“He’s not a bad guy; I swear he does his best by us; I just think he’s used to living in a building that changes itself at his whim,” Naomi says once we’re out of earshot. She still looks a little nervous that he can hear us as she adds, “The scariness wears off after a little, I promise.”

I can’t say I’m terribly convinced, at least not after she jumped when one of my steps clicked a little too hard against the floor. It’s also probably a good rule of thumb to suspect people who wear living things on their faces, right? Right.

“Tell me about some of the Vanguards who stay here; I only know one or two of the more famous ones.” I prompt, hoping to ease her nervousness some.

She tilts her head back and to the side a little, her wandering eyes the image of lazy contemplation.

“Eh? Ah, well, you said you’d met Vanguard Asclepius previously. She’s more or less the head honcho of the Barbeau Vanguard branch, and the only healer-class we have on staff. I’ve only met her a couple of times though, and she’s always felt super hard to approach.”

Chewing on her cheek a little, Naomi holds up a second finger and continues:

“You just met Vanguard Chassis; he’s an Architect-class, so I’m not sure anyone but top brass can tell him what to do. All the Spiral buildings around the city? They’re alive and have a rudimentary sort of intelligence that he can command. It’s super gross, but I guess as a Vanguard, you just sort of get used to this stuff after a bit? Or at least I have.”

“I’m the most recently Ascended Vanguard, or I was before you showed up, and we spoke about my powers earlier, but I’ll give you a quick demonstration.” She says, right before I realize I’m alone.

I’m alone? I could have sworn I was just talking to someone; I remember them saying... Who’s ‘they’? How did I even get here? I don’t remember walking here on my own…

Right as I’m about to ask Roosevelt what’s happening, my eyes blur, and Naomi is once again next to me like nothing happened, everything I was missing coming back all at once. I whip towards her, my expression demanding answers.

“Woah, hey, that one was my bad, I should have given you more of a warning. That said, I wanted a little revenge for the teasing,” she says, before continuing to walk ahead of me.

I stand stock still for a moment, feeling like I perhaps bit off more than I could chew, but also a bit of glee at the reversal.

“There are two more Vanguards, Revision and Menagerie, though I don’t know a lot about what they can do. They’ve been around a lot longer than I have and don’t really show up other than mission briefings.” I hear her say from ahead of me; the sound muffled from her facing away from me.

“That doesn’t feel like a lot of Vanguards; only five of you for a whole bubble city?” I ask.

“Six, now that we have you.” She corrects, grinning, “But yeah, it’s not a lot for a city. Barbeau is a bit of an exception in that way, since the majority of our defenses are automated. Most Vanguard move to New R’lyeh when given the opportunity as well; the resources there far exceed what a city full of non-ascended can offer, after all.”

Brain reeling from what I can only assume is top-secret information, I increase my pace to catch up with Naomi. The sound of my boots on the floor makes a dull tap instead of a click, its echo somehow absorbed by the metallic floor.

“We’re almost at my room; it’s down one floor, and the elevator is just up ahead,” she says, pointing towards a bank chute tube-shaped cylinder made out of the same marble-looking material as the walls.

It’s large enough to fit two or three people comfortably inside, but I can’t see any buttons or entrances on it anywhere to allow access.

“Another creepy fixture I’m guessing Vanguard Chassis generated in that nightmare brain of his?” I say, more rhetorical than anything, but figure Naomi will answer anyways.

“Yeaah, this one's pretty bad even for him, to be honest.”

Immediately alarmed by the supposedly gross-building-adapted Naomi stating that this is worse than the absorption floor and gripping mask, I prepare to make a break for it if even one thing tries touching me.

Letting her take a few steps in front of me, I watch as the marble wall splits like a waterfall disrupted by a log or something and flows around her, despite there being no reason at all for it to be liquid or flowing.

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I can feel the grimace forming on my face as I follow her in, every instinct in my brain telling me that I’m walking into the mouth of a predator willingly, like some sort of idiot. The water-wall closes behind me, its flow stopping and returning to the solid state it's supposed to be and I pray that it has a purpose. In fact, I ask my compatriot in heebie-jeebies directly:

“Please tell me there's a reason for the blatant disregard for reality that I just witnessed.”

She looks me dead in the eye before saying, “It gets worse.”

Before the words even leave her lips, I watch as a basketball-sized eyeball forms out of the wall in front of us, its pupil already staring and with no eyelid in sight—not that that would improve it whatsoever.

I feel the eye look through me, my physical form completely irrelevant as something ethereal within me is exposed to its gaze. I look towards Naomi for help, but by the time I turn my head, the eye is gone, and I feel the elevator moving downwards.

I shudder as I ask, “Does it do that every time?” Praying to the Elder gods that the building has normal stairs.

“No, just the first time. I was hoping it would be less... ‘that.’ this time.”

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or not, and before I can settle on either choice, I feel the elevator cease its downward motion and the liquid door opens once again. I’m confident I’ve never been so motivated to get out of a space in my life, and I nearly shed a tear as my feet felt solid ground again.

“Sorry you had to experience that; my room is just to the right over here. I’ve got the closest room to the hellevator.” Naomi says, a little more dead inside than she was one floor up.

I just put my hand up; if I get an apology from anyone, it's going to be that coat-wearing bastard who made it. We continue the last few meters silently, her new “I exist!” earpiece opening the door smoothly as she walks up to it, and I finally get to see her room.

The walls are a sky blue with matching clouds that actually move along the ceiling and upper walls. Posters of pop-punk bands rest at uneven levels beneath the clouds, and I actually recognize a few. “The Empty Streets” and “Beyond the Deep” are both signed with Sharpie in practiced hand.

“Ignore the mess; the amulet isn’t the only thing I forgot this morning.” She says, a bit of heat on her cheeks as she shoves a couple of shirts from the floor into a basket.

“I have a brother; you could have run a Tide through here and still have it look better than his room,” I assure her noncommittally as I snoop through the rest of her stuff.

Are these Punko Fop? Like before the Fall Punko Fop…? I carefully set down the toys that might be worth more than I am and return my gaze to her. She brushes off her pants, a couple of pieces of the frustratingly soft carpet sticking to her knees.

I can tell she wants to ask me something; if her body language didn’t spell it out for me, the very quiet grunts of frustration do.

“Spill, I know something’s on your mind,” I say, leaning against her desk.

Her internal conflict between being frustrated at being read so easily and being able to sate her curiosity lasts only as long as it takes to open her mouth.

“What sort of power did your ascension give you, if you don’t mind me asking?” She questions, somewhat sheepishly, and I can tell she’s been wanting to ask since she met me.

I feel Roosevelt nudge me a bit mentally before speaking in my head:

“Normally, asking for another Vanguard’s powers is a little rude, but I can tell she doesn’t have malicious intentions. You also don’t currently have any chthonic abilities to speak of, so talking about it is entirely up to you.”

I let that simmer for a second, not yet sure how I felt about it. I recognize that things have been going a little fast for me—being stuck in the bank parking lot feels like such a distant event that I can hardly believe it's been just under a day and a half since then.

I could be letting myself be led around by the nose a little bit here, but I think I can trust Naomi. She’s been very kind and honest with me so far, and... I see a lot of Sydney in her.

I don't look at her as I drop a casual, “Oh, I didn’t get one,” My gaze instead studying some of her band posters.

The progression from blankness to scrunching of her eyebrows to alarm rolling across her face fills me with a type of satisfaction I can't quite explain, and I do my best not to laugh.

“What?! What do you mean you didn’t get one? Are you messing with me?” She asks in rapid succession, a little bit of hurt crossing her face at the end.

“No, I genuinely didn’t get one. Nor did I get a proper Ascension for that matter. Roosevelt had to mess with the contract stuff in a big way to help me get out of there.”

“You had a botched Ascension?” She asks, horror filling her eyes. “Aren’t those like a guaranteed death sentence?”

That wasn’t the reaction I expected. Not even bothering to say it internally, I say aloud:

“Roosevelt, what does she mean by a death sentence?”

As Roosevelt materializes in the air beside me, I hear Naomi muffle a gasp.

“...Things could have been more optimal, Vanguard. The state of mutation you were in added a certain amount of stability to the chthonic nature of our contract and gave me some leeway for editing.”

“I guess I can’t argue with the results. I’m alive, after all,” I grumble before looking back at Naomi, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Brooke, why are you contracted with Vanguard Silo’s companion?”