I stare into the jellyfish display, Catherine’s worried face still hovering in my distorted vision, fussing over a face I can’t even feel. It’s been nearly seven minutes since Chassis—who also left a statue of me in the corner for whatever reason—left to get that Toblerone thing, and I’m starting to wonder how urgent getting me out of here really is.
Like, I understand that this is undeniably dangerous and my life is at risk, but sitting on a bench and watching the equivalent of a TV really doesn’t inspire fear. Maybe if something was... I don't know, changing or something during all of this, I’d be more scared. But it’s like the other me stopped caring about us all of a sudden. Even Roosevelt said it felt like less of a drain on his chthonic energy.
I glance back at him at that thought, my eyes tracing a path from the back of his head to the end of his leathery tail. He isn’t looking any worse for wear yet, but I also don’t know what that would look like in his current form. I also desperately want to ask for explanations, but I can't, in good conscience, interrogate him just because I’m bored.
“Haaaaaah…” I sigh; no air actively passing through my lips. The half-assed way this place incorporates physics and realism is way more frustrating than if it just threw out the rules altogether.
“He’s back.”
My mind sharpens, Catherine’s whispered words grabbing both me and my captor’s attention. She clearly understands speech but, for some reason, can't—or hasn’t—spoken to me or any of the other Vanguard.
The sound of whirring motors and howling wind reach our ears, winding down as what I assume to be the EVAC unit lands behind the entertainment center. A low whine starts, and I start to wonder where it’s coming from when a crashing of heavy footfalls drowns it out. Six—no, seven heavily armored individuals rush towards us, various tanks and tools arrayed on their chests and belts.
“All persons besides Vanguard Revision, please exit the indicated perimeter.” The first one of them says, projecting a black and yellow border from his mask that surrounds me in a five-foot radius.
Catherine steps away, giving them room to surround my violently thrashing body. The clone Chassis left behind sinks into the floor as his new one comes into view, faceless and horrifying as always. Even Eclipse moves half a foot to the right, showing a surprising amount of deference to the unascendant medics.
Two of them get on either side of me, settling into a near crouch as they pull a strip of black cloth from a section of their armor. One of them stands in front of me—the one who spoke moments ago—and I finally notice what the whining noise is.
It’s me.
The ego controlling my body is terrified; some part of it aware that this is a turning point for them. That the body they so desperately wanted back is at risk of being stolen again. I feel the pull on the dregs of my chthonic energy, and know it’s going to try something, but my voice might as well be white noise for all the good it does.
“Release her on three.” The EVAC member says to Revision, his unblinking eyes meeting mine through tinted glass.
“Three.” I hear shuffling behind me, the unascended preparing something out of my eyesight.
“Two.” Other-Brooke’s whine increases in volume, the sound unbroken by a single breath.
“One.” Revision tenses, his blue eyes glowing with determination.
Revision’s body relaxes, falling backward out of the circle and releasing the rigidity of my metal prison. Other-Brooke doesn’t waste a moment, flinging herself forward and sinking her teeth into the first soldier's forearm. What she—and I, for that matter—don’t expect, is for his arm to expand in our mouth, and for our teeth to be unable to puncture the bag of air now holding our maw apart.
Strips of black cloth pull us backward, slamming us into an exceptionally advanced-looking gurney. Four of the EVAC members weave between each other seamlessly, locking my limbs down to the gurney and sealing them tightly. The whole device falls backward to the ground, taking me and the first guy—whose arm is still in my mouth—down with it. He doesn’t have any trouble keeping his balance, using the fall to push my head all the way back and locking my head down with another strap.
“Avoid tranquilization if possible,” Catherine states, still outside of the perimeter but looking fully prepared to dive into it.
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“Yes. Director.” They all bark, their voices different yet identical in tone.
I watch one of them reholster a gun-shaped device, its needle tip retracting into its barrel. A lump finds its way into my throat; the needle gun somehow the scariest part of this for me. I send a silent thank you to Catherine for calling it off.
One of my sharpened teeth sinks through the protective layer of the airbag, prompting the man with his arm in my mouth to yank it out. The bag stays within my mouth; its shrinking form separating from the rest of his armor, leaving him with an awkwardly bare arm.
“Plinth, secondary gag.” He demands, turning to look at one of the others.
Other-Brooke takes advantage of his averted gaze, spitting the remains of the gauntlet away and channeling chthonic energy within our mouth. Panic suffuses me, a terror that I’m about to watch her use my body to kill this person driving me to act.
I reach out in every way I know how, a hundred psionic tendrils grasping at nothing but blank space.
And then I find her.
Like a mirror, her connection is nearly identical to mine, and I would have skipped over her if it weren’t for those small, uncanny differences between us. I reach out, preparing to beg, scream, claw, and fight her to stop the coming attack, when I find something else. Something a little more… ironic.
I grab that connection, yanking as fast as I can and letting the golfball-sized white rhombus appear between my teeth. The newly sharpened point of our tongue crashes into Tactigon, transferring the inertia of other-Brookes attack into it and launching it out of my mouth.
Crack
His head whips backward from the force, and as he leans back into my view, I see the spiderweb of cracks that formed from my weapon's collision with his visor. He shoots a hand to his mask to make sure nothing got in his suit, but he doesn’t let anything stop him from giving orders.
“Gag. Now!”
The person he referred to as Plinth shoves a device in my mouth; it’s rubbery material letting my teeth sink in but locking them from getting back out. “Implemented, Captain. Are you injured?”
“Irrelevant. Take over as if I am.” He responds, stepping out of the now flickering perimeter and scanning himself with some sort of green, glowing metal detector.
Catherine walks over and touches his wrist, a spark of green surging up his bare arm. “You’re clean, Simmons. Lucky, too.” She says, holding up the Tactigon. “Had she not protected you while in the state she’s in, you’d have suffered more than a mild head injury. Remain wary, especially when things have gone well.”
Seeing that he’s safe and feeling a little more confident now that other-me is completely bound, I focus my attention inward rather than out. A careful strum of the link between us sends a simple message her way, a bundle of emotion that asks, “Wanna talk?”
“REEEEEEAAAUUUU’CTOOOOHHHHHHHHH”
My entire world shudders, her screech cracking aquariums and flickering lights. I physically feel her trying to break into here—a similar pain to when Roosevelt broke in wracking my skull. I stumble over his way, knocking into a decorative plant as I arrive next to his massive form.
Miniature spikes have generated across his skin like goosebumps, making it difficult to help his shuddering form get off the floor.
“Do not bother with me; you must contest her for this place. It—she intends to destroy everything here if she is to perish.” He groans, pushing me away with the backs of his hands.
“But I don’t want her to perish.”
“If you think you can change her perspective, be my guest.”
Another crunch sounds out, one of the tanks cracking further and spewing out a comically far stream of gross B.O. water.
“I’ll make that plan B.”
I sit on the floor next to him, closing my eyes, and preparing to reinforce my defenses when he grazes one of his massive hands against me.
“Wait. Use the ritual of reflection. It might bridge the gap for communication.”
I think back to the couple of rituals we’ve done, but only one of them has anything to do with reflections. “The mirror one, you mean? I don’t remember how it goes.”
A large finger pokes my forehead, and I suddenly can’t wait till I’m the big one again.
“You never learned it, nor did you need to. It is simply known. Now hurry; we haven’t time to spare.”
I grumble as I cross my legs, but let the irritation go as I try to relax. It’s not exactly the ideal place for meditation, but I feel surprisingly confident. It’s just talking to myself, right? I do that all the time. No biggie. My eyes shut and my mouth opens—words I can’t remember but already knew spilling out of their own accord.
“c' mgr'luh, c' ah'bthnk, ph'nglui ch'nglui'ahog ehyee.”
And then I’m gone.
My eyes flutter open, and I’m greeted once again by millions of tiny suns, their varied colors and brightness speckling the darkness around me. The mirror is here too, but this time, I don’t have to connect it to anyone.
She’s already here.
Glowering at me through the mirror, Other-Brooke sits stock still, her reptilian tail wrapped around her knees. I touch my own face to make sure it isn’t just showing my own glower back to me, but I have a rather placid expression on, which is what I expected.
“Hey there.” I greet, folding my legs into a floating criss-cross-applesauce.
She doesn’t respond, but I don’t think I wanted her to yet. Some things need to be explained before any arguing can happen.
“I’m sorry for letting you get hurt on my behalf. I know that’s a bit weird to say since we’re technically the same person, but I really do mean it. You’ve been through a hell I literally can’t imagine, and all as the version of me who never got to tear themselves out of that gross flesh bulb.”
Her mutations grow worse as I watch, something far more terrifying through the perspective of a mirror's reflection. Antler-like horns poke through her hair, followed by a new pair of eyes, both old and new pair hosting a set of conjoined pupils.
She doesn’t respond, so I figure it’s fine if I keep talking. “You should properly meet Roosevelt. I’m sure you’ve seen him, but nothing but actually interacting with him does any justice. He’s snarky and a little uptight sometimes, but it’s really obvious how much he cares for us. Would you be willing to stop draining him for a while? At least while we talk.”
All four of her eyes blink apathetically, and I can tell she’s ready to leave before we can actually discuss anything. I need to grab her attention. What would grab my attention? Probably something dumb.
“What’s your name?”