“What do you mean non-permanent? Aren’t all Vanguards physically enhanced? I’ve seen them wrestle several ton Fathom to the ground.” I ask, but feeling the time restraint I tear what arrows aren’t within his sightline from their pockets in the walls and floor. It’s still easy, but I definitely feel the difficulty of pulling them out increasing slightly over time.

“Normally a Vanguard has access to their ascension and the abilities therein, however in this circumstance, the healing and reversal of mutation required to retain your function were… extensive.

The energy remaining after preserving your life was not enough to achieve a proper ascension, so I modified the process to instead just boost your physical capabilities far higher.”

In that case, I probably only have one real shot at this, but figuring out a better timeline is probably prudent. “How long I got, Doc?” I ask through my grit teeth, rapidly realizing how accurate my morbid joke might be if I run out of juice.

“Around two and a half minutes. You’ve used around two minutes since the contract. The pillar to your left would be a good cover to attack from, his injuries have reduced his depth perception in his right eye.” Roosevelt replies.

Feeling the time squeezing and the bounding strength sapping from my legs, I poke a rod out from behind the pillar, pulling it back immediately when I hear the twang of his bow lose an arrow at it. Immediately spinning on my heel, I sprint out from cover, my path going a bit wide as I throw the first rod back at him. His aim snaps to it and knocks it out of the air, the sound of the two metal bars colliding ringing out painfully in my ears. He grabs another from the quiver on his back, and my mind nearly passes over the fact that this one is actually a piece of rebar. His wrist crunches as I hit it, the rod dropping from his grasp as he stumbles backwards into the wall.

Pressing my advantage, I whip the third arrow towards his head from the left, figuring a wide swing will serve my aim better than a stab might. Faster than I can react, he ducks beneath the swing and slides behind me, his bow thrown around my neck and pulled against my throat. I panic and my fingers scratch madly at the skin around the weapon but find no purchase. My legs start to kick as dark spots appear in my vision, my fear taking hold...

“Brooke, listen to me. You won’t be able to break the bow, you’re going to need to stop panicking and try something using your body's weight. In your current state you weigh more than him, take advantage of that.” Roosevelt speaks into my mind.

Closing my eyes and stilling my legs, I fight my body to calmness despite feeling my oxygen dwindle. I plan out every motion as I do it: My arms reach out and grab his wrists and my body curls as I lift myself off the ground.

My core muscles burn from the exertion but I manage to pull myself up and flip backward. My shoes find his head and I slam the full force of my remaining strength into it. His bow pulls even tighter for a moment as he keeps his grip on it but can’t maintain that for long and I hit the ground with a gasp.

I take the bow still hanging on my neck off as I look to see how he fared from the engagement through my watering eyes.

What used to be Silo jerkily stands up, blood spatter from where his head slammed into the wall showing an obvious injury, but evidently not enough of one to finish him. I reach for the nearest arrow and try to stand back up, my traitorous legs collapsing at the attempt.

“I’m afraid the timers run out, Brooke. The boost is gone and whatever happens from here is entirely up to you. I’ll try to run interference but doubt anything will come of it. Wait dreaming, Vanguard.”

Roosevelt echoes in my thoughts as I watch the corrupted Vanguard steady himself, his left arm outstretched like he’s grasping something. Before I can really consider his actions, I feel the bow beneath my left hand disappear from under me and reappear in his own outstretched hand with a flash of green sparks.

“Unfair. Absolutely unfair. Do you have any idea how hard it was stealing that from you? I nearly died disarming you, and you can just SUMMON IT BACK?!”

I shout at him, not even really meaning it, just needing something to berate or blame for all this lest I break down. Another arrow finds its way from his quiver to his bow and I watch him pull it back, the tip once again perfectly locked between my eyes.

I feel a final calmness suffuse me and while I don't think I’d describe it as acceptance, I am confident I did quite literally everything within my capability to survive. It’s not enough, but I don’t see a way out and it’s at least somewhat on my own terms.

I close my eyes and wait for darkness, pleased that I’m still mostly human at the end.

A tense few seconds pass and I consider opening my eyes to see what's happening when I feel hot pain shoot down the side of my face; My cheek burns as the flesh is introduced to open air suddenly.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Fully knocked out of my reverie, I open my eyes to see Silo gritting his teeth to the point of cracking and the twitching of his wide-open and bloodshot human eyes.

“Now Brooke! He’s barely holding on, try to finish him!” Roosevelt yells to me

My last dregs of adrenaline pump through my arms as I swing at his head once again, but this time he doesn’t dodge, his only movement a sudden twitch as I slam the rebar into his temple.

His body falls to the ground, a thud and a scattering of rocks and dust are the only noises he makes as he collides with the floor. My eyes shoot around the room, my body still under the impression I’m in danger after that experience.

“Hah, shit. I’m okay, I fought a goddamn Vanguard and lived. I’m gonna pass out.” I manage, the dark spots in my vision popping in and out. “Ahhh I need a Tums, oh my god.”

“Congratulations, Brooke. You have bested a Vanguard in single combat with little more than your base human capabilities. Even with his minor handicaps, a human fighting an Ascended and winning is beyond unlikely; Fantastic work.” Roosevelt commended.

“Appreci- hurk- Appreciated. But I know this isn't over yet, long neck could be back anytime and I’m still stuck here. What's the plan.” I ask, resisting my nausea as best I can.

“I appreciate your pragmatism, humans react well to praise after surviving horrific scenarios so I thought it prudent before rushing you along to the next task. Luckily it shouldn't be nearly as difficult this time.

Could you approach the shield pylon to your left? If we can reactivate it, not only would we preserve your own life, but also thousands in the city above.”

“Wait, that thing’s what runs the shield? It's been here this whole time? I could have just done a mad dash and not almost died like three times?” I respond, not having the energy to be angry but still raising my voice a little.

I still walk towards it though, knowing full well every moment I spent chatting with the new voice in my head the people above could be dying. Its glow feels even brighter now, and I have to block my eyes slightly with my hand lest I actually puke this time. The layers of fleshy film coating it previously are visibly shrinking away and I smell them burning.

“Not as such, unfortunately. This is the shield, but Vanguard Silo was forced to manually deactivate it by the creature controlling him, and as long as he remained conscious it would have denied your tampering.

And before our contract you yourself were not a Vanguard and unable to interact with this technology.” Roosevelt returned after a moment.

I could hear the sadness in his tone again and wondered how long he and Silo had been under the creatures' control. I placed my hand on the pylon, its freezing cold surface burning my raw hands.

Stifling a wince I waited for a reaction, not expecting the breath it seemed to let out as I was surrounded by a teal-colored mist that flowed from its surfaces and surrounded me. I gasp, the intake of breath bringing some of it into my mouth, leaving me with the unexpected flavor of mint on my tongue.

Before I can question any of this, a series of words forms from the mist in a language I can’t decipher but can comprehend regardless.

Welcome, Vanguard. What action would you like to take?

* Initiate Bubble protocol.

* Remove Vanguard permissions. (Admin necessary)

* Request assistance from closest Hive: (New R’lyeh)

* Self-destruct city. (system detects 48,936 human residents remaining) (Admin necessary)

Leaving literally everything else about this to unpack later, I ask in my mind:

“Okay, so I‘m assuming Bubble protocol is what we’re looking for here, yeah?”

“That would be correct. You may either mentally select the option or physically touch the words to restart it. I’m sure its access is restricted, but please avoid touching the other options as well. Today has been plenty mess enough.”

I nod slowly, briefly wondering if the voice in my head can even see me nod and carefully press the ‘Initiate Bubble protocol’ option. I hear an inhale and watch the mist flow back into the Pylon, the taste of mint departing my mouth as it does.

It then floats up into the air, glowing at an unreasonable brightness before silently blipping out of the room. With a now worsened headache and possibly scarred retina, I sit down against one of the remaining pillars, the pain finally starting to hit me.

The adrenaline holding it back is fading fast and I now have to bear the brunt of a pissed-off body that I have done nothing but abuse since I broke out of the pod. I groan loudly, so loudly in fact I almost didn’t hear the corpse across from me rasping.

Screaming despite my body’s complaints, I once again scramble for a weapon only to bash my fist against a rock instead.

“Brooke, wait. The shield is destroying the Fathom inside it. Silo is no longer under control, please do not bean him with another metal rod.”

Pausing, I uncertainly look back toward the somehow still-not-dead Vanguard. Seeing his hand clench weakly I scoot over to him, doing my best to not bump him or my throbbing knuckle on anything as I lean him up against a pillar.

His skin looks pallid and bruised all over, and the spots where his extra eyes were sitting lay empty, lightly trickling blood. His breath sounds raspy though wet like something has pierced his lungs.

Even without him speaking I could feel the sorrow from my link with Roosevelt, seeing his former contractor in this state must be destroying him. Silo raises his hand shakily, pointing at his head and I try to understand what he’s getting across.

“Roosev-” I start.

“He’s giving me permission to read his mind, he wants me to translate for him.”