“I really can’t thank you enough, Syd.” I say, trying to dry the sleeves of my blouse a bit with the vents of her car. “Showing up to a funeral with my clothes soaked would be a disaster.”

“If you were truly that thankful, you’d get your own license and not make me drive you everywhere,” she responds, though her tone is playful.

“You know how nervous being behind the wheel makes me! Besides, you’re the one who offered to drive me today in the first place.”

She doesn’t continue the bit, checking her blindspot camera as she changes lanes. “You look good, B. It’s a rare thing to see you all dressed up like this, and if I’m being honest, I was a little worried you’d show up in some really lame cat—” A peal of thunder interrupts her speech as a bolt of lightning crashes against the bubble, waves of force wobbling its outer layer. “...themed graphic-t…”

We—and all the traffic around us—slow to a crawl, waiting to ensure the strike was actual lightning and not the Fathom mixing up their strategy. Slowly, cautiously, everyone resumes driving like they were

“Old Ones, damn it. We can’t have a thunderstorm in this city without collectively losing our minds. Every time it's like this, and every time the already slow rain-traffic gets even slower since we’re all jumping at shadows,” she grouches, driving slower herself.

I start to lean on my palm, only remembering I’m wearing makeup when I feel its texture rubbing off on my palm. I open the car's sun visor, taking note of the mirror’s light being dead as I check how badly I messed myself up.

“If it's noticeable, I have a wipe in my bag in the backseat.” Sydney says, humor once again in her tone. “Might want to hurry though, we’ll be there soon.”

The real blush on my face is hard to distinguish from the fake, but I’m fairly sure I didn’t mess it up too bad. “I thiiiink it’s fine? I’ll have you look at it when we get there, I can’t see since the light for your mirror is dead.”

“Oh so this is my fault too? Just like how it’s my fault that YOU didn’t remember to buy your mom eggs?”

“I asked you to remind me! I bought us Chinese food not even a block from it!”

“Sounds like you putting your problems on others. Now get out of my car, we’re here.” She says, pulling up to the curb in front of Vanguard headquarters.

I stick my face towards her, angling it to the left so she can see where it’s been smudged.

She immediately leans back, discomfort on her face. “Are you..? Ugh, fine,” She places her hand on my hair to adjust my head to a better angle. “I can only really tell anything happened because I’m specifically looking for it, otherwise, you look great.”

She won’t meet my eyes, and I’m not sure if I should comment on it or not. “Are we good, Syd?” There's a car waiting for us to move, but this is more important. “Is this about what we talked about on the way here yesterday?”

Looking genuinely dumbfounded, she sputters: “I—What? No, I’m seriously fine. Whatever this is has nothing to do with that, and I’ll tell you about it another time.”

“Promise me you will?” I say, opening the door but not turning away from her.

She purses her lips, hesitating before she nods. “Alright. I promise.” She responds softly. “If it's still raining when you get out of there, call me, I’ll come pick you up.”

“Thanks for that, Sydney. Drive safely.” I say, pulling myself out of the car and closing the door behind me.

The car behind us, which I can now tell is an honest to Hastur hearse, pulls up where Sydney’s car was. My mind shuts down for a moment. Have I been making the car holding Silo’s corpse wait?

I’m still going through my fight-or-flight response when Revision gets out of the driver's side door, and any concern I had transitions into gobsmacked confusion. Following that reveal, the passenger side opens, and my newfound confusion is multiplied tenfold.

Stepping out of the hearse is a pair of pitch-black platform boots, each with upwards of seven buckles on them. As they make contact with the ground, the entirety of this new arrival reveals herself. She’s a little taller than me, pale as a ghost, and quite possibly the last goth left in the world. An impressively frilled black dress with even more buckles covers her frame, and the entire ensemble is decorated with winged gargoyle designs and jewelry.

I think to Roosevelt, “That’s gotta be Menagerie, right?”

His echoey voice is quick to respond. “Astute! What gave it away? her proximity to Revision?”

“I mean, there’s that, but if there’s only one vanguard I haven’t met, then it has to be the one goth left in the world.”

“Actually, forty percent of the bubble city Sowhorns’s population identify themselves as ‘Goth.’”

“Fascinating.” I think back at him, distracted by the large black umbrella she’s opened and left sitting on her shoulder. Its canopy looks like a series of bat wings intricately weaved together, the points sharp and dangerous looking.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I’m so absorbed in figuring out how one weaves bat wings together that I don’t notice she’s approached me until she’s already speaking. “You are the new Vanguard, I presume?” She asks, and her tone is somehow monotone yet carries an inflection.

“Ah, yep, that’s me.” I squeak; something about her generous use of mascara leaving me unable to tell whether she’s glaring or not.

She tilts her head almost robotically, “Why are you not in your ascendant form?”

What? Is that a thing? Did literally no one tell me I was supposed to show up in that? I actually worked really hard to look nice for this, and honestly, I’m a little mad that I could have just… transformed.

“Didn’t get the memo, apparently. Guess I dressed up for nothing.”

She fixes me with a look, her black lipstick contrasting her skin tone. “No one dresses up for nothing, they dress up to look good. As you do.” She says, and I’m unsure whether I’ve been chastised or complimented. “Come, Revvy. I refuse to be outside when the rain makes it here.”

Revision pats the hearse on its roof, and it drives away without a driver as he trots up to follow Menagerie. He gives me a somber nod on his way inside, reminding me why I’m here. “Hey Roosevelt, do you know where this is being held? I know I could follow them, but I think I’d prefer to walk alone. I also need to change, evidently.”

----------------------------------------

I do my best to not think about the expression on the woman's face who saw me enter the bathroom as Brooke and leave as a walking jellyfish, but as with all things I don’t want to think about, it’s all that’s on my mind.

“The Memorial Hall is on your right, next to the refreshments table.” Roosevelt says, saving me from my embarrassment highlight reel.

Several soldiers in uniform are chatting by a table with some donuts and coffee, though their voices are low enough that I can’t make much out.

“-’s bad news, withou– …on us from now on.”

“I hear the new Vang– …rough.”

I act like I’m trying to get a donut as I snoop closer, but my plan is interrupted by a heavy hand landing on my shoulder. “Glad you could make it, lass. Wouldnta’ felt right without ya here.”

I turn to the familiar voice, the form of Sergeant Duff in a far fancier uniform than the last time I saw him standing there. His chest is covered in medals of various colors and shapes, each one polished to a shine.

“Hey Duff, I’m glad to be here, though it’s a bit uncomfortable since everyone here knew him far longer than I did.” I say, not at all having planned on blurting that out.

The smile behind his trimmed mutton chops is a gentle one, and looks rather out of place on his bulldog-esque face. “That lad Silo was tha type tae keep his cards real close, and I’m thinkin ya might’ve gotten a bett’r look at those parts a’ him than most.”

The reassurance is kind, though hard to swallow. It must show in my expression because he waves at me to come with him. “Walk wit me, lass. I’d like ta show ya somethin.” He says, already trotting down the long hallway.

I gaze around me as I walk, catching up to Duff. The walls are a deep dark, and look identical to the ocean under the night sky. Hundreds of names are carved into the darkness, each glowing with various amounts of light.

“These big bastards were shipped ‘ere maybe…eight years ago, and ev’ry Vanguard-protected city’s got em. They link to each othar so that even if one city should fall, we’ll still have the names and emotions of those past. Try touchin one a’ them.”

His prompt was all it took to press my fingers to one of them, my arm was already reaching out to it. The moment my fingertips make contact with the warm to the touch etching of “Vanguard Slipstream,” I feel emotions that aren’t mine stir in my chest. These are… impressions other people had of this person. He was whimsical and fun, though a bit on the lazy side. He was also a loving partner, though, seemingly to a great many people.

I pull my fingers back as I start getting to some of the more… private impressions of him. “That’s incredible, how does it work?” I ask, running my fingers along a couple more.

His laugh is sharp and brief, and its volume gets a few looks from people nearby. “Right fucked if I know, prolly some sad bastard Vanguard’s project. Ya lot are all bleedin' hearts, after all.” He presses his own hand to a name as he speaks in a softer tone. “The one fer our city is at the end of tha hall, and Silo’s gonna be on it. I think I speak for all of us when I say we’d like to see the version of him that you’ve got, lass.”

His seriousness puts me a little off kilter, and I think I see just a bit of the sadness this old man is holding. “The feeling is mutual.” I say, and mean it.

----------------------------------------

The room at the end of the hallway feels kind of like a church to some kind of nature goddess, but with a giant slab of black rock in the middle of it covered in names. The stone ground is uneven, and the plants all look naturally placed up until they meet the building’s walls, as if someone had copied and pasted this place from somewhere else. Me and Duff sit on one of around a dozen wooden benches circling the memorial.

I see Naomi sitting a couple of rows ahead of me, and I’m glad to see she looks healthy. I do notice she isn’t in her Vanguard outfit like the rest of us, though, so hopefully that isn’t a bad sign.

My concerned pondering ends as Naomi looks back through the hallway we came from, and a hush goes through the room. I follow her gaze, the form of Catherine pushing a floating casket towards us breaks my heart. She isn’t crying, but judging by the redness of her eyes, she did plenty of it before coming here.

A few quiet sobs marr the otherwise silent room as his body is pushed past us to the front of the memorial. The casket remains floating in the air when she lets go of it, though she stays there for a moment with her hand on its glassy top before speaking.

“I’d like to thank all of you for coming here today; there’s nothing more comforting in this moment than to see all the people who cared for Silo as much as I did.” A podium rises from the ground, its surface a mossy stone. “Before we begin, I’d like everyone to reflect on your experiences with Vanguard Silo, and keep them in mind throughout. We will be applying those emotions to his etching at the end.”

The somber silence transitions into a contemplative one, everyone considering the kind of impression they have of the man. This continues for a few minutes before Catherine speaks again.

“Our time is not infinite, but I would like to give the floor to those closest to him to speak at this time.”

I feel a spray of liquid along my back.

“I would be honored to speak of that wretch, we are rather close.”

Rotating in my seat, I watch as the soldier speaking behind me clenches his fist, a fist that has been driven through the chest of Vanguard Chassis.