“You can…tell if someone is a mimic…,” Stacy Watt-powers said, forcing the words through gritted teeth. She could feel beads of sweat forming on her brow as she started another stack.

The Washington city soldier’s brows rose as Stacy spoke.

“You also have super speed and strength…” Stacy said, her heart hammering in her ears.

“Oh, wow.” The soldier had been instructed not to interrupt her, but it seemed the young man couldn’t keep his mouth shut as he felt the overwhelming power flowing through him.

“And finally,” Stacy gasped. “If you are about to be consumed by a mimic,” She inhaled a final shuddering breath. “These powers will leave you.”

Stacy’s self-appointed bodyguards, Mick and Mike, caught her as she nearly toppled to the ground.

“Wait, they’ll leave?” the soldier asked, his voice almost petulant. Or maybe that was just the way she saw it, being a jaded septuagenarian.

She could order him to forget it and he would. Her powers had been growing back strong over the last four years, but Stacy had long ago imbued her creations with free will in an attempt to prevent herself from going mad with power and creating a society of puppets.

In that spirit, she preferred to respect her people’s mental autonomy.

“It’s so that if a mimic assimilates you, the copy won’t have super speed and super strength, saving thousands of lives. A firebreak. If you’re not comfortable with that little caveat in exchange for powers, don’t join the Super Division.” Stacy said. “Never forget, Jason: You’re going to be held to a higher standard than your former peers.”

The soldier’s expression turned stoic.

“Yes, ma’am.” He said, snapping a crisp salute.

“Now report to your commander.” Stacy waved dismissively.

The corner of the kid’s mouth turned up, and a moment later, he vanished, his boots leaving burning rubber marks on her floor.

“Every single one of them does that.” Stacy groused wrinkling her nose at the smell. “I should have them wear speedster boots before they arrive.”

Mick helped her to her desk, where she collapsed into her chair, releasing an unladylike sigh.

The seventeen-year-old girl looked absolutely out of place behind the ‘Washington City President For Life’ plaque on her desk. But that never bothered her.

“How many was that today?” Stacy asked.

“An even dozen, Ma’am.” Mike said, pointing to the applicant files on her desk.

Only a dozen people per day? She still had a long way to go before she matched her previous abilities.

Still, it was enough to keep Washington relatively insulated from the Mimic threat. since such a low number of her people had natural powers, the mimics couldn’t steal their abilities to spread like wildfire, and by deploying her own custom-built supers, she was able to keep a solid lid on the spread…but she didn’t have nearly enough spare power for them to extend Washington city’s aid to the outside world.

Soon, it might not even be an option anymore, though. It seemed as though other cities were weathering the mimic flood…poorly, and in the worst-case scenario, the newly assimilated city-states might declare war on Washington to feed their newly monsterized citizens.

Would they even do such large-scale activities as ‘declare war’ or would they devolve into animals and turn on each other…or simply lose their will to spread once there was nowhere else to spread to, and lie dormant, waiting for new meat?

A lot of unanswered questions. Big questions.

Like they said back before The Tide: Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.

Washington City was increasing their contingent of supers by nearly a dozen a day in case the mimics got organized and tried to attack them in force.

Still might not be enough.

Professor Replica was the font of their powers, and while she was below omni-class, someone or something could snuff out their future development simply by killing her.

While it admittedly worked, Franklin city’s Anchor system of government was only as durable as the omni-class super governing the city. And Stacy was particularly squishy.

She pinched her arm in frustration.

Yep, still a seventeen-year-old-girl’s arm. A skinny twig, unable to lift more than a single heavy box. The weirdness of being in a girl’s body never seemed to end, from her voice, to walking and even smells. Everything was weird.

Stacy heaved a sigh.

Every inch the king of an ancient city-state, Stacy slouched in her seat, tapping her fingers against the arms of her chair, considering worst case scenarios.

I suppose if the entirety of Franklin City is consumed, Tom will move over here and take control away from me, seeing as this would be the last part of America that would have any natural born humans? How would I deal with that?

The population of natural humans in Washington was low, but it was there.

I’d probably let him take the city. I’m a scientist, not a politician or a cutthroat ‘businessman’.

Attending meetings and deciding law made her skin crawl like she was being eaten by ants.

No…if the entirety of Franklin City were turned, Tom would glass the place and move on, wouldn’t he? The old man would at least clean up his mess rather than let it spread further.

A tiny, dark portion of Stacy’s mind had an errant thought.

What if they got Tom?

Well, then they’d all be dead, and it wouldn’t be worth thinking about, would it?

In the middle of Stacy’s musing, a pentagon burned itself into her desk.

Stacy let out an undignified squeak and leapt to her feet, Mike and Mick crowding in front of her in the blink of an eye.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Stacy Watt-Powers, we’ve got problems,” a familiar voice spoke.

“Out of the way, lummox,” Stacy said, shoving aside Mick. The behemoth of a man allowed it, stepping aside to reveal a wrinkly old woman. The same one who’d been so eager to provide her ‘assistance’ administering Washington city’s magical population.

Stacy knew power-hungry when she saw it.

The witch in the center of the shimmering pentagonal communication spell was exactly that.

“Whaddya want, witch?” Stacy demanded.

“Solaris has been assimilated,” the ancient con-artist said with such conviction that Stacy almost believed her.

“If that were the case, I would be dead already. Besides, how on Earth could Solaris EVER get taken down by some mimic?

“Same reason the mimic hasn’t killed you. The copy has Alzheimers. It’s wild, confused, and unpredictable, which for the moment, works in our favor, but its mind is going to continue improving as my grandson’s cure works its way through his system. Any second he’s going to remember who you are, and that will be the last second you draw breath.”

“And this is where you sell me something, I assume,” Stacy said, eyes narrowed.

“No, she’s telling the truth,” Paradox said, leaning into the pentagonal frame burned into her desk.

The kid looked…a little worse for wear, to put it mildly.

His hair was patchy, where it’d been burned completely away in multiple places. Where he still had hair, it was caked in blood. His clothes, while they still clung to his body, were matted with blood and had several large tears and burns around vital organs, with several chunks cleanly burned off around his limbs…as if he’d tried to catch a laser with his bare hands.

Which…maybe he had.

“What the hell happened to you?” Stacy demanded.

“Well…”

****

Est. Time until Essence runs Dry: 36 seconds.

35…

34…

The timer had changed from minutes to seconds, counting down the seconds before Perry would become unable to sustain his enchantments.

Once he ran out of Essence to fuel Paradox’s Etheral Dodge and Second Blade enchantments, Perry was going to start taking damage.

And that was the beginning of the end.

If I could just get her to run away…

“You’re buying time. What for?” Momimic asked, flickering in and out, fighting defensively and using her superior numbers to prevent Perry from overwhelming her with sheer speed and stregnth.

“I’m consider how I’ll keep you contained, once I catch you,” Perry said, cocking his head as if he was in thought. His lung had already healed over, but since it was natural healing, there was a scar and some lingering stiffness in his arm.

I’ll have to fix that later. Assuming I live.

“Catch me? Really?”

“I need a more powerful specimen to run certain experiments on, and you are a prime candidate.”

26 Seconds remaining.

“I’m sure,” Momimic said with a feral grin, pressing him from all sides.

Perry easily dodged, but the clock was ticking.

“Solaris said some interesting things I’d like to dig into. You’ve got The System too, don’t you?” Perry hazarded. “Some kind of cybernetics Tinker class, since it’s hardwired to only offer Tinker subtypes. I assume the same class is shared among all of the offshoots, tracing all the way back to the Prime, who chose it originally, all those years ago.”

Momimic’s eye twitched slightly before she redoubled her attacks, which slipped off and around Perry’s protection like so much smoke.

20 Seconds remaining.

“The hive-mind…the signal he mentioned. Is it inherent to mimics in general, or do you have something installed in your brain that keeps you all on the same page? Something I can trace?” Perry asked with a shrug. “I’m sure when I peel you open, I’ll find out for myself. Now that I know what I’m looking for.”

15 seconds remaining.

Perry guided the battle towards the bed, then grabbed the blanket and whipped it forward, modifying it with Spendthrift as he did so.

The threads of the blanket lost their friction with each other momentarily, exploding outward in a dense web of tiny strands.

All six copy’s eyes widened as they scattered. Perry saw that one of them was going to land outside the range of his imprompteu net and lunged forward, kicking her wrist up and backward while she was distracted, causing her to nick herself with her own cursed blade.

The copy unraveled as the net enveloped the remaining Momimics.

Three of them shoved a fourth away, taking the brunt of the Paradoxed tangling threads themselves.

The survivor desperately hacked the threads away from their ankle as the other copies dissolved, their essence returning to the last remaining survivor.

She leapt to her feet as Perry approached.

5 seconds remaining.

“Trust me this is going to be a lot less painful if you don’t struggle,” Perry said, plunging Lung-piercer through the Momimic’s leg.

“AH!” hearing his mother shriek in pain…sucked.

Run away. Run away already! Perry mentally shouted at the top of his lungs.

If the Momimic tried to portal out, Perry could steal the Essence and make his own getaway. He wasn’t sure if Mom had known he could do that, but it was the best option he could think of at the moment.

Perry moved forward as if to capture the last remaining copy, and for a moment, the bluff seemed like it was going to work. The pale mimic flinched backwards and took several defensive steps backward, her eyes looking for escape routes.

The glowing red light in Lung Piercer guttered out like a candle in the wind. Space wriggled around him as his hitbox returned to normal size.

Essence depleted.

The mimic’s gaze landed on the now non-magical blade, then back up to his face.

“Damnit,” Perry cursed, dancing backward as the mimic swept her rapier in a wide stroke, aiming to nick him.

Now that it was nonmagical, his sword was once again unable to interact with the ghostly rapier in the mimic’s hand. All she had to do was inflict a single nick, no bigger than a scraped knuckle, and he would be doomed.

Or so she believed.

In the handful of seconds that she pressed her advantage, enough essence was restored to re-ignite his blade for the barest fraction of an instant.

Perry whipped his blade up and clashed it against the mimic’s, flaring the scraping of Essence in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, making the Lung Piercer magical for the barest instant just as the blades touched.

The force of his blow was transmitted straight into the mimic’s arm and send the sword wheeling away from him while he stepped in and slammed a strike through her chest.

Naturally it was only an inconvenience, but it must’ve made her think twice about assuming he was defenceless.

Momimic staggered backwards, her wound sealing at an unnatural rate, but at least the moment spent healing would allow him time to recover and plan his next step.

He really didn’t want to kill her.

Perry itched his chest, his fingertips coming into contact with charred carbon rather than skin, just above his heart.

“You were right about the cybernetics,” Momimic said, returning to her stance, a laser lens glittering in the bunker’s dim lighting, studded just above her clavicle.

Shit.

She cocked her head.

“That should’ve gone all the way through. You’ve got the consistency of Orihalcum, young man. What a terrifying monster Darryl and I created.”

“Thank God for that,” Perry said.

The lens…a seemingly inanimate object…grew larger.

“Nothing a little more firepower can’t handle.”

Okay…I think I might have to kill her. Perry mused.

…If I even can anymore.

Perry drew his left hand forward in front of hit vitals, modifying the air to make it reflect light, causing Momimic’s follow-up blast to partially reflect, burning them both.

Perry staggered back, hissing in pain as his burned left arm itched like mad.

The Mimic was already in the air, and Perry changed the reactivity of his steel sword, plunging the blade into the monster’s center, where the steel reacted violently with the oxygen in it’s blood.

The sword burst into flame as it began burning inside her.

The mimic ignored it, flattening into a netlike shape. In a bit of turnabout, tendrils splayed out in every direction and wrapped around Perry, trapping him like he’d done to her before.

“Checkmate, Sweetheart,” Mom’s voice whispered in his ear, punctuated by bubbling noises as the Paradoxed blade in her chest hissed and spat. Meanwhile, he felt teeth form against his skin.

Like hell, Perry thought, eyes narrowing as he began using Spendthrift to modify the oxygen molecules around him, making them lethally energetic.

Areosolize.

A tiny bottle of chlorine trifluoride appeared in his hand, which was pinned down against his side.

The whole room was now a bomb that none of them would walk away from.

“If you back off now, I won’t kill us both,” Perry gritted.

“Sadly, your value off the board is greater than mine,” she said. “Do it. Put us out of our misery.”

The teeth tightened around Perry, pressing against his System-enhanced flesh, seeking to chew through him like a particularly tough piece of jerky.

Perry’s finger tightened against the cap. A little spritz would explode, rupturing the bottle, detonating the contents, which would light the entire bunker up like the fourth of July…

“Wretched abomination!”

A blast of complex essences seemed to peel the mimic off him and fling her away with masterful control.

Ah, damnit. This is only slightly better than death.

Perry glanced up from where he lay and spotted a portal with his grandmother in the center.

“And here I thought you didn’t need my help?” Gramma asked haughtily.

Perry’s finger tightened on the suicide button.