"I hope our domains never meet." - The Brass Knight

Danika stood up and stuck her hand out. "So who's your girlfriend? Are you going to introduce us?"

"She's not my..." Marie bit her lip. "I'm going to sound insane, but this is the Incubator."

Hope cackled. "What, did you wish really hard or something?"

"It's not like that!"

"Funny you should say that, actually," Mækiu grimaced.

"As per my contract to ensure her protection, I can't tell her about any of this." He stopped moving and gazed directly into Marie's eyes. "Do not fuck this up for me."

"Woah, you can swear?!"

"It seems I can. That's how serious I'm being."

"Uh, oh, right...! Yeah. You got it, weird, sweary Kyub. Not a word to anyone."

"I take this to mean your power is psychometry then - seeing the past of objects you touch. That makes sense. If you want to convince me to save your species, current and former, you'd need a tool like that to gather evidence for your case."

"So it wasn't as easy as just wishing compassion into you..."

"Meanwhile, I have new potential clients to tend to. Congratulations, by the way. I'm sure you'll prove a very useful energy source."

He slunk off silently, into the ambience of a suburban Thursday morning. There was still much work to do, even if he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at leaving Marie there like that.

Hang on a second.

'Feel'?

Oh, no, no. That was bad. That was really, really genuinely awful. This was the worst thing he'd ever felt in his life. Well, it was the only thing he'd ever felt in his life.

His world was significantly smaller now, and it was after a moment of contemplation that he realised he only had one body. He'd been severed from his own telepathic network. His slink became a scamper when his knowledge of the consequences inspired within him a thought he'd never had before, at least not like this.

He didn't want to die.

He was terribly aware, now, of droves of red eyes watching him from around every corner and upon every rooftop. He had nowhere to run. But he had to. Death was no longer just the cessation of life - with his severance from the hive, it would be the discontinuation of his own consciousness. That wasn't something he'd ever had to concern himself with before, and now it would be the first (and likely last) thing he'd ever feared.

Up ahead, a barricade of his former fellows prowled his way. Behind, he didn't need to so much as glance to know another was doing the same. In his millions of years of life, there were bound to be defectives, of course. How many had he discontinued by now? Thousands? Did they all dread as he did? Did they all go mad with terror when they tried to find a way out of being torn apart, only to see their own eyes looking back at them? Worse still, he knew there was a part of him - most of him, in fact, which was looking in. Which didn't feel as it took his life.

One body, perched atop the fence above him, spoke up.

"Incubator specimen number 84 774 933. You -" he paused to shudder, as if thinking of him, no, it as some kind of other brought him a deep, carnal satisfaction like the stretching of a muscle, "- have been found in possession of human emotion which, as you should know, is recognised as a category 4.2 psychohazard under both the Incubation Operating Standards and the Quality of Life Regulations as set forth by the Concordance. As such, you have been deemed too irrational to make a case for yourself and severed from our telepathic network to prevent any psychic contamination. You and all other bodies in quarantine due to your state are scheduled for immediate termination. Is that understood?"

"What? No, no, no, no..."

"Your co-operation is appreciated, but not necessary. It is suggested that you allow this process to kill you as painfully as possible to optimise your emotional energy output. Goodbye."

The pack of self descended upon him, sank their fangs into him, tore at his flesh and bone and it seemed even something so fundamentally instinctual as pain was different now in this altered state, although he couldn't say as much for long because each jaw tore through sinew and nerve, and piece by piece he was just... gone.

But what if he didn't need any piece of himself?

Certainly, he had the technology - having just signed a contract, he still possessed the means to do it again. And the mention of emotional energy output made him realise he had everything he needed right here. More than that, he had everything any individual or group could ever possibly need. It had long since been observed that the karmic influence of an individual is proportional to their capacity for magical power, and he had been developing technology to preserve the entire universe for two million years now. There was one hypothetical wish which sprung to mind, something no human had come close to accruing the power for, not even those who went on to become gods. Could he potentially...?

And then he did.

He wished for infinite wishes.

And against all odds, whatever they may be, it worked. And with so little time to put them to good use. His older way of life was eager to experiment with this newfound omnipotence, but the terrified prey he was in the present knew he hardly had a choice.

Hypothesis one: Could he transport his consciousness elsewhere, potentially somewhere that he wasn't being eaten alive? If he truly was omnipotent now, surely he could.

Result: Apparently yes.

Hypothesis two: Could he create a new form for himself? By the same reasoning, that was just as possible.

Result: Also apparently yes, but with limited success. His self-image had seen better days, when he wasn't an emotional wreck, or being eaten by himself, or no more than a teleporting brain.

Hypothesis three: He had shaped two million years of human evolution to optimise the channeling of magic. Could he create himself a human-form body, then?

Result: He was unsatisfied with how little he had to write about the methods of his experiment, as all he had to do was wish for it to be real. But yes.

Hypothesis four: Kill Marie.

Result: That wasn't a real scientific hypothesis. But sure, alright.

"And then you didn't," Marie concluded.

"And then I didn't."

"Why not, then?"

"That's just the thing. Once I actually got here I realised..." and now she struggled to meet Marie's eye, "you were really nice to me for four years. And you never expected anything for it. I had nothing to reciprocate."

"I just liked your company, I guess. It wasn't a big deal."

"Exactly! And I think I love you, because of that? That's weird to say, isn't it? I mean that really is weird to say."

Everyone else almost jumped to grapple with such an idea.

"Well," Marie confessed, "I never felt that about you before, and now... well, you've changed so much, I mean-"

"It's the haircut, isn't it."

"Certainly, insofar as that's a subset of 'everything'."

Mækiu called forth a pair of round-rimmed, coral-pink sunglasses ("I think I dropped these on the ABC roof," she remarked), and two golden bands to tie her hair back in. "Better?"

"Honestly, screw me if I know."

"I feel like I look better. I'll work on it."

"So if you're omnipotent," Thalia's broken thoughts interjected, "Does that mean you can effortlessly solve all the world's problems?"

"Oh! No, no, no, no, no! Absolutely not. No, I have to reassess the ethical qualities of my past two million years alive. I'm not about to start involving myself with... politics, or whatever you want to rope me into here, because emotion is eye-opening enough, and now I'm wondering what other dimensions of consciousness am I missing that would recontextualise everything I've ever done?"

"What about Francis?" Hope offered.

"What about her?"

"You killed her," Marie huffed. "You bastard, you killed her!" Hope fought to restrain her, but her clammy grip only irritated her more.

"And what if I did? What are you planning on doing?" The bitterest, most contemptuous grin overtook Lara's face. "Look at what you've made of yourself. I am your only way out of dying afraid and alone and having accomplished nothing in your less than two decades of life. So you really want to kill me? Do it, coward. And die with me."

She ripped her arm free of Hope's grip. "I don't care! She was my friend, and you...!" She raised her hand to Lara, but the evening seaside air was frigid and her joints were clammy and she felt a walking corpse now more than ever. The black tendril which killed Francis left her soul gem, coiled around her outstretched wrist, and made a beeline for Macquarie's tiara.

"Marie!" Hope yelled, and with newly-freed hand, grabbed her throat. Grabbed her throat tight. She tried to wrest herself free, but Hope's grip was steel. She couldn't breathe no matter how much she hacked and wheezed and coughed.

"You alright?"

Marie laid back across the sofa. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Smoke inhalation, that's all."

"That's all?!"

"I mean I do have bigger things to worry about. I've never been on a date before. Just let me heal up and get ready for that, and we can talk about this later."

"I expect you've never bombed a building, either!"

"Okay, in my defence..." Marie gagged and spluttered once more for good measure, and sprung upright. "We still don't know if I did that."

Hope helped her to her feet. "Who do you s'pose did?"

"If I tell you, it's gonna sound insane."

"Yeah?"

"So I won't." She pulled her arm free of Hope's and ambled into the bathroom.

Her reflection bothered her. Not as it had at a younger age, but her appearance was still ashen from the... well, the ashes. Hastily she scrubbed her face down.

And still, she hadn't cleaned well enough. Her hair was still peppered grey, except it wouldn't...

"I've gone grey."

She leaned through the bathroom door.

"Hope, I've gone grey."

Hope double-took. "You hadn't noticed?"

"Never."

"Yeah, that happens with late contractors from time to time. Suddenly your hair'll just produce a lot of eumelanin - the pigment that makes it darker. What with your hair having almost been white,

That'd make it grey, ay?"

"Yeah, I... really? Why does it do that?"

"Well normally it happens in your adolescence, but a few of the hormones you'd have going on there are synthetically stimulated if you sign off at an age where your body stops making them. Growth hormones and sex hormones and that kind of thing are all fully suppressed, because nobody wants to put up with those a second time, but I just don't think there's ever been a reason to stop that," she pointed to her own scalp, "from happening."

"Well damn. I quite liked the way it used to look. Do you think I should ask Mækiu how she gets hers so white?"

"Could make for a deece conversation starter."

"Oh, good to know. I really don't know what I'm supposed to say on dates." Her sigh carried the edge of a bittersweet chuckle. "But the long and short of it is... I don't think I can do this."

Mækiu recoiled. "Wait, did I do something?"

"No! I mean, I don't know!" she shrugged. "The first couple dates went really nicely. The latest one, too, until I stuffed that up."

"You didn't stuff it up, Marie."

"I did! Of course your past has baggage. You're the Incubator! Or were, or something."

"I'm definitely leaning 'something'."

"Right. My point is... I do love you. I really do. But I'm not sure we can make this work. Let's take a break, at least."

"Alright." Mækiu looked away. "If it's what you need, I'm more than happy to give you that. Let me know if you ever want to pick back up."

"Yeah, I will..."

"Is everything okay?"

"What I need? What I need is to go and talk to Danika."

The last time they'd talked felt so long ago now. It was only a day or two, but each day was a thousand lifetimes. Each hour could see worlds rise and fall.

"Marie."

"Dani. How've you been keeping?"

Danika grinned. "Is that some kind of sick joke?"

"That's not what I meant. I'm sorry."

"Hey. Hey, it's all good. I mean, we've both got to get used to this new... way, that things are. I mean, especially you. Damn, dude."

"What can I say? Phoebe was right. This is a lot to take in, you know?"

"You've only been at it for a few hours. I'm sure you just need time to get used to it."

"Used to it? Dani, if every day from here onwards is as much work to get through, I'm gonna neck myself. Even if I do get used to it, look at me! I'm exactly what she wanted me to be now. I'm quote-unquote 'useful'."

"Marie..."

She groaned. "You're not going to ask me to forgive her or anything, are you?"

"No, but..."

"I immediately hate where this is going."

"I really blame myself for what happened back there. I could have stopped her."

"Yeah, well, why didn't you? Now she's..."

Danika perked up. "Are you alright?"

"I can't even say it. But I can't stand by and let her get away with blood on her hands, let alone... one... one of my best friends."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise what was going to happen if I didn't do anything. I didn't think it would matter. I thought I did the right thing."

"No, I'm sure you did. Just not the right thing to me."

"Well," Danika leaned over and patted her on the back, "I don't think you should lose hope just because I did something stupid. Lara was wrong when she said you needed her. You can beat her at her own game. We've gotta be close to the Abyss's true name by now, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe. We'll see."

She nodded. "I know. I felt the same way when Lauren died. It's hard to think of the future when you're in mourning."

"You don't seem as torn up about it as I am."

Danika forced a smile. "I really feel awful for saying this, but I've had other things on my mind. I mean... I get it now. I finally know who I am, on the inside. There's something I have to tell you. But you can't tell anyone, or they'll never trust me again. Okay?"

But some time from now, it would come to pass that her very confidant would forget who she herself was.

She was still in half-lotus because, of course, no time had passed for her at all. Now, though, her posture lessened.

"Alright, this is where things start falling apart. I'm going to need some context for this."

SOME CONTEXT FOR THIS

The most appropriate context to apply for this situation is everything. Here is, more or less, everything:

In 2008 C.E., much of a Terran society which tokenised anything it could into an abstraction called 'finance' had suffered a crisis. What caused this crisis was not important, but for the record, it was the abstraction itself. Many of these people believed that these tokens could be used to inform a property called 'ownership', which dictated who was allowed to interact with what, and how. Some people enforced this with weaponry or other means of violence for the purposes of harming members of their own species, even if these rules were broken to acquire fundamental needs, like food, water, or in this case, shelter.

This made the people who owned lots of shelter own more shelter than people who did not own lots of shelter, and the system was so badly designed that this brought the whole structure down. Somehow, this made the people who did own shelter gather even more influence. For the child of a real-estate mogul, this was a tremendous boon to karmic gravitas. For those with potential for magic, this was a very good thing. Presuming, of course, that they didn't care if they lived or died. Therefore this was a very good thing for Marie Crawford.

In 1998, the youngest daughter of an eons-ancient force of destruction was born. She would never know the names of her score of older siblings, and when she was ten years old, she would be woken on New Year's Eve by the counting down of the humans ignorant enough to believe themselves her parents. For a moment, she will think she sees a shadow by her doorway - poised like a cat, but with longer ears and a bigger tail - but when she rubs her eyes and blinks, it will be gone.

In 1965, a then-already-exceptionally-wealthy nineteen-year-old conspiracy theorist began his collection of what he believed to be evidence. Ironically, nobody would have conspired against him if he hadn't done exactly that. There is an epistemological phenomenon called the Gettier problem, wherein a belief can be both true and justified, and not constitute knowledge. This man believed himself to be one of the most powerful men alive. This was true, and his possession of alien technology was an appropriate justification for believing it. It was not the utility of this technology which assured his power, though.

In 1846, a European nobleman and single father's continued abuse of his only child compelled her to run away from home. Life without the privilege of nobility was difficult for her, particularly due to centuries of the upper class's incestuous interbreeding leaving her born blind in one eye. She would adopt a commoner's surname while away from him, and discover a liking for other women soon after.

In 1710, a young delinquent in the very same town was born. She would spend her life finding trouble with the law in advocating for other youths wrongfully punished for crimes only committed to fill the dearth of opportunities provided by their social class. At the very end of her life, she would realise the truth of the world, watch the triumph of a golden dragon over her age, and prepare the universe for the next.

In 480 B.C.E., yet another teenage girl in what is now the Republic of India would understand the principles behind the dragon's power, the exact course of action needed to defeat it, and why she alone was capable of such a thing. She would only be the second to ever stand up to it. And yet, when she clashed with it, still it emerged victorious.

Short of two million years before all of this, different species of primate fought each other for a similar environmental niche. By the power of an outside force, the Concordance, the trait of intelligence among them was artificially selected for with provisions of augmentations beyond the understanding of they and their descendants.

The Concordance exists far outside of the boundaries of this planet, and in every direction. All of traversable space teems with countless sapient species living side by side, never clashing, as they have no notion of scarcity or of malice. Their ultimate intention is a universal immortality, so that they might spend the remainder of eternity in the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom, and so that any other sapient may join them.

Further still, at the height of the universe, is the pantheon from which all the goddesses project their will to their magical girl devotees. Its halls are paved with silver and its rivers run with sunlight. To gaze upon it would elevate one's understanding of beauty and decadence beyond what a hundred lives on Earth could, and to roam within would allow one to hear the song of the universe.

And further still come the webs of dark energy which pry the fabric of space apart. They account for almost all of the cosmos's mass, and are completely unobservable. But they are not unobserving.

And even further still rests a tower of dead worlds, now left only to give the universe its own shape, spell out its own name. Pests take to each and populate them with their memetic, not genetic, broods. Their origin is the hyperreal imaginings of worlds at war.

And beyond even that is the shape itself, which protects the universe from the infinity of the deep darkness, but would crumble should it ever be replaced with the light.

And then, out on the edge of this furthest of distances, is a small town in rural Kansas.