3.11

“I’ve discovered how my power works — what it asks of me, in return. At first I thought it to be… logical, specific. I know some supers dabble in technological aesthetics, it didn’t seem like a reach.

If only I should be so lucky.”

— Vincent Hall, Encoded Notebook; Section 2, page 12

“I told Sarah you were gonna play a gig.”

I look up from the sidewalk, giving Ava my most unimpressed stare. She is unfazed, as always.

“Why?” I clarify, when no answer seems forthcoming.

She takes a drag of her cigarette. “She asked. Said she can sing, too.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah. Up for it?”

“If this is some kind of pity play I’m gonna eat you and then spit you up in an alley.”

Ava rolls her eyes. “No you won’t. You’d fuck up your hair.”

I scowl, even as she lets out a dry chuckle.

“…Are you sure this is a good idea?” I mumble. The crisp evening air weaves through nearby buildings.

“No.”

I huff.

“Nothing’s ever sure.” She eyes me. “Doesn’t mean you should stop. Go get on stage with your friends, have some fun. Might even earn a friendlier reputation, that way.”

I squint at her. “Friendlier?”

“You know what they’re calling you, out here?” She asks, smirking. “The Doctor. Ominous, right? You roll in, miraculously heal their wounds, and storm out. Not exactly typical bedside manner.”

“What am I supposed to do, stick around and tell them all about how their condition’s gonna degenerate in a week if they don’t magically acquire a better standard of living?”

She shrugs. “It’d save me the trouble.”

Oh. Abruptly, the tension drains, and I sigh. “…You’ve been doing that instead of me.”

“Yeah.”

“…Do you think I should be doing more?”

“I’m not in a place to dictate how much anyone should be doing. You’re already past the bare minimum. I’m not gonna fault you for being imperfect,” she says, tilting her head.

I frown. “That’s not a no.”

“…Everyone should be doing more. It’s just… not always reasonable to ask of someone.” Ava sighs. “Don’t push yourself. You’re a kid. We can talk more after your gig.”

She grins. “Which I will be going to, by the way. Break a leg, or whatever.”

I roll my eyes, hauling myself to my feet. “I won’t be doing that. Try not to be embarrassing.”

Ava laughs. “No promises.”

—

The guitar case is heavy against my back as I trudge into the bar. It’s a bit of a seedy place, right on the edge of downtown and the commercial district; close enough to attract some higher-paying customers, but not close enough to have to start paying fees.

Or so I’ve been told by Chloe, who is currently nowhere to be seen. Maybe she’s backstage or something. Still, it’s not difficult to spot Sarah and Ava chatting with a guy in possibly the rattiest band shirt I’ve seen in my life, at a table near the… playing area.

It’s not exactly a stage, but the amps are set up to the sides, and there are a couple microphones stashed haphazardly nearby.

I set myself cautiously in a chair and set the case down beside me.

“Come on,” Sarah’s saying, seemingly trying to whittle the guy down for something. “It’ll be fun! When’s the last time we played together. It was like, a year ago now?”

“I have barely touched a drumstick in that amount of time,” he mutters.

Sarah bumps his shoulder. “You’ll remember once you’re in front of one, I’m sure.” She turns a little, and notices me.

“Oh! Claire! You’re finally here!”

“I’m an hour early…?” I point out. Ava snorts, rolls her eyes and takes a sip of a small glass she’s nursing.

“Ah.” She seems chastised. “I — me and a couple friends used to play here, and we’d always show up early ‘cuz no-one wanted to help us set up. But, well. Guess we got pretty good at it, since we’re already done!”

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I glance over. The setup seems about as good as it’s going to get, to be honest. “Cool. Who’s this?” I ask, gesturing at the other guy.

He ducks his head. “Oh, this is Garrett! He drums, so I figured we could bring him on for the night.

Garrett nods. “H — hi.”

He… seems harmless. I stick out my fist, more than a little hesitantly. “Nice t’ meet you.”

He bumps it. Cool.

“So, uh,” I start, trying to find a way to move the conversation forward. “Wanna do a warm-up or something?”

Ava makes a noise. “Got someone for you, before you do.”

I blink. “Sure. Where?”

She nods, taking another sip from her drink. “Got a couple, actually. One near the back, blonde guy, table five. Next is, uh.” She pulls her phone from her pocket, and squints at it. “Girl at table two, wearing… a collar?”

I lean back in my chair, gaze sweeping the bar. It’s not exactly empty, but it’s not packed enough for me to have any difficulty finding both patients.

“Alright,” I mutter. “Be right back.”

I stand and turn to head over to table five, tossing a quick “watch my guitar for me,” over my shoulder as I go.

The first guy’s easy. I slide into the seat next to him with little fanfare, and he seems to recognize me as soon as he looks over. His eyes widen, and he jerks back a little.

“You — you’re…?”

I nod. “Yeah. Do you consent to a full-body modification? Any pre-existing conditions I should know about?”

He settles. “N — no. Just get it over with.”

I nod, again, taking his hand and slipping a small needle beneath his skin using my power. I can feel him tense, but thankfully he doesn’t move beyond that.

It doesn’t go quicker, exactly, but it’s getting easier with practice. It doesn’t take longer than a minute for me to go through the full checkup, and extract the needle.

The guy sighs, shaking his arm out a little, and gives me a look. I’m not quite sure what it’s supposed to mean.

“…Thanks,” he tells me, standing from the stable and leaving the seedy little bar.

I’m… not stunned. But I stay at my seat for a little, just to make sure I have my bearings.

He thanked me? I don’t…

I decide not to go down that train of thought. It’s not hard to find the other patient, and thankfully this one is less nervous. I slide into the seat next to her while her friends are distracted, and she seems fairly adept at avoiding attention, so even while I sit next to her and stare out into space for a full sixty seconds, no one bothers me until I finish the procedure.

She doesn’t thank me. I don’t stick around to let her. Before the warm-up, assuming we’re even doing one — and isn’t that just a disaster waiting to happen — I head over to the bathrooms. They’re single-stall, thankfully, and I’m able to slip inside and lock the door behind me. I give it a wiggle, just to make sure the lock is secure.

I sigh, turning to the sink and twisting the knob. Cold water splashes across my hands as I dip them below the porcelain, cupping a small amount of slightly misty liquid.

I grimace, but figure I can clear any diseases I might catch from grimy bar-water, and splash my face.

The chill is a welcome shock. I lower my head, resting my hands on either side of the sink and watching water slowly drip down my chin.

I look up.

—

I don’t think it’s so bad, actually. It means you’re passionate! Driven! A lot of people sort of forget, y’know?

It’s so easy to stop caring — things happen every week, it feels like. Why should anyone care about something that doesn’t concern them? The whole city is struggling. No one has the time to care.

And… you do it anyway. You care. Maybe too much, sometimes, but…

I think that’s better than not at all, don’t you?

—

My grip tightens on the sink edges — the glossy white cracks under my grip. My eyes are wide in the mirror, irises visibly twitching, and I can see my composure shattering in real-time.

I didn’t realize… I looked so much like her.

I’d crafted this body on a whim, assuming I’d be thrown in jail for the rest of my life — I’d been prepared to throw away everything, and I wanted —

I don’t really know what I wanted. I still don’t. Why… do I look like her?

I lean closer. If my hair was a little shorter, my eyes less piercing, my coloration not so blindingly white…

The mirror shatters. I blink, and my fist is embedded deep into fractured glass, covered in surface-level abrasions. I carefully remove it, trying to avoid the glass shards that detatch and clatter to the floor, ignoring the tremors that seem to shoot through my entire body.

I bow my head. I take a breath. Can’t fall apart now, I have to keep it together, just a little —

Keep it together. Another breath.

I take a moment to seal my bloody fist, and surreptitiously rinse off the blood under grimy bar water.

The bar hasn’t changed by the time I return, pushing the door open with one hand and shielding my eyes with the other, but it feels louder, somehow. Maybe it’s becoming busier, as we get closer to nighttime?

I shake it off, and head back to Ava’s table. Sarah and the other guy — Gavin? Gareth? — stand off to the side, messing with some of the equipment.

I slide into the chair next to Ava. “So. No warmup?” Chloe wasn’t super specific about when we’d be starting, and I still haven’t seen her around, but it’s getting later. The concrete outside is beginning to shine that distinct orange that it does towards sunset.

She shakes her head. “Think of the whole thing as practice, kid.” Her cheeks retain a slight flush, and I’m pretty sure she’s at least a little drunk.

I shrug. “Sure.” Glancing around, the bar is definitely more crowded than it was before I left the bathroom.

“Claire! Come on, let’s get your guitar set up!” Sarah calls out, waving me over.

I grab the case, thankfully still where I left it, and wander over to their little area.

Sarah’s pretty good with tech stuff, I learn. She’s obviously done this before, a lot, apparently, and she seems excited to be on-stage again. She talks about the set-up process in much more detail than is really necessary, and her enthusiasm brings a slight smile to my face. I make it a point to engage, ask questions, even when Guy — that’s not his name, but I totally forgot what it is — shoots me exasperated looks over his drum set.

We finally get set up, and start testing the equipment. The bar’s pretty loud at this point, and it’s not like anyone decides to quiet down at the couple experimental riffs I jam out, but I get a couple whoops from nearby tables, and Geoff — really, what is his name, it’s kind of embarassing at this point — interjects with some well-timed percussion, which ends up being kind of fun.

Before long, the warm-up starts to transition into a weird, sort-of jam session, and when I look up to see Chloe leaning against a table nearby I can feel a ridiculous grin stretching across my face.

She smiles back, and —

Every day since I left the USMC headquarters, it’s felt like the world is ending — crumbling under my feet with every step. But — sitting on this shitty stool in a dirty bar at the edge of town, playing nothing with some acquaintances I met last week —

It’s nice. For once, nothing is collapsing.

And then, a man steps from the crowd, wearing a patchwork coat and mask, and pulls out a gun.