2500 reported cases. 0 reported dead.
Good morning Saint Century; here is the news: the latest infection reports from the ICGDC have doubled overnight—that can't be right, can it?—uh, excuse me. Currently, we are sitting at 1500 confirmed cases within city limits, and…rising? Jesus chri—
-Clip from a Century City News cut off due to “technical difficulties.”
When Roxanne was a little girl—maybe 5 or 6 years old—her grandparents loved taking her to the beaches of Saint Century. Miles upon miles long and covering the entire coastline, it was one of the few early memories she still pictured vividly. She remembered them both holding each of her hands while she dipped a tentative toe into the lazy moving tide that swayed forward and back. Eventually, they’d retreat to the sandy beaches where Roxanne would play happily and build poorly constructed castles that habitually fell over.
Sometimes her grandfather would come over and lend a hand but only when it seemed like she was too proud to ask for help. It was often and, to be honest, still happens even now as an adult. She felt herself back on that sand, better than the cold wooden floor. The sunny beaches and waves were better places to be than a kitchen with a burn spot where her grandmother used to be.
She shut her puffy, bloodshot eyes again to let another stream of salty tears flow down her face. The smell of salty seawater and warm summery air filled her memories again. Grandmother's smile whenever Roxanne caught her looking was etched in her brain. Roxanne felt Chris shift against her, which jarred her back to gruesome reality. Chris was fighting back the tears, an attempt at being imperishable for Roxanne, who didn’t need it but appreciated the gesture anyway.
The warmth of their connection kept her from completely breaking down. She let her head fall onto their shoulder, feeling both guilty and content because Chris’s presence made a huge difference, yet guilty for that very same reason. As if she wasn’t mourning enough in the 30 minutes that had passed. As if…maybe…she had acted too hasty.
Roxanne hadn’t waited for things to play out; wasn’t that what she always did? Her typical Modus Operandi, even now, even in the face of an imbalanced universe. Instead, for once—for once—she acted. She analyzed the situation and used that to make her next move. Now Millie was gone. Wailing anxiety traveled up her body and hit her right behind the eyes.
Her head buzzed. There was an incoming call coming in, but she ignored it. She silenced it; put it on mute. Her mouth felt dry, and her lips blistered; she wasn’t sure if she could even talk. The last time words had come out of her mouth felt like a lifetime ago. Yet the call continued, undeterred.
Resigned, she gave in and answered.
“…hello,” she barely croaked. The tone in her voice was scratchy and filled with tiny pebbles. The sound roused Chris, who glanced at Roxanne’s head which hadn’t moved from their shoulder.
“Roxanne?” It was Athena. Must be important. It better be important. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Roxanne finally sat up but never took her eyes off the black spot a foot away. “What’s up?”
“It’s my aunt, she….” There was a long pause; Roxanne hardly noticed. She just continued to stare. “She’s fallen ill. They’re saying she’s caught it? I don’t know. I’m really scared. Everyone is acting weird, and it's not helping that.”
“It?” Roxanne had briefly returned to lucidness and barely caught the rest.
“She’s like in a coma or something,” Athena replied. “Look, I don’t know, Rox, but you should get down here!”
“Where?”
“Kirkman Medical.”
“Okay, I’ll be there,” and she ended the call. She continued staring at the spot her grandmother had been. Her brain again tried to retreat to the warm beach air; she shut her eyes and shook her head. She finally stood and said:
“They’ll need to know about this.”
“What? Who was that?” Chris intently studied her, watching her body language for insight into what they could do. None came.
“I have to go; Corina is in trouble.”
“Wait-wait,” Chris stood up now too. They softly placed a hand on her shoulder. Roxanne tensed almost imperceptibly. “Slow down a sec, okay?”
“I can’t.”
“Babe, you-you just turned your grandmother into ash…you’ve barely had a chance to mourn, let alone process that-!”
Roxanne swallowed hard and watched Chris’s eyes as they darted back and forth, searching for a semblance of logic in Roxanne’s actions. Roxanne exhaled outward softly between pursed lips. She felt compelled to fake a smile but couldn’t find the muster. Eventually, she said:
“I gotta carry on.” Roxanne turned away and faced the spot where her grandmother had been. “I can mourn later…but I’m needed.”
Chris thought to say something more but resigned themselves to silence. Even they knew better than to go against Roxanne’s headstrongness; pushing back against what they didn’t understand was hard.
“Okay…I, uh, I guess I’ll head home-….”
“No!” Roxanne spun around suddenly. Her eyes were wide, and her face tight. “Y-you can’t go out there; what if you get it? Oh god…what if you have it?” Roxanne doubled over slightly while panic crept over her. She felt it was hard to breathe; she just wanted to crawl into a ball and wish the world away. But then, an idea struck her. Her eyes lit up, and she grabbed Chris by the hand.
“Follow me,” she said, leading them out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Each carpeted step moaned under their weight as they climbed. The dark pall that had entered the home once grandmother had passed continued unabated, and upstairs felt no better. It was cold, dark, and stuffy; Roxanne used the glow of one of her rings to light the way to her room.
“I don’t think this is the time for that….” Chris let out a poor attempt at humor, but Roxanne was too distracted even to allow it to register. She let go of their hand and started digging through her stuff that was strewn all about the floor. The last time she was home, she had haphazardly grabbed a few things to bring to Chris’ apartment and left the rest to lay where they had been thrown with an unspoken promise to clean it up later.
“What are you looking for…? Can I help?” Chris asked Roxanne’s back. Roxanne stood up abruptly and placed her hands on her hips, too deep in thought to register the question.
“Rox?” Chris asked again.
“Hm?” She finally said.
“…Can I help?”
“Um…Oh!” Roxanne’s eyes lit up, and she snapped her fingers. She called up the closet from beneath the floor and then patiently watched it rise and slide open. She got down on her knees, rummaged at the bottom, and pulled out a pair of black jeans that she probably hadn’t worn in years. She reached into one of the front pockets and pulled out a small geometric box.
“There you are,” she cooed. She held it up to her eyes and then looked up at Chris, who had been standing beside her, puzzled. Roxanne patted the floor next to her with her free hand; Chris got the picture and sat down cross-legged. Roxanne shifted to her right to face Chris and kept the box between them.
“What is that?” Chris asked.
“Do you remember when I told you about how I had met one of my predecessors? Like…the very first one?”
“The bug people, how could I forget that?” Roxanne nodded, grateful she wouldn’t have to repeat the whole thing.
“Well,” she said. “I left some stuff out.” She reached down, picked up the box, held it between her hands, and fidgeted with it. The package was plain; a dull gunmetal gray container with a hinged top that looked made out of canvas-like material. She tipped the lid open just a crack; a blinding blue light squeezed out and lit up both their faces.
“Some…thing I fought while out there had rings just like mine—exact copies in every way except the important one. Powerful in their own right though…” she trailed off and thought back wistfully to Enehva, the Uzrath, and, of course, the child Ordlach, who wielded the duplicates with all the finesse of a baby’s rattle.
“Anyways,” she continued. “After I won, I was given them—like a parting gift. Enehvah, my predecessor, implied that they’d help me while I sought a new balance. I took that to mean that I’d know what do with them, y’know—when the time was right.”
“I see,” Chris had not taken their eyes off the box while Roxanne had been talking. The sliver of blue light peeking through the crack demanded their utmost attention.
“Problem is,” Roxanne continued. “It’s been over a year since then. They’ve been sitting in these pants and the bottom of my closet just…existing. I kept waiting for this epiphany, which never came, so I ignored them. But,” Roxanne finally opened the box entirely. The room flooded with blue light and reflected sharply off their skin. The light pulsated some more before finally dimming and settling on a soft glow surrounding a pair of yellow rings.
Aggressively carved shapes and symbols adorned the outer shell. Reflexively Roxanne looked at them with some disdain. They were fakes, duplicates; a perversion of the mantle she wore with pride. No wonder she could do nothing with them; their mere existence brought poor feelings.
Yet, here she was. The universe is speaking loud and clear.
“But maybe these are the right circumstances,” she continued. “Maybe these rings are the only way to protect someone that I…love.”
Chris’ eyes shot up and met Roxanne’s. The word itself came out with a tremble. The soft blue glow from the duplicates painted their faces in a polar spectrum. Chris found words hard but eventually, a question formed on their lips:
“You…love me?” Roxanne nodded. Her skin blushed so slightly, and she smiled. Her eyes lowered and focused on the duplicates for a moment before returning her gaze to Chris.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“I do,” she said seconds later, the second time even easier than the first. Chris’s reaction was instant. They, too, swayed and blushed and tried to hide it. Suddenly a wave of despair struck Roxanne, and tiny puddles pooled under her eyes.
“I think…” Roxanne let the word stick to her tongue like taffy; it stretched for seconds or less. “I think the universe just told me this is the only way to protect you. These,” she said, grabbed the rings between her thumb and forefinger and held them up. Big dark shadows cast under Chris’s eyes.
“Would I…I’d be like you?” Chris asked.
Roxanne stared straight ahead. She remembered when she was the one being offered power she couldn’t imagine. Roxanne remembered feeling oddly calm yet anxious all the same. Since then, sometimes, she would have dreams of choosing her successor. Only they weren’t precisely dreams. They were memories of predecessors' past going through all those same motions, and this felt like that, albeit with less pomp and circumstance. She had a list of things she could say—wanted to say—that she should say.
It was never her style.
“I’m not sure,” she finally said. “Somewhat. Maybe not exactly, but you’ll be powerful, and you’ll be safe...” She let that hang in the air a bit. Then, finally:
“Up to find out?”
Chris smirked, and their mind raced. Their brain became a jumble of ideas and questions the small voice within demanded they ask, but Chris had become very good at ignoring that little voice. Instead, they became captivated by possibility. Chris glanced back up at Roxanne and realized how difficult it was to take their eyes off the rings themselves. Roxanne waited, her face half anxious and half expectant. Chris looked back down at the rings and smiled again.
“Okay, first of all,” they began. “I love you too.” They put their hand on Roxanne’s cheek and gently stroked it with their thumb. Roxanne felt alive in all the right ways at that moment. They kissed over the glow of the duplicates. It was soft, tender, and electrifying. They broke apart and just rested their foreheads on each other.
“Second of all, hell yeah.”
The two of them snorted and then kissed again. Chris took both rings from Roxanne and let them sit in their upturned palm. They took one and put it on; first, the right middle finger, then the left middle finger. Chris’ skin came alive, and they clenched outwardly. Their teeth clamped, and waves of vibrations rippled under their cells, making their teeth shudder.
Blue light pulsed outward and momentarily blinded Roxanne. Like Roxanne’s own, Atom-by-atom, blue armor progressively built itself over Chris’s body. They smiled and rose to one knee while the armor continued to build itself. The energy wave became a calm, steady steam that filled Chris’ head and heart with serenity.
Invisible tendrils of primordial power slithered into and over their cells, atoms, and protons while bracing against DNA strands twisted into rotini. Roxanne stood and reached her hand out. Chris looked up and opened their eyes; their sclera had turned blue, the irises stark white. Chris took Roxanne’s hand and stood, now fully armored like her.
Chest piece and torso armor bolted together that shimmered and looked solid but moved and felt like a second skin. Gauntlets adorned both wrists with armor pieces across the back of the hands and the tops of their fingers. Knee-high boots with black trim, leg and knee armor below the waist, and finally, a white half-circle on their chest—more reminiscent of the Uzrath of the first civilization than any of Roxanne’s predecessors.
Roxanne had to admit; she was impressed, possibly a little jealous. Chris looked like a total badass; she damn near melted. Roxanne wished she looked that cool. Sometimes, on bad mental health days, she looked in the mirror and still saw the dopey 16-year-old who said “yes” to a creature created at the dawn of time.
“Blue?” Roxanne asked.
“Hm? What do you mean?”
“Your uniform, I figured it’d be orange. Like mine,” Roxanne replied. “Like the thing I got the rings from.”
“Ohhh,” Chris let out. They took a moment to look themselves over. They lifted their hands toward their face and inspected either side of them with quiet awe. Each movement and joint twitch had the armor pieces clinking together, yet Chris found it hard to feel like they were wearing any clothes at all.
“Does it feel like this with you?” They asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re wearing skin?”
“Oh yeah,” Roxanne nodded emphatically. At this moment, in this place, the horrors of downstairs no longer existed. It felt nice. “Wild, right?”
“That’s a word for it,” Chris continued to admire themselves.
“I’ve been told that the uniform is based on my subconscious self-image,” Roxanne continued. “I’ve no clue if that’s how these work, too…what were you thinking during this? Could you think at all?” Chris looked up at Roxanne, a tiny grin smeared across their face without realizing it.
“I was,” they began. “I kept thinking about Nebula Blue.”
“From the drawing?” Roxanne asked. Chris nodded in the affirmative to the question.
“She always was my self-insert…I guess I couldn’t help it. Being offered these rings, feeling this power—I felt like a kid again where all I did was wish I had powers like her,” and they grinned awkwardly. Roxanne found it endearing.
“Then that’s what we’ll call you,” she said.
“Solar Flare and Nebula Blue, huh?” Chris bit the inside of their cheek in thought. “I dig it. Is that our team name—are we a team?”
Roxanne smiled. It spread slowly from her lips to her cheeks. She leaned in closer to Chris, grabbed their waist, and brushed the flop of hair from their brow. Both of their foreheads touched; they kissed.
“Yeah, we’re a team.”
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Hospitals were cold, and they made Athena uneasy. This feeling wasn’t unique to her; most people weren’t fond of hospitals, but when she was younger, she had spent some time in one, and to this day, her strongest memory was the loneliness she felt at night alone. Being here triggered that exceptionally, but Athena wanted to be strong for her brother's sake, if not for anything else. Plus, she wanted to be like her aunt, and Aunt Corina never showed concern on her face when things seemed darkest. In fact, she imagined her aunt touching her on the shoulder and winking at her.
But Lady Steel wouldn’t be doing such things any time soon.
The private room was giant and separated by a glass barricade. On one side was Athena, her brother MJ, her mother, and, of course, the man pretending to be her father. On the other side of the partition was her Aunt, alive, motionless, and hooked to various beeping machines. A telescoping robotic arm hovered a device over her body periodically. Captain Steel continued to stare into the glass beyond and at his “sister”; he had done little else since arriving.
Athena stared at his back and counted all the creases and wrinkles in his jacket. He was an imposing figure, even here. She tried to put herself in his shoes; how would she react had this been MJ? Or her mother? That was the whole thing Athena found hard to escape. Aunt Corina wasn’t his sister, not really. Athena considered if it mattered anymore; was she being difficult for the sake of it?
There was a brief knock on the door from the outside before a doctor stepped in, flanked by the slime ball Jackson Shaw; Athena looked away to hide her discomfort. Shaw had gone into overdrive speaking publically ever since the plague became public knowledge. He excelled at dressing up the quiet part so that it was swallowed down easier by the masses and almost mainstream. To Athena, his popularity was baffling; he was just a big loud idiot; who couldn't see that?
Danielle stood and greeted the two men; Captain Steel didn’t move. He continued to stare at the glass partition. The doctor's eyes offered a sympathetic smile to Danielle and the kids; he was a gaunt man with graying brown hair that poofed upward about three or so inches. Both of the visitors were decked out in hazmat suits. Athena stood up, feeling that she ought to. For the briefest of seconds, she noticed Cap’s eyes shift toward her and then back again. He was caught off guard, but it was so quick it might as well not have happened. Athena blushed; the way he refused to move or acknowledge the presence of these visitors made her uneasy. MJ continued to sulk beside her with his mother's arms halfway around his massive shoulders.
He loved his aunt dearly. She was one of the few links to the outside world his entire life, aside from the internet. Corina was a golden messenger from up the hill; who came down with grand tales from both past and present. She was fun to be around and didn’t treat him like a child, all big-time pluses. Seeing her so weak like this…he couldn’t process it. Not healthily.
He buried his head into the crook of his mother’s arms.
“What’s the verdict?” Athena heard her mother ask the doctor. The doctor shuffled his feet in place and continued to look downward at his slate, perhaps searching for a lifeline out of the room. Danielle's voice was powerful, almost booming yet not loud. It rattled down your bones and into your sense of self—it was a glimpse into her past, back when she commanded attention in her own right.
“Well, she has the virus. Obviously,” they said. The air felt sucked out of the room and did not go unnoticed by the doctor. “But—um, well, there’s some interesting news. Some might even say good.”
“What the hell could be good about this?” Danielle, again.
“She appears to be fighting it, her OH abilities, to be exact. I can estimate that she was infected at least a week ago, and someone at that stage typically begins necrosis yet…” and the doctor saw fit to motion toward the glass. “I believe that’s why she’s in a coma. Her body shut down because it will need all the strength it could get.”
“A week ago? Are the children infected as well??”
“All three of you appear to be carriers but are asymptomatic, luckily. Not many of those. Him, however,” and the doctor indicated Captain Steel, who still had not moved. “He appears immune; the disease won't even go near his cells in testing. Without being able to observe the reaction, I’m afraid synthesizing a cure or vaccine from that would be impossible.”
“Wait, all three?” Danielle looked over at Shaw. “You mean me?! You said this only affects OHs!” Shaw didn’t seem to react to the accusation; he simply let the doctor continue.
“Well,” the doctor cleared their throat. “…we were mistaken, it seems.” Captain Steel finally moved and silently turned his head to glare in Shaw’s direction. His expression appeared unreadable to Athena. The tension in the room had grown into a suffocating firebomb; she wished she could just escape. She looked at her mother, whose face was etched with palpable fear.
“That can’t leave this room,” Shaw said plainly. Cap continued to stare before he finally lowered his eyes and resumed his gaze upon the partition.
“What else?” Danielle uttered. “Is that all?”
“No, I believe she represents the best chance at a cure.” The doctor answered. “If her abilities allow her to beat this thing, we may be able to synthesize one from her cells.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” MJ had spoken up, and every head in the room turned in his direction. His eyes were red and puffy. “She’ll be alright?”
“That’s the hope, son,” Cap said matter of factly, the first words he’s said since hearing the news, Athena realized. The doctor seemed to nod under all of that equipment.
“We will continue to monitor her, of course,” they said.
“Thank you for your wonderful service, doctor,” Shaw had stepped forward and clasped a gloved hand on the doctor's shoulder; he flinched slightly. “Captain, may we talk outside?” Cap paused a moment, gradually weighing his options. Athena looked at both of them alternately and felt all the tension shift to the both of them. She fiddled with the edges of her jacket, curious about what Shaw could possibly want.
“Okay,” Cap finally said a second later. The doctor broke off and slinked through a door that led to Corina’s side of the partition while Cap and Shaw exited the room. Athena leaned against the wall adjacent to the door; she and Cap briefly made eye contact as he passed; it went easy. Just like that, she finally understood why everyone else had accepted him so readily. It was the eyes, and as he passed, it felt like he knew what was exactly on her mind. The door slowly swung back in the direction the two men had exited.
Just before it fully shut, Athena casually placed the toe of her foot in the way. Now barely an inch open, she tilted her head just so. The cool air from the hallway rushed in and kissed her cheek. They hadn’t gone very far, and she could hear them talking quite clearly.
“What the hell was she doing out there?” She heard Cap ask.
“She was trying to capture Spydalow; many people are saying he may be responsible for the spread. You see it all over. I’ve been told he’s one of those very anti-government people, and she wanted to take care of it.”
“Uh-huh. What about the people? They need to know that anyone can catch it.”
“We will; we will—in due time. Don’t want to make it any worse out there; tensions are high. Plus, we’re going to have to figure out how to massage what you’ve already told them.”
“You people told her what to say, and she said it.”
“Nuance. No one is going to care. They’ll brand you and her a liar, or worse.” There was a pause. Athena wondered if they had walked further away or perhaps started whispering when Shaw suddenly continued:
“The first step, I think, would be for you to capture this Spydalow. Him being the spreader and infecting our hero, your sister, Lady Steel…I think it would go a long way, capturing him.” Silence again. Athena leaned closer still; her body looked like a lazy L from a distance. Suddenly:
“Athena.” The sound of her name split the cool air molecules and slapped her in the face. Her heart jumped, but she remained on her feet, leaned back against the wall, and held in a laugh. She casually reached for the handle to her left, yanked the door open, and stepped through.
“Yes?” She slightly bent to the side with her hands clasped behind her back.
“Ah good, I was afraid you wouldn’t hear me,” Cap spoke with a straight face that belied what he knew. He continued:
“I’ll be back; stay with your mother and brother.”
“I can come with you!” A limp index finger had shot into the air, the words already regretted. “I mean, if you need help.”
Cap snorted some air out of his nose. Athena tried to figure out his expression. Was he amused? Annoyed? Proud? In the end, he smirked, just like in all the stills and videos. Maybe that’s been the problem the whole time; her father wasn’t a real person. Not from within her context of mind. He was a picture, a sound bite, and an idea.
“I’d feel better if you stayed with them,” he said eventually. Athena nodded and watched him walk down the hospital corridor. Shaw had stuck around and stood there, not saying a word. Athena had a thing or five to say but chose not to. Aunt Corina would never give the slime satisfaction.
So neither did she.