Episode 9: The Risk and the Reward; or, It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's…!

The next morning was tense. Narma woke earlier than she would have normally, the starlight reflecting in from outside, and she could immediately feel the ache in her body of post-battle. Her covers pulled up to her chin, her mind flicked back through yesterday's events like the film in one of those little view finders for children. She'd been alone. That was terrifying—she never wanted to get stuck in that position again.

She'd left Manuel alone.

The clock beside her said 5:00 AM, long before she needed to get up for her internship. On the nightstand, her phone was dark and quiet, but she knew it would have charged by now and judgement day was awaiting her. With a hum of displeasure, she snagged the phone, flicking the charger away with her thumb. The screen vibrated awake as she turned it on. Ten new messages.

Ho boy.

Narma? Where are you?

You said just a second

I know you wanted to grab your phone;

we should have just used mine. You shouldn't be out there!

Are you getting this?

The length of time between the texts was sporadic.

Signal's really bad.

You've been gone for a while. Did you leave?

I'm worried

That's it, I'm coming out there.

Narma sat up, her covers falling away from her silky night shirt. He'd left? When had that happened? She didn't see him while she was fighting that thing—at what point had he gone out?

Narma, I can't find you. I asked

the paramedics if they had seen

anyone like you and they said no;

I have no idea what happened to you.

Please message me as soon

as you see this. I have no idea what's

going on.

Last Sent 7:15 PM. About thirty minutes before she left the pier.

She knew it was early, but spurned on by his urgency, she began to plug in her own message. She paused. What can I even say to him?

…biting her lip, she created her lie.

Manuel, I'm so sorry, I hope you are okay.

She usually avoided text walls, but she didn't want to bombard him with a ton of messages, so she kept it all together.

When I went to grab my phone, I saw it was dead,

and the store was out of power. I didn't know you

had your phone—I feel stupid now, I went to check

the next shop over, like maybe only the one had been

knocked when that thing passed by. After that

She hesitated.

the monster showed up, and so I had to hide. I must

have been too close to an outlet or something the next time

that thing came around, because I got zapped and passed out.

It was late when I woke up, and by the time I got home, I was

so tired I just fell asleep immediately. Let me know when you

get this. I'm so sorry!

The words, while the sentiment was true, felt plasticine. She…didn't like this, lying to him. Lying to anyone, but especially this boy who'd been so worried, and she had just left him alone. She tapped out, I hope you can forgive me, in its own little tab beneath the text wall, before deleting them. Seeing those words only felt more incriminating.

She waited for several moments and didn't receive a reply. He must still be asleep. Good. She had hoped he hadn't been losing any sleep over her. She would just have to wait to hear back from him.

Noting the time, she was reminded that there were other who probably needed to know about this too. She thought about bringing up the group text, but she wasn't sure she had the energy to keep up with all three (or, wow, five? She didn't even have the new girl's numbers)…of her cohorts just then.

Flicking through her message logs, she brought up the one person she knew was going to be up this early.

Rory, hey. Did you hear about

the attack at the pier yesterday?

! Yes! Hey, girl.

There she was. Thought so.

I was wondering where the

thing went to! I didn't even know

what had happened until I saw it

in the news feed last night.

Yeah, I was there, it was kind of sudden

Rory's reply was instantaneous.

OMG are you okay?

Yeah. I don't know if I killed it or it

just disappeared. Kind of blacked out

at that point? wHOOPS

You took that thing on by yourself?!

She shook her head. She didn't get on here trying to guilt trip her friend.

That's not important right now.

Yes it is. :(

Rory's sad little face blinked up at her, sticking her somewhere in the chest with something sharp. She sat back, shoulders settling on the cold wood of her bedframe. She didn't think she would ever stop appreciating having a friend who cared so sincerely as Rory did. Her thumb hovered over the keys, wanting to let the fond feeling linger, but no. There were developments.

Just…play it off. You may have almost died, but you didn't. No need to make her worry.

Thanks, but updates. It was spindly legs,

but it was like it had been grafted

with the other one

So there's only one monster now?

And it might be dead?

I don't think so. It still looked too much

like Spindly. I think they may have just

gotten an upgrade.

Dang.

We'll just have to watch them. If they

get to where they're able to hit us

both at once again, we might have a

bigger problem.

10-4.

I'm going to go stretch.

You live your best life, girl.

You better not be lying to me!

If you're hurt, I'm going to kick your butt!

Yeah yeah

She almost closed her phone down, then moved back to the keyboard.

Thanks.

She took a deep breath, skull thumping back into the pillows. Okay, that was taken care of. Now, she just had to worry about getting ready for work.

And not speaking to her parents, because she was still pissed.


Sailor Boreas lowered her (Rory's?)—the phone back to her bag, as she perched on the depot's roof, a pit in her chest. She read back over the messages she had sent—she knew she was a hypocrite. But she had good reasons for keeping these nightly outings off her friends' radar. Creeping along the edge of the twilit rooftop, she listened down into the alley below.

"—you know the guys are jumpy as shit."

"What a fucking joke," said the other guy. "From what they said through the pane, they got bagged by a little girl in hooker boots."

Hey! Furrowing her brows, she looked down, peering at her foot gear. So not hooker boots.

The guy continued. He was standing close to the other, whatever they were looking over obscured by the alley darkness. "I'd like to see that bitch try to come up on me; they'd never find her."

She shivered, leaning back from the edge.

The previous night, she had heard a couple of these guy's buddies talking about this meet-up, so she hoped something good was going to come of it. It seemed her capture of the two dealers before the camping trip hadn't halted the plan after all. There was still some talk of a big deal going down in the city. As she'd thought about it more, she'd decided that it might be more helpful to go the Decima route and stick with re-con for now. The more she could find out about the big exchange, the more she'd be able to do about it.

After a little while, they hadn't named another location and whatever business they had come there to do was done. She sighed. She wished this would have been a more productive night out, but sometimes she just had to take the loss. Celene was already going to reem her for having been out so late so long, the threads of sunrise were streaking across the sky. She would just have to keep an eye on their rotations, try to pin-point if there was a common location nearby.

She free-ran, still in uniform, across the lower businesses of the city. It was still earlier enough that not a lot of folks were out and about, so the risk of her being seen was still low. She did have to stop a couple times, which was disappointing. She'd barely gotten three hours of sleep, and Brenda was coming back from vacation for the summer rush, and so she had a shift at the convenience store awaiting her as well. Thank goodness she was out of school.

She had paused on the rooftop of an apartment building, when she heard a familiar voice call from behind. "Hey! Wait, stay there for a minute. It's me."

Startled, Sailor Boreas turned to the neighboring rooftop to see Eddie poking his head out the top floor window. Eddie. What's he doing up at this time in the morning? I didn't know he lived here.

Needing a breather anyway, she waited, curious to see what he wanted. Eddie was one of the few civilians who had interacted with her in-uniform before, so it wasn't an additional risk to see what he might want.

After just a minute, the latch to the roof opened up. Eddie stepped through the roof-entrance, coming to the edge. "Hey. Thanks for waiting. I don't know if you remember me…" he seemed to hesitate, and Sailor Boreas quirked a brow. "But my name is Edward. I work for the Seattle Times."

"The Seattle Times?" She had to pretend like she didn't know already, right. "That's an upgrade. Aren't you a high-schooler?"

Eddie stopped, backing up to tug at his collar. He was wearing a t-shirt with Oppy the Mars rover on it; it was pretty cute. "Uh? Yeah, I am. I guess you do remember me."

She made an effort to deepen her voice; make it as different from her own as possible. "I don't exactly have exclusive chats with every guy off the street. I remember."

"Oh." Eddie glanced to the side.

"Right, of course."

"So," she said, all business as she cocked her hands on her hips. "You wanted to speak with me."

"Yes," he said, adjusting his glasses. "I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the recent attacks all around the city."

Er, can't help him there. "We wish we knew more," she admitted. "We're just trying to handle them as they come up for now. Sorry."

He looked disappointed. "Oh, gotcha. Well, there was something else I wanted to ask you about while you were here, if you don't mind."

Honestly, she liked Eddie, and she wanted to help him, but she was afraid there was just not a lot she was going to be able to give him. "Depends on the question but go ahead." And then she remembered the conversation she'd had with them heading out the last day of school, and realized that she might have just made a mistake.

She hadn't noticed, but Eddie brought up a tiny notebook he'd been keeping in his palm. He unclicked a pen as he pulled it from his pocket. "There are rumors that there is a copy-cat running around trying to do the thing you do, but with human criminals. It seems like flat-out vigilantism." He licked his lips contemplatively, tilting his head. "I was wondering if you were aware of that, and what you would say to this individual if these rumors are true. Do you agree with what they're doing? Disagree?"

Boreas, Rory, glanced away. This was a delicate question. Of course she'd heard of it; it was her. She didn't want to encourage anyone following in her footsteps, and she also didn't want to sway public opinion against herself if anything should happen. Really, she didn't want to draw any more attention to the subject at all if she could help it. But maybe Eddie might feel less inclined to look into it if she told him?

Eddie seemed to interpret her silence more accurately than she had anticipated, because he slowly lowered the notebook. He unclicked the pen. "Hold on. That is someone else, right?"

"…n-no," she admitted weakly. "It's me."

Eddie glanced around himself, as if there were someone around to hear them. "Whoa, okay, wait. So are the Soldiers talking on human criminals now?"

"Just me," she corrected sharply. From her own rooftop, she leaned over, looking him in the eye. Could he even tell that? She knew she was a kaleidoscope of dark holographics to him. "Listen, Eddie, I'm telling you this in confidence. The other soldiers don't know about this either. I'm sorry, you can't publish this."

"They don't know?" His brown eyes widened behind their frames. He looked worried. "I…I don't understand the strategic advantage. I need you to elaborate."

"It's a collateral advantage," she shot back stiffly. "You won't publish this?"

He shook his head, a tiny motion. "…no."

She glanced away. "…the new parties moving into the city are planning something major. I don't know what, or how, but I'm trying to find out. They less of us involved, the less chance of additional casualties."

He watched her from the opposite rooftop. His gaze was careful, examining. It was a look that make Boreas (Rory) think she might have underestimated his level seriousness here. "…so you have defenses against human weaponry."

Her lip twisted down, and she crossed her arms. "…I can handle it."

"What does that mean?" He was actually raising his voice then, but she didn't want to get into it. "You're impervious to bullets, or you can block them?"

Bor-…Rory didn't say anything.

He stepped forward. She could hear his tennis shoes dig into the rooftop gravel. "Because I feel like I should tell you how much of a dangerous position you seem to be putting yourself in."

"We heal quickly," she countered.

"Are you human?" As she turned back to look at him his squinted gaze was decidedly pointed. "Because gang activity—that's a lot of people. You should know, the police aren't exactly happy about this either. You don't have a lot of supporters here."

"Why are you so against this?" She crossed her arms. "I thought you would understand."

Eddie frowned. "Why do you say that?"

She opened her mouth, then stopped. Because he had told her so—that the vigilante was just a civilian and wouldn't be able to fight like the Soldiers would. Of course, she couldn't say that. "Because you seem to get how important the safety of this city is," she offered instead. Her voice softened despite herself. "I can tell you care about your work."

He pursed his lips. He examined her for a moment, and then his conviction faltered on his face. His brow furrowed. "…the civilian population is largely in favor," he said, "for various reasons. We've been running some special interest pieces with reader emails. You should check them out. They have some good points." He tightened his jaw, not looking at her. "I still think it's a bad idea." He turned away. "But I won't say anything."

Rory didn't like this disquieting feeling. It seemed so tense, the two of them separated by several feet and the ledges of two separate buildings. But she knew she couldn't say anything more. She had to trust him.

And it was Eddie. She wanted to, too.

He glanced up to the sky, back still turned to her. "The sun is rising," he pointed up, where blue bled in through the edges. "You should make yourself scarce."

"Thanks," she said, quiet. But he was already heading inside.


Mallory didn't want to talk about it, and she would be just as happy if she were able to just not talk about it indefinitely. As she sat with the sheets of her bed tangled around her legs in an elaborate nest, she didn't know what she was feeling—she wasn't angry, exactly. Disheartened, maybe. Bitter. But how had she not seen it?

It made a lot more sense, now that she knew. It wasn't that the…girls were summoning the monsters, they just happened to be around whenever they appeared they same way they were. Who know how that worked. She hadn't even known there was a possibility there were more of them! Her glasses glared at the edges with the reflection of blue light from her laptop, and she frowned, pensive. Hm. She guessed she wasn't the newest anymore.

Maybe she was a little embarrassed.

Seeing Carmen's name flick active in the messenger, she sent her a quick message.

Mallory Dunbar [MD] invited Carmen Rodriguez [CR] to chat at 1:43 PM

[MD]: Hey.

Carmen Rodriguez [CR] joined the chat.

[CR]: There you are. Crazy news, huh?

[MD]: Yeah. I don't know what to think. Have you spoken to either of them since the other day? Before I was running into her everyday, but now it's like they've vanished into the abyss.

It was so much wasted work. Mallory had poured so much energy into interrogating—her, and it turned out she'd just been harassing another protentional ally. That also meant they still had no idea who was behind this, and so were no closer to stopping it. It was like, with the most pathetic little killing blow, all the nightmares she'd had about being discredited in this had come true. Her efforts had been absolutely meaningless.

[CR]: Yeah, I spoke to Sylvia. They're still trying to come to terms with things, but they're staying in the city.

[MD]: I would hope so.

She was glad it didn't come through as bitchy as it had been in her head. Her eyes flicked back to the little file of information she had gathered on them, printed on the library computer, where Gwen and Sylvia's younger photos stared back at her. She wondered what was going to happen when their parents finally showed up? If they were soldiers, they needed to stay here. They couldn't be hauled back to Phoenix.

Dammit, she didn't want that for other reasons either. Freaking complex feelings about failure and hot girls! Disgraceful.

[CR]: You should talk to her.

[MD]: Who? (Who. Ha.) Gwen? Why? I've got nothing to say to her.

[CR]: I don't believe that, Carmen said. She's not our enemy anymore.

Mallory peered away from the screen as though Carmen might see her conflicted expression through the screen. Yes, there was…that. The obstacle she'd placed before her as The Reason she couldn't feel anything but suspicious towards the other pair, and not…other things.

[MD]: Maybe, she clicked back grumpily. Which was true.

[CR]: You don't think they're still against us?

[MD]: Their story sounded bogus as shit.

[CR]: You know you want to ask them about it.

She burrowed in her sheets. That wasn't…not true.

[CR]: You should talk to her, Carmen reiterated. You have to take up the mantle of showing the new members the ropes! I am passing it to you. *places it in your hands*

Okay, the stared actions were a little cheesy. She hadn't seen anyone except the losers in the Slenderman cult use that unironically.

…but it was kind of fun.

[MD]: *stares at responsibility like a slab of haddock*...what the hell am I supposed to do with this?

[CR]: . talk to her! I have her information.

[MD]: Fine, fine. Only for you, Carmen.

She jammed her hands defiantly in her lap. She still didn't think it was a great idea, but. It was probably better than just sitting here running herself around about it.

Mallory Dunbar [MD] invited Sarah King [SK] to chat at 1:52 PM

[MD]: Attention, loser.

Nah, delete that.

[MD]: Didn't think you could evade me forever, did you?

No. You're doing the avoiding here, don't be a coward and a liar.

[MD]: It's me.

Sarah King [SK] joined the chat.

[SK]: I had guessed. You know, from the title line announcing it was you.

[MD]: Speak for yourself. Like some kind of fake-ass catfish.

[SK]: Managed to track me down on the world wide web, too? Nowhere is safe.

[MD]: Your sister gave Carmen your info. Carmen passed it along.

[SK]: Ah.

[MD]: It seems that the job of orientating you guys seems to have fallen onto my shoulders. So, be expecting any number of notices and bulletins as things progress. For now, I suppose we should just jump into it.


[SK]: Well okay then. Learn me a thing or two. What do I need to know?

"What's that expression?"

"Hm?" Gwen peered over to where Sylvia was lounging on the couch. She was presently logging some of the new samples she had gotten at camp; that was a productive week, and she had her laptop open on her other side, where she was aggressively tracking a bid on a rare species on eBay. Apparently, it was supposed to be a present for Brad. Great. She shook herself out of her musing, remembering she had been asked a question. "Oh, nothing. Just paying Patricia for our new digs."

This was supposed to be their last night in the motel. Good thing, too—it had been a chore to convince the owner to let them keep the room while they were away for the week. The guy wasn't happy. Still, it apparently fell under the umbrella of her "special talents," so she wasn't complaining.

Sylvia turned towards her. "That looks like a chat window to me."

[MD]: Okay. First of all, you can't tell anyone.

[SK]: Done.

[MD]: ...okay. We meet up for training every once in a while. Rory's kind of the de-facto leader, you probably picked up on that. She arranges those.

[SK]: You ever do anything outside of those?

"I could be messaging Patricia," Gwen offered, finishing typing nonchalantly as her sister scrutinized her from the filthy couch.

Sylvia hummed. "Your eyes wouldn't be all twinkly. You look like you just saw something really funny. You're talking to that girl."

Gwen shrugged. "Mm, maybe."

[MD]: uh

[SK]: I mean it seems to me that it might be beneficial to have smaller training groups too. You guys had to pair off when you were fighting big, bad, and spiky. Are there any combo training sessions?

[MD]: Oh.

[MD]: No, not presently.

[MD]: we could work in something like that. More members means more combinations.

[SK]: you're being awfully civil.

It was a far cry from the other girl's perpetual antagonism, which was an improvement. She was hoping circumstances might lead to them being able to get on better terms—she hadn't explicitly asked for that, but even if she had, she couldn't have imagined it would have turned out the way it did.

"No, eat it," Sylvia said under her breath, tapping the mousepad with particular aggression.

"Did you get it?" Gwen turned to watch. Sylvia's roots were starting to show—the dye didn't last long, it seemed.

"No cheating," Sylvia scolded. There were two more decisive clicks before she sat back, squishing into the couch back. "Yes, I did."

Gwen nodded, watching Mallory's typing icon flicking in and out with contentment. "I just think her whole serious business thing is fun to watch," Gwen elaborated as the mood mellowed from Sylvia's blitzkrieg bidding war. "I don't know. She's an interesting type of person."

[MD]: It's called being a professional. With your evasive shit, we're now back to square one trying to figure out where these things are coming from. We can't afford to not get along right now.

[SK]: What's your thing?

[MD]: my "thing"?

[SK]: your power. It's thematic, right? That girl Narma's water-based, your Leader (insert comment about taking me to her, for alien purposes) was using wind. Carmen is...?

[MD]: Harmony, apparently. Seems to be literal or metaphorical.

[SK]: No wonder her and Sylvia get along. She's all about the new-age self-help sty-lie.

[SK]: and you? What's your special planet power?

[MD]: It's called Decima.

[MD]: The planet, I mean.

[SK]: Ooh, edgy.

[MD]: And my power is Fate. Suck it.

Sylvia retreated to her bed, going cross-legged and pressing her thumbs and fore-fingers together. Guess it was meditation time—better keep it quiet, then. Closing her eyes, Sylvia said, "Is that 'interesting' like you want to make a big file and catalogue all the things she is, or 'interesting' like you think she's cute and want to kiss her face? I can't tell."

Gwen shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Why not both?"

Sylvia blew a loud raspberry from her cocoon of zen.

[SK]: Sounds fake, but alright.

[MD]: If you haven't forgotten, I'm your designated superior at the moment. You two are going to have to start deferring to me, at least until you've settled in. And we've all got to come up with some kind of strategy to figure out where these things are coming from. I'm going to have to start investigating with a wide comb again, which is a shitty way to work.

[SK]: Oh, so the investigating thing wasn't just me, then? (Ha.)

[MD]: Of course not. It's why I was at the hospital, remember? Pay attention, operative.

Operative. Gwen wanted to laugh. So serious.

[SK]: Well, how did you learn to do it?

[SK]: Investigating, I mean.

[MD]: Well. I mean, I've been doing it for years, so it wasn't new to me. Cryptids, and the like. These things should honestly be my element, which is one reason this is so infuriating. Of course, I always worked independently before.

Holy crap.

[SK]: Cryptids? Like bigfoot and mothman?

Okay, that was too good. She could absolutely see the other girl hiking through the woods with one of those ridiculous Yeti calls. It fit way too well. Oh, no.

[MD]: Yes.

[SK]: Do you still do that?

There was a pause.

[MD]: The Soldiers are a relatively new development, so presumably I would keep doing it. There was actually a rumor floating around about some mysterious noises happening up by the old Miller house in the woods—classic case, family murdered, nobody's been up there in years. I thought it might be the work of a poltergeist, but we've got bigger things going on. I'll just have to revisit it later.

[MD]: Unless.

[SK]: Unless?

[MD]:...this could serve as a training opportunity. I could go over some of the basis of our investigation strategies, and I'd get a look at whatever's up there. If the others have a mutual evening off at the same time, it could be beneficial.

[SK]: That sounds like a plan to me.

[MD]: I'll need to check with the others. After that, I'll get back to you.

Mallory Dunbar [MD] left the chat.

Well then.

Gwen sat back, turning her attention to her sister. "Hey. What's your opinion on ghosts?"

Sylvia didn't open her eyes, breathing steady and slow. "Sounds like bad energy to me."


Narma heard back from Manuel that morning, who wasn't exactly happy with her actions at the pier.

"You should have called me," he scolded her over the phone, his voice rough from sleep. "That was so dangerous. I was worried! Some people got really hurt yesterday. Have you been to the hospital?"

For a second, there was a burst of nerves, that maybe somehow he knew about the battle. Then she remembered she had told him she'd gotten shocked.

"No, but I'm fine! Really! My parents are really freaking out, but I'm okay. Can I come see you after work?"

"I have a shift," he sighed.

"Then I'll come to the café."

"Alright." There was a long pause on the line, and she could hear his breathing, like he was trying to find words. "Narma. Why did you..."He cut himself off.

"Huh?" She asked into the receiver, heart pounding.

"...never mind. See you later."


The next week passed in relative peace. Narma avidly avoided her parents, but the internship gave her an additional point of focus. It was more boring work than she had anticipated, mostly running the paperwork for different custom orders, but it still seemed like good information.

'Antoni' was a huge pain in the butt, though. She'd changed strategies, actively avoiding conversation as they did their work in independently. She caught her sketching designs on a fancy tablet once or twice, though—clean, harsh lines in her work, far more clinical than Narma's darker jewel-tone repertoire. More Avant Garde. She might have liked to ask her about it, if she weren't such a raging bitch.

Narma laid on her bed and made edits to her sketches. She'd known she'd be making their dresses for Carmen's party, but she hadn't really been able to nail down the designs until now.

Valarie had let them know about halfway through the second week they had the option of taking inspiration from one of the departments at the Institute. "I'm sure they'd be flattered if you chose to do so, and while there wouldn't necessarily be any extra 'points,' they may choose to feature your work in the department. It could be a great way to get your name out."

At that point, she remembered that the Institute's guest residents were a collaboration from NASA, and a concept slid into place.

They all had their own planets, and the swirls and patterns of heavenly bodies could be gorgeous. Maybe she could use that? She was sure she could pitch it, make the connection to the recent ARC missions. It felt kind of serendipitous, though so were many things in her life.


They didn't have a due date, but according to the initial outline, they could turn in the proposal for their collection any time. At the end of the week, she moved through the building with purpose, her folder clutched to her chest.

It only took a few minutes to make her way back to the labs. When she passed through the doors, the assistants directed her into a back lab were Professor Mooringer was processing some test materials.

As she entered the room, the woman was hunched over a microscope, taking notes with one hand. Her strawberry-blonde hair was loosely tied back, the mass of it reminding Narma of the wild-visages of scientists in sci-fi films. The woman didn't seem to see her as she approached, muttering to herself. Eventually, she raised her voice. "Professor Mooringer?"

The woman gasped, whipping around to place a hand over her chest. "Oh," she breathed. "One of you."

The image was almost comical, except that the woman looked to harried that Narma legitimately felt bad. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."

She closed her eyes, taking a breath. "No, don't be sorry, you just startled me. I tend to get a bit absorbed, I'm afraid." Relaxing, she pushed up her spectacles. "No trouble. What can I do for you?"

Sheepishly, Narma offered the folder. "I...had done some preliminary sketches for the project we have due at the end of the internship. I had decided to use your department for inspiration. Mrs. Cunningham had said to give it to you."

"Ah, I see." She gingerly took the folder, flipping through. After a moment, she nodded. "Interesting. To be honest, I'm not much of a fashion person myself, but I appreciate the craft." She set the folder down across the counter, on top of another one. Huh, had someone else gotten the same idea? The professor gestured to it at her notice. "Yes, another girl was considering the department as well. Her plans looked sort of...futuristic? You seem to have a much more organic approach."

Huh. Narma narrowed her eyes. "Bright red hair?"

Professor Mooringer nodded slowly. "Yes, that's her."

Agh, dammit. Antoni. That was fine. She could scorch her. Was it even a competition, though? Hm.

The woman cleared her throat. "This looks like a solid plan. Once the designs are completed, if you could bring me photographs of the finished products, I will approve them and submit them to Valarie. Thank you..." She squinted back at the top of the folder, where her name was written. "...Narma." She angled herself back to her microscope. "Now if only we could get these molecular strands to weave without bonding, that would be great."

Narma's eyes fell on the locket the woman's hands instinctively moved back to. "That's a very pretty necklace," she offered. It only felt right to help the woman calm back down, after she'd made her jump so bad (though she hadn't been loud at all. The woman must have just been the nervous type.)

Professor Mooringer's eyes dropped to the necklace. "Oh, thank you," she breathed softly. Her thumb moved over the simple oblong face. "My daughter gave it to me."

Aw. Narma didn't especially like kids, but that was cute. "That's sweet. How old is she?"

Something twinged in the Professor's glass-green eyes, and she glanced away. She smiled wistfully, wincing at the wrinkle-lined edges of her eyes. "Ah, she...would have been seven that year. She passed away, several years ago."

Oh, shit. Narma instantly regretted that she'd brought it up. "Oh. I...I'm sorry."

The Professor shook her head softly. "No, it's." She stopped, didn't say fine. Wow, Narma was actually the worst person, she regretted everything. The woman took a deep breath, "It helps, to remember her."

Narma nodded, not trusting herself to speak and not make this worse. "I see."

"Anyways," the woman shook her hair out, grounding. She patted the counter. "Thank you for this. I am excited to see what you make, and just let me know as soon as you make progress."

Narma backed up, heading for the door and out of making this woman feel terrible. "Ah, thank you, professor."

The woman looked up at her, meeting her gaze. She tipped her head acknowledging. "Call me Erin. No reason to be formal here."

"Right," Narma said. "Thanks." And then she got the hell out of there.


She'd been spending so much time as Sailor Boreas it was kind of ridiculous.

Rory had wondered about this before, when she first caught on to the way her thinking shifted the second she was in uniform. Back then, she'd been worried that Sailor Boreas would subsume her, that she'd get so lost in all those tidbits of strategic and muscle memory that, eventually, she wouldn't be her anymore.

She wasn't sure when, but things had changed lately. Maybe it was because of the amount of time they were integrated, but it felt more like they were...working together? They were both her. She didn't feel like Boreas was a distinct person, or anything. But switching between the two modes had become easier.

Which was good, because she was in it now.

There was a big strategy meeting for the new gang coming in, or something like it, from what she had gathered. They used codes, and so she still couldn't one-hundred percent pin-point exactly what the big plan was, but it involved places all over the city, making exchanges with some of the city's pre-established groups and backing others out. She was hoping this would finally give her some context.

It was an unassuming building, an old parking garage that was being gentrified, which apparently provided surprising cover for people coming ang going. From what she could see of the work notices posted around, there was a production pause when they were getting approved for some resended funding. Of course, no one just looking in from the outside would know that, so hey. Time for a party.

From a fire-escape window, she peered down into the room, pressing her ear to the glass. She hissed when it slid open with the force, but it didn't make a noise, thank goodness.

There were a bunch of people this time, which sent a chill up her back: like twenty or third of them. Scary thing was that she knew there were more than this. She'd for sure seen some folks running around for them that weren't here.

She listened.

"They're not going for it," one member said. "We've had three different guys make offers to them, and the last boy got shot at."

"Sounds like they want a fight to me," a large guy crossed his arms. He had a tattoo of a pair of dice on his bicep.

The guy beside him punched his arm. "You crazy? We don't need to be starting shit when we're trying to get an in here. Unless you'd like another bullet hole? Thought two was enough."

The big guy scoffed.

C'mon, c'mon! Boreas hissed mentally. Give some specifics!

A low, even voice spoke from the opposite side of the circle. "Shark's right. That ain't a thing right now. If they won't take it and East Union keeps moving this way, we'll gank 'em. That's that. No need to make a scene."

There cold in his tone gave her goosebumps. Just like that? He was talking like it wasn't going to be a problem, not even an inconvenience. What kind of firepower did these guys have?

The members murmured to one another, a couple chillingly chuckles rising in the group.

Shark, apparently, (a name! That could be something!), gestured behind himself. "...in the meantime, we can send the new boys more widespread to see if we can't...convince them, one more time. If not, no big loss."

"Hey," one of the guys behind them grunted.

"He's fooling," another laughed shortly. "We ain't gonna' let them do shit, boy, no worries. They'll be capped in two seconds if they try shit."

Shark tilted his head towards the others. "How does that sound to you boys?"

He paced sideways, making the other half of the group more visible. Someone said something, but Rory/Boreas didn't hear it as she got a look at guys he was addressing and her heart stopped.

She turned from the window, slapping a hand over her mouth to stop herself from making any noise. She almost couldn't comprehend what she had seen, it didn't make sense!

Heart pounding, she turned back to peer through the window—she had to have seen wrong, it was the light, or something.

As she stared, her heart sunk deeper and deeper in her chest, longer exposure not changing what she had seen.

Tyrell was standing there, his hands folded in front of himself. A stony expression held on his face like she had never seen before.

What the hell?

What the hell was her brother doing there?!