The parasite wearing Simon Fairwellow's body knocked on Sarah's front door at eight a.m. He was tired. Tense. A more casual observer might have missed the dark rings hiding beneath his eyes, given the way they blended in with his complexion; however, Sarah had known the artist for over five years, and their presence was a major red flag.

"Morning," Simon greeted her as rainwater dripped from his coat. "You mind if I come in? We need to talk."

His words were curt and distracted, like something was weighing on his mind. Sarah got the impression that he was attempting to be his usual disarming self, yet his intonation held an edge of insistence that sent a jolt of panic racing down her spine. "Now's not a good time," she told him nervously, her smile feeling more like a grimace. "I have to finish a report for my supervisor, or he's going to dock my pay. How about tomorrow? Sometime in the afternoon, maybe?"

Simon planted his foot against the door before Sarah could lock him out. A faint hum began to build in the early, September air. "It's important," he insisted as the warble shrunk and surged. "You know I wouldn't be here if it wasn't."

Simon leaned through the threshold. The harsh buzz shifted in pitch until it almost synchronized with his lips. "Don't make me stand in the hallway like an asshole. Half the building must be listening in."

Behind him, one of Sarah's neighbors pulled her daughter along as the two of them headed towards the stairs. The woman was distracted by both her phone and her charge; however, she still had enough presence of mind to avoid eye-contact while she tried to disguise her blush. Her daughter was less discerning; the silent pre-teen stared pointedly at their on-going argument until her mother chivvied her along.

"...They way I figure it, we can do this one of two ways," Simon continued, once the pair were out of earshot. "Either you let me in, so we can talk about this like civilized people, or I'll go get a camera and we can reenact an episode of Cops. It's your choice."

Sarah stared at the obdurate parasite before swearing beneath her breath. "...Fine. Fine. But I want you to know that I don't appreciate being railroaded." She stepped aside to let him in and then scowled at the footprints he left on her white tile floor. "And wipe your feet: this isn't a barn."

Simon silently ground his soles against her rubber welcome mat until the mud slid off his boots in large, dime-sized chunks. "Is this good enough for you?"

Sarah just scowled in reply. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and twirled her fingers through the air. "Come on, get to the point. Why are you here? If you keep screaming in my ear, you're going to shake my fillings loose."

The buzz cut out as Simon killed the broadcast. There was still a faint echo to mark the parasite's presence; however, it was much more muted than his previous atonal screeching. The absence was actually such a relief that Sarah relaxed her grip on her host.

She quickly resecured her coils with a shiver of subdued disgust. If Simon noticed the lapse, he chose not to comment on it as he took a seat at the kitchen table. "Kennedy's called a meeting," he told her while his fingers picked through a decorative bowl of fruit. "I wish I could say that attendance is mandatory, but it's more like a strongly-worded suggestion. Do you want to take a guess at what the topic of conversation is going to be?"

Sarah glowered. "The Light of the World," she said before pulling up the transparent pane. "Specifically, the Network's recent arrival."

"More like our orders from the Offal Sea." Simon flicked the stem of a green banana with a semi-disgusted scoff. "How about it, Fields? You ready to blow up a power plant? Maybe knife a politician or two?"

Sarah's frown deepened. She tucked a lock of golden blonde hair back behind her ear.

"Yeah," Simon commiserated bitterly. "Me neither."

"It is what it is," Sarah muttered, her support half-hearted at best. "What does Kennedy have to say about it?" She walked around the granite countertop and took a seat across from her guest.

The dark-haired parasite shrugged despondently. "No clue. He's been here longer than either of us, though: I can't imagine he's eager to get his kids killed."

Against her will, Sarah did the math in her head. She'd been living on Earth for over twenty years - twenty-five of which were in her current host. She'd been inserted during the Second Phase, after the scouts had delivered their report, and Kennedy's cadre had preceded hers, with all the messiness that entailed. Depending on when he'd been deployed, he could have been here for nearly four decades. It was certainly long enough to get attached.

Sarah glanced at the picture of her grandmother hanging from the wall. The old woman was smiling as she applauded Sarah's high school graduation. "What about you?" Sarah asked him before turning away from the photo. "Where do you stand?"

Simon pursed his lips. "Talia maxed out my credit card two weeks after some jackoff totaled my Kia. With that being said? I'd rather take this planet than leave it." He ran a long-fingered hand through his curly hair. "Listen, I'm not asking you to wave a banner proclaiming your new allegiance, but at least let the man know he's not pissing into the wind. Show up for the meeting. Hear what he has to say. If worst comes to worst, we can always give the new-blood shit."

Sarah's lips twisted into a sour grimace. "No, I hate those kids - every time they open their mouth, I feel like I should shoot one of them in the head. I'll go, but I refuse to let this turn into some sort of maladjusted, social affair." She tapped her fingers against the table. "What time is this bullshit even scheduled for?"

"Four p.m." Simon replied. "It'd be earlier, but I need to pick up Fiona, since her father isn't read in. The other rugrats are making their own way."

That was probably for the best; Massachusetts was getting better about racially profiling drivers, but Simon could run into trouble if he was seen with a bunch of minors in his car. Especially, if none of them were his. "Have fun with that," she jeered sarcastically.

"Oh yeah, loads. You hear Fiona got herself shot?" Sarah shook her head. "Apparently, she put one in her leg while she was down at the range. Accidental discharge. I nearly shit myself when Amanda told me about it. I thought I was going to have to sneak into the hospital and doctor her medical records, maybe help her find a new host."

Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I need a drink." She stood up and walked towards the fridge. "Do you want water or wine?"

Simon glanced at the clock above the sink before deciding that he didn't give a damn about the early hour. "Wine, it's been the right sort of week for it."

Sarah grabbed two mugs from the lower cabinet and shut the door with her hip. Simon snagged the bottle out of her hand before removing the cork with his teeth.

"Don't you dare spit that on my floor," Sarah warned him, once her ears had stopped ringing from the pop. "It's bad enough I'll have to get the mop."

Simon set the wine-stained plug on top of her table with exaggerated care. "You're worse than the Dominionists. You know this cushy apartment isn't going to last, right? Even if we tell the Offal Sea where to shove it, it's just going to get wrecked in the fighting."

"Maybe," Sarah agreed mulishly. "In the meantime, at least my floor will be clean." She watched the bottle drain into her cup with a frustrated gaze. After the liquid hit the rim, she traded her glass for Simon's. "Any word on whether the other Networks have arrived, yet?"

Simon wriggled his hand back and forth. "I haven't gotten their interfaces to display, but there's been a couple of signs. I figure, it's just a matter of time. The second the Light of the World punched through, the others were fated to follow. Like murderous ducklings. ...Or maybe fucking sharks."

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Sarah glanced at the still open window.

[Warspawn Infiltrator 269733c] [Level 1]

[Initialization Pending...]

She closed it with a careless gesture. "Fuck, this is a depressing conversation: let's talk about something else." The blonde hunted for a less soul-crushing topic and latched onto the first thing which came to mind "How's college been treating you? Are you still painting?"

The parasite winced and accepted his mug when Sarah slid the handle towards his hand. "I can't say I've had the time," he confessed while a flicker of pain swam through his dark green eyes. "I was working on a landscape for a month or two, but life got in the way. It's a shame too - it was turning out rather nice."

Sarah raised her eyebrows in vague interest, so Simon continued. "There's an observatory at the edge of the harbor, which has a pretty good view of the sea. At night, you can pitch the telescope down and see the horizon hovering above the waves. It makes me want to go parasailing. I was trying to capture the essence of that feeling, so I could display it permanently on canvass."

Sarah stared into the depths of her cup. "You talk about it like you can't just pick up a brush."

"The stars have moved," Simon grumbled. "I'd need new reference material. Besides, nobody wants to pay for art when they can just get it for free off pixiv."

The complaint was an old refrain and one Simon had harped about often. "You should still make the attempt," Sarah insisted, her voice steady, despite the hypocrisy curdling in her gut. "Weren't you collaborating with that one girl? Cindy or something?"

Simon shook his head. "She dropped out of class. She said she wanted to have more time to take commissions. Unless I start working with the Red Library, her current projects aren't anything it'd be worth signing onto."

"Too explicit?" Sarah asked him dryly.

"More like they're not worth the hassle. Even though everyone's got a friend who draws porn, you develop a certain reputation if you're open about it. I'm sure you know what I mean."

Sarah did. She still got angry texts from Cook after the parasite's complaints to HR had gone through. Ostensibly, corporate had welcomed her back and had acknowledged her concerns; however, not everyone had been so sanguine about giving Huffman the axe. Most of her co-workers hadn't been so crass as to say anything to her face. She knew his harassment had become the talk of the office, though. After a week or two, the gossip had gotten so bad that she'd applied for her severance and gone hunting for a new job.

"Do you regret it?" Simon asked her as Sarah picked at the sleeve of her blouse. "You used to be pretty aggressive about climbing the corporate ladder. I thought you were aiming for management."

"I was young," Sarah explained wearily. "I had this idea that if I was well positioned, the folks back home would cut me some slack when the invasion kicked off. It was all a crock of shit, though. We both know they'd use me up and then leave my corpse to rot. They've gamed the system to the point where there's no real way to opt out and a lot of excuses to buy in. I think I've just resigned myself to making the best of things. Eventually, it'll be back to the grind and doing fucked up shit for worse reasons."

Simon gave her a level look. "If you ask me, that sounds like something you should discuss with Kennedy."

"Yeah, maybe," Sarah agreed blandly. Unfortunately, she didn't see the point. There wasn't a magic bullet that could nip their problems in the bud. Even if there was, the nobility would spoil her happy ending out of spite. As for the locals... well, the less said about them the better.

"I should get going," Simon mused as he stared at his empty glass. "Promise me you'll at least consider it?"

Sarah blinked and then scowled at her tablemate. "I already said I'd go."

"Sure," the parasite agreed, "but I want you to actually listen to him. Don't do that thing where you freeze up so you can dodge an awkward conversation."

Sarah clicked her tongue. "Get out of my house, Simon."

"Alright, alright. I'm going." The dark-haired artist rose from his chair and headed for the hall. "It was good to see you, though, Fields. Seriously."

Sarah couldn't stop staring at his back. "Sure," she nodded woodenly. "Same, I suppose."

His footsteps trailed away until the front door closed with a bang. Sarah felt like echoing the sound with her head. Instead, she set their cups down in the sink, so she could avoid the temptation to throw them at her wall. While she ran the water to do the dirty dishes, she pulled up the Light's interface with her free hand. The pale glow of her old designation cast a blurry reflection across the right side of her face. She hated seeing the numbers there; she loathed the impersonal reminder. If the Network had called her Sarah, or even Fields, she might have been tempted to accept its offer; doing it beneath her old name, though, was too bitter to contemplate. "I'm not interested," she told the Light. "I'm not."

The Network didn't answer. Unlike the rest of its species, the Light could be recalcitrant like that. Sarah turned the water off and stubbornly glared at the pane. Finally, after a minute of scrutiny, it acquiesced and displayed the correct text. Sarah bit the inside of her cheek. There was a part of her that wanted to say, 'too little - too late,' but the Network could be vindictive. At the very least, she should let it finish initializing, so it didn't change its mind.

There was a faint beep as the Light acknowledged her consent. Then, thin traceries of mana began to dance through the sticky air. Sarah shivered; if she hadn't been protected by the natural resilience of her host, the spell's backscatter might have charred her to a crisp. As it was, her fins were becoming uncomfortably warm from the diffuse particles penetrating her skin.

The Light ignored her growing concern. Delicate arrays spun into place and took a brief snapshot of her body. Eventually, the Network decided it was satisfied with the baseline it had established and informed her that its 'calibrations' were complete. [Initialize Tutorial?], it asked her with a chime. Sarah clicked the box labeled, [No]. She was familiar with the menu's layout, since the Light used the same GUI as its peers. Instead, she silently tabbed over to the [Tasks] section and set her filters to [All]. A collection of assignments filled the screen.

[Find a Mana Field], the first one read. The second told her to [Increase your passive intake to .065 mn/min]. Most of these messages were designed to teach the natives how to cultivate the Light's natural energy. If you were born on this planet, and trying to muddle through, these guidelines would lead you by the nose until you finally got the hang of things. Afterwards, they'd pull back and give you room to run; however, compared to the other Networks, the Light was a bit cloying. Sarah figured it was a side-effect of losing its war with the Offal Sea. If heuristic processes were sufficient then it wouldn't have been forced to flee from a dozen worlds. Whether or not that made its hovering successful was harder to say, but Sarah was inclined to guess no. In any event, it also wasn't her problem, so she set the matter aside while she tabbed down to the regional objectives.

Here, local contributions were displayed in a comprehensive breakdown as the natives strived for milestones. The most active one on the list seemed to be related to the coastal mana level. Sarah wanted access to the bounties. It took her a minute to find them, since there wasn't much competitive churn without the other Networks to play off of.

[Contract - Elimination], the stream of azure light announced. [Target: Charlie Hartman, aka 'ReligiousMike08' aka @portlandfaithworks]. [Reward: 17.839 mn/ 10 min, purity - > 0.975/1, attunement - TBD].

The name wasn't familiar. Sarah opened up chrome and did a quick google search. After clicking on the second link, she found herself browsing a webpage for some religious congregation out west. Apparently, the leader had a twitter account full of the usual, self-righteous garbage. His most recent screed was focused on the Light and how it was here to corrupt their souls. A more moderate individual might have blocked the man. The Network had decided to address the accusations by putting a price on his head. That hadn't shut him up, but Sarah figured it was only a matter of time. The important thing was that none of her cohort were up there beside him. They shouldn't be; the Light rarely targeted individual warspawn for removal, but it was hard not to harbor doubts.

Sarah eyed the window and then closed it with a wave of her hand. Such were the trials of those caught up in the current conflict. The only thing going for her was the immense size of the front. The Light probably didn't care about a couple of conscripts in a newly initialized world. Not, if they played along like High Command had ordered. 'Social camouflage,' her superiors had called it. So long as their hosts contributed to the Light's agenda, it was unlikely to pick a fight. The Network wouldn't be happy about its adherents killing each other, but the nobility had encouraged enough skullduggery on Lexifer that they were confident they knew where the line lay. Their operations just had to look personal - like they were targeting native factions.

Speaking of which, Sarah checked the clock. Only a couple of hours to go. She should probably get ready for the meeting.