She looks at me critically, my statement is both contradictory and debatably unhealthy for my mental state, so I can’t help but assume she’ll deny me. She slides a hand down her face as if she had a beard to stroke before asking, “Is this before the chocolate milk or after?”

“Huh? "Oh, uh, after, I guess?” I respond, my hard-fought determination smothered by confusion.

We walk into her office, and the first thing that hits me are the eels. There are paintings, small statues, some admittedly cute stickers, and a massive fish tank taking up the entirety of her back wall. Already on my back foot from her last comment, I simply don’t have the composure to filter myself.

“That’s a lot of fuckin’ eels," my gremlin of a brain proclaims.

Her bark of laughter is sharp, and she caresses the glass of the tank as she walks alongside it. I watch as several species of eels worm their way out of their crevasses to follow along with her hand.

“I’ve found that no matter what kind of person they were before Ascending, Vanguards—without exception—feel the urge to collect things. We haven’t figured out if it’s a side effect of humans using Chthonic energy or not, but that's the leading theory.”

“So I’m going to have an obsession with something foisted upon me?" That doesn’t sound super great.” I say, moving to sit down at the chair in front of her desk.

“That's the thing, most Vanguard have these urges back when they’re civilians too. In fact, a vast majority—don't sit there; we’re just having a drink, not a debrief—don’t notice any changes in that regard whatsoever.”

I pause in my half-squat, jerkily standing back up as she waves at me to follow her. Trying to shimmy myself out from between the desk and chair, I bump it a little, sending one of her eel statues falling from its spot. Nearly diving to grab it, I’m more than a little shocked when it stops falling and begins to float, laughing at me with little raspy hisses.

“Stop teasing, Hannibal. Your nonsense is definitely not what she needs right now.” Catherine calls from the far end of the aquarium, an archway having opened up through it into another room.

“I hardly think you’re one to talk; you’ve got a hidden room through your fish tank.” I pout, feeling a little tired of surprises.

“I’d call this mischievous more than anything. Human nature dictates that if you have the means to make a secret room, you do so.”

“If it's such a secret, why are you showing me?” I ask absently, caught up in looking at the aquarium from inside.

“More of an open secret, I guess. I use it when I’m meeting people as Catherine instead of Asclepius. Now come here; I don’t want to start it without you.”

I tear my gaze from a particularly goofy-looking eel, its long and pointed toy-like nose having distracted me. The room itself felt starkly opposite from her normal office, with lush carpet and wall-length couches replacing the sterile metal floor and office chairs. The only light in the room comes from the shimmering reflections the aquarium bounces around and the glowing device Catherine is interacting with.

I follow her example and lose my boots, my bare feet extraordinarily pleased at the carpet's feel as I shuffle to the undulating ball of liquid she’s interfacing. Her fingers dance along a screen, and I can see a dozen types of coffee slide past as she skips over them to land on chocolate milk. There are even further specifics, like types of milk or amount of syrup, but she ignores those and clicks the confirm button, the machine under the liquid starting to hum.

“This is the combination of two non-combat Vanguards working together, and the main reason we have things like dairy today despite our shortages of animals who can produce it. I’m sure you could do something like that too, your Chthonic ability willing.”

I listen to her words, but I’m slightly more invested in the two drops of what appear to be chocolate milk as they drip off the basketball-sized orb into our cups. As soon as they hit the water, instead of clouding the cup with a small cloud of chocolate, the water rapidly begins to take on the same shade and consistency as the drop. Within moments, the entire cup seems to be full of chocolate milk.

“You don't seem convinced. Here—she takes a sip of her cup—just try it, you’ll see.”

Hesitantly raising the cup to my lips, I let a small amount flow over my tongue. How is this possible? I know the laws of physics have been rather disrespected around here, but these liquids have different amounts of mass! It tastes like a perfectly mixed portion of chocolate syrup and two percent milk, and it doesn’t make sense!

“So what happened to the conservation of energy? Does it just not apply to Vanguards?” I ask with just enough sass in my tone to not be rude.

“Thats a tough one, and would require lessons that I’m sure you don’t want today. In essence, yes, it does apply to Vanguard, but not in the way you’d think,”

I decide that rabbit hole isn’t worth pursuing despite my curiosity, and try to move on. Taking another sip, I move to sit down on the couch under the aquarium.

“I’ve noticed you’ve mentioned non-combat Vanguard a few times; is that an attempt to send me down that path?” I ask after a minute or so.

She mulls it over a bit, her expression changing as I assume she’s trying to find the right words to say. It takes her finishing her cup of milk and going back for a second before she finally responds.

“I think you’d make a spectacular combat Vanguard, Brooke. Roosevelt and I went over your performance under the city, and it was admittedly rather exemplary. You reacted swiftly and intelligently under pressure, and those are both specific traits I look for in my Vanguard.”

“I sense a ‘but’ here.” I respond, feeling a bit anxious at her serious tone.

“...When you looked at me in that hallway and said that you weren’t ready, but had decided to Ascend anyways... you had his eyes.”

She didn’t need to say whose eyes she meant. We spoke about him for hours, after all. I knit my fingers together, emotions starting to bubble to the surface with no outlet in sight. Catherine continues speaking, and even though her eyes are fixed on mine, I know I’m not the one she sees.

“Every time I had to watch him go, his eyes looked just like yours do. There was no dissuading him; he had something he had to do, and either it got done, or he died. The man had a gambler's luck to get away with his madness as long as he did. But even that ran out eventually.

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“I’m sure it was that drive of his that let him do so well and save so many people, but it still had its victims. Silo tore himself apart for humanity, and we all had to sit on the sidelines as he did it, wondering if he’d come back this time. So… yes. I am trying to make sure you’ve got an alternate path, but judging by that look, I needn’t have bothered.”

The resigned look that she dons halfway through speaking aches my heart, but I haven't changed my mind. If anything, I’m feeling more resolute in my choice than I did before this conversation. If Silo, despite all his fears, made this lasting of an impression on the people around him, maybe I could too. I want to be able to prevent more people from going through what Sydney did, and I don’t think I could do that as a non-combatant.

“I really appreciate this, though I don't think I could achieve what I want in a position like that.” I say after a bit of careful consideration. I sip at my milk, still impressed at how accurate its taste is. “There’s probably a lot of good I could do from here; I just know I wouldn’t be satisfied knowing that one more Vanguard might have kept more people safe and I wasn’t there.”

She runs her free hand through her hair as she curses, “Elder Gods, damn it.” She looks at the fabricator again, like she wants more, but stays sitting on the arm of the couch. “As much as I want to tell you no, I can't in good conscience just lock you away from trouble to make myself feel better. Especially with how badly we need feet on the ground recently.”

Both glad to have her blessing in this and feeling like we both need one, I stand up and wrap her in a hug. She grumbles for a bit but acquiesces regardless, shooing me away immediately after. Sitting back down on the couch across from her, I watch as she taps at her earpiece, once again reading something invisible to me.

“There’s currently a training room open; would you prefer to attempt your Ascension now? or tomorrow, once you’ve had some time to think?” She asks, with heavy emphasis on the "tomorrow" option.

“Would it be inconvenient for us to try it now? I don’t know what we need equipment-wise, but I feel like I’m finally ready for it.”

She breathes a little sigh out of her nose before responding, “Since this is new ground for all of us, we’ll need a couple machines to monitor your state. Considering I was so confident you’d choose this, I’ve already had them sent there, and they should be ready when we arrive.”

I sink into the seat a little, offput at being read so easily. I guess I’m glad that she isn’t fighting me too hard on this; I’m sure my mom will be quite the opposite. Wait, should I tell my mom?

Catherine knocks against the archway to her office, clearly bemused that I didn’t even notice her walking past me. “You coming?”

“Ah, shoot, yeah!” I say, downing the rest of my drink before following after her.

Our trip went by quietly; we both clearly had a lot to think about, and my nerves were returning a little at the idea of changing what makes me human even more. I was also kind of an experiment of sorts? They hadn’t figured out what the pod changed about me yet, so if Catherine can’t interact with me during my Ascension, I have a non-zero chance of dying.

My musings are interrupted as we arrive at a room labeled “Training Facility B” and go in. The floors are nearly all a matte black material that I can only describe as firm, yet rubbery. I bounce on it a little as we walk, observing the rest of the room.

All the walls have segmented pads on them, reminiscent of an advanced version of the ones my old middle school used to have. The lights on the roof are the same as the ones in my hospital room, and on the side that we’re walking toward, there are a set of three doors labeled “TR 1B,” “TR 2B,” and “TR 3B.”

One and three are both empty-looking, but in two I can see someone in a bizarre gray suit of armor wailing on some sort of training dummy.

“That’s Vanguard Revision; he got back today and has been in here since. He’s the type to work through his stressors through training, so if you need him, check here.” Catherine explains. He notices her, and gives her a swift salute before returning to his task. “Let’s leave him be; our room is 1B, and my assistants should already be present.”

The training room’s door shoops downward into the floor, and I’m forced to wonder what Vanguard’s have against doors that open horizontally. Maybe it's a safety thing? You can’t knock into someone with a door if it’s not there. Catherine leads me inside, and three machines take up most of the space available. One of them spans from floor to ceiling and seems to generate a shimmering field—almost identical to our dome—around a ten-foot square in the middle of the room.

“These three lovely people are, in order, Meredith, Timothy, and Vanessa.” She points to three people wearing full-body skin-tight suits with completely blank masks. They all nod at me as I look at them, and I return an awkward little wave. ”They, along with me, will be making sure you remain alive, and more importantly, human. If they tell you to do something, you do it. No questions, no retorts, no jokes.”

I nod seriously, feeling like I understand why Naomi thought she was intense. Her entire demeanor changed as she entered the room, now seeming like the image of professionalism. She grasps both of my hands in hers and looks me in the face before speaking.

“We wouldn’t have you do this if we felt there was any danger whatsoever; all of our tests ran fine, and nothing adverse should happen to you at all. This should all be overkill, but I would much rather be prepared should something go wrong than have to pick up the pieces afterward. Are you ready?” She says, searching my eyes for a cloud of doubt.

I nod seriously, steeling myself for whats to come. She gives me a pat on the shoulder before turning to her assistants, giving them commands they already seem to be enacting.

“Begin test one; report any anomalies in the results.”

“None, Vanguard.” They all respond after a moment.

“Begin test two; settings at maximum.”

“No anomalies.” The woman, Meredith, I think, says.

“Vanessa, begin preparing her for ASC6.”

Feeling like I was undergoing surgery, I lifted my arms at Vanessa’s prompt; her hands placing small discs on my palms, neck, forehead, and stomach. I expected them to be ice cold, but they felt warm, like your phone after using it for a while. Guiding my arms back down, she gives me two thumbs up before walking back to the machine, all three of them now watching from behind a thick glass barrier.

I can’t say them wanting that much defense inspires confidence, but I’m not the professional here, I suppose. The dome-shield drops, and Catherine guides me forward into the middle of it, stepping out again before it closes. Lines of neon green race up her arms as she faces them towards me, palms out. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears like war drums, deafening everything out until Roosevelt speaks.

“She wants to know if you’re ready, Brooke.”

“I am.” I think towards him.

“Then let us begin.”

A familiar pain courses through my body, though there are differences from the first time in the sewers. This time it feels smoother, like the energy is a knife cutting with the grain of my existence rather than against it. My body stiffens, convulsing slightly as my muscles spasm from pain. Through my watering eyes, I see Catherine, focus written on her expression, but not an ounce of worry present.

Seeing her look so confident eases my nerves a bit, and I try to lessen the clench of my teeth, looking for something other than the pain to focus on. Some of my hair falls into my face, and I wish I could move my arms to brush it out of the way.

Then it moves out of the way on its own.

My eyes widen as I notice my hair squirming like it's alive, the strands lengthening until they reach the floor. I look at Catherine, and her eyes are wide, panic filling them as she shouts to her subordinates.

I’m gonna die.

I’m gonna die.

I’m gonna die.

My hair starts to wrap together, twisting into rope-like sections as they writhe around me. Dread fills my entire being as they begin to meld together, each link gaining a shiny exterior, their forms resembling inky black tendrils. My legs give in, my body falling to the floor in a heap as they wrap around me.

My dread slides into apathy, and all these horrible things become background noise. These ropes of inky darkness almost feel pleasant as they surround me, and a voice in my head—probably mine—wonders, What are all those mortals running about so fervently for? The tendrils finally block my vision, wrapping around me like a cocoon, and I drift off into a sweet sleep.