1,020 reported cases. 0 reported dead.
Saint Century was a massive mega-city that covered 35 percent of the main landmass on Izanami. So much had been razed and built over other things that whole sections of the city were unrecognizable. Other sectors, however, fell into disrepair, became almost ghost town-like, and held their own legends. Those without meaningful work or status occupy some of those sectors; most don’t even have proper names anymore.
Starting from junk town and heading further inland, or south from Central One, such a sector existed.
Currently known as Bomb Town by its smattering of residents, this area of town was nearly flattened by orbital bombardment from an ill-fated invasion by Zillari shock troopers. The serpentine species initially called this sector of space home after the exploitation of their homeworld by the Vaad. Many Zillari became nomadic in the wake of that, but a small enclave in search of religious freedom held up in a neighboring star system less than 1000 light-years away from Izanami; they called it Harbokal. During the time of the first 100, relationships with the Zillari Enclave were tense but ultimately peaceful, lasting just over 400 years until an enterprising adventure capitalist tried setting up a colony/business on the planet. Seen as an insult, they struck first, decimating this section of the city that was once considered prosperous.
Now it was a dead neighborhood that most people forget once had an official name: Century Villa.
Anchoring this section of town was a once-massive warehouse that was 30 stories tall at one point. The bombardment hit it the hardest, and now stood ten stories at best, with the entire upper half of the building gone. The original tenant centuries ago was a computer chip manufacturer that promised tons of jobs but ended up going insolvent in the wake of the attack. Now, for some reason, Spydalow couldn’t fathom Damarco Intergalactic owned this plot of land and the building itself.
He found it funny—downright hilarious—that no other piece of land in this dead neighborhood was leased to any other company. Spyda couldn’t help but wonder why. He resolved to find out as soon as she got here—if she got here. Both his lungs still felt like he had inhaled glass, but thankfully it didn’t hurt at the moment; thanks to the shot of Drenoall he ended up mainlining. Honestly, he felt invincible and kept two other doses handy in his pocket.
Spyda stood on the roof of a building about 50 feet away. He felt jumpy and excitable; he did a handstand to shake out the last vestiges of anxiety possibly. He walked on his hands for a few feet before gently flipping himself right-side up. Of the two buildings still standing to either side of the warehouse, this was the only one with its roof still intact. Old lawn chairs and beer cans lined the floor, and an old cracked monocular was beside his foot. He grabbed it, looked through it, and saw broken glass.
A smell filled the air, perfume.
He raised his hands slowly and turned around.
“I’m guessing because I’m not a smear, you’re willing to listen?” He asked Lady Steel. She hovered 5 feet above him, silhouetted against the twin moons, with a hand on her hip. Dual strands from her sash shifted with the breeze; her eyes glowed purple. Everyone knew what that meant: plasma vision primed.
“What am I listening for?” She asked and blinked, her eyes normal again. Corina lowered herself to the roof and touched down gently; Spyda dropped his hands to about waist height and watched her muscles shift subtly. She could be on him in an instant if she wanted.
“My videos aren’t lies. Everyone—including my subscribers—thinks I faked it, but I swear I didn’t. You must have seen them.”
“It’s been a little crazy, if you haven’t noticed.” Spyda’s body language immediately went soft; what’s been happening to him was being lost in the noise. Corina picked up on this immediately and felt somewhat sympathetic.
“What does that have to do with Sam?” she asked. “Where is he?” Spyda sighed heavily and rubbed his hands down his face, almost taking his face mask down with it.
“4 days ago, I found a warehouse with dead bodies in it...”
“Okay, I’ve heard that one.”
“…it’s owned by some company that might as well not exist. So I go back again, right? This time with TEE ARR EMM—Sam—and most of the bodies are gone. BUT! We discover it's kind of a lab. Some of my footage gets blocked from uploading, and then Sam starts talking about how he doesn’t feel well; I’m pretty sure I’m sick-”
“What’s the point, man?”
“Sam’s gone, this pandemic starts blowing up—it's all connected,” Spyda paced softly. “Connected to the people you work for! And I’m willing to bet the proof is in there,” Spyda pointed to the warehouse just across the way. Corina followed with her eyes and then focused back on him.
“Pretend I believe you,” she said. “Why would that old abandoned place have anything?”
“Because it’s not abandoned! C’mere,” Spyda motioned for her to follow him to the roof's edge. She followed but kept her distance, remembering that he had said he was sick. He pointed downward at the building. Someone was just near the outside wall, smoking.
“What am I looking at?”
“Hang on,” he said while holding up his hand. “Wait for it.” The man was tall and lean and wearing mustard brown coveralls. He took four more puffs of a rolled cigarette before he flicked it away. He kicked the wall behind him, and the floor to his right split apart. A bright yellow light escaped from the hole, and the man became engulfed in it as he descended.
The floor closed again.
“That’s the third time he’s come out for one,” Spyda said. “He’s got a bit of a problem.”
“Again, pretending I believe you,” Corina began. “There’s proof of what down there?”
“Something,” Spydalow breathed the words out. “Something is there, I’d bet anything, and you can throw me straight to jail if there isn’t.” Corina watched his back, then looked over at the warehouse. She had to admit that curiosity was getting the better of her judgment. Corina could call him; the very thought made her chuckle. She almost thought of him as her brother, and it was getting less insane every time she did.
Curiosity won in the end.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.” Corina floated in the air and made her way down to the building. Spyda followed as closely as he could by just jumping straight from the roof. He landed with a hard thud as she touched down lightly by the wall the person was just at. Spyda crouched down and inspected the ground, looking for the mechanism to open the floor.
Corina punched down into the ground hard and split the fake floor in half. Spyda froze, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He spun around and looked at her; she was very pleased with herself.
“Oh so, we’re not gonna sneak in or anything? Not on the table?”
“Eh, I don’t do stealth.”
“Must be nice being rich and famous.”
“It has perks,” she responded. Spyda shrugged and watched her get bathed in yellow light as she descended. He counted how many bombs he had left: only four, but he’d make them count. He figured that Lady Steel would do all the heavy lifting. She marched down the stairs, chest puffed out and utterly unconcerned with what might be waiting for her there.
The stairs led to a hallway bathed in red light. Near the ceiling, light tubes ran along the walls on either side. The walls and floor were white and made out of a material that was a mix of vinyl and rubber. Further ahead was a black metal door cut in the middle so it could slide open horizontally. Corina buried her fingers in the crack and forced the doors open; the locking mechanism installed could be heard shattering into many pieces.
The light was standard on the other side; white walls and floors whispered at their senses under a colorless natural light. A black stripe lined the center of the floor and continued down the hallway. Doors spaced just a few feet apart on either side marked the way. Various men in coveralls moved in and out of them carrying boxes, folders, and even furniture.
“Cleaning out, fellas?” Corina’s voice stopped them dead in their tracks. A couple of them recognized who this was, and they booked it down the hallway. The rest of them, five in total, charged. One took the lead and did a big wind-up before swinging a fist in her direction; she stepped to the side and let him fly right past her.
Spyda grabbed the guy's wrist with his right hand and pulled, jerking the man forward. Spyda stepped to the side and threw out a palm strike that slapped the man's chest with a sound that filled the halls, and he slammed into the wall. Spyda took a micro-step back—the hallway was only wide enough for him and Lady Steel to stand side by side, shoulder to shoulder—he spit out a thrust kick to their stomach that caved it in.
Corina blocked a wild roundhouse punch from another and pushed it with her palm to her right, forcing him to spin away from her. She stepped between her attacker and a buddy right behind him, grabbed the buddy by a handful of coveralls, and jerked her hand to the side. The man collided back first into the wall and caved it in partially. Corina walked past a door and glanced in, noting it was a lab while the spinning attacker spun right into Spydalow. He side-stepped him and stuck his leg out, sending the guy crashing face-first into the rubber floor.
Having just witnessed that beating, the final two guys opted to turn their tails down the hallway and away from them. Spyda pushed off the wall to his left and tossed a web grenade, sticking his tongue out between his lips and holding it just so, curving it right between the pair. It exploded and sent them in opposite directions away from each other; both clung to the wall with white adhesive.
Lady Steel and Spydalow marched toward the double doors ahead of them. Corina went first and pushed the left side open; a rocket instantly collided with her and the door. She crashed through three walls before coming to a stop altogether. Her face burned, and her skin fell on fire, having caught the brunt of the exploding rocket. Silently, quickly—almost invisibly—her skin rebuilt itself cell by cell.
Spyda pushed the door open slightly and rolled another grenade in there. Moments later, it could be heard exploding, followed by a wet-sounding slap, and joined by a chorus of yelling and screaming. He dove forward through the door, listened to a faint whistling headed toward him, and cartwheeled past a missile that was barely centimeters away. He continued cartwheeling, flipping, and tucking into a ball through the room, dodging gunfire.
The walls, lined with lab equipment, machines, and tables, had loose wires from specialized equipment that had been ripped out. Spyda was good at keeping his wits about him on the move, and his head was on a swivel. He made mental notes of everyone’s position in the room while making himself as hard to hit as possible. He rebounded off walls, ricocheted off tables, and deftly rolled under gunfire.
There were six gunmen and one rocketman—bunched into two separate groups—three camouflaged themselves among three orange coverall-clad workers. The ones with weapons wore non-descript paramilitary armor, likely on purpose to avoid identification; the three workers were in front of a small localized fire and huddled close. A collapsible ceramic firepit was erected and stuffed with a chest-high pile of burning debris; Spyda stuck to a far wall and tossed a grenade toward the fire. The adhesive put out the fire and disabled the three workers plus two of the shooters.
One grenade left.
The wall near the double doors turned purple, warped, bulged, then turned white as Corina’s plasma vision burst through the wall and hit one of the remaining shooters like a punch to the gut. Lady Steel flew out like a warhead toward the second gunmen group. She pulled her fist back and, just before contact, swung at the ground popping three of them into the air. Spyda saw this and tossed his final grenade into the air between them.
As the adhesive hit their bodies, the rocketman—less than 20 feet away from Corina—fired. She stepped to her left and caught the missile in her right hand. She squeezed and crushed it like it was made of tin foil. Corina spun, slid forward, dipped her shoulder then fired an uppercut that sent the rocketman toward the ceiling.
He landed moments later just as more armored soldiers poured in from the other side of the room.
With all eyes on Lady Steel for the moment, Spydalow rooted around the junk not ripped into and tossed in the fire. Behind him, grunts and the sounds of fists hitting armor filled the air. He pushed keyboards out of the way, dug through drawers, and even got down to all fours to check under the tables. There, by a back leg: a discarded thumb drive. It was about the size of a nail's head and just as long; someone wasn’t being very mindful. Spyda slipped it into a pocket near his chest.
Corina’s breath was hard to catch; her chest struggled to execute simple muscle memory. Only one soldier left was bereft of his gun because she had crushed that only moments earlier. She was in a fighter's stance, patient. Roxanne had taught her so much over the years.
Your strength and speed are an asset, not a crutch, the words echoed.
The soldier, only armed with a baton that had an electrified tip, held his breath in. They both knew he stood no chance, but he couldn't run. It wasn’t in his DNA. He gripped the baton tightly, ready to take his beating, wondering if he should make a move. Corina held all the cards, so why was her heart beating so fast?
Why was her mouth dry?
His knees felt weak; they buckled. Corina collapsed suddenly. Seeing an opening, the soldier raised the baton and twitched. He brought it down, but it was stopped in mid-swing by Spydalow, who stepped in front of it with his left arm raised. He pushed it to the side and snapped a punch forward that knocked the soldier off his feet.
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
“Are you alright?” Spyda dropped to his knees and grabbed at her shoulders; she was unconscious. He put her head in both his hands and tried to hold open one of her eyes; it was lolled back into her skull.
Then, a drop of blood from the corner.
Spyda dropped her, scared.
“Gresh, she has it!” He backed up and clutched at his chest. He felt paralyzed, unsure of what to do. He already has it, likely…so help her? But this evidence—if it's evidence at all—he needs to check it; he can’t waste any time. What if it’s the big one?
The door at the far end banged open, and more soldiers spilled in, this time with a massive chain gun.
Only Lady Steel was there.
Her limbs slowly go taught, her fingers frozen, clutched at the air.
----------------------------------------
Brachium clung high in the air, marking the Long Morning's midway point. It was hot in the fields today, made worse by the morning dew that helped create an ungodly humidity. Here at the Masterson Farm, they cultivated fruit and veggies, which often changed due to the seasons. It was quite a lucrative side business for them. Cap was impressed; he had nothing like this back home. All the nerves in his body fired at once when he first arrived, as if his heart's desire were now present before him.
Surprising himself, Cap went gung ho as soon as he could. He hit the fields and lent a hand; everyone stopped and took it in. The Farm acted as a micro-colony and worker cooperative. Every farmhand employee had a place to live and a deciding say in what went on with the business itself. It was a finely tuned organism turned upside down by his arrival. Who wouldn’t stop what they were doing to gawk at the resurrected Captain Steel?
He was shirtless with a massive chain cross wrapped around his chest. The chain led to a gigantic 12-foot-high steel hoe that pushed mounds of dirt aside like an ice cream scoop. The sweat glistened off his thick muscled back while he did the work of 3 men and one robot. One thing The Farm took pride in was that they accepted all kinds here. OHs, Norms, and even Robots were welcome as long as they contributed, leading to a familial atmosphere among the ranch hands.
The gathered crowd roared and clapped when Cap finished; he unhooked the chain and waved.
“You’ve brought a lot of magic back with you,” said a voice from behind and on approach. Cap glanced up and wiped the sweat off his brow. It was Danielle, gorgeous and backdropped by the massive and beautiful house. She wore a sunflower dress that flowed in the light breeze, and in her hand was a glass of cool liquid, which he took happily.
“Lot of magic this morning, too,” he said as he brought the glass to his lips. Danielle smirked and blushed ever so slightly, invisible except to his eye.
“Second thoughts?” He asked her.
“Not at all,” she replied. “Surprising, actually.”
“Oh?”
“You don’t find that strange yourself?”
“No,” he said and paused to take another sip. “Nothing has felt righter.” Danielle smiled at that; she agreed. At first, she thought he’d feel like another man—a stranger—but he didn’t. He doesn’t. He couldn’t. When their skin touched, it was automatic; when they gripped each other, she knew she was his again. So it went for the children as well, mostly. MJ surprisingly came around the fastest; he followed his “father” almost everywhere.
Athena, meanwhile, was still guarded, although she hid it well. She had no desire to rock any boats; being the odd person out was not exactly a fun time. Still, she never referred to him as Father, and—she was sure—she never would. Something in her head wouldn’t allow her past the knowledge that he was from a wholly different universe. That said, she enjoyed learning under him and had no issues with the man himself.
It was just weird.
Sometimes, he was weird.
Two nights ago, she got hungry in the middle of the night and snuck downstairs for a hearty meal. Keen to not wake anyone—and potentially get crud for eating so late—Athena crept as a mouse. She caught a flickering light coming from the den and investigated. Captain Steel was standing upright and watching the news. He changed channels every other minute, often only sticking around long enough to catch the ever-changing chyrons. She watched him do this for over an hour, unmoving. Stories about murder, police actions, and other terrible news—the media’s bread and butter—filled her mind.
She eventually slinked back upstairs, no longer hungry; Captain Steel Never moved.
Athena sat on her second-floor balcony, watching her mother and the doppelganger talk and exchange looks and discreet touches. She felt a chill crawl up her arms, looked down at her notepad, and continued doodling in the top right corner a giant scratchy skull with a bow on top.
“Athena!”
She winced. The shout had come from just below her. She sat up in her chair and peered over the edge of the railing; it was her brother.
“Yes?” she quietly replied.
“Wan’ train?” He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, looking to stay active and in motion. Athena rolled her eyes. He had been so super extra ever since…she sighed and blew a strand of hair out of her face.
“Yeah, sure,” she drawled and stood up. She hopped down over the balcony and landed beside MJ. Both her mother and Cap approached, holding hands. Athena gave a neutral smile to the whole thing.
“Mind if I come with?” Cap asked.
“Of course, father!” MJ said, unable to hide his joy and excitement.
“Sure thing,” Athena said and started walking toward their training pit, out on a clearing 100 yards away from the house and the fields. It was a circular mound of dirt and sand with various exercise and workout equipment, but the family mostly used it to spar or practice their powers. Athena walked 2 feet ahead of Cap and MJ, who swapped words back and forth; she paid it no mind.
“You alright, kiddo?” Her mother had caught up to her and walked beside her. She hooked their arms together and kept pace.
“I’m fine, really,” Athena said with nary a bit of conviction.
“It’s okay not to be fine; you know that, right?”
“I do.”
“Okay,” Danielle stayed silent a moment longer, then: “You can tell me anything whenever you’re ready to do so.”
“I know, mom.” Athena brought her head closer to her mother's, and they touched so slightly. “Thank you.”
The four continued until they finally arrived. The grass gave way to fine sand, and excitedly, MJ threw off his boots and started running. Athena did the same with her shoes but just gripped her toes in the sand; she loved how the grain shifted between her toes. Captain Steel walked to one of the workout benches and grabbed a circular weight off of it.
“Hey, Kid, think fast!” He tossed the heavy disc toward MJ, who scrambled and panicked and dropped to the floor; the weight whizzed overhead and buried itself in a nearby tee. Everyone laughed except MJ, who had turned red-faced.
“What were his options there, Athena?” Cap glanced over at her, and she felt taken by surprise. She looked away, dug a toe into the dirt, and ground at it like she was stepping out a cigarette. She sighed heavily and shrugged before she nodded her head toward her brother.
“He probably should have used his plasma vision,” she said and stuck out her tongue; MJ responded in kind. Cap was pleased and nodded in the affirmative.
“Indeed, and what about you? What would you have done?” Athena considered the scenario in her head, then she grinned.
“Try me,” she said and stood her ground with her hands in front of her. Cap smirked and quickly grabbed a weight and whipped it in her direction.
“Let’s see it!” He shouted as he threw it.
Athena closed her eyes and kept her hands steady while the object nearly cut the distance in half. But then it started doing an exciting thing: slowing down. Eventually, it slowed so much that it made contact with Athena’s palm softly and almost silently, with the force of a lightly tossed baseball. She pulled the disc back and inspected it, quite pleased. Danielle clapped hard like a proud mother often does.
“Watch this,” Athena said as she held up a finger. She glanced toward MJ, who had his arms folded, utterly feeling shown up. Athena knew this probably wouldn’t help, but the teenager did it anyway. Athena raised her leg so that her foot was inches off the ground, then stomped as hard as she could. The floor rumbled underneath them and traveled toward MJ. A massive column of sand and dirt shot up beside him and forced him to flee for cover. Cap started applauding, joined shortly by Danielle.
Athena did a slight bow.
“Excellent, excellent!” He shouted and approached Athena. He touched her shoulder, and she flinched; hopefully no one noticed. “Thinking outside the box…I love it.” MJ steamed while he dusted off the dirt particles off his body.
“Who needs that when you can do this!” MJ kicked up a nearby rock so that it raised to about chest height before he swung a fist and pulverized it into dust. He inadvertently inhaled some of it and coughed some, but overall was quite pleased he pulled that off. Cap smiled, appreciating the effort.
“Thinking outside the box is crucial for us,” he said. “Athena doesn’t have the same abilities as you, me, and your aunt, so I imagine she constantly needs to get creative.” Athena had found herself nodding along. She glanced at her shoulder, where his hand had been, before snapping her eyes forward and focusing on her brother. MJ had noticed this and cocked an eyebrow.
Whatever was bothering her was annoying MJ. She knew that MJ just wished she’d told him already and gotten it over with so they could figure it out. But that was the thing. There wasn’t any particular reason, at least none, that she could figure out. Around the doppelganger, Athena often felt like she had just walked into a dark room, and suddenly a hundred eyes opened at once.
Athena does as she is wont to do, and she makes a face at her younger—by 5 minutes—brother, then goes back to looking at anything aside from directly at Captain Steel.
“With what we can do,” he continued. “It’s easy to rest on your laurels. Has Corina ever discussed with you the nature of our abilities?” Athena and MJ shook their heads.
“She doesn’t want to know,” they both said in unison.
“Right, right. I understand that,” Cap replied. “To a point.” He took steps toward MJ, whose posture straightened and chest puffed out instantaneously. This was like every dream he had ever had. Any time he stared at a wall, it became a painting. One in which he and his father stood tall, side by side, and back to back, battling enemies small and large. Cap continued:
“I’ve thought like that myself. But I’ve realized that all that does is create a mental block, an arbitrary limit that needn’t be there. You, me, Corina…we’re surrounded by an invisible field that allows us to bend and break the laws of physics. I want you to think about what that can mean—what that can represent.”
“Wait, so…Captain Steel Can Do Anything isn’t just a nice catchphrase?” Athena asked, gaze focused on a tiny beezoid that had fluttered in the peripheral. Cap couldn’t help but smile.
“We have limits, just like anyone,” he said. “But it’s up to us to find, explore, test them. I’ll show you.” Cap walked away from them both and stood at the center of the pit.
“That rock at your feet,” he said to MJ. “Throw it.”
“What, just throw it at you?” MJ asked; Cap just shook his head.
“No, just toss it in the air.” Cap held his legs shoulder-width apart and kept his fist in front of him in a fighting stance. He kept his right hand near his chin, had the left open palms out, and extended slightly in front of him. Captain Steel breathed slowly out his nose and simply nodded. MJ cocked an eyebrow and threw the stone as hard as he could. It traveled in an ark just beyond Cap, and he tracked it to his right. Still, ten feet away, Cap made a fist and propelled his right hand forward.
The rock pulverized in mid-air.
“Whoa!” Both twins exclaimed. “How did you do that??” Cap relaxed his stance and grimaced. He hunched over slightly at a terrible ringing in his brain. His posture resumed its natural cadence as the two children excitedly approached him.
“Father?” MJ asked.
“I’m…fine,” he let out. “It’s my senses. I almost feel stronger here, somehow.”
“Stronger, how?” MJ wondered.
“I can’t explain it,” Cap replied. “I look at my cells with my telescopic vision, and my nerves and atoms feel alive.” Before anyone else could continue, one of the workers could be seen running toward the pit, waving and shaking their hands like a madman.
“Captain Steel! Captain Steel!” they shouted.
“Yes? What is it?”
“It’s your sister, sir; something is wrong.”
----------------------------------------
A pleasant aroma filled the air in the Belmonte house. Grandma Millie, excited at having Roxanne and Chris over, had gone all out with dinner. She started the prep work somewhere around 1500 LM, cooking started at 0100 LE, and finally finished 2 hours later, which was right on time for Roxanne and Chris to arrive at the brownstone.
The rising pandemic worried grandmother, so primarily out of the interest for safety, both she and Roxanne have kept their distance and missed each other terribly. She missed Roxanne often, it seemed, with her hopping off-planet for one reason or another previously and, now that she’s been home for a bit, sleeping over at Chris’. That wasn’t an issue, Millie loved Chris and could see Roxanne cared for her too, but her little sunshine was growing up…had grown up; it was sobering.
Roxanne and Chris had arrived bearing a bottle of wine for the 3 of them to share. It wasn’t exactly the most extraordinary wine, basically mass-produced junk you’d find at every mart, but grams had this affinity for the brand from back when it pulled any weight—back when she was Roxanne’s age. Both she and Chris hated wine but seeing grams happy made Roxanne happy, and Roxanne being happy meant…yeah, simple.
The scent of cooked food had them both floating to the kitchen. They hovered around grandmother like honey-starved bees. She shushed them both away and ordered them to set the table which they did joyfully. On serve were yellow rice and beans in sauce, a seasoned pork shoulder baked for over 6 hours, and a smattering of vegetables like sliced tomato, lettuce, carrots, and onions. Roxanne caught the scent of every dish in her nose after each ceramic plate she passed along to Chris.
“I think we’re gonna need the whole recipe,” Chris said to Roxanne, whose hunger had only given her the strength to nod.
“You, cook?” Grandmother uttered, amazed. She grabbed the pork pan and placed it at the center of the round dining table in the kitchen. Millie damn near snorted at the thought of Roxanne cooking anything hot or complex. Roxanne has ruined grilled cheese, eggs, hell, once she put too much milk in the cereal.
“Hey now, there’s gotta be cooking skills buried somewhere deep in here,” Roxanne said while she tapped her temple and laughed.
“After four years, I wonder if even Azonne thinks you’re beyond help!” All three of them burst into laughter. A winking emoji entered Roxanne's peripheral vision, always listening. There was silence for almost 10 minutes as the 3 of them sat and stuffed their faces. Roxanne’s plate was piled nearly 5 inches high, and she had zero shame about it. Despite her tiny stature, she really could eat.
“I worry about you out there,” Millie confessed suddenly after one glass of post-meal wine. Roxanne’s features softened; she was halfway through a glass herself and was a complete lightweight.
“I’m fine, grams. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Roxanne had her back and posture straight as she said this, a hint of pride in her voice. Grandmother nodded; thoughts flittered, presented themselves, and just as quickly dissipated.
“I just think about you out there, all alone, and—I’m proud of you—but I worry too.” Grandmother Millie took another sip and let slide a small smile. “I think I’m allowed.” Roxanne reached forward and grabbed her grandmother's hand. She gave it a slight squeeze.
“Don’t worry, grams, Roxanne here is a badass; nothing’ll touch her.” Chris had leaned into Roxanne as they said this, and her skin felt alive. Grandmother felt her heart melt at being called grams by someone Roxanne cared about, so she got up to pour another glass for herself—before she started silently crying. Roxanne felt a buzzing at the side of her head. A call was coming in. It flashed on her HUD but was akin to a distress beacon jammed into the line.
It was from Corina.
“Excuse me a sec,” she said as she got up from the table. She walked out of the kitchen and stood in the hallway before opening the message. It was a short, two-second burst mentally typed out in a hurry at best. That alone worried her.
*begin message—priority alpha*
RoxI’m not sure why ’m sending this, butI’m not feeling togood. I’ve sent my location butI think I’ve got it—I think I
*end message*
“Roxanne!” Chris’ voice rumbled through the room like a freight train. Roxanne snapped alert. She heard chairs sliding back loudly across wooden floor panels followed by a thump—the sound a body made when it landed on such. She ran in, hand on heart. Grandmother was on the floor, hands clutching at the air and stiffening.
Trickles of blood seeped out her ears like a honey dip off a comb. Chris was also standing, fright and panic plain as block letters. They inched closer toward grandmother, stuck at that moment when you’re not sure if you should help or surrender to the forces of nature.
“Don’t touch her!” Roxanne shouted. Her energized aura shot up around her, and she dodged into the kitchen to cut Chris off. She held them close, letting the protection of the light smother them both. Roxanne stared down, and her analytical brain acted as a defense mechanism.
This is the final stage, just like I read, the analytical side said. But that would mean—
And that was when reality smacked into her.
A supermassive comet that spelled out plain as day that grandmother, the woman who raised her, nurtured her, supported her, and played a significant part in making her into the woman that she was today—had caught this plague; she was dying.
Roxanne dropped to her knees.
She took grandmother’s frozen hand into hers, unafraid because the light would protect her. She shut her eyes, and a puddle of tears welled between her eyelashes. She let the energy flow out and covered grandmother head to toe. Roxanne wept openly; the body smoked.
She wasn’t going to let her suffer.