I bolted awake in bed with a shriek, limbs flailing in every direction. The blankets rippled and twisted violently around me as my projection and body writhed out of sync. My stomach flipped as I rolled over and suddenly the wind was whipping at my face and the deep blue of the sky flashed overhead and the asphalt was coming up way to fast and--

Another cry escaped my lips. I wrapped my arms around myself as tight as they'd go. I fought back the urge to throw up as my guts did an entire circus routine. I wasn't falling, I wasn't. I was in bed, safe...at least as safe as I ever fucking was.

It still took an eternity to settle down. When I finally managed to force myself up and out of bed, I nearly fell over as my knees gave out. I fell to the floor and stayed there, staring at the concrete. My vision was swimming, spinning really, and I couldn't get the awful feeling of falling out of my head.

With a grip tight enough to make the wood creak, I grabbed the frame of the bed and managed to get my legs under me. I locked my knees and slowly, stiffly made my way to the kitchen. I set up the coffee machine, though not without spilling a bunch of grounds with my shaking hands. Once it was brewing I stumbled to the couch and fell onto the soft cushions, sighing.

“Fuck me,” I croaked to no one in particular.

I had, in theory, done everything right. I had prevented the Undersiders' attack on our headquarters and managed to get a whole team of heroes put together to help Armsmaster fight off Mannequin. That was a hell of a lot, and even if it made me look crazy the heroes had believed me! For whatever fucking good it did...

Yeah, I'd saved Shadow Stalker from getting mind-controlled by Regent, amazing. I was so good she got fried Mannequin two days later. As for the fucking monster himself, well, maybe they got him; he sure seemed to be having an easy time taking us apart though. I hadn't even managed to do much, breaking the chain hadn't seemed to actually stop his control.

No, I couldn't start thinking like that again. I forced a deep breath in and out of my lungs, over and over, until I was bored to shit. Better to be bored than spiraling. I rose from the couch, a little more steady than last time, and returned to the kitchen. I made my coffee and drank it there, staring sightlessly at the mug.

I had done my best...well, maybe not exactly, but I'd done a decent job. I could do better though, would do better. I wasn't getting any stronger, but I was getting better at standing still. That was a vital skill, as stupid as it sounded. My projection hadn't broken, so as long as I just didn't flinch I was as safe as I possibly could be. At least, until someone grabbed me. I shook my head, breaking that train of thought before it could start. No time for that.

I had a report to write.

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

“Amaranth,” Miss Militia greeted me as I opened my door. “May I come in?” I nodded and opened the door, fighting a feeling of deja vu.

“Did you read my report?” I asked as I sat down at the table, cocking my head.

“I did,” she replied evenly, setting the paper on the table between us. “And I think you need to explain yourself.” I sighed, that had been the point of the report.

“I remember things that haven't happened,” I said, gesturing to the paper. “Three things, in the next few days.”

It had been a pain to write it all out. Not for any particular reason, sometimes my hands just started shaking. It probably made half the shit illegible, the reason for the visit no doubt. I rubbed the back of my neck as Miss Militia stared at me.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“May I ask why you haven't brought this up before?” I scoffed.

“Because remembering things that haven't happened is crazy.” I grimaced. Maybe not, according to the Protectorate... “And it didn't come up til...now.” Or at least, I didn't know I'd be taken seriously til now.

“This is part of your power?”

“That or I'm like, actually crazy.” It was a real possibility, but not for these three things at least. “Look, I know it's hard to believe but this is going to happen because it already has! Or something.” I bit my tongue, already saying too much, and saying it stupidly.

“Hmm.” She stared at me with a steely gaze that made my sweat glands leap into overdrive. “Will you make your predictions a sworn statement?” What?

“I uh...” Oh god why hadn't she given me the third-degree before?! “What...does that entail?”

“There may be consequences if you're found to have made them falsely,” Miss Militia said plainly. “Within reason. We do understand that predictions that are acted on rarely turn out as predicted.” Oh they understood that did they? I fucking lived and died it...

“Well, good.” I nodded, pointing at the first one on the list, heart thumping loudly. “If Shadow Stalker doesn't go out, that doesn't happen so...there's another one I guess?” I winced as her eyes narrowed.

“And how do you know that?”

“...Because I remember it?”

“Amaranth.” Miss Militia sighed and pulled down her mask, a slight frown fixed on her face. She looked...maybe actually sad? Why? “You can talk to me. Even if you don't feel comfortable putting it in a report, could you please tell me the truth?”

“What?” My voice was brittle and shaky. I hated it.

“Predictions on predictions are impossible,” she said softly, sending a bucket of ice water down my spine. “No known precog has been able to do something like that.” I blinked, mouth suddenly dry, mind racing for something.

“It's a variable,” I said quietly, shrinking back in my seat. “Like...with her there it happens, here it doesn't. It's not...not a prediction prediction.” I licked my lips, tasting my sweat in the cloth mask.

“I see.” She didn't sound totally satisfied, but her expression eased a little. “Will you at least swear by your first predictions, regarding the Undersiders?”

“I...guess.” I sighed, shaking my head. “No, sorry, I'll do it.” I had to, if this was what it took then dammit I had no other option. “What, um...what do I actually need to do for that?”

“It's quite simple.” Miss Militia put a piece of paper on the table and pushed it my way. “Write whatever you'd like in the provided space, then sign at the bottom.”

“That's it?” She nodded and I grabbed the paper, along with the pen I'd written my report with earlier.

It didn't take too long to write out the pair of predictions I was confident in. I knew what happened if they acted on my info, and I knew what happened when they didn't, and said as much. I hesitated at the bottom, but signed my name as normal, frowned, then did it again but with my name. I pushed it back to Miss Militia, who took it with a nod.

“Thank you, Amaranth,” she said, folding it up. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” I glanced at my statements.

“Off the record?” I chanced, earning another hard look. “Seriously, I don't want to put this down because then you'll really think I'm crazy.” Or hate me...the bigger concern.

“Very well.” Her answer was cold, but it was the best I was going to get. I took a deep breath and steeled my nerves.

“Armsmaster and Panacea are both nominees for the Slaughterhouse Nine.” Miss Militia flinched and I winced. “Sorry, that's why they come after them. Um, sorry.” I stared at the table sheepishly. I hadn't said a word about it last time...had that been the problem?

“That is a very serious accusation.”

“Prediction,” I corrected, shrinking back from her glower. “Sorry, that's it. I don't think either of them belong there, but the Nine do apparently. But if I put that down, then everyone's gonna look at me like I'm a weirdo and an asshole. Armsmaster is the former head of the local Protectorate and Amy is...Amy; no one's going to believe some two day old Ward about that.” I swallowed heavily, staring at the floor. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Miss Militia sounded tense, but not angry. That was...something.

“Thanks.”

“I'll make sure your statement is taken with the gravity it deserves,” she continue, rising from her seat. “I appreciate you swearing it in. As for the unsworn predictions...”

“Take them seriously,” I warned, raising my head and meeting her gaze despite how awful that felt. “I mean it. It's literally life or death...” Her shoulders tensed a fraction and she nodded once before heading out the door.

I sighed and rested my forehead against the cool wood of the table. It felt like it had gone worse than the last two times, far worse according to my churning stomach. Unlike before, the soft, kind Miss Militia had been replace with a hard-nose cop bent on interrogating me. I guess that was her actual job, but having it turned on me when I was trying to help felt awful. I couldn't dwell on that feeling though, because I had helped.

God, I hoped so.