“What do you mean I can't keep it on me?”

“I mean,” the PRT trooper explained with the patience of a saint, while Miss Militia looked on with crossed arms and a Beretta in hand. “We can't have armed people going around here, especially not right now.” I frowned. “Your firearms will be tagged and kept at the armoury, yours to take when you leave. As long as you behave, at least.” I glared at him, but sighed. Shelter was more important.

“Fine.” I slowly drew the pistol from my pocket under their watchful gazes, unloaded it, and set it down. I unzipped my bag and put the second one on the metal counter behind the x-ray machine, then the ammo. “Can I keep the pepper spray to have something at least?”

“That would be acceptable,” Miss Militia said. “Now are you going to be any more trouble or can I show you to your temporary quarters?”

“I'll behave,” I promised. I didn't want to bite the hand that would be feeding me in the ruins of Brockton Bay.

She led me deeper into the building, along with two PRT troopers. Assault had gone inside ahead of me, probably to talk about whatever beat up him and the troopers he was with. Sucked for him. I, personally, was looking forward to maybe sleeping for a day or so, then figuring out what the fuck I was going to do. Sleep first though.

“How did you get those guns?” Miss Militia asked as we walked, her voice sharp.

“Mom's,” I replied as smoothly as I could, eyeing the pistol at her hip. “She...wasn't home. I think she was in the shelter that got breached.” There was the slightest falter in her step.

“I'm sorry.” She sounded genuine.

Oh. Mom was dead.

I stopped suddenly, the troopers behind striking and bouncing off. I stared at the concrete, gripped by an intense feeling I couldn't quite place. She wasn't my mom, kind of. But my mom...we didn't get along. And I had some fond memories of Mom...honestly. Maybe they weren't really mine but-- Fuck. I wiped my eyes and sniffed. A hand rested on my shoulder.

“Amaranth.” Miss Militia's voice was softer. “Do you need a moment?” I shook my head.

“I'm fine,” I said, taking a shuddering breath and holding back a sob. “I just...want to get to my room.” She nodded and rose, then we continued.

I tried my best not to think about it as we walked. Sadly, there wasn't much to see to distract me. The PRT seemed to have the same contractor as every dystopian government in film. Concrete, steel, and not a lot of windows. Mind, this building was intact where many others weren't. There was something to be said about the beauty of a bomb shelter.

“Here we are,” Miss Militia said, stopping outside a wooden door marked '39'.

She tapped a keycard against it and gestured for me to touch the lock. I moved my field away from my thumb and did. It beeped twice and the lock clicked. The door swung open easily, revealing...a little apartment. Not really cramped, I realized as I was ushered inside. In fact, there seemed to be more floor space than I had back home. I turned and saw the Protectorate member standing in the doorway, the troopers behind her.

“These are usually for personnel transferring between branches,” Miss Militia explained. “Given the circumstances, this one was made available. It's yours as long as you remain on good behaviour. Right now there's no time limit, but I would personally recommend considering the Wards.”

“Do I have to?” She shook her head.

“I've been told,” she continued. “That you may enter and leave under escort. As long as you don't resort to crime or obstruct the police, Protectorate, or PRT, you'll be allowed to stay.” She made a gesture and the troopers headed back up the hall. “May I come in to speak with you privately?” I nodded warily.

“Sure.” Inviting cops into one's home was a bad idea, but I was also inside their headquarters so... “Um, please sit down?” I took a seat at a small table in the kitchen. She sat in the chair opposite and let out a sigh.

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“Before we start,” Miss Militia said, gently. “Please understand this isn't an interrogation. This may be recorded but, unless you tell me you killed people and where their bodies are, that won't be used against you.” She straightened up slightly. “I say this, because I believe you should join the Wards.” I grimaced behind my kerchief.

“Look, Miss Militia,” I began hesitantly. “I appreciate you and the PRT and what you do, really. I just...that was my first day.” My seventh first, but who was counting? “My powers suck anyway, I can't do anything with them besides eat hits. And I can't even do it that well.”

“Well enough that Armsmaster recorded you taking no less than five strikes without fail.”

“I...” Shit, what was I supposed to say to that? “It's complicated. I don't totally understand my powers.” I'd dabbled, but two days wasn't much time for testing.

“We can help with that.” She held up a hand as I opened my mouth to protest. “Without you joining. With some paperwork, and a bit of patience, we can help you figure it out.”

“I...maybe.” I had wanted this three lives ago. Now, there was part of me that wondered if it was worth it. “Is there really time with...everything?”

“It would be necessary before you worked with us,” she said with a shrug. “Whether as a Ward or independent.”

“I'm still not sure,” I said, staring at the table. My head was already swimming, this wasn't helping.

That's understandable,” Miss Militia said, a distant look appearing in her eyes. “When I came to America I was young, afraid, and had no idea what my powers were. The Wards helped me and they, we, can help you as well. I'd ask you to trust me. I may not have fought an Endbringer on my first day, but it wasn't much easier.” I pressed my lips together and nodded.

“Can...can I think about it?”

“Of course,” she replied kindly. “Still have my card?” I nodded. “Good. Call anytime, but please exercise some judgment. Things are...difficult, right now.”

“I will,” I promised.

“Good.” Miss Militia rose and stuck out a hand. I took it and gave it a quick shake. “Whether you choose to become a Ward or not, Amaranth, the Protectorate won't forget your bravery.” I knew it was supposed to be a compliment, but it weighed like a threat.

“Thank you,” I said honestly. If nothing else I appreciated having shelter. “I'm...sorry if I caused any trouble.”

With the firearms?” I nodded and she shrugged. “Less trouble than I caused. I'll see you later, Amaranth.” I nodded, and with that I was left alone in the little bachelor suite.

I rose and dropped my bag at the foot of my new bed. I considered unpacking but...no, not yet. I wasn't feeling half-settled, hell I was more antsy than I had been walking through the flooded, broken streets. I had done some stupid shit, said some dumb things to the wrong people thinking that none of it mattered. To be fair, I still wasn't sure how much it did. I had no guarantee where I'd wake up next...let alone when. A death here could mean everything wiped out and reset.

I couldn't handle that. If all of this pain, all this...this, had been for nothing? I wasn't sure what I'd do, but I couldn't even promise myself it wouldn't be...drastic. That made survival the goal, no matter the cost. I had to survive, because god knew so many people hadn't. I hadn't.

A dark part of me whispered that they could, that if I just tried one more time I could do it. That temptation hissed into my ears that all I had to do was go back to the armoury and get one of my pistols. It would be quick, far quicker than drowning four times in a row, and I'd be able to get my do-over.

I stripped and went into the bathroom, sitting in the shower but leaving the water off. No way I could deal with that right now, but I had to get away from myself. I curled my legs to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and rested my forehead on my knees. I focused on my breathing, trying to return to some balance between wanting to kill myself for martyrdom's sake, and the regular sort.

I felt my throat closing and squeezed my stubby nails against my skin until it hurt. I fought back my tears and was rewarded by merely crying silently instead of loudly bawling and disturbing the neighbours. Quiet sobs wracked my body, my back convulsed as I heaved in shuddering breaths to fuel my breakdown.

Somehow, I felt more alone than I ever had. I had no one to really talk to still, nothing different there. My relatively familiar home wasn't viable to stay in anymore; even if it hadn't been flooded I didn't fancy my chances against a gang. My projection couldn't be broken, sure, but I could. Would be, if they managed to drag me off like Leviathan always had.

My projection settled on my shoulders and I gripped myself tighter. Fuck. My shitty power was the only thing I could actually rely on. Not for everything, as I'd learned the hard way six times, but it was all I had. For better or worse, I had it and it was stuck with me. I should try and understand it, figure out its limits and how to use it.

I slowly rose from the porcelain of the shower floor, wincing at the soreness in my muscles. It had been a long day, a long few days, a long few weeks. I was wiped, maybe not physically but mentally there was little left. I needed some time to recoup, recover, before I got stuck in with the devastated Brockton Bay. I didn't have long, but hopefully I wouldn't need it. I curled up in bed and pulled the blankets over my head.

I just needed a little more time.