Mary Anne Simmons had always known she was, by any reasonable standard, a privileged person.

She had been raised by the greatest mother in the world, in her humble opinion, and by loving (enough) grandparents - and only the latter had voiced anything against the circumstances of her birth. Breakout had kept her, child born of rape that she was, despite all the advice to abort or seek an orphanage.

Becoming president of the United States had been a matter of competence and, to a degree, luck. Her mother always reminded her not to sell herself short: no matter how many people were wary of offending Clara Simmons by acting against her daughter, becoming POTUS as a black, agnostic woman, and a paranormal at that, had been an accomplishment.

Any of the first three would have been enough of a reason to vote against her for some people, but the fourth had convinced many. Her mind always came back to those ridiculous complaints, voiced mostly by people who couldn't or wouldn't see the writing on the wall.

The prejudices from before the Shattering only lingered at the borders of civilization, and then in vestigial forms-in most cases. But that didn't mean they were completely gone. Funny how vocal the grumbling about her age had been. She was, she supposed, not white and male enough.

To have existence almost end during her presidency had been an unhappy coincidence, but at least no one was blaming her, the pagans or the atheists for that. Points for novelty.

People often asked many how she could not believe when the gods were plainly real, and powerful, and helped their worshippers. Usually, after saying not praying wasn't the same as not believing, she smiled at the last part, pointing out how transactional it felt. It was an open secret that many worshipped for the benefits, even if paying lip service only brought minimal ones. No true faithcraft, a few outliers aside.

Not to mention how being able to see and speak to the gods whenever soured one's view on them. The Olympians' proclivities, the sacrifices once demanded by many pantheons...those were, to be blunt, chump change compared to the mass slaughters so many deities had performed or caused over the ages. But no one seemed in a hurry to try them, much less punish them. The excuses varied from the gods having redeemed themselves through divine intervention to damage their Clusters' cosmological structures couldn't risk.

Mary believed the reason was simpler, if aligned, to a degree, with the first type of excuses: people didn't want those they liked to suffer. The amount of times she'd seen people praising mass murderers for "taking the law into their hands" (mostly by killing those the speaker disliked) never failed to make her roll her eyes. She thought she even remembered one trial...yes, one trial with women pleading for this serial killer not to be sentenced because he was beautiful.

Honestly, the whole thing had been so stupid she'd forgotten most of it out of self-defense.

Dealing with the pantheons, especially their leaders, was tiring at the best of times, because they acted like they'd die if they approached you innocently, immortality be damned. A remark was so rarely what it seemed, no matter how informal the context. The latest celebration, involving powerful players from all across the world and its associated realms, had been no exception. She'd refused a handful of law gods who'd promised they'd find a way to make her president forever, if only she started praying to them, and then there had been all the offers for sex.

At least the guest she was expecting wasn't an utter piece of shit. Just, from what she'd heard, a man trying to make the best out of the bad situations he kept finding himself in.

David Silva had told her and her peers, at that party, that he'd like to visit officially and hash out agreements regarding the pursuit of his duties in their countries. As DEATH's Keeper, he had said, he'd sometimes have to be seen taking away godless souls, or putting down threats to the cycle of life and death-or to existence as a whole, in his role as guardian of creation.

Despite herself, Mary had found herself having no reason to doubt his claims. They'd all felt his power, as well as those of the beings who'd added theirs to it, and one of them was the closest thing to the idea of the almighty they'd ever known.

Mary only hoped she'd be able to trust his intentions, because he could pursue any aims he wanted with power like his, not just those he'd claimed.

A Secret Service agent told her Silva was about to enter almost at the same time he knocked, escorted by two others. The president found herself fighting a smile at the quaint gesture. Her mother had habits like that, so that it was easy to forget the godlike being she was without seeing her fighting.

David Silva was dressed in a dark gray two piece suit, with a tie of the same color and a lighter gray shirt underneath his jacket. He had, she noted, absolutely noting signifying he worked for ARC, and she somehow doubted he, Reem or anyone else considered this an undercover mission.

Mary stood up with her practiced smile, stepping around the Hayes desk to shake his hand. Silva didn't look like he was about to return the gesture, and she distantly thought it was a good idea as her phone rang at the last moment.

Ordinarily, she would have refused this, emergency call or not, but other heads of state could call her even if her phone had no power. It was a security measure, to make sure the faces of the Global Gathering could always communicate.

Mary looked down at the frowning visage of her Chinese opposite number. Fu Zhang had one of those kind of faces that meant he looked thoughtful even when relaxed which was not often.

Her smile became sheepish as she raised her eyes to Silva, only to see the corners of his mouth turn upwards, showing a little fang. "Would you mind if I took care of this first? I'm sure it will be brief."

"No doubt," Silva replied, eyes twinkling, and she had to remind herself he was young enough to be her kid, and that he liked to act like one.

The president nodded, subtly gesturing for the Secret Service to entertain their guest for a while, as she entered a side room.

Fu started speaking the instant she accepted the call, not bothering with pleasantries, which was new. Almost the opposite of that time he'd insisted on a tea ceremony for minutes, before she'd convinced him it really wasn't necessary.

"Did the strigoi ambush you in the bathroom too?" he asked, words clipped.

Mary blinked at the bluntness. Fu, she suspected, had changed his name upon entering office, to reflect his success and reach, as he was a powerful person who dealt with foreign affairs. The Chinese were led by a council, but from among the Ministerial Assembly, he, as Minister of Foreign Affairs, was effectively their leader when dealing with outsiders. He was versed in everything from education to military matters, as the job demanded, and always the one collaborating on international projects from China's end.

It was hard to reconcile the muttering, youthful-looking old man, always so concerned with everyone being courteous, with the caller...but she understood. Fu got difficult when you interrupted anything he thought solemn.

"What?" she asked, more than a little amused. "Did he barge in while you were relieving yourself?"

"He certainly did not!" Fu said sharply. "For I would have thrown him out, no matter how strong he is. There are things, you understand, things a man must do alone."

"I see. How did this happen, then?"

The Minister grumbled. "One of my assistants took my words to Silva - that he could trouble me at any time, for we had discussed he could - and, after twisting them like they were a gymnast, told him that no, I wouldn't have any problem with him entering uninvited."

"And you did."

"I was bathing!" Fu said defensively. "Nothing to be seen, of course-"

Mary snickered. "Of course."

"Be serious, miss. I was up to my neck in water. Anyway, there was nothing to be seen, though I'm sure Silva's marvelous senses can peer through anything, and that he had known how the discussion with my aide would go in advance, and did so anyway."

"Ah." Mary leaned against the wall, head almost brushing the ceiling. "Yes, several of my experts agree his perception is timeless. Why do you think he did so, then?"

"Why, to show he has no fear of making me, or people like me, uncomfortable, if it gets him what he wants. It was a masterstroke, really, and required no words, in truth, though we spoke."

"...Forgive me, but I'm fairly sure Silva did that because he thought it would be funny."

"Do not underestimate his Machiavellian intellect, Miss Simmons!" She had the sense Fu was wagging his finger at her, as if she could see him or care if she did. "He knows it is good to be both loved and fear, and there are few things that can scare a man like being approached while laid bare-"

"Ahem."

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"You know what I mean." He mumbled something about phrasing and how clunky English was, before continuing, "See, this was like when you are in a public bathroom, and another man crossed the gap separating you to relieve himself, despite all the alternatives."

"I dearly hope it wasn't like that, Fu."

"Well, not literally." A pause. "But it felt so."

As the silence stretched between them, Fu cleared his throat, determined to break it. "Anyway. Silva and I spoke once I was done cleansing my body as my duty cleanses my spirit, in my office."

Mary smirked up at the low ceiling. "Did you wear that tacky bathrobe?"

"Not that it has any bearing on this discussion," she imagined him with his hands on his hips, scowling fiercely, "but I will have you know it is gorgeous. I have been informed I look like a bee in it, and isn't that a beautiful compliment? The bee is a wonderful insect, bringing sweetness into the world and only fighting to defend itself and its kin."

Since they'd compared him to a wasp when he'd been younger, but already fond of that black and yellow thing, Mary thought it was more likely those people had been cracking jokes about his weight. But she wasn't about to point it out.

"Silva didn't stay long. He was charmed by my hospitality, of course-" Of course. And his modesty, no doubt, "-but I had already, with the help of my gracious colleagues, crafted a contract for him to sign, detailing the relationship China desires with the Keeper of Endings." Lowering his voice, Fu added, "He told me he dislikes visiting as much as being visited, barring a handful of exceptions. He seems a very private man, to me."

"That is very interesting," Mary replied, not quite sure she was lying, "but he is here at the moment, and I need to discuss with him. To answer your original question, no, he didn't approach me when I was indecent." That would've been beyond inappropriate. Besides, from what files she'd read, and their own short talk at the party, Mary thought Silva found few things as mortifying as making a woman uncomfortable.

"Ah," Fu said. "He did not. Then..."

Feeling he was about to start talking at rather than to her, Mary said her goodbyes and returned to the Oval Office, once again apologizing for having to leave.

"No problem, ma'am,' Silva said, raising a hand. He'd already seated himself, she was. "We can't always do what we want, when we want."

He'd never get far into politics with allusions this obvious, but perhaps it was a good thing he wasn't interested at all. Someone as honest and powerful at him would likely react poorly to people who weren't.

"Indeed," she replied smoothly as he rose to take her hand. For a moment, she thought he was about to kiss it as he looked down at it consideringly, but he instead returned her handshake. Mary then made her way back behind the desk, sitting down. "Would you like anything?"

"To get this over with, ma'am. I'm sure you have business I'm keeping you from."

Gods, she wished she had more guests like that. It might even result in something vaguely resembling free time. "Of course," she said, clasping her hands on the desk, thumbs together. "I assume you have a proposal?"

David nodded, but his eyes seemed distant. When the focus return, it was almost like a white flash lit up the dark orbs. The strigoi's expression was fierce, but not...violent. If anything, he resembled her mother, when Clara set out to improve the world. "I do," he said in a gentle voice that belied his appearance. "But..." he placed a hand on his knee, briefly looking away. "First, I want to make sure you know what my duties actually entail."

"An explanation would be welcome," Mary said, "but I think I already have an inkling. Guide the souls of the godless dead to the aether, making sure they are rewarded and punished in accordance to how they lived. Stop those who seek to pervert the cycle of life...as well as existential threats."

"You seem unsure in regards to the last thing. I can assure you, it is one of my responsibilities."

Mary did not try to hide her bemusement. "I have been informed agent Fixer has retired," something Silva definitely hadn't had a hand in, she was sure, "so the embodiment of creation's desire and ability to stabilize and go on is no longer fighting. But is the Nightraiser stepping down too?"

"Ah." Silva snapped his fingers. "Nightraiser technically has that job, too, though their remit is...narrower." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "Mind, despite who thought them up, these positions aren't really well-defined. Omniscience doesn't make you eager to explain yourself, apparently."

She waited for him to go on, and he crossed one leg over the other. "Nightraiser is called upon-well, not literally, it's more like something they feel rather than a notification or anything of the sort-to excise infectious influences from beyond creation, mostly. Or, even when it's not something focused on assimilation, to destroy it so thoroughly it had never existed to become known."

"And that is difference from what you do?"

"Oh, yes," Silva purred, grinning with all fangs. "I make examples."

Mary fought down a shudder. It should have been ridiculous, not intimidating, but she'd felt the menace in her bones, for all it hadn't been directed at her. "I admit, there is something I do not understand. I hope you can enlighten me."

"I would do likewise, ma'am, but I'm pretty sure I'm dumber than you."

She laughed silently. "If you say so." Becoming more serious, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. "DEATH's Keepers, as far as we can ascertain, have been secretive until now." He was the first publicly known one. "I am confused how this can be so."

"Because, if so many souls go to them instead of any gods, surely someone must have heard of them and spread the information?"

"You can't tell me it hasn't happened."

"Oh, it could have, without DEATH being so obsessed with keeping things lowkey. But it's an old duty, and the previous Keeper accepted it long before our universe came into existence. He quit shortly before I replaced him."

"Are you saying your patron purposefully deflected scrying attempts?"

David's amusement was as sardonic as it was plain. "If everyone thought that, once you go to the aether, you're punished or rewarded as you deserve, seemingly automatically, people had a reason to believe creation was fair, if not kind. A mindless place, administering justice by itself? And you didn't even have to believe in anything. Salvation without religion. Many were given hope by this certainty."

"Then why go public?" Mary asked, not bothering to hide her skepticism. "Because you wanted to and could?"

David bowed his head at the sarcasm, a hand over his chest. "Thank you for saving me from having to be brief, ma'am."

Ha. But it wasn't like anyone could tell him no, so... "Then, in return, I must thank you for your sincerity."

"You're welcome. Also, DEATH knew that, if people knew what being its Keeper meant, if I did, I couldn't have been prepared to take up the position." At her curious look, he elaborated. "My trainers, if you will, knew that, if I'd been aware of being shaped for something, I would have failed. Broken under the pressure, refused, looked for alternatives."

"And everyone would have died," she said, hoping she didn't sound as hoarse to him as she did to her own ears.

David's eyes were sympathetic. "I can never redeem myself for almost letting that happen, but I will do everything I can to make this world, and all others, a better place." He tapped the edge of the desk a few times with a clawed finger. "Not so resolute, but maybe I'm just too strong." He smirked boyishly, then turned serious once more. "You know, there are people-most of whom end up hunted down by me, but not all-who claim that I can't judge anyone who doesn't want to, at least, destroy existence, because I'm not better than them."

What a load of horseshit. By that logic, no nation could condemn another, because everyone had committed some atrocity at one time or another. "I don't believe you need me to explain that is nonsense."

"Of course not. It's easy to understand...in the abstract." He rubbed his face with both hands, sighing. "But my guilty side wants to agree with them, sometimes."

Mary licked her lips, only now noticing how dry they'd gotten. "Let me give you some advice I think you'll appreciate, Mr. Silva. Free of charge."

"Thank you."

Mary raised one hand, thumb, index and middle finger together. "Whatever lies people say about you, as long as they don't affect how you are treated, shouldn't concern you. Even when they hurt because you know the truth. Look at me. Half the people who hate me think my mother has America hostage, and pretend they're forced to go along with her-unvoiced, mind-orders, by electing and following me."

David bit his lip. "I've been hearing similar things, though most were directed at me. People saying I have my boot on creation throat and I'm choking the freedom out of them-yes, it sounded ridiculous to me too. Like something straight out of a tyranny-themed porno." He held up his hands. "They're saying they can't live how they want, because they know I'm there, and the moment they do something I disagree with, I'll force them to stop."

"People who feel enslaved because someone stronger than them exists will never be free, because they are poisoned by their fears and caged by their minds."

"Huh. Cool quote."

"It's from that show with my mother in the caped outfit. One of the few things she'd never do in public, besides playing herself." Mary showed her teeth in a brief smile, which David returned. "Luckily for the fans, she has enough lookalikes."

"Unluckily for her temper..."

"Those things tend to come together, Mr. Silva." She crossed her arms, glancing through the small portion of the windows not hidden by a curtain. She'd find a metaphor there if she looked, she was sure. "My point is, you have no reason to fear you're acting like a tyrant. You're even building afterlives for ghosts too confused to even shapeshift, and helping them remember themselves by giving them paradise. I know for a fact that's not in your job description."

She stood up, walking to the windows, one hand behind her back, at her waist, the other held out. "And I imagine that, unless someone tries to rip open the fabric of existence, you're not even going to look in the direction of their policies." She half-turned to look at him. "If you didn't care about laws, you wouldn't have asked for permission to operate in sovereign states."

David laughed bitterly. "Fat lot of good that does to every child slave I'm not freeing. And I don't just mean here on Earth." He hung his head, staring at nothing. "With how I find a new monster to kill or barrier to break down when I think about them, I'm tempted to believe the Mover wants me busy. Maybe everything's a soap opera to it, and it doesn't want the drama to stop."

"Have you asked it about this?"

"It cheerfully informed me that suffering is sometimes needed to grow, and that there are saviours lesser than me who must earn their names," the strigoi said acidly, then shook his head. "I'd make everyone happy if I could, you know. My strigoi side-you must've heard of them-sometimes urges me to do it, so we can then focus on anything not requiring altruism. I don't think it's even joking."

"Many would be offended to find your ideals of what is good imposed on them," Mary said mildly.

"Trust me, I have checks on my power. One's flashy, one's not, and both are talkative. And those are just the big ones."

"Creation could do worse. Breakout informs me that none of the previous Keepers' morals would have been...palatable, to most of our world's inhabitants." She turned to him with a light smile. "At least we didn't end up with a half-ape caveman chieftain, or a Bronze Age warlord, being given effectively endless power." She spread her hands, tone becoming a little ironic. "Instead, we got a mild-mannered man born in Romania during the late twentieth century."

"...Can you...not make my childhood sound like a historical period? Please and thank you."

"Spoken like a true child of the nineties," she said in a sagely voice, then clapped her hands, rubbing them together. "Shall we get down to business, David? Not that anyone could resist if you insisted on something-"

"I told you, my power isn't as absolute as it seems. Your mother alone could put up a fight for however long she wanted."

That information was interesting enough Mary didn't even mind the interruption. Her heart warmed with pride for her mother.

"-but," she continued, not missing a beat, "I am not opposed to letting you pursue your duty within the borders of the USA. Really...the only difference between now and DEATH sending its Keepers to whisk away the departed in secret is the transparency."

"I don't think even I'm thin enough for that," David quipped as she returned to the Resolute desk, making her chuckle.