The NGG is changing, James. I don’t recognize it anymore. They’re treating me like their weapon…

Vincent and Lucia didn’t stick around for much of ‘The Prophet’s’ speech. Vincent heard enough to confirm what he expected: Marco was taking advantage of the following Veridicus had built to form his own resistance. He was even using much of the same rhetoric to bring people to their cause. Lucia’s rhetoric, which understandably irritated her.

Jeffrey hadn’t taken the revelation of the Prophet’s true identity well. Evidently the Cult had kept the secret from the rank and file for years, allowing rumors and mystery to build up–possibly for this very day. He’d doubted at first, then asked questions to which he didn’t believe the answers. Finally he couldn’t deny that the truth seemed obvious in retrospect, and he wandered off, needing to be alone.

Vincent and Lucia had likewise retreated from the rest of the mansion soon after. They were exhausted, and upon acquiring a cot and some extra sheets from a supply closet, they’d retreated to Lucia’s room, shut the curtains, and let sleep take them.

***

They awoke in the evening once more, their body rhythms making it feel like morning. Lucia brought them dinner for breakfast, and they spent the next couple of hours talking once again. The topics didn’t stray far from Marco’s actions. Not just the night of the attack, but what he might have planned now, and how Lucia might be involved with those plans.

“Why else would he have allowed me to come here, if not to use me somehow?” Lucia asked while struggling to keep crumbs out of her bed.

“There are reasons,” Vincent answered, leaning back in his chair. “But nothing I can think makes more sense. Unless…not really my area.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“If he’s really our Uncle, he could feel guilt, or love, or both. You tell me.”

Lucia paused, a hand on her chin as she considered that. “He assumed I knew him–remembered him even–so he wouldn’t have believed he could just bring me here and not say anything.”

“He also looks a great deal like our father. Even if he thought you didn’t remember him, he had to suspect you’d make a connection.”

“Right. That means whatever he was planning either took into account that I’d know him, or didn’t consider it an issue. Maybe he wanted to use my connection to mom for credibility?”

“Possibly, but he clearly wants the Prophet's identity for himself. Mentioning mother would only muddy the waters.”

“Damn it! I’m just pissed. I’m looking for a reason to be angrier. If he ratted mom out to the NGG, then he’s at least partially responsible for everything that happened that night. To the people we lived with…to dad.”

Vincent didn’t respond. He may not have a good idea of what to say when someone needed emotional support, but trial and error had provided a reasonable framework for what didn’t work. Most of what he had to say fell into that category.

Finally Lucia spoke again, surprising him. “Let’s break into the vault.”

“Is that a joke I don’t understand?” he asked.

“I’m serious. The only reason not to was because of the respect and trust I had for this place. That’s been spit on. Marco may as well have gotten both our parents killed, and I’ve been living down the hall from him for months. Even feeling sorry for him.”

“You want to break into the vault as revenge?” Vincent asked.

“No…Yes, but not just that. I believe in you a hell of a lot more than I believe in him. I don’t know what that stupid device does, but I know that you’re genuine about wanting to bring down the NGG. And I haven’t forgotten the Farm, Vincent. Or the thousands of kids on Farms just like it all over the world.”

“Are you sure? The piece of the weapon may not even be there, and there’s likely no going back from this. I doubt there’s a turn-key lock…we’ll need to break our way in–not disguising that.”

“Like you said, the longer we wait, the more prepared they’re likely to be. You won’t be able to stay here forever, not while hiding your true intentions,” she said.

Vincent tapped his lip, thinking. “There’s a lot of risks and unknowns here. Imagine, for instance, that we do find the weapon component in there. How do we escape with it?”

Lucia considered, seeming to enjoy being part of another plan. “There’s a van out back. Going into town to pick up supplies is a chore they leave to the new initiates. I’ve done it before–Jeffrey even taught me to drive.” She stopped, her eyebrows dropping in frustration, “I don’t know what to do if we’re attacked though. I don’t want to fight these people, and you’re extremely at risk.”

“I’d just use the Relic,” Vincent said.

“Are you crazy? You’d actually be willing to use that thing again? Did you forget what it did to you?”

“Not at all. Knowing the cost doesn’t scare me, it just helps me understand when it’s a price worth paying. Besides, using it for an hour isn’t the same as days, and you’ll be with me.”

Lucia grumbled, clearly recognizing her brother’s stubborn side at play. “So we ‘worst case scenario’ this thing. If we either can’t get into the vault, or don’t find the thingie, we just make a break for it. Not the most valuable reason to have burned this bridge, but we’d be going in with open eyes.”

Vincent picked up the thread. “The alternative being that we do find the component. It’s large, but my Apparitions could lift it. I won’t be able to use my powers defensively, however, if they’re doing so. I’m not Reactive rank yet, and two powers and once makes one or both fizzle out.”

“My powers won’t be much help either. Psychics tend to cancel each other out, unless one is significantly more powerful. We’d really want to be out of here before Master Ilara or one of the other Masters finds us. There are at least three that could swat me like a fly.”

“That leaves both of us essentially fighting our way out by hand. How quickly do you think we could get back upstairs and out to the truck?” Vincent asked.

“Service entrance!” Lucia said suddenly, then calmed herself, looking embarrassed. “I forgot there’s a service entrance downstairs. It’s locked, but nothing compared to the vault. If we move quickly, we can be outside in minutes. Even if there’s an alarm, we’d have a really good head start.”

Vincent stared at his sister for a long moment. “This is a very risky plan. Me on a ‘paranoid Relic-bender’ kind of risky, and it might gain us nothing. Are you certain you want to take this kind of chance? Maybe you should sleep on it.”

Lucia took a long, deep breath. “I’m sure. I’m kidding myself if I pretend there’s any chance that I can stay here knowing what he did. If I’m going to leave, we need to at least try to get something out of it.”

Vincent nodded. “Let’s work out the finer details then. We have a bit of time before everyone’s in bed, I imagine. We’ll see what we can do to hedge our bets before then.”

***

Lucia was looking nervously back and forth in the dark hallway as Vincent inspected the vault door. It wasn’t overly large, just a bit bigger than a standard rectangular doorway. His spectral hand could feel that the steel was nearly a foot thick, however, and it wouldn’t be easy to remove.

Thankfully, Specters were shockingly good infiltrators. So good that Vincent often wondered if it was the purpose of the class. If the NGG wanted special agents, they couldn’t ask for much better than Mimics and Specters, both restricted classes. One could likely walk into any building on the planet, the other could break in anywhere the Mimic couldn’t go.

“I can do this. Shouldn’t make too much noise, but I can’t speak for any alarm systems,” he whispered.

Lucia’s face was barely more than a shadow in the basement–it was off limits at night, and no lights were kept on. “Do what you have to do. I’ll give you as much early warning as I can if we’re discovered.”

She means her powers, Vincent considered, mentally adding Psychic to the list of infiltrator classes. Why would the NGG, a nearly uncontested global entity, need so many supers born for black ops? He shelved the thought for later, and turned his attention back to the vault door.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Eight Phantasmal arms burst out of him, then began reaching into the thick steel. While Vincent was on the cusp of Reactive, his first ability had already reached that milestone, giving him another useful augmentation. As several arms braced to hold the door when it fell, and yet more destabilized and weakened the material, his final arms changed shape, forming into razor sharp blades.

Vincent hadn’t had much call to use this new evolution yet, but he suspected it would add an extremely deadly edge to his combat abilities. He’d encountered more than a few supers like Dollar Bill, those who either weren’t possible to pass his arms into, or lacked internal weaknesses like fragile hearts to exploit. Deadly, whip fast blades and ghostly sledgehammers would likely even those fights considerably.

It didn’t take long for his arms to cut through the hinges and lock on the vault. While it appeared well-made, its molecular structure being weakened wasn’t something the manufacturer could account for, and soon Vincent was dragging the heavy door outward, struggling only in his need to do so quietly.

“Timer starts now!” he whispered urgently, the door making a dull thud as he propped it against a wall. They both charged into the vault, turning on their KDs for light. They didn’t hear any alarm, but that wasn’t surprising, a silent one would make a lot more sense under the circumstances.

The room was fairly large, looking like it extended past the foundation of the building. It was also packed. Everywhere they turned their lights, they found crates stacked so high and so densely that the gray concrete walls were barely visible. “Shit,” Lucia said. “There’s no way we have time to check through three hundred crates.”

“We gave ourselves three minutes,” Vincent replied, “Just do what you can. If the component is still intact, it’ll be half the size of a car. A crate that big will stand out.” She nodded in the dim light, then raced to the other end of the vault, down the narrow walkway in the center of the room.

Vincent searched the area closer to the door, having a better chance of defending them if someone came in. His eight spectral arms went to work, tearing open some crates, and pushing others aside in hope of revealing their prize. Instead, he found himself distracted by their contents.

Guns. Lots of guns. K-Tech too, the good stuff. There was other ordnance as well, though Vincent wasn’t an expert. He found numerous items designed to defend against specific power sets, as well as more basic supplies like body armor. Running out of time, he raced over to Lucia to see if she was having more luck.

He found her standing still, examining something. “What is that?” he asked, knowing she wouldn’t have given up their search without reason.

“It’s an injector–hand operated, not like our harnesses. There’s thousands of the things; that’s most of what’s back here. I don’t understand what I’m seeing.”

“If you didn’t find what we’re looking for, it’s time to go. I’m sorry this was a waste, Lucia.”

“I’m not sure it was,” she replied, putting down the injector and pulling up something that looked like a paper user’s manual. “There’s more to this. Marco is obviously preparing for something. I think we need to know–”

It was at that moment the lights turned on.

Footsteps echoed and the siblings spun around, ready for a fight. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t kill me, Vincent,” Marco Villari said, hands raised to his sides. “I’m not here to fight, least of all against family.”

Vincent didn’t withdraw his spectral arms, which writhed in the air like hungry serpents. He inspected his supposed uncle, comparing him to the pictures he’d seen in the man’s room. His hair was longer, and the scars were a distraction, but he truly did look like their father.

“We had hoped you’d remain in Italy a while longer,” Vincent said, buying time.

“I’ve found it best to move quickly after antagonizing the NGG,” he responded easily, then stopped a respectful distance away, leaning against an open crate. “When I heard you’d come for a visit, I wanted a chance to meet you anyway. Not the circumstances I’d have chosen though.”

“We know you betrayed our parents,” Lucia said without any preamble. “You sent Legacy after them like a missile. How could you do that? How could you speak of family after doing that?”

Surprisingly, Marco looked shocked, his mouth opened and he staggered slightly, completely losing control of the situation. “You don’t understand,” he said, putting a hand to head as if pained. “Ellie–your mother–she wasn’t thinking straight anymore. She’d lost her way. She was a mentor to me, and a sister, but…she wasn’t the woman I knew anymore.”

“So you sent Legacy to kill her,” Vincent said, his tone cold and his spectral arms shaking as he held them back.

Marco let his hand fall, looking defeated. “It was so much more complicated than you could understand, but I don’t expect that to mean anything to you. It wouldn’t mean a damn thing to me if our situations were reversed. It is my fault she’s dead. It’s my fault your father is…what he’s become.”

“That’s it?” Lucia said, and Vincent had to hold her back as she tried to charge their uncle. “That’s all you have to say? You feel bad?”

Marco sighed, refusing to meet her eyes. “I thought I could explain it all to Sam–to Legacy–but I couldn’t even speak to him. Finally I left a message with a member of his team, someone I thought I could trust. I doubt Legacy was given anything more than the address of a building filled with Psychic rebels.”

“So now we have to forgive Legacy as well?” Vincent said, his anger rising. “The man who killed our mother?”

“You don’t have to forgive anyone,” Marco said softly. “I just owe you an explanation. Would you like to hear it?” The siblings looked at one another. Both were near murderous at this point, but they’d always been united by a drive for knowledge. Without speaking, they both acknowledged that they couldn’t leave here with questions unanswered.

Marco looked like he regretted his offer when they both nodded, but he was true to his word. “I just wanted the weapon destroyed. Ellie thought any price was worth paying to get rid of the NGG, but she was wrong. I thought Sam would be able to destroy it without hurting her. He’d never hurt Ellie if he could help it, the lovesick puppy. But when I didn’t hear from him, I went to NTC.”

His hand began idly tracing the burn scars on his face. “I thought I could catch Sam in time, or at least get everyone out of the building. I had excuses and lies prepared, but I was too late. By the time I arrived the building was already…was already…” he shook slightly, his hand rising higher to grasp his head.

“It was…on fire. I didn’t know if anyone had gotten out, and there were Elites everywhere. I got inside, but Psychics aren’t meant for that sort of thing. I’d love to tell you I had heroic plans, that I was charging in to save you, or my brother, but really I was just panicking. I know I wanted to help, but part of me…part of me just felt like I should die with them.”

Lucia almost interrupted then–clearly not liking the self-pity that was coming with the admission–but Vincent gave her a look and she held herself back. Marco continued.

“I tried to help the few I found alive, but I knew I was only sending them out into the streets to be killed. In the end, I didn’t really accomplish a damn thing. I was on the second floor when I felt the pain that doomed Ellie. She screamed in a way that only Psychics could hear, and I collapsed. Sometimes I can still hear that sound.”

He wiped at his eyes, then cleared his throat. “I woke up and everything was on fire. I was on fire. I felt a squadron of Elites nearby, and I pulled them to me. They carried me out the back, which was where we found a piece of the weapon.”

“What?” Vincent asked. “What do you mean a piece? I thought they were firing the weapon that night, how could it have already been disassembled?”

“They were ready to fire, but didn’t. I still don’t know why. But I’ve been preparing for that inevitable day ever since.” He gestured around them. “A weapon like that cannot be created and then forgotten. I’ve been inside enough minds to know at least that much about humanity. That weapon will be the starter’s pistol for the revolution.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed as he examined the crates once again, finally coming to a rest on the injectables. “What are these? What are they in preparation for?”

Marco smiled sadly. “I can’t tell you that. Just like I can’t tell you what the weapon does. If you’re faced with the same moral dilemma I was, you might choose wrong…as I did.”

“You regret that you tried to stop the weapon?” Lucia said. “What about all the ‘deaths it will cause’?” she asked, quoting the journal.

“That’s what this is for,” he said, gesturing around them. “Stockpiles like this are all over the world, waiting for the moment we step in as the NGG falls. There will be loss of life, but you can’t tell me that you expected a bloodless coup.”

Again, the siblings exchanged uncomfortable glances. Finally Vincent spoke, “So you know what we’re after, then?”

“Of course. I heard your mother’s words as well,” he said softly. Lucia turned to Vincent with suspicion, but thankfully held her tongue. “Our piece of the weapon isn’t here. It’s not with any part of the Cult, as the risk was too great. I’ll have it shipped back to the NTC compound. I trust you’ll acquire the remaining pieces eventually.”

“That’s it? You’re just giving it to us? Delivering it, even?” Lucia asked.

“The weapon will be fired,” he repeated. “That’s a certainty. Fitting that it be you two who fire it. However, I don’t think you should give up your training just yet, Lucia. Illara says you’re making progress on your goal, and I want my brother back.”

“Do you really think I’d stay here with you?” Lucia asked incredulously.

“No. But I’m no longer the Cultivator of this compound. I’m sure you saw me announce my new role on the broadcast. I won’t be returning here, as business takes me elsewhere. Especially with the timetable accelerating.”

He stepped away from crates he’d been leaning on, limping slightly. “You belong here, Lucia, and I won’t stand in the way of that. Perhaps one day I can tell you of your mother. Who she was before she lost herself…who she was to me, who she was to all our kind.”

He turned to the other sibling. “Vincent, you look just like your dad. I hope to get to know you some day as well. In the meantime, I’d appreciate you putting my door back before you leave. Gretta and Arthur will coordinate the ‘package’.” He turned and took a few steps, then paused.

“You both deserve better than all this. I’m sorry your family all chose to be Heroes,” then he disappeared into the dark hallway.

“There are no heroes,” Lucia whispered bitterly.