“Thanks for breakfast, mom. Want me to get anything while I’m out?” I say, setting my dish into the sink, where a blobby sponge begins to crawl on it for cleaning. She finishes chewing her bite of eggs, her fork pointed at me as she talks.
“I used the last of the eggs on breakfast; would MaryAnne's be too far out of the way?”
“A little, but we’ll probably finish earlier than we gave ourselves time for. I’ll send you a message if I’m able to drop by on the way home.” I reply, throwing the strap of my purse over my shoulder. My eyes catch a flash of blue from Sydney's car pulling up, signaling my cue to say goodbye. I lean over to give my mom a kiss on the cheek, and she slaps my hand away from the piece of bacon it was searching for.
“Get out of here, bacon thief. I love you, and make sure you take it easy; you only just got out of the hospital after all.”
I slip my boots on, appreciating their snugness. “I love you too, mom. And I’ll be with Sydney, you know she won’t let me do anything too stupid.” My glance back at her expression lets me know all I need to know in regards to her feelings about that.
I try to get out the door before she can follow up, but I find myself just a little too slow. “Brooke, dear, I’ve known you since your birth; if you feel the need to do something stupid, there's no one on this planet who can stop you.”
A little desperate for the last word, I lean back inside, saying, “True enough,” before sticking the piece of bacon I stole with one of my tendrils into my mouth. I rush to close the door and race to Sydney's car, urging her to move.
“Someone’s chipper despite having a prophecy hanging above their neck. Also—isn’t bacon, like, absurdly expensive?” She says, still driving off like I asked.
A bit of my high fades at the prophecy statement, and my shoulders wilt. “Ah, well, my mom knows a guy, and my dad’s got a pretty nice job. Want some?”
She looks a bit uncomfortable at the offer, or at least I think she does, but her reaching over and breaking off what’s left of the bacon from my mouth leaves me wondering.
“Thanks, and sorry for mentioning the prophecy thing. I wasn’t trying to bum you out.”
My emotions whirl around for a moment, the slight irritation I was feeling at her taking “all” of the bacon when I offered “some” fading away, replaced by empathy for how she’s feeling. “No, I’m the one who should be worrying about it, if anything. But instead, I’ve kind of dumped it on your shoulders, and now you’re driving me to a building we’re not even sure you can enter.”
Even Roosevelt didn’t know how much access beyond the first level of the Vanguard Headquarters she would be able to get. Normally—since some Fathom have mental powers—no one from the general public is allowed past the first floor, but it’s technically up to the Director of Facilities' discretion.
“I already told you I don’t even really want to go up past the first floor anyway. I’m already in the safest building in the bubble; there's no need for me to interact with the hellscape of Fathom-Tech past that.” She says, taking a left turn at a light that puts the ocean on our right side.
I get the feeling she doesn’t necessarily want a response to that, so I look to the water instead. It’s almost calming in its current state; the way it barely moves at all compared to the railings racing past us leaves me feeling hypnotized. I probably would have stared at the lapping waves like that until we turned again if I hadn’t noticed the blocky edge of one of the defensive emplacements poking out from beneath them.
Like most residents, I’ve seen the weapons themselves in action—it happens frequently enough, after all. Every four to six days, we get some new hulking monstrosity or a few waves of smaller Fathom dumb enough to try and lay siege to Barbeau. I’m sure I’ll find out some despair-inducing truth about it now that I’m a vanguard, but watching the car-sized equivalent of a Rubix cube rise out of the ocean and cut said Fathom to bits is more than satisfying.
The Vanguard don’t exactly tell the unascended population how they work, but considering most people have nothing better to do than speculate, it’s been all but confirmed that the turrets shoot out pressurized water. I can’t really say I understand; I haven’t really looked into it beyond a casual browse, but apparently the water/powder mix they use is enough to shred even higher-tier Fathom.
“You doing okay, Syd?” I ask, turning back towards her in time to see her stiffen up a bit.
“Vague, much? Is this just in general, or about the possible doom thing we’re trying to deal with?” She retorts, her eyes not leaving the road.
“I know you’re not great at the whole tuning out the world outside of our bubble thing everyone else seems to have going on, so I guess I’m asking how you’re doing in that field. I kind of dragged you into my Vanguard business without giving you much of a choice, and hadn’t really considered how it would affect you.”
Her huff is answer enough, but I give her a few seconds to sort out her thoughts regardless.
“I’ve been all kinds of fucked up since the Tide hit, Brooke. The only reason I’m holding onto any semblance of normalcy is that you came back when I thought you were dead. Now though? You’re a Vanguard, and that means you’re going to keep being in danger over and over for the rest of your life. Hell, right now we’re nearly at the Vanguard headquarters to try and resolve a threat to your life, and we don’t even know what it is!”
Her breaths are labored, and her knuckles dye themselves white from her grip on the steering wheel. I know the quiet shuddering as she breathes means she’s on the verge of tears, but I don’t know what to say. All I can think of is “sorry,” and I have enough tact to know that’s the last thing she wants to hear.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
She inhales deeply, steadying herself before speaking again. “I’m not ready to lose you, Brooke. I’ve got mom and dad, but they’re in as rough of shape as I am, if not worse. I feel like a burden on top of their grief when I’m with them, and it’s frankly insufferable. You’re the only bit of light I’ve got left in this hellhole, and now? Now I have to worry about you dying on a regular basis. So no, I'm not doing okay, but at least I can actually do something this time other than cry in my room.” She wipes her eyes against her sleeves; her fight against her tears a losing battle. “We’re here. Do you know where I can park? I’d like a minute before we go inside, if that's alright.”
“I think visitor parking is down that way.” I say, pointing to the third exit of the roundabout we’re heading towards. “And of course, you can take as long as you need.”
We pull into the parking lot, and the individual spaces are rather generous in size. Upon setting the car on park, Sydney immediately leans her seat all the way back and just sort of closes her eyes and sits there. Feeling my gaze, she answers preemptively, “It’s harder to cry when you’re lying back.”
I choke back my inappropriately timed chuckle, leaning my chair back with her. My hand finds hers, and I lace our fingers together. “Thanks, Syd. I don’t think I could ask for a better or more caring friend.” I’m not sure what part of my comment her scoff is at, but she does before responding. “Don’t mention it.”
We sit there for a few minutes, but I’m sure she feels our hands getting sweaty just like I do, so she disentangles them before leaning her chair up. “How bad is it?” she says, blinking quickly as she shows me her slightly puffy eyes.
“Could be way worse,” I respond, doing my best impression of Revisions double thumbs up.
Her sarcastic “Great.” at least indicates a slightly better mood as she gets out of the car, both of us heading to the massive spiral building.
----------------------------------------
“Apologies, only Vanguard members are permitted past this floor. If the two of you would like to wait in the lobby, I can see if the Vanguard you’re looking to see is available for meetings at this time.”
I look around, checking to see if anyone not in a Vanguard uniform is watching, but the lobby is almost entirely bare at the moment. “I received this on my last visit, and was told to bring it here when I returned.” I say, still trying to be careful.
I take my ID out of my bag, though instead of what it normally looks like, it’s currently a completely silver card with the Vanguard symbol emblazoned on it. Something Vanguard Chassis did to my card makes it transition when in proximity to the building, and I’m not sure whether I consider it cool or freaky yet. Probably both.
The woman's eyes give off a brief glow before she returns my card to me. “In that case, please head to the door on my left.” She says, pointing to my right. “They’ll sort you out there.”
We walk to the door, this one the standard type with a handle, and a man in the standard Vanguard uniform opens it for us from the inside. His cleanly shaven face other than a pair of lackluster mutton chops leads me to believe Duff found himself a fan of sorts.
“Welcome back, Vanguard. I hope you aren’t here for the funeral, as you would be a day early.” He states, very little intonation in his speech.
“No, I’m actually here to visit Vanguard Shroud, and wasn’t sure if my friend Sydney is allowed above the base floor.”
His gaze turns to Sydney, scratching at his itchy looking facial hair. “Unfortunately without prior clearance from the Director, I don’t believe that will be possible. We do have a lovely waiting area, however, where food and drink are provided.”
Sydney looks almost relieved at his declaration, undoubtedly—and understandably—pleased to not have to interact with the literal living building around us.
“Right, well, guess it’s a solo mission then. Thank you for your help,” I say to him, before turning to Sydney. “And I guess I’ll meet you at the waiting room then?”
She’s already halfway out the door, clearly wanting a bit of time to herself sooner rather than later. “Works for me, just be sure to keep me posted if anything happens. Or doesn’t happen, which might be worse.”
We share a hug before splitting off, me to the stairs I think I remember where are, and her to the land of unlimited pepsi refills. I am, however, growing less and less sure of where the stairs are by the second.
“You’re correct, just keep walking through that wall.” Roosevelt supplies, and I jump a little, having forgotten about him just a little bit.
I reach the area where I thought the stairs were, but I’m greeted by the sheer surface of a metallic wall, its form giving no indication of it being fake. “If this is a prank, I’m turning you into sashimi.”
I press my hand against the wall, and I feel its coldness and rigidity—no indication of it being an illusion at all. “Just keep wal—” I say as my hand falls through the wall, my body following behind.
“Which jerk of a Vanguard decided half-real walls were a good idea, and can I beat them up?” I say, recovering from my fall.
“Vanguard Silo was the one who engineered the technology, and I’d say you’ve already had that privilege.” Roosevelt retorts flatly.
Not really sure how to follow that up and feeling a little embarrassed at my behavior, I start the walk up to Naomi’s floor. Last night, we put our heads together and tried to come up with a note to leave at her room or give to her personally. It made a lot of sense then, but glancing back over it, I’m less sure.
“Naomi, I hope we can have a talk in the future about Vanguard Silo’s choices that day, but until then, I wanted to address the note you gave me. I am unsure how your ability works, and whether my interacting with you will cause issues, but doing nothing seemed like a worse idea than risking it and doing something. If we cannot speak, I hope you can provide another note to look over. My biggest questions are about the timing and scale of the event. If I cannot locate you today, I plan to speak with Vanguard Ascelpius about it. Be safe and be well. -Brooke”
I sigh and fold it back up, figuring it’s a little late to be worrying about it now. My foot clicks against the final step, making it to her floor. My legs lead me past the hellevator; the main reason I remember where her room is its proximity to it.
I unfold the note, looking at the wall where her door would be. “Should I, like, tape it to the wall here? I don’t have any tape, though.” I ask Roosevelt.
“Tape what, Brooke?” He responds, and I notice my hand is empty.
“Huh, I’m not sure anymore.”