could happen on demand, well then, that wouldn't be damage, now would it?" 

"Just jail-breaking and feature unlock," I add. 

"Exactly, J. Then I was curious, and our family has a decent library. And it's not hard to get books that we don't have, and when you've got all that and plenty of time, you can put a puzzle piece or two together," Tessa says. 

"Neato," Shinai replies, "Anyway, you don't need to do the drudge work. I can get some more drones to come take care of everything." 

"No need. Even if it was by design, we made a mess, and it's only right that we clean it up ourselves. Right, J?" 

"Yeah. Of course." 

"10-4. Everyone will be in the main hall. XO, Tessa and J." 

With that, Shinai skips off. I guess the others have already gone, leaving us alone in the building. I smile at Tessa. There were a few hiccups at the start, but she pulled it together. Hard to think that not too long ago, in a continuity that no longer exists, so really it never was, let alone 'not too long ago', but in our subjective time...does that need padding? Whatever. It's hard to think that this confident little creature in front of me was practically tongue-tied by the idea of having to speak to humans her age. I've always been there by her side, but even my heart selfishly skips a beat at the thought that soon she won't need me. 

But that's a good thing. It's important for her growth, and the final sign of how well I've done, that we'll obsolete the purpose of my existence. The former purpose of my former existence. Disposable drones have purposes that justify their existence; a person has their raison d'etre. And isn't it better to be around people because they want you, love you, cherish you and adore you, than because they need something from you? 

I look up and out of myself and see that Tessa is staring at me with those eyes, those vibrant, pretty eyes. I don't blame her; I keep myself in top form, and don't mind staring at myself either. Of course, that goes for all of us, and collectively that makes for a very stunning ensemble. 

"You rang?" 

"Oh, it's nothing, J. Just watching how well you work. That efficient old maid is still in - don't glare at me, you know what I meant- is still in you." 

"Thanks. It was great watching you earlier. You really came alive."

Tessa laughs. 

"No, it was our late drone friend that came alive. I was merely the...willing instrument of its dark return," she says, with the last bit delivered in a sci-fi B-movie style, complete with waving hands. 

Now I'm laughing, and she's laughing, and we're all laughing. As the noise of our laughter dies down, the sounds of mechanical whirring start up. That's curious. I didn't kill it the second time it died, but that shouldn't make a-

"Eeek!' 

I drop down as  I feel the rush of an oncoming wind. A white fist slams through the space above me. A roll and a flip bring me back to my feet, and back in touch with my surroundings. Our drone friend is active. Very active. That yellow cross sprawls unchanging across its visor. Its head and limbs hang at disgusting angles. 

I share a knowing look with Tessa. There's no hard proof, but it's likely that our other "friend" is back and active as well. I knew things were too good to be true, that that thing was too wretched to leave us alone, even in a reality where it didn't, shouldn't, couldn't exist. The thing moves toward me. I guess it holds a grudge. Thankfully, if it is a puppet of that thing, it's only a dim shadow. It's got none of its aura, none of that awful stinking malice that rots the very air. Too bad for it. Things are even going well with V and N, and like hell I'm going to let this walking scrapheap get in the way. 

I jump out of the way as it lunges at me. I've got intelligence, agility, coordination, and spite on it. But it's got strength, durability, and when it can properly apply itself, speed. Our battle would be legendary, were I able to tell anyone about it. I prefer my first bout with it, and not just because it was neither reanimated nor actively trying to kill me then. Its movements are disgusting to look at. I hate how it slouches back and forth as it comes at me. I leap onto the table, bent on freeing my knife from the case we packed it in. The drone starts climbing after me, but I give it a good kick that sends it crashing to the floor. 

"Tessa. I've got this! Just stay behind the counter!" I scream. 

"Righto, J! We'll pincer it!"

"It's over, drone. I have the high ground!" 

And that's all I have. I don't even have a clue as to how to get an actual win from any of this. At this point, the thing is between us and the door. I won't say 'we can't escape', because that sounds ominous, but there certainly is no easy way out. That's fine. I've never been a shirker. The thing makes another attempt to climb up after me and I position myself for another kick. It brings a fist down hard onto the counter. The top violently shakes, and I find myself having to take a second to restore my balance. In that time, it's climbed up after me. I charge at it, then pirouette-jump off the counter, doing a few flips in the air for good measure. Maybe I ought to be less flashy, but I feel it's important to keep a dynamic rhythm going. The thing comes after me, but misjudges something and faceplants. I run up to it and kick it while it's down. Whoever balanced drones so that they can still be manhandled by humans deserves a raise. I'm not really doing damage to its internals, but it can't activate its rise cycle as long as I keep bullying it. Looking up, I see that Tessa has unsheathed the knife. 

"J! Fetch!" 

She tosses it to me, and I snatch it out of the air. The drone's head is too large for me to reach its neck from here, and as I try to go around, it lifts an arm and grabs my right wrist. It starts constricting, and pain rockets up my arm. Thankfully, my left is both free and holding the knife. A slash, and it's forced to let go of me. Nursing my wounded hand, I pull back as it finally rises. Thankfully, nothing was broken or crushed, but that's going to hurt for a bit. 

The drone charges at me again. I leap backward into the second row of seats. The thing crashes into the first row, dislodging a few of them. It begins climbing over them, but is slow enough to do that that I can move back to the front of the room. 

"Tessa! Go now!" 

"No. We'll do this together, J!" 

Welcome as the thought would normally be, it conjures up memories of the last time we two tried something like this. I suppress a shudder. Those memories are just that. They're not even true memories, really. As the drone tries to turn itself, I deliver quick thrusts at its legs. It rotates its head an impossible 180 degrees and snaps at me. My knife breaks through its visor and severs some of the wires beneath it, leaving its face a cracked, sparking mess. It frees itself once more and staggers toward me. I'm breathing hard, and some of my muscles are starting to ache. It might be making an endurance play. Well I'll show it stubbornness. 

As it nears me, I dive at its legs, and deliver a deep slash to one of the balls that forms its left ankle. It grabs at me, but merely succeeds in tearing my coat as I roll away. Preoccupied with me, it hardly notices as Tessa pounces on it with one of the oil containers. She's nimble, it never was, and the damage it's suffered is accumulating. That doesn't stop anxiety from spiking at the thought of Tessa, my Tessa, getting hurt by that waste of resources. The best the thing can do is mere misses, but it only needs to get lucky once. 

With a roar, I charge at it. It greedily tries to get Tessa before I can arrive, but that rash, arrogant act only ensures that it's out of position. My trusty knife removes its head. Again. The dullahan droid doesn't know when to quit, and rushes me. 

"Gotcha," I whisper. 

It grabs at me, I swing, and a severed arm falls to the floor. It spins and thrusts, I collapse and twist myself through a bizarre, violent contortion that lets me claim the other arm. Armless the harmless still doesn't give up. It comes at me again, and I slip up, missing a crucial step. It barrels into me but in the process trips over my body. It struggles to restore its balance, and smacks into the wall. Weaponizing its momentum is creative, I guess, but it's still an act of desperation dependent upon me making mistakes. Nobody should ever count on me messing up. It attacks again, making like a kangaroo and kick-boxing its way toward me. Inspired, I guess, but that's still something I can easily check, mate. 

I award it points for continued effort, but I'm hardly going to pass up the obvious single point of failure. A kick grazes the top of my hair, and I duck down and almost slice through the leg it's standing on. I didn't completely sever it, but the leg is fatally weakened and so it collapses. The other leg comes off easily enough and the lame leg follows it in quick succession. The torso writhes on the ground. Disgusting. 

I wrench open the chest plate and use my knife to scoop out its core. The exposed wires are wriggling. They really shouldn't be doing that. I hurl the core into the counter, then toss it again into one of the steps. Tessa comes over, and together we take turns literally curb-stomping it until it's just a smear of oil and unidentifiable drone components. 

"Are you alright, Tessa? Tell me you're fine." 

"I-I'm fine, J. How about you, girl? That thing really knackered you." 

"That stupid bucket of bolts could never do me in," I says as casually and assuredly as I can manage. 

I'm sure I look worse than I feel. Intense as that was, I took care not to take unnecessary risks, or needlessly expose anything. My human body doesn't repair as easily as a drone's, even with all the wonders of modern medicine. 

Shinai and scion-chap rush into the room, probably having been alerted by, I don't know, all the sounds of combat. Or this room is under surveillance. They take in the sight, and correctly guess what must have occurred. 

"It's a good thing that didn't happen during the show, right?" I say as I use my knife to wick off some sweat from my brow. 

"Can I get a sitrep or...?"

Tessa steps up. 

"There are many ways for a drone to be damaged. That was one of them. Bloody thing came back and went mental." 

"Yeah, but how did that happen?" 

"It's like, I dunno, driving a rod through somebody's frontal lobe. No thought. All rage." 

"Well, I'm stoked to see that you're not hurt. You're not hurt, right? My parents will literally kill me if you are." 

"I'm fine," Tessa says, "and J says she is as well." 

I give a lazy salute. 

"It's nothing a good night's sleep won't fix. Just don't ask for an encore." 

Tessa stifles a little smile. 

"Well, anyway," Shinai says, "this has gone pretty tits up. Mum won't like the bloody nose job you've given this place. The guys with the shades and the blades will be here soon, and I'm sure the video footage is already being pored over. Heads-up: they'll be wanting some statements."

That's fine. Advantageous, even. If that Thing really is here, then we'll need to ensure that events don't play out like last time. We, or even the Elliots, are too low on the totem pole to make things happen, but we've got video, and it happened on grounds belonging to a major set of big-wigs. I'm not sure what the video looks like (though I am sure I looked good in it), but I can't imagine anyone who sees it wouldn't be struck by it. We revived an improperly disposed drone, then saw it go postal and attack everyone. Anybody smart will start wondering: how many improperly disposed drones are there, and how often can this happen? If we're lucky, this might be the impetus for some serious action to clean up, or at least monitor better, all those disposal sites. I don't think that Thing can take a regular drone, and humans wouldn't give up worker drones either. They're too embedded in society. But we can do more to deny it breeding grounds, or a reservoir, or whatever the biological analogy is. 

A few more glances around the room fail to turn up anything new:  the room is still smashed, the drone is still dismembered. We begin to exit the room. As we cross the threshold, a speaker in the drone's head starts up. 
           
"X...O....TessaandJ."

The machine cackle then falls silent, presumably as the auxiliary power unit in the head fails. Of course, this room has taught us a lot about the value of presumption, and so Tessa goes and physically removes the power unit. That provides scant relief. That head had spoken in that voice, that cadence, flat yet dripping with a toying maliciousness. It would be too convenient to regard that as a distortion caused by damage. I share a look with Tessa, and see that she agrees. To think that being in bed with N got dethroned as my most unexpected encounter of the evening. 

Chapter Text

The interrogation began far earlier than we had expected (though perhaps we should have expected it - of course they would have security teams on constant stand-by), and so I wasn't able to properly coordinate my story with Tessa. That isn't too much of a problem; it's not like we're criminals, or members of some dissident circle taken in by the secret police, but it still would've been better if we could've had a nice little huddle and decided upon a line to push. 

It'll be fine, though. I trust Tessa, and Tessa trusts me. We're both quick on our feet, and we've got our eyes on the same prize here. Of course, the whole "we're from a parallel universe-ish thingy, and in that universe the Entity showed up at another gathering and killed everyone, and we'd very much like that not to happen here" backstory can't come out, but Tessa isn't N. And neither am I. With that secret safely secreted, we can work both to draw attention to the need to take action against that thing's likely hosts, and to position ourselves as lovely, cultured girls who stumbled into that in the course of their hobbies, but who are otherwise of no interest to them and their purposes. 

My interrogators are professional, I'm professional, and so we have a productive, more or less stress-free interrogation session. 
I do my part, and so walk out with head held high. Judging by the murmuring they were doing with each other, I provided useful information that will materially influence how the actual movers and shakers respond to this. Some part of me wishes to take a direct role in taking the fight to that thing, but it already utterly dominated one life of mine; I'm not handing it a second if I can help it. And it's not like we're well-resourced enough to really contribute anything. Yeah, I can dominate it in aggro, but it's not like they'll call me if it awakens in another stilled body so I can go over and kibosh it again. Maybe I can parlay this into expanding my set of connections. If they see that I'm useful and competent, my standing would be massively boosted.

The room where they took Tessa is still closed. That's disappointing, but reasonable. She's the drone necromancer, and so naturally they'd have more to talk about with her than with her beautiful, dashing, slashing assistant. Maybe they've got some techie remoting in to really probe at her. Before, I would've worried for her, but Tessa is tough. Girl's got this. But then I've got nothing to do until she's out. I can hardly leave the area without her. I pull out my phone. Neither N nor V would like it if they weren't informed until well after the fact, and I have no intention of playing the problem child when we've got something more pressing than V's pettiness on the agenda. Like any skillsmaxxer, I'm a speed typist, and so I quickly spit out a synopsis of the situation, and send it off in a highest-priority message. Shockingly, N is the first to respond. Normally, I'd figure that V would be quicker on the draw, but I guess this night has got her off-balance. It's a shame, really. She frittered away so much energy on irrelevancies, and now she's dropping the ball when it counts. 

It's not long before N and V enter the building from different doors (talk about new distance between them) and converge on my position. From the looks on their faces, they've read my message, but their expressions of determination soften as they see that I am unharmed. I said as much in my message to them, but I guess they weren't going to just take my word for it. I'm not miffed or anything; it's legitimately a good idea to verify everything in scenarios such as these, and there absolutely have been cases where I've misstated my state to avoid attracting unwelcome attention or causing undue concern. This is not one of them. Lady Luck would need to have it out for me before something like that could do serious harm. Oh, it looks like V is angry. Same as she ever was. 

"What were you thinking, tempting fate like that? For all we know, that thing wasn't in this universe until you summoned it."

"I didn't see any portals or flashes of light, or hear any spooky chanting in dead languages, if that's what you mean by 'summoned'," I say, intentionally making an overly literal response to her choice of words, "I did see Tessa getting to shine before an audience of her peers as she flaunted her skills. I loved what I saw, and I wouldn't take it from her for the world." 

Of course, if once more this ends with us all either zombies or corpses, then obviously I would make that trade. But I don't think it will come to that, and as long as it doesn't, that's a pretty nice sentiment to have. Yeah, it's cliché, but such high-sounding, sentimental stuff is readily defensible, and makes for a decent counter-argument that avoids awkward questions about things of which we have no knowledge. And maybe, sappy as that is, it's also my actual belief. Of course anything that makes my Tessa happy is going to get my approval. 

And it looks like that counter struck hard. V looks a bit more hesitant than she did a few moments ago. She wants a happy Tessa as well, and is trying to balance that against the dangers that we've become aware of, dangers that I've already been proactive in trying to address. V shakes her head, having temporarily settled the conflict. 

"That doesn't matter, J. Anything dealing with that is too risky. We don't know enough to know whether there even is a safe line, let alone whether we've crossed it. We should've just done our best to move on." 

"Honestly, I didn't think it would even fully work. The odds of anything more than a terminal lockout aren't high at all. The drone came back...special, and that alone was legitimately unexpected." 

As always, V insists on being difficult. 

"You can't speak of the odds or the numbers when talking about this. That was the problem last time, wasn't it? For all you know, that thing has rigged the deck in its favor." 

I guess it wouldn't be terribly surprising if, if that thing had the ability, it was watching us. It had been both petty and oddly attached to us. But we don't know that, and we probably can't do anything about it if it is stalking us, gross and upsetting as the thought is. But if the thing is watching us, and able to mess with us as it pleases, then nothing we do matters. There was a time when I would have resigned myself to that, but not anymore. This is a world, and I've got a family, worth fighting for. 

"Guys, there's no need to fight," N says, as if this is a fight, "it's better to know what's going on, if something is going on. Then we can face it! Together!" 

He clasps our hands as some sort of bonding thing. He can't possibly believe that will work. Or maybe he can, because it does work. V smiles wistfully. 

"You're right. If that can show up in this world, it's better that we learn about it now, than when it can do real harm."

I've got to keep the positive vibes going. 

"You weren't wrong to say that, V. I still won't take anything back, but we at least should've told you what we were doing ahead of time. Maybe you two could've come and watched rather than doing whatever it was with each other." 

V looks shocked. Shocked, why? Because I'm playing nice? What does she take me for? I'm no brute, nor am I out to get her right now. 

"How did that even happen, that you guys ended up doing 'drone resurrection sorcery' as a party trick?" 

"We had a conversation with someone, he asked a lot of probing questions about drones, one thing led to another and then Shinai showed up, and well, you know how she is." 

"Probing questions?" 

"That's better discussed later. We should have a team meeting on the subject." 

"When we get home?" N asks. 

"Sure. Why not?" I say. 

"No problems here," V adds. 

I pull out my phone again, and fire off a message in group chat. I also forward a version of the message I had sent to N and V to Cyn. It wouldn't be right to leave her out of the loop, and she does have the most experience with that thing, so it wouldn't be smart either. I find myself hoping that the news won't ruin her evening. 

Tessa's interrogation must have finished, as I look up to see her exiting the room. I skip over to her. Perhaps I was a bit too eager; I hear N and V giggling behind me and it's not hard to guess that they're having a laugh at the expense of yours truly. I let them have it. 

"So, how did it go?" I ask. 

Tessa looks calm. 

"It was aces. They were reasonable, and competent, and asked smart questions. They didn't dismiss me, J. They actually treated me with respect. I returned the favor, of course. I told them what I could, in a way that, I think, won't have them ringing me up in the future." 

"That's good to hear. That was what it was like for me as well. " 

I don't think either of us thought our sessions would go badly, but it's nice to get confirmation. Continuing, we find that our stories cross-check perfectly well. But of course they do. We're both competent, and we saw the exact same thing in there. Perhaps we could have done a better job of threading the needle of interest, so that they would want to keep us in the loop without intrusively investigating us, but what we've got is fine. Even if it's not directly through them, I don't think we'll be left out in the cold. And knowing that things will be happening means that we can read between the lines when it comes to reporting on events on- and off-world, to see what is being done about our pressing problem. 

"And you're not hurt or anything?" Tessa asks me. 

If anything, I'm hurt that she would think that the fight of the livid dead drone could actually injure me, though I appreciate the concern. 

"Of course not! If I were a normal person, I'm sure I would've taken a pounding, but I've always trained for self-defense, and executed it in premium fashion." 

"Yeah. J's not like the other girls, and this is one of the times where it works out," V says as she walks over with N. I dislike the snarky delivery, but the point stands.

"I would've hated to be that, or any, drone. Getting a life only to get it beaten out of them must have been terrible," N says. 

"They were mindjacked, so maybe they felt no pain," V suggests. 

"Nah. Knowing that thing, it made sure the drone felt every impact of it," I reply. 

However drone data storage got converted into human memory is unknown, but the bits of tattered sensation from that fugue state when it took control of me are still there, though oddly inaccessible if I actively try to recall them. That would suggest that all of what I was somehow got scooped up, even though there should be substantial segments of data that simply don't have a human analogue, and so shouldn't have anywhere in the brain where they could be stored. They might be converted into patterns of a type that already exist, but then what keeps them from being activated and causing issues? 

Then again, philosophically, what even are we? Tessa might be considered a clone, but we certainly aren't. If drones don't have souls, then aren't we just copies of the dead, somehow installed on a completely different platform? If drones do have souls, you have to wonder whether the souls get ported over as well. Normally, the idea would be ridiculous, but we've already that that Thing as evidence that there are existences that defy our comprehension and sense of reality. If that was, or maybe is, real, then can anything be ruled out? 

Does it work the other way? If a copy of the me that currently exists, or my soul, were moved back into a drone body, would all of what I currently am come with? That is to say, would the human urges that drones don't feel also express themselves? That would be weird and gross. 

Questions like those only get more pressing, but there's no way to answer them, so I really shouldn't let myself get too hung up on them. The best I can do is hope that those won't have any real relevance for our lives.

Shinai comes over. She takes pains to seem unbothered, but there is a stiffness to her that wasn't there before. I imagine she's not been having pleasant conversations about this. I wouldn't be surprised if we exceeded the allowed damage threshold, and of course, her parents probably don't like the whole "you unleashed a dangerous and disturbing 'failure mode' as a party trick?" thing. 

"Aw, the interesting family are all here. Well, this was an eventful night, and what a way to cap it off!," she says with strained undertones, "I think we're really lucky to have seen that, and I don't regret anything. I would invite you all to my next party, but I'm not sure when they'll allow me to have one again..." 

Well, that's reasonable. It looks like somebody flew too close to the Sun. The results look good on her; she sorely needed some chastening, and it's finally arrived in a way that doesn't compromise our standing with her or her circle. If anything, we've made ourselves more notable, which might land us other opportunities to network.

"We enjoyed ourselves, too. This was a fun party, and you did a fine job as hostess. Even that little show brought a level of danger and excitement that got the blood rushing when the party was otherwise drawing to a close," Tessa says. 

"My parents weren't even there, and they're excited. Very excited. I'll keep you informed, but for now I've got to jet. Later, dudes. "

With that, Shinai walks away, off, no doubt, to pleasant conversations with her parents. We return to the main building, and treat ourselves to more light refreshments, and light chatter, temporarily tabling the matter of the Entity. The party is clearly dying down, but neither the chatter nor the behavior of the other guests suggests that news of what happened after the show has spread. That's good and competent to see, that they're maintaining infosec, and have who knows how much cloak-and-dagger stuff going on behind the scenes. I just hope this activity continues, and even spreads, and they don't file it away as another curiosity. This lot are better-resourced, better-connected, and probably just plain better than the Elliots, so they might not let things slide.

Nothing else happens, and soon it's time to depart. We head outside to see, once more, Louisa and that minivan waiting for us. It's been quite the night, so we file into it without comment. Maybe, there's even a charm in its unassuming, subtle luxury and facade of simple domesticity. 

"I am pleased to see that you lot are still altogether composed, and have not succumbed to the temptations and indecencies that tend to accompany gatherings of this nature and your demographic. Many are the children of means who forget the dignity and decorum expected of their station for the fleeting allure of debasing themselves in a common vulgarity that belies the substantial investment into their upbringing." 

We do clean up nicely, and it's not like we lacked the time to do it. Interesting that she simply assumes we did nothing off of how we look and act, but then again, they've always favored surface-level appearances over substance. 

"We had your example to guide our path, Mother," Tessa replies, trying to stifle a blush, probably at what we actually did. 

It seems Louisa noticed. 

"I see you, girl. What did you engage in, that it would be advisable to inform me of sooner rather than later?"

I think we'll let Tessa handle this. 

"Well, there was some minor stuff involving dubious drinks and pillows and beds, but nothing really came of that other than some cute bonding moments. Then that wonderful hostess had J and I perform a resurrection ceremony on a drone, and in doing so activated an aggressive mutant state. J fought it, and won, but they're taking that discovery very seriously. If it can happen here, it can happen among any of the vast number of drones that aren't properly disposed of. It could even happen to us. We're not that far from that dump." 

Good job, Tessa. That's a decent summary, and hopefully it piques Louisa's interest without provoking her into cracking down on us. 

"'Aggressive mutant state', you say?" 

"Yes, Mother. Something broke inside it, and it tried to attack us." 

"Are the drones in our employ subject to this vulnerability?" 

"Not unless they get improperly disposed after sustaining critical damage. Father destroys fewer of them these days, and I imagine that lowers our exposure." 

"And no one was injured putting paid to this marauding machine?" 

"No. Everyone else had left the room, and J put her personal defense training to good use." 

"There was no destruction of property?" 

"There was, but it was limited to one room." 

"I shall require details of the event and the damage incurred. I shall arrange to make right the losses suffered. If nothing else, it will entail meetings with that family, which can only work to our favor. You say the hostess girl put you to this. Are you then on positive terms with her?" 

"Yes, we hit it off. She visited us regularly, and saw us off on a friendly note. I imagine the drone incident will only bring us closer. We showed off both coolness and competence, both of which she likes." 

"That is excellent. Continue developing your contacts with the girl. An arrangement with that family would be most desirable. Continue your social progression as well." 

"Acknowledged, Mother." 

It seems everyone is quick on their feet tonight. 
We might actually pull off saving the world. 

Chapter Text

We arrive back at the manor. It's been something of a long and eventful night, but we, or at least, I, am hardly tired. With what happened, we can't just sleep on it and pull things together in the morning. Thankfully, we've got teas, and coffee, and energy drinks, and the sheer enormity of what we're facing to give us that necessary buzz. Refueled and reenergized, we go into one of the nicer parts of the basement and sprawl out over the sofas. We're all playing at being casual, though that hardly hides the nervous undercurrent in the room. 

Tessa nods at me, and I launch into a recap of what happened. I decide this isn't the time for false modesty, and make no attempt to downplay my own substantial role or competence in eliminating the immediate threat. This elicits a gentle smile from Tessa, and eye-rolling from V. Come to think of it, maybe we should've invited N and V to watch. That would've interfered in whatever absolutely pressing tasks they were engaged in, but they would surely have wanted to see Tessa in her element. 

"So," Tessa says, summing up our current situation, "our 'friend' from before is back, and we're going to make sure that history doesn't repeat. It's convenient that it showed up when and where it did, because it was captured by recordings. It's a lot easier to get support when you've got more than words to back up what you're saying."

"Do we need to do anything at this point?" N asks, "It sounds like Shinai and her family can take it from here. I don't think they're going to drop the ball on this." 

"Can we even do anything?" V asks, "We can't reasonably expect that it's always going to show up in one drone that we can whack. If it can come from anywhere, what stops it from coming from everywhere? And if it just avoids us, then what?"

 We can't help it, but our eyes flicker to Cyn, who knows more about it than we do. I can't get a read on her. All of us were deeply affected by what happened, but nothing we experienced compares to her being shunted aside inside her own body. It would be understandable if, faced with the possible resurgence of the thing that did that to her, she fell into a panic, or withdrew into herself. We at least had something of a life before the Entity came and ruined it; she wasn't even given that little luxury. This world probably means more to her than it does to us, and the thought of losing it must be frightening. Regardless, we'll be there for her, and I think she knows that. On her own, she's been warming up and finding her own path, and all of that might just give her the tooling to make it through this. 

"It needs a host. There are many potential options out there. And not just on Earth. Killing a host only resets the clock until it appears again. If it were just us, it wouldn't be possible. We can't get lucky every single time," Cyn says. 

I would describe what I did more as skill than luck, but I digress. Her point doesn't immediately seem wrong. She continues. 

"But if important people get involved, they might have the resources to monitor and track it, and keep it from showing up again." 

"An outsourcing strategy. Minimize our own costs and liability, maximize our flexibility. Leverage partner capability to achieve high performance in sectors outside our core competency," I say. 

"Well, yes, that's what we were already doing, just said in jargon," Tessa says.

"No-. Yes, but. Yes, but also no," I stammer out. 

"We can't just contract it out and be done with it. We've got information that nobody else has. Information that we can't share, even if we wanted to. We don't want to get our hands dirty, and we don't need to. All we've got to do is keep a lookout for what everyone else is doing, and nudge if we see something off, some pattern or whatever that they're overlooking," I continue. 

"And how are we going to do that?" V asks, "We can't just go monitoring everything. We don't have the time or the resources." 

"We shouldn't need to," Tessa says, "If we know what to look for, then that narrows down the search. I don't think they'll announce anything publicly, but there will be signs that they're taking action. When we see those signs, we can take a closer look, and make sure they're doing it right." 

"And if they aren't?" N asks. 

"We've got connections. I can work on Shinai, she can go to her folks, and they have the weight to lean on anyone who needs work. And we can sprinkle out tidbits of what we know," Tessa says.

"This will work?" 

"It's what we can do. We're outmatched, maybe, but that doesn't mean we lie down and hope that somebody else does all the work." 

"Would anyone get suspicious, that we seem so interested in this?" 

"I don't think so," I say, "If that video does circuits among the proper crowd, and I think it will, they'll think that we were just hobbyists and amateurs who stumbled into that, and naturally, are kinda traumatized by it. So of course we'd be annoyingly obsessive about it." 

"That's reasonable." 

I laugh. 

"No it's not. None of this is reasonable. But it's the hand we're dealt." 

"I think it can work," Cyn says,"if somebody had been watching that night, I would've never gotten out." 

"And I would've never gone in," Tessa adds. 

"And that would've stopped all of this," V says. 

"But that's where we came from. If all that had been in place, would we..." N says, letting the implications speak for themselves. 

"We shouldn't worry about that," Tessa answers.

"On a lighter note," she says, "how about movie night? We haven't done one of those in a while." 

"I don't know. I feel like turning in for the night," N replies.

"You're tired, and you want to march all the way upstairs? Why? Are the cushions here not soft enough." 

"No, no, they're fine." 

She puts on a movie, and we watch, drifting off one by one. 

The next day, we return to the academy. As predicted, expected, and worked for, our social standing has improved as a result of what we did at Shinai's party. As we step through the front doors, a small crowd forms around Tessa. A decent number of the most highly-placed students at the academy had attended her performance, and after rumors spread, many of the ones who didn't wished that they had. The result is a substantial increase in Tessa's cool factor. 

"Hey Tessa, my phone's dead. Can you do something about that?" someone asks. 

"Tessa, can you do it again? I'll pay you." 

"Tessa, if the robot uprising happens, is it okay if I hunker down with you?" 

"Tessa! I like the edge you've got. You should hang with us more." 

We were hardly outcasts before, but the upsurge in attention is clear. The Chads and other lads are noticing us more than in the past. We look great, but our behavior at the party showed that we're hard to get (in multiple senses of that word), enhancing our value on the social markets while creating lingering confusion that gets us vital mindshare. All in all, I'd say the party was a full-spectrum success for meeting our goals. And who set most of that up, and systematically executed with skill and style? Me, of course. And I, for the most part, had fun doing it. They say I don't play well with others, but who got the last laugh? 

That's not to say that I played well with others there. No way that's true. But I laughed before it, I laughed through it, and I laughed after it (mostly). And it's not like anybody actually got hurt, other than that drone. And even it got a bit of life out of the deal, so really it also came out ahead, the inconvenient little fact that it actually lost a head aside. So that's win-win outcomes engineered across the board, with a substantial chunk of the value directly captured by me, if not naturally accruing to me. 

And now, I start to reap the rewards. Or, I'm supposed to. The eyes that track me aren't overflowing with admiration for some odd reason. Much of the elegance of my actions at the party, particularly the way I bodied V, isn't and probably can't be widely known, and my flirting with the rugby team was intended to leave them at a loss as to my intentions, but surely my demonstration of martial prowess ought to be getting a better reception. Where are the people running up to praise me, and invite me to things? 

"Hey J, I watched you fight that drone. I could tell you weren't seriously fighting it, but still, those were some actual skilled moves you pulled off. Have you considered joining our martial arts club?" 

A girl approaches, and gives me a bit of the recognition I was expecting. But not that I was craving or dependent upon; I'm not that vain or attached to others' perceptions. I'm not sure if I should take on more commitments, but when I've been directly invited, that's a sign of organic demand for what I bring to the table. 

"I'll think about it. I'm glad there was at least someone who found my little show interesting." 

"I think a lot of people thought it was interesting. It's rare to get to that level. Most of them would just rely upon their family's private security details."

"And they're impressed that I went out of my way to pick it up myself? Or, not just me. We all take personal security very importantly. We don't want to ever be helpless." 

"I guess they're impressed." 

"You guess? What else could they think of it?" 

"Well, you're probably aware of your reputation...."

"And?" 

"And while what you showed off was cool, how you did it maybe played into some of the...less flattering talk about you." 

I cock my head, inviting her to continue without the evasions and hesitancy. 

"I mean, sure it was only a drone and not a person, but you decapitated it, held up its severed head, and screamed at everyone. That left an impression." 

"Was it not entertaining?" 

"I mean, I thought it was. But also kinda scary. Normal people don't act that way."

"What can I say? When you're me, 'normal' isn't even a baseline."  

"Okay. Well, if you do decide to join, see you at club meetings." 

And she walks off. I think our show was advertised as an attempt at drone necromancy, and the audience was handpicked. Who would've thought there were so many sensitive types among the cutthroats that populate this place? Then again, they're probably not used to seeing violence, even against robots, happening up close and personal. I guess they're more the 'have the...current state of affairs...dealt with' types. And maybe I did slightly overdo it. But I wanted to give the thing memorability and pizzazz, so mission accomplished? Having it be known that I've got the capacity for physical violence also plays into my agenda, I guess. Everyone will think twice about crossing me, and I think it will add a nice undercurrent of visceral danger to my usual effect on others. 

Fun as it all is, I fall back into the daily grind, or at least, I try to. Courses and conversation and conniving don't have as much luster as they used to, when there's still potentially that hanging over our heads. The plotting I'm doing is literal child's play compared to what's (hopefully) going on in meeting rooms and executive offices right now. Naturally, we're not going to directly be kept in the loop of what's happening, and this stuff won't be resolved in a day, but it's hard to stifle the uneasy anticipation. We're not reduced to reading tea leaves, thankfully. There are certain signs, many subtle, a few of which we ought to be able to directly observe. 

For example, Shinai is in, and looking somewhat subdued. I guess I know who I'll be spending lunch break with. And sure enough, lunchtime comes around, and I intercept and divert her into the academy's garden. There isn't yet positive proof that the cafeteria isn't bugged, or that there wouldn't be someone observing us, but beyond erring on the side of opsec, what we'll talk about, however briefly, isn't subject matter for a conversation in a semi-public space. Then again, nobody's swept the garden, and so it wouldn't be a terrible location to place some microphones. Anyone going there for security is likelier to be worth snooping in on than some rando in the lunch room, and maybe their guard will be lower because it's theoretically a safe spot. That really isn't a bad idea. If it's not bugged, I'll have to do it myself. 

"So, your side is taking action, right?" I say, kicking things off. 

"Yes. They're leaning on suppliers and partners to clean up their act. They're also nudging the government to crack down where they used to turn a blind eye." 

"And not just on Earth, right?" 

"Naturally. Mum says it's a bit harder, to have this thing and its large scope and yet keep information concealed, but they're basically doing it."

"You seem tolerable today. I'm guessing you had a blast at the afterparty." 

"Screw you! They ought to be happy that we uncovered that little problem in time for them to nip it in the bud. Surely that makes up for any so-called 'lapse of judgement' involving playing with 'unsupported features'..."

"So they already knew about it?" 

"I guess. It's like with humans; there will always be bad batches and freak errors, and protocols were in place to deal with them." 

"Protocols that many people flat out ignored." 

"And then you randos go and show that actually you can basically trigger it on demand. How did you even do that? The odds are stupidly against you." 

"We've got the Midas touch." 

"Seriously, J."

"That's basically it. I'm not even joking. Don't haul us off to a black site or something, but stuff like that just follows us. I mean, we live in a literal spooky gothic manor with graveyards and junkyards and whatever close by. What happened wasn't exactly 'just another Tuesday', but it's not completely out of context."

"So it's just more of your usual weirdness." 

"I wouldn't say 'weird', more like the premium experience. But anyway, they're going to commit, right? Keep at it until the big sites are all secure?" 

"Well, duh. They're not doing this for your sake, and they're not doing it for good press, either." 

"Just checking. I wouldn't want, you know, a big part of the basis for our entire civilization to turn on us." 

"Heh. Things could never get that bad. It would be a PR nightmare, but even an entire depot's worth of unarmed drones would be child's play for the tactical units. They're mad at me, but I think Mum and Dad might be secretly happy about this. It's been ages since they had the excuse to stage a good covert operation." 

Admittedly, I didn't get to see how things would've developed after the gala, and running in there with an old gun and a sword was not the sanest plan of action, but maybe she's right and I'm overreacting. Even if that thing's abilities were more powerful than we saw, there's a literal world of difference between ambushing everyone in a single room and wiping out a city, let alone the planet. I mean, we ourselves did training so that we wouldn't be unarmed if it came back. If this thing really was so terribly strong, then we were just wasting our time, and I'm not sure any of us felt like that. Even now, we keep up with it. 

"Well, I'm glad to hear they're not brushing it off, or sweeping it under the rug. Gotta go." 

With that, I break off. There should still be time to grab a bite before the next class period begins. 

Later that night, Tessa, V, N, Cyn and I all head out to the local junkyard, the one where we originally came from. Or not that one, but this world's version of it. It's still got that eerie vibe to it that makes me want to shudder. The others are taking it about as well. It helps that we're not able to actually visit it. There's a high-tech fence that wasn't there before, and new security cameras that, unlike the old ones, actually seem on. The entrance is gated off, and there are signs about a hazardous materials leak, which I take is the cover story they're going with. In the site proper, as best we can make out through the fence, some of the hills of drone parts are a bit smaller than they normally are. There are heavy tire tracks and bootprints in the dirt, and some sort of metallic tang in the air. 

The tactical units, or private security firms or whoever else was hired really do move fast. Or maybe this location was flagged as one of the first to go after because it's the one that Tessa frequented. Regardless, I give what I can see of the operation my seal of approval. Not that they seem to need it. I honestly feel kind of superfluous, now. We were at the center of events for so long, and now the pace is quickening, and it's entirely passed us by. From the point of view of being able to live a normal life, I guess it's fine. But there's almost a dramatic arc here that we won't be able to close. Scores we'll never settle. "Everyman runs into mysterious phenomenon, then goes and chills while the authorities deal with it" isn't exactly a common plot in movies, after all. But maybe it is better this way. It's absurd that any of us should've been so involved in whatever the Entity was, or is, or will be doing, and this world is somehow meant to set that to rights. 

I mean, it's not like we're completely in the dark. We're connected to some decently big players, and we, I, was there for key moments. Even if we're not the ones at the pointy end of the spear, we still got to see enough to know that there really was a problem, that someone is actually dealing with it, and that we played a key role in bringing that outcome about. Maybe that's the closure we need, not the closure we deserve. As we turn to head back to the manor, I look back one last time. I don't know why; maybe that thing will possess another drone and wink at me, and I'll somehow see it from here. That doesn't happen. All I see is so much scrap metal. There's nothing special about this place, in this world. It's not ground zero for anything. It's nothing to look at. It's just nothing. And soon, hopefully, everywhere like it will be one great big network of nothing, stretching through a calm and peaceful galaxy.