Vomi's Colby was the only tangible reminder of her humanity. The matte black car, still parked deep in Black Dagger turf, had been retrieved by a solo Raven hired. Now, it carried three people either insane or desperate enough to face the monster she’d become. Loaded with weapons, the car roared down the street, carrying a fragile hope: that it wouldn’t end with them having to kill their choom.
Their first stop was with M-Tech. The corporation had reached out, claiming they had the serum ready.
Raven stepped out of the car reluctantly, shotgun in hand. She approached a man standing by the curb, sharp and polished, holding a vial that glowed faintly.
“I assume you’re Graves?” she asked, her grip on the shotgun tight, her eyes scanning for any surprises.
“Here,” the man said curtly, handing her the serum without addressing her question.
Raven studied the vial. “Is this going to work?”
“It’s the only dose we have,” Graves replied, his gaze steady. “If it doesn’t… well, let’s just say there won’t be a next step.”
His attention shifted to another suited figure approaching with a briefcase. The stranger opened it to reveal rows of compact explosives, their casing marked with strange white designs.
“These are incendiary. Fire damages the symbiote significantly. Take them.”
Raven’s jaw tightened as she raised her hand in refusal. “I told you, I’m not flatlining her.”
Graves didn’t flinch. “If the symbiote doesn’t respond to the serum, you’ll have no choice. Better safe than sorry.”
The weight of the street seemed to press in. Civilians gathered nearby, their arguments rising above the din of the city. Some demanded the symbiote be destroyed; others just wanted the meeting to end. Their eyes burned with fear, frustration, and morbid curiosity.
Raven sighed, grabbing the briefcase’s handle and tossing it back toward the car.
“Hey! Don’t throw explosives at me like that!” Nieme protested from the passenger seat, scrambling to catch it.
“They’re not armed, you gonk,” Raven snapped, rolling her eyes as she climbed back into the Colby.
The suits lingered for a moment, then left without another word. The car sped off, leaving the restless crowd behind.
“She’s in Silicon Valley,” Cinthia said, her voice quiet as she glanced at the tracker on her dashboard.
“Building or streets?” Nieme asked, securing the briefcase in the back.
“Building. She hasn’t moved for a while.”
Cinthia hit the gas, tires screeching as the Colby lurched forward.
“So… what’s the plan?” Nieme asked, glancing at Raven.
Raven let out a hollow laugh, running a hand through her hair. “A plan? You think I have a plan? I can’t even organize my damn thoughts right now.”
All they had was the serum, a case of explosives, and a faint hope that Vomi could still be saved. It was far from an ideal situation—closer to a desperate gamble than any kind of solid plan. A "plan" felt like a flimsy concept now, more of a faint outline than a concrete step-by-step. None of them had ever faced anything remotely like this. Raven, usually the most dependable to take charge, was at a loss. How do you prepare to fight a monster? She was a singer in a barely-known band, not a MaxTac operative hunting Cyberpsychos.
“Hey, sis, calm down, okay?” Cinthia’s voice broke through Raven’s spiraling thoughts. She glanced over, noticing how close Raven seemed to breaking under the pressure. “We’re here. And you’re capable of figuring this out, yeah? I believe in you. Just breathe with me for a second.”
Raven swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she responded, “Don’t treat me like a kid.”
Cinthia exhaled, relieved to hear even that weak protest. “Everyone needs to be treated like a brat sometimes,” she teased, flashing her sister a small grin.
“Fuck off,” Raven muttered, laughing through her tears. The release helped, if only a little. “Alright, what’ve we got?”
Nieme twisted around in his seat, taking stock of their gear in the back. “A lot of iron and bullets, a few PEM grenades, those fancy explosives from M-Tech, and some vests we snagged from the PD.” He paused, rifling through a bag. “...And three shots for a Contagion Launcher.”
“Area-of-effect?” Cinthia asked, glancing back briefly.
“Yup,” Nieme confirmed, giving her a thumbs-up.
“Anything Netrunner-related?”
“Nope,” Nieme replied with a thumbs down.
Raven sighed, leaning back in her seat. “So, old-school, then. We’ll figure it out as we go.”
“How reassuring,” Cinthia muttered as she took a sharp corner at speed.
“Just how we like it, apparently,” Nieme added with a smirk.
Silicon Valley had become a shadow of its former self, the second tallest district in San Francisco after the corporations reshaped the city. Vomi was somewhere in one of its towering ruins, unmoving for reasons unknown. If she wasn’t moving, it gave them a slim chance—maybe they could talk to her, if she was willing to listen.
The streets were eerily desolate, like the aftermath of a warzone. Cars lay abandoned and overturned, splattered blood stained the walls, and the acrid scent of burnt furniture lingered in the air. There wasn’t a single soul in sight—no survivors, no bystanders, nothing. Only the three of them ventured into the ghost town, their tension rising with every step.
Each of them grabbed a vest, a gun, and one of the Contagion Launchers. They couldn’t afford to be careless; preparation was the only thing standing between them and certain death.
Raven hesitated as she adjusted her gear. She didn’t want to appear like a threat, but going unarmed could cost her life.
“She’s in there,” Cinthia said, pointing toward the tallest building in the area—a battered HzBleet office tower.
“The video game company?” Nieme asked, scratching his head. “Why here of all places?”
“Exactly,” Raven said, attempting a confident nod. “Who’d expect a monster to hide in a video game company’s building?”
“Huh,” Nieme murmured, the logic oddly landing.
“Let’s… not waste time,” Cinthia said, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound firm.
“Y-yeah,” Raven echoed, her tone betraying a similar unease.
Nieme glanced between the two sisters, noticing the cracks in their composure. Cinthia’s nerves were fraying faster than Raven’s, but both were clearly shaken. The gravity of what they were about to face was hitting them harder than they wanted to admit.
Inside, the elevators were out of service. Not surprising, but curious—everything else electronic in the building seemed to work fine. Likely, the elevators were damaged, not powered down. No matter. The staircase beside them was still accessible, so they pressed on.
Every floor they passed, every closed or slightly ajar door, ratcheted up their tension. Every sound, whether a distant creak or their own footsteps, had them expecting something to leap out at them. But nothing did.
Finally, they reached the top floor. The tracker confirmed it—this was where Vomi was. They paused outside the final door, catching their breath. Then, with a shared nod, they opened it.
It was like stepping into a nightmare.
The walls, ceiling, and floor were coated in a pulsating black biomass, alive in ways they couldn’t fully comprehend. The surface undulated and glistened, sticky yet liquid. Patches glowed faintly, while others exhaled spore clouds, a sickly, poisonous haze that made their skin prickle.
All of it was connected—funneling, twisting, and weaving toward a single room.
Nieme noticed it first. His eyes followed the thickest tendrils of the biomass to their origin. "It's all coming from there," he muttered, stepping forward to lead the way.
The door to the room stood open, and the biomass had swallowed what had once been the elevator entrance—explaining why it was out of commission.
And there, in the heart of it all, seated like a queen on her grotesque throne, was Vomi.
She was unrecognizable.
Her body was completely enveloped by the symbiote, a seamless, skintight armor that left no detail of her form to the imagination. Only her hair remained uncovered, now stark white, flowing like a ghostly crown.
She didn’t move. She just sat there, head tilted slightly, her entire posture radiating exhaustion. Even in this monstrous state, she looked… tired. Worn down by the weight of what she had become.
"Your presence isn’t welcome," Vomi said, her voice an unsettling symphony of layered tones, a discordant harmony that felt both alien and overpowering.
Raven froze, her breath caught in her throat, her hand trembling as it instinctively rose to cover her mouth. “...Vomi?”
The figure shifted on her grotesque throne, the biomass entwining her body rippling like the surface of a disturbed pool. Tendrils stretched lazily across the room, coiling and writhing like serpents in anticipation. Her head tilted slightly toward the group, pale hair gleaming faintly in the corrupted light.
“Your presence isn’t welcome,” she repeated, the voices within her overlapping in eerie cadence. It wasn’t just Vomi speaking—it was the symbiote, a legion made one.
Raven took a hesitant step forward, her legs quaking beneath her. “Vomi, it’s us,” she stammered, her voice strained with emotion. “Raven, Nieme, Cinthia. We came to help you.”
Vomi stirred, the black liquid of the symbiote shifting like a second skin. Tendrils slithered closer to the group, languid yet deliberate, almost taunting them. Her glowing, predatory eyes, burning a vivid, unnatural purple, locked onto Raven.
“Help?” The word dripped with disdain, a razor-sharp mockery that cut through the silence. “Is it me you wish to save? Or yourselves?”
Nieme instinctively raised his Contagion Launcher, his finger hovering over the trigger, but Cinthia’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm. “Not yet,” she whispered sharply, her voice barely audible over the symbiotic growls reverberating through the room.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Vomi continued, the voices within her rising and falling like a static tide. The walls and floor pulsed in unison with her words, the entire room seeming alive, breathing with her. “You’re fragile. Weak. What could you possibly do against this?” She gestured around her, the biomass undulating in response, a living extension of her will.
“We’re not here to fight you,” Raven said, forcing herself to step closer despite the terror clawing at her insides. “We brought something—something that can help you. Stop this before it’s too late.”
At the mention of stopping, the symbiote tensed. The black suit covering Vomi’s body shimmered and contracted, as if preparing for an attack. Tendrils coiled inward, then lashed out, slamming into the walls and floor with a force that shook the building. Using them like limbs, Vomi propelled herself forward, stopping just short of Raven, looming over her.
“Make this stop?” Vomi’s voice was cold and venomous, the words dripping with incredulity. Slowly, she began retreating to her throne, her movements fluid yet alien, each step deliberate, her monstrous form carried effortlessly by the living tendrils. “We are strong. Perfect. With this, we can protect, punish, and discipline. No fear. No weakness. No death.”
Raven’s grip on her shotgun tightened, her hands trembling, but she didn’t raise it. “Please, Vomi,” she said, her voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this. You’re still in there. I know you are.”
Vomi’s glowing eyes narrowed, the predatory light flickering for the briefest moment. A glimmer of humanity broke through the monstrous facade. Her voice faltered, and for the first time, the harmony of the symbiote cracked.
“Raven…” she whispered, soft and distant, as though calling from some forgotten corner of herself.
Her body sagged, and she sank back onto her throne, the weariness she’d fought to conceal bleeding through. “I can’t,” she murmured, her tone heavy with despair. “I can’t go back. We are strong. United, we thrive. Leave. While you still can.”
The tendrils recoiled, pulling back toward her but remaining poised, like vipers ready to strike. The room seemed to hold its breath, the oppressive silence daring anyone to defy her warning.
“When I first met you,” Raven began, her voice trembling but determined, “I thought you were just some weird NetGonks. You know, the kind who’d party all night and klepp pocket change when no one was looking.”
Her words hung in the air, the tension thick as the symbiote tilted its head, curious. Even Nieme and Cinthia glanced at each other in surprise. Despite the suffocating dread of the moment, despite the monstrous presence towering before her, Raven stood her ground. She was terrified, but she didn’t waver.
“But Thiago wouldn’t bring someone we couldn’t trust,” she continued, her tone softening as her gaze locked onto Vomi—or what was left of her. “Still… I didn’t expect you to stick around. To show up again, and again. And somehow, you did. Every time. You were different. So different from anyone else I’d ever met. You were so… so…”
The symbiote stirred, the tendrils curling and uncurling as if mirroring its intrigue. It leaned forward ever so slightly, closing the space between them. For a moment, the alien stillness broke—curiosity, faint but undeniable, radiated from Vomi’s form.
“So?” The layered voices asked again, almost curious now, the cadence dipping into something faintly human.
Raven hesitated, gripping her shotgun tightly as she forced herself to speak. “So natural. Maybe carefree? Happy?” She swallowed hard, meeting the sharp glow of Vomi’s predatory gaze. “I’ve never seen someone react to life the way you did—with so much… goofy, genuine joy. Like you didn’t care about walls or shields. You were just you. No pretending, no holding back.”
Her voice wavered but carried on. “That’s what made you, you, Vomi. You made us… I don’t know if I’d say happier, but you showed us something. Showed me something. The way you appreciated everything you had—it made me realize how much I take for granted. How much I have to lose.”
The symbiote shifted, its tendrils curling inward like a creature folding into itself. For a moment, something stirred in the alien stillness—a faint sense of ease, maybe nostalgia, maybe even sorrow. It was impossible to read the expression on Vomi’s mask of liquid black, but they could all feel it.
“And when we did that competition at the gun range?” Raven pushed on, voice gaining strength. “You showed me that you could handle things. You. You helped us in gigs, broke Blaze’s guitar—bought us new gear when you didn’t have to. You even helped me deal with the Daggers. You. Not some corpo agenda, not this—” she gestured at the pulsating walls surrounding them, “—this thing. I don’t want to lose you to this, Vomi. I want you back.”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“...We are not yours to lose,” Vomi said after a long pause. Her voice was hesitant, conflicted, heavy with emotions that were impossible to define.
But she was listening.
Cinthia took the opportunity to step in. “You helped my sister,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear gripping her chest. “No one asked you to. You went out of your way to help people without expecting anything in return. There aren’t many people like that—let alone people who survive this long doing it.”
“And even when you joined M-Tech, despite all of us hating corpos,” Nieme added, his tone quieter but no less sincere, “You never stopped being one of us. You still showed up to practice. Still loved the music. Still fought for us. It takes strength to hold onto who you are in this world, but you managed it—even as a corpo.”
The room grew still, the pulsating walls slowing, the tendrils drawing closer to Vomi as if retreating.
Something human flickered within the monstrous being, faint but undeniable.
"Just... just let us help you. Can you do that?" Raven pleaded, carefully lowering her shotgun, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vomi’s tendrils recoiled fully, leaving only the symbiote suit clinging tightly to her body. She sank deeper into the throne, her movements slow, as if the weight of her own exhaustion kept her grounded. "We are so tired... So much pain. So many needs. Uncertainty, greed, rage, death... We don't even know if this world is worth living for anymore. But we tried. We tried to be a part of it."
"…What?" Raven whispered, her voice trembling, struggling to process what she was hearing.
"Our old world?" The symbiote continued, its voice distant yet strangely thoughtful, ignoring Raven’s confusion. "It was dull, sure. But people there didn’t idolize death. They wanted to live with purpose, leave a legacy, build something for their children. They sought knowledge, meaning, salvation."
Vomi's voice grew colder. "This world? They don’t care about what they leave behind. They don't care if they become the very thing they despise. They don’t care about losing their humanity. It’s all about their own desires, their own fulfillment, without regard for the connections they tear apart or ignore along the way."
Cinthia stepped forward, still lost. “What are you talking about?”
Nieme leaned closer to Raven, his voice a whisper. “Use the serum.”
Raven hesitated, carefully picking up the vial, but she waited, her eyes locked on Vomi, as if hoping for her to say more.
Vomi’s glowing eyes shifted toward Raven, her gaze sharp, yet carrying an unmistakable sorrow. "You don’t understand. No one does," she said, her voice quivering, distorted by the symbiote inside her. "We thought we could change things, fix it all. But now, it feels like nothing matters. The more we try to hold on to something real, the more it slips away. It doesn’t matter how much we want to feel human again... This world is broken."
Raven took a step forward, the serum now cold in her hand, its weight pressing against her palm. "Vomi, you're still in there," she said softly, her voice filled with desperation. "I know you are. We just... we want to help. Please, let us help before it's too late."
The tendrils around Vomi shifted, less aggressive now but still coiled protectively, as if responding to some deep instinct. "It is too late," Vomi murmured, lowering her head. "We aren’t who we were anymore. We can't be." She lifted her gaze again, her eyes flickering with something faintly human. "But maybe... maybe you're right. Maybe there's still a part of us that wants to fight. A part that wants to be saved."
Raven’s heart leapt in her chest, hope igniting within her. She stepped closer, holding out the vial of serum. "This can make it stop," she whispered, almost pleading. "Please, Vomi, we can fix this."
Vomi’s eyes flickered from the serum to Raven’s face, her body still, the room pulsing with an unsettling rhythm around them. The symbiote seemed to hum, its presence almost sensing the threat of the cure. For a long, unbearable moment, silence filled the air.
Raven held her breath, her heart pounding, waiting for some sign, some answer.
The symbiote’s voice broke the silence, dripping with disdain. "That thing... it will kill us." It paused, a low growl vibrating in the air. "Who gave this to you?"
Uh oh.
Raven froze, the warning in the symbiote's voice sending a chill down her spine.
Nieme took the serum from Raven's hand, trying to stick it on Vomi's shoulder.
----------------------------------------
A Few Minutes Ago
Ascendant Officer, Badge No. 784
“We’ve tracked the device to its current location,” Officer 784 reported over the comms to his squad.
Their orders, issued by Jinxiu, were clear but precise: "Assist" the group approaching the target, ensuring that the symbiote was either destroyed or secured the moment the serum was used. On paper, it sounded straightforward. In practice, it was a tactical nightmare.
The symbiote was unpredictable, operating with little precedent and no real counter-strategy. It resembled a Cyberpsycho outbreak, but this was something far worse—something they had neither the experience nor comprehensive data to handle. Still, their arsenal and cyberware were designed for extreme scenarios, and Jinxiu wouldn’t have greenlit this operation unless victory was certain.
“Roger that. Allow the group to engage the target first,” the Central Command replied, its tone clipped and professional. “And remember, fire is your failsafe.”
“Understood,” another officer, Badge No. 884, confirmed.
The six-man squad held their position in the corridor just outside the symbiote’s lair. The floor was a grotesque landscape of biomass—roots, tendrils, or some unholy combination of the two, sprawling in every direction. The room pulsed faintly, alive with the symbiote’s energy.
Each soldier was armed to the teeth with explosive rounds and high-impact munitions, more than enough firepower to obliterate even an armored AV. If these weapons couldn’t neutralize the target, nothing would.
Taking up tactical positions, they watched the interaction unfolding before them. The three civilians—the ones reportedly connected to the target—had made contact.
From the way they were talking, it was clear: this wasn’t just a random mission. These people had history with the monster. And judging by the tension in the air, they were about to make their move.
The target spoke, the voice faint, disdainful and maybe sorrowful, “This world? They don’t care about what they leave behind. They don't care if they become the very thing they despise. They don’t care about losing their humanity. It’s all about their own desires, their own fulfillment, without regard for the connections they tear apart or ignore along the way."
“Yeah, because what the world really needs is a philosophical monster,” No. 992 muttered, his tone thick with sarcasm as he observed the scene.
"Enough," 784 snapped, silencing No. 992 with a sharp glance. "Just wait for the serum to be used."
"Roger..." 992 muttered, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t thrilled about the order.
The civilians continued their exchange, spouting melodramatic appeals that the squad had no interest in. Still, their BD recorders kept rolling, capturing every second of the interaction and uploading it in real-time to Ascendant’s servers.
Finally, the apparent leader of the group pulled out the serum, holding it up—directly in front of the symbiote.
"Is she stupid or just plain dumb?" No. 557 asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"This is about to turn ugly, boss," No. 1178 muttered, gripping his weapon tightly. "Permission to engage?"
"Denied," 784 replied instantly, his tone cold and calculating. "Let’s see how this plays out. But take aim. Fire rounds on the ready."
"Yessir," No. 742 said, flipping the safety off his rifle and settling into position.
The symbiote’s voice echoed, dripping with disdain. "That thing... it will kill us." It paused, a low growl vibrating in the air. "Who gave this to you?”
Before anyone could answer, one of the civilians lunged forward, attempting to jab the serum into the symbiote's shoulder.
He didn't make it.
A tendril shot out with lightning speed, slamming him against the ceiling with a sickening crack. His body went limp, dropping like a rag doll to the floor. Whether he was dead or merely unconscious, the squad neither knew nor cared. Their focus was now on shooting the monster. It looks like securing it won't be possible.
----------------------------------------
Raven Lowhental
She stood frozen, inches away from disaster. The tendril had missed her by a hair’s breadth, slamming Nieme against the ceiling before tossing him to the ground like a discarded toy. Raven's breath caught in her throat as she stared at Vomi, who moments ago had seemed weary, conflicted—almost reachable.
Now, all Raven could see was pure rage. Betrayal burned in Vomi’s glowing eyes, and Raven felt the weight of her mistake crushing down on her. She shouldn’t have trusted Graves. Of course, something like this would happen.
“Get down!” Cinthia tackled her, yanking her to the ground just as bullets screamed through the air.
The barrage tore toward Vomi, relentless and precise. Each shot ripped into her, forcing the symbiote to react. Tendrils shot up, forming a protective wall of biomass, but the bullets shredded it with ease. The damage was evident, leaving Vomi no choice but to move. The assault didn’t allow her a moment’s reprieve.
"Who are these gonks?!" Cinthia yelled over the deafening roar of gunfire, ducking for cover. Thankfully, whoever had stormed in wasn't targeting them— yet.
"I don't know!" Raven shouted back, her voice laced with panic as she scrambled to keep her head down.
Vomi—no, the symbiote—shifted from defense to offense in a split second. It moved with unnatural speed, closing the distance between itself and the hit squad with fluid, inhuman grace. Bullets tore through the air, but none hit their mark as Vomi darted along the walls, leaping and weaving through the chaos.
When one officer came within range, a tendril lashed out to ensnare him. But before it could land, another officer's arm gleamed with a sudden burst of crimson light. A red-hot mantis blade, cyberware modified to radiate extreme heat, severed the tendril cleanly.
Without hesitation, the officer pressed forward, closing the gap. The blade gleamed as it pierced straight into Vomi's side, the superheated edge cutting through the biomass with a hiss of searing flesh.
Sandevistan. The thought flickered through Vomi's mind, sharp and bitter amidst the pain.
The others took the opportunity to unload their mags on the symbiote as the officer held Vomi in place.
The others seized the opportunity, their weapons roaring to life as they unloaded entire magazines into the symbiote. Each bullet struck true, tearing into Vomi's form, sending fragments of biomass splattering across the walls and floor.
The officer holding Vomi in place kept his blade buried in her side, the superheated metal hissing against the flesh-like substance of the symbiote. Vomi’s glowing eyes flared with pain and fury, her movements momentarily restrained by the combined assault.
But the symbiote was not so easily subdued.
A surge of biomass erupted from Vomi’s back, forming spiked tendrils that lashed out in every direction. One officer screamed as a spike impaled his chest, throwing him violently across the room. Another was knocked off his feet, his gun skittering across the floor.
"Fall back!" barked 784, the leader of the hit squad. He switched his rifle to incendiary rounds, firing directly into Vomi's chest. The flames ignited on impact, spreading across her torso like wildfire.
Vomi shrieked—not in fear, but in rage. The sound was inhuman, a guttural howl that echoed through the chamber, shaking the very walls. The symbiote pushed back against the pain, tearing the mantis blade from her side and throwing the officer holding it to the ground like a ragdoll.
"You think fire will stop us?!" the distorted, layered voice roared.
The flames licked at her body, but the biomass began to regenerate, the seared flesh peeling away as fresh, writhing tendrils replaced it. Her movements became even more erratic, her form shifting between monstrous and humanoid as she retaliated with overwhelming force.
"Shit!" 1178 cursed, grabbing Nieme's limp body with the hydraulic strength of his Gorilla Arms and hoisting it in front of him as a makeshift shield.
It worked—barely. A massive surge of black biomass crashed into him, obliterating Nieme's body in an explosion of blood and shattered bones.
"No! Nieme!" Raven's scream tore through the chaos, raw with grief and disbelief.
Another friend. Another loss.
Cinthia yanked Raven by the arm, forcing her to move as she dragged her toward the exit. "We need to delta! Now!”
“But—!”, Raven tired to protest, her voice cracking as she stared at what was supposed to be Nieme's corpse.
"No!" Cinthia snapped, her grip tightening. "I'm not losing my sister in this hellhole!”
Then the room was consumed by blinding, burning white.
----------------------------------------
At the PD, Thiago couldn’t sit still. His knees bounced, his foot tapped against the floor in an unrelenting rhythm, a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside him. Ever since Raven and the others left, his mind had been racing. Katie, his little girl, had just found out that three of her father’s friends—people she admired—were dead. And all because of someone she once idolized.
Katie hadn’t said much since the news broke, but the way she sat silently, staring at the floor, was almost worse. Whatever was going on in her head was likely just as chaotic as the storm raging in Thiago’s.
He should be out there with them. Helping. Fighting. Doing something. But then what? What would happen to Katie if he didn’t come back?
The guilt gnawed at him, relentless and sharp. Not guilt over bringing Vomi into the band—he didn’t regret that. But because he was the one who did. He was the one who invited her in with his usual unorthodox charm. And now? Now everything was falling apart.
Thiago pressed his palms against his temples, trying to steady himself, but it didn’t work. He felt paralyzed—torn between staying for Katie or going to help the others.
Pros and cons. Highs and lows.
The mental battle raged on, louder than the tapping of his foot.
“Fuck...” Thiago muttered, lowering his head into his hands.
“Daddy?” Katie’s voice broke the silence, small and hesitant.
“Yes, sweetie?” Thiago turned to her, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tried to appear confident.
He failed.
“Are the others going to… going to…”
Die? Be okay? Come back? She couldn’t finish the sentence, and Thiago couldn’t fill in the blanks.
“I don’t know,” he said softly, shaking his head.
Katie nodded, her young mind grasping that some questions didn’t have answers. “Okay…”
Frank had been sitting with them the entire time, quiet but observant. He watched the father and daughter, feeling a tug in his chest he hadn’t expected. This family was caught in a mess that wasn’t their fault, yet they bore the weight of it with such pain, such raw sorrow. It gnawed at him, stirring thoughts he hadn’t wanted to face.
Maybe Nieme had been right all along.
The Refused—the band, the mismatched group of broken but resilient people—were more than just a band. They were united. To feel this level of concern, this depth of connection for someone else’s wellbeing? That didn’t happen easily. It took time, trust, and effort to build. And now, Frank realized, it would take even greater strength to keep it from falling apart.
He let out a breath, his veteran voice steady but warm. “They’re tough, girl,” he said to Katie. “And they’re smart. They’ve got the gear and the guts to make it through. As long as they stick together and trust each other… they’ll be fine.”
“…Why?” Katie’s voice was small, her eyes searching Frank’s face for something, anything.
“Why what?” Frank replied, trying to be the uncle who could provide some comfort, some sense of stability.
Katie bit her lip, her eyes filling with uncertainty. “Why does it have to be like this? Why does everything feel so broken? Why are they all out there... fighting?”
Frank hesitated, unsure of how to answer in a way that would make sense to her. He looked at Thiago, then back at Katie, seeing the weight in both of their eyes.
“Sometimes... things just get messy, kiddo,” Frank said softly, his tone more reflective than he'd intended. “The world doesn’t always make sense, and the people we care about... they get caught up in things they never asked for.” He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “But you have to trust them. They’re fighting for something bigger than themselves. For the people they care about. For you, even.”
Katie didn’t say anything for a moment, digesting the words. Then, she slowly nodded, though doubt still lingered in her gaze.
“I just want them to be okay,” she whispered.
“I know,” Frank muttered, “I know.” He gave her a small, comforting pat on the shoulder. "But they’re tough. They'll make it through."
“It doesn’t make sense though,” Katie continued, her eyes fixed on her hands, her voice barely above a whisper. “They fight, they change, they... they become things they never should’ve had to. And now they’re trying to fix something that didn’t even need to be broken in the first place.”
Her words hung in the air, unexpected and surprisingly mature for someone so young. It was an insight that hit harder than any of Frank’s attempts to explain it away.
"Keep thinking like that," Thiago said with a wry smile, "You'll end up smarter than the rest of us."
"That isn't funny," Katie frowned, her expression serious. "Adults are weird. They all fall apart once they get old enough. That’s why I’m not becoming one."
"You... can't really stop that, sweetie," Thiago said, unsure how to respond to a child acting like a child—especially after showing such a mature understanding.
"Watch me," she crossed her arms, pouting. "And you better not turn into... something you're not."
Frank chuckled. "Kids, am I right?"
Thiago nodded, though Katie stuck out her tongue at him in response.
Despite the brief distraction, Thiago's mind remained a storm of overthinking, replaying everything from his first meeting with Vomi to yesterday. The guilt of sitting idle, of doing nothing while everything spiraled out of control, weighed heavily on him. His foot tapped the ground again, a reflex driven by his anxiety.
“My family’s out there, dying in that district! Why isn’t anyone doing anything? That’s what the HuscleNet is for! To get shit done!”
The sudden outburst jolted Thiago, though he realized it had probably been happening all along, and he had only now tuned in.
The officer behind the counter raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have enough personnel to—”
“Excuses! I want solutions! How am I supposed to see my family if I just sit here doing nothing?”
Another civilian chimed in, clearly fueled by the same frustration. “Yeah! We need weapons, we need to take this into our own hands! That thing’s gonna kill us if we just sit around waiting!”
Thiago felt the truth in their words, though his mind grappled with the reality of their helplessness. Staying put wasn’t going to solve anything, but what could they possibly do? He couldn’t deny that he felt the same frustration as them. He wanted to act. He just didn’t know how.
"Dad." Katie tugged at his shirt, her voice serious. "You're making that face."
Thiago looked at her, a little puzzled. "What face?"
"The one you made when Mom was at the Ripperdoc," Katie replied, her tone unwavering. "I don't like that face."
Thiago sighed, trying to mask the worry that crept into his features. "I'm just... thinking, sweetie."
Katie frowned, her small hand gripping his shirt tighter. "You always think too much. It makes you sad. And I don't want you to be sad."
He felt a lump form in his throat, her innocence striking him harder than it should. "I know, kiddo. I know." He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping for a moment. "I’m just trying to figure out how to fix things."
Katie stared up at him, her eyes filled with a quiet intensity. "You don’t have to fix everything, Dad. Sometimes... just being there is enough."
“Being there is enough,” Thiago huffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. His own kid, giving him advice.
Though, as much as it stung, it wasn’t bad advice. Sometimes, just being around could ease the tension between people. Maybe one person was down, feeling like crap, and all it took was the quiet presence of someone they trusted. No words needed, just the comfort of shared silence, maybe a beer between them. Sometimes, that was enough.
“Being there is enough...?”, He repeated the phrase in his mind, letting it sink in.
For a moment, it felt like something clicked.
“Yes, Dad.” Katie nodded, raising an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?”
“No, don’t even think about it,” Frank said immediately, catching onto Thiago’s thoughts. “I’m not gonna be responsible for the death of someone today.”
Thiago looked at him, frustration and guilt simmering beneath his calm exterior. “It’s not about that. It’s about being there. I can’t just sit here... I have to do something.”
Frank shook his head, his voice firm but laced with concern. “You’ll only make things worse. You’re not the only one with a stake in this. Katie needs you here, Thiago. Don’t be another thing to lose.”
Thiago opened his mouth to argue but closed it, the weight of his own words holding him back. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, responsibility, or something else entirely, but all he could do was nod slowly.
“Alright,” Thiago muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Wanna come with me, Katie?”
“Where?” she asked, looking up at him curiously.
“Oh, you can’t be serious...” Frank facepalmed, his frustration clear. “This is your solution? Seriously? I can’t let you do this. I won’t allow it.”
“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t asking for permission,” Thiago said, scooping Katie up and settling her on his arm. “No martial law that I know of, so I can go wherever the hell I want.”
Frank opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it with a grimace, as if biting back something he shouldn’t say. “You’ll get yourself killed with the smallest mistake. And you’re bringing your daughter along? Are you insane? Am I talking to a psycho here?”
“Fully ganic,” Thiago flexed his arm in a mock display of strength, as if it proved a point.
“That’s even worse,” Frank shot back, disbelief in his voice. “No protection? How the hell do you expect to survive... that?”
Katie, not missing a beat, looked up at her dad with wide, innocent eyes. “Daddy, where are we going?”
“I'm gonna do what is enough.”