That’s… fair. Priorities are important, especially when the person you want to help has you held hostage inside your own noggin. Is hostage the right word? It probably doesn’t matter.
The shattered glass of the tank Roosevelt's massive form slushed out of is visibly regenerating, but not even a tenth of the missing glass is filled in yet.
“I don’t really want to know the consequences of failing at this, but I also feel like things are still too surreal, and I need a wake-up call.” I say, crossing my arms over the benches back and resting my chin on them.
To my horror, the tip of one of Roosevelt's fingers crumbles away as he lifts it, the separated piece dissipating before it even hits the ground. “Consequences, is it? I can’t definitively say that something will happen, but potential consequences are certainly in no short supply. Ignoring the possibility that our captor could grow strong enough to simply break in here and hook us up like chthonic batteries, Vanguard Eclipse judging you to be too dangerous to keep alive is both a realistic danger and easily within her jurisdiction.”
Right, well, I did ask, after all. I try to keep those threats in mind without dwelling on them, which is kind of like writing down notes on a lecture without listening to the teacher.
My eyes slide to his further crumbling hand, unwilling to let him skip that part. “And you? What’s the deal there?”
“The explanation is too long to fully describe, but I will give you the essentials. This body is a construct of my currently dwindling chthonic energy, and is the only thing allowing me to maintain myself in this space. If I run out, I will be ejected and psionically devoured by her.”
“That’s very bad.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you know how to get rid of her? Preferably without killing her.” I ask, already wracking my brain for ideas.
His unnatural posture shifts, settling into a slouch that would be painful for anything else. “I’m afraid not. Your best bet may be waiting for an opportunity like she did, though our collective time limit is a lot shorter than hers was.”
He sounds... resigned? No—exhausted. I’m still not great at picking up his tells without our link just straight up informing me, but I’m pretty sure I’m right. Makes sense, too. The poor guy was already exhausted from the attack yesterday, and now I’ve put him in an even worse position due to my carelessness.
I put my hand on his leathery shoulder, suppressing any ick I’m feeling as I look him in the face. “You stay here; I’m going to try and work something out by watching what she’s seeing. If you have any ideas, let me know, and for the love of Cthulhu, don’t do that thing where you don’t say anything when you’re suffering. You aren’t human enough to be that stubborn.”
He flicks his tentacles in response, but I can’t gather any meaning from it.
“Right. Good talk. Rest up, buddy.” I say, giving him an awkward pat and standing up on the bench.
I hop down—glad the gross liquid is gone—and waltz back to the original nettles tank, examining what’s going on through my actual eyes.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
It’s not pretty.
I can’t feel the pain from here, but judging by the angle one of my arms is at, alternate-Brooke has been having a rough go of it. Taking the claw of her other arm, I watch as she slashes through my right limb just past the elbow, cutting it off completely. If that wasn’t horrific enough, rather than spurting blood from my newfound stump, a deep obsidian blade emerges, its crystalline surface dull and unreflective.
“Gross…” I mumble, averting my eyes and looking at Revision instead.
His armor looks completely different at this point; two additional arms extend from his lower back; their appearance sleek and small compared to the rest of his bulky frame. His actual arms end in a pair of hammer-like gauntlets, each one of them looking to be easily half my body weight.
I guess I know what caused the damage to my arm, but is this kind of violence really appropriate for a live audience? Actually, that’s not what I need to be concerned with.
Not sure how to un-hijack myself, I trace my mind against the mental defenses I learned how to make during my time with Menagerie. They are—both fortunately and unfortunately—as strong as ever. Walls only do so much when you let the trojan horse in yourself.
Sliding under one of Revision’s swings, my hijacked body whips itself around, stabbing the tip of its blade into his armpit. I expect it to bounce off, but it pierces straight through, drawing an audible grunt from the man as he closes his arm down on it.
She yanks at our arm to try and pull it out, but finds no such luck as Revision’s clenched muscles serve as a metaphorical stone to our sword.
Rather than blood, a silvery ichor emerges from his wound, coursing over the rest of my arm like a living entity. It hardens nearly as fast as it spreads, quickly locking everything below my jaw in a metallic cast.
“I’ve got her contained. Any luck establishing a connection?” I hear him ask, his voice distorted both by his helmet and the unstable connection I have to my body.
----------------------------------------
Catherine walks up to Brooke, her face a grimace as she examines the thrashing, mutated girl. “None, and I’m afraid to use my ability on her in case it cements something it shouldn’t. There’s been no response from Roce’veilt either.” She says, looking into the eye-slits of Roosevelt's helmet. “I’m reluctant to admit it, but he might be compromised as well.”
The course voice of Eclipse growls from the corner of the closed-off stage, the sound sending the corrupted Vanguard into another frenzy against her restraints. “Vanguard Chassis did a half-decent job passing himself off as her, but there’s no way in hell I’m allowing a corrupted Vanguard out of my sight. Either you get her back permanently, and before I next fall asleep, or I handle things myself.”
Unfettered loathing settles on Catherine's face as she reacts to her sister's words. “So you’ve made abundantly clear. However, I need to concentrate, and if you aren’t going to leave, at least remain silent.”
The sisters gazes meet, enmity and vitriol meeting in equal measure, only ending as Eclipse turns away with a huff. Anger and a mild sense of embarrassment for turning away simmer in her expression as she watches Brooke.
Catherine returns to her examinations, prying open the shifted maw of her most recent Vanguard. They resist, biting down as hard as they can on Catherine’s iron-like grasp, but realistically, all she manages is a pathetic wiggle.
“It’s a near-perfect fusion of her normal flesh and the flesh that’s been manipulated with chthonic energy. Brooke was nowhere near this level of competence with her own manipulation, but it’s also unrefined and inefficient, like someone who was forced to learn on their own and under a great deal of duress.” She says, letting Brooke’s mouth close with a snap.
Another Brooke walks into the room, her posture far more rigid than normal and her expression an emotionless blank. “I take it you’ve adopted Roce’veilt’s theory, then?” Chassis clone says, his metallic form still morphed to look like Brooke.
Green, pulsating energy courses to her fingertips as Catherine carefully molds corrupted flesh back into its original state. “It makes the most sense of our ideas so far. It also stipulates that she isn’t dead, so I’m inclined to prefer it.” She turns to Revision, his own body stuck in a similarly rigid state, asking, “I know this is a more recent addition to your abilities; how difficult would it be to transfer Brooke like this to one of our medical rooms?”
“It would require moving the both of us in the exact same position we’re currently in, all the way to our headquarters. I could probably sustain it that long with my energy stores, but I can’t imagine it would be very efficient.” He replies, attempting a shrug but remaining quite still.
Chassis leans in, examining her partially restructured face. “No, I can’t imagine it would be. Standard restraints wouldn’t suffice?” He asks Catherine.
“I’m worried she’ll pry off more parts of herself to get out.”
“Ah. I suppose that is a concern. Should I call for an EVAC unit, then? They’ll have full body restraints onboard.”
A sigh escapes Catherine’s lips, announcing her deep mental exhaustion. “I was hoping to avoid bringing unnecessary attention to this if I could help it, but I’m also not risking her life just to avoid feeding the rumormill. Go ahead.”
“At your command, Director.”
“Ow?” Brooke complains, sounding surprised by her own voice.
All eyes whip to the bound Vanguard, who is once again hissing and thrashing in her metallic casing.
“Chassis. The Tab’Yale-A. Now.” Catherine demands, holding Brooke’s face still as she unblinkingly stares at her eyes.
The metallic clone goes still; Chassis consciousness no longer controlling it as he returns to his main body in the Vanguard Headquarters.
“We hear you, Brooke. We’ll get you out, too. Just hold on for a bit while Chassis gets something so we can communicate.”