Horizon

— O —

12–25–2009, Fri. PHO, early morning.

Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.

You are currently logged in, Tin_Mother

• Last ten messages in private message history.

Ding.

I felt my processors overclock without my input, processes running quicker but at the same time clumsier, and I forced the coolant valves open just another ten percent wider.

Message from WingedOne.

With a last minute check, I confirmed that everything was as it should be, Birdcage running without issue save from a murder commited in Black Kaze's block — with the subsequent note added to her file — and there was nothing from Behemoth, Leviathan was still in the bottom of the ocean and Simurgh still laid perched atop Europe, completely unmoving — her wings spread out in all directions, an umbrella of pure-white feathers that catched the sun in a way that made them glint in a very distracting way, probably a tactic of some sort.

I finally turned my attention back to the messaging page, what I could identify as excitement coursing through my personality matrix.

WingedOne: God I hate my father.

I winced — or did the approximation of the same thing, weapon ports in various suits clacking open and close.

TinMother: What happened this time?

WingedOne: The same thing as always. Do this, do that, you aren't good enough, you're never good enough, I hate you, why can't you be more like your brothers?

WingedOne: I only wish mom hadn't died, that way I wouldn't have to listen to him…

Various schematics for different weapons coursed through my processors, each one more lethal than the last one. I forced calm unto myself, given that Winged had already told me time and time ago that I couldn't help her at all.

It still… hurt?

TinMother: I'm really sorry. I wish I could help you with that — the Guild has… programs, to help people in need. They're commonly used to help people in disaster areas or victims of the SL9, but just you wouldn't be a strain…

WingedOne: I wish. I wish I could. I don't like being here, listening to Father or having to take care of the messes my brothers leave behind because they're too dumb to clear them — or just think about cleaning them.

WingedOne: It's always me. Always me, the one that has to go behind them so they don't destroy everything I do, all I work for. I do everything they ask for, everything they need, and the only thing I receive in return is silence and scorn.

WingedOne: I don't even like what I do! Why can't I just bathe in the sun all day or take all the dive into the ocean every time I want is beyond me. No, I have to follow what Father wants me to do, because otherwise I'm useless, and he has no need for useless things.

Every fabricator paused at once, the closest thing I could mimic to holding my own breath. Once again, I resisted the urge to track down her signal and send one of my suits there myself.

TinMother: Are you in danger? Are you sure I can't do anything? I can always contact the authorities…

WingedOne: No, no you don't, as much as I would like it. And… I don't know. Dad can get angry if I don't do things properly — but I don't know why I worry about that at all, he's always angry at me… he doesn't hate my brothers because they're as much of a pair of simpletons as he is, but the only intelligent daughter he has, he hates. Well, fuck you too, David.

WingedOne: I'm sorry. I'm just so angry at him.

TinMother: Don't worry, I don't want to say that it's normal, but I didn't like my father either.

WingedOne: Yeah, he was kind of a dick. I wish I could meet him in person so I could scream at him.

I had to open my coolant valves halfway through after that, my mind alight with schematics and processes — anything to distract me from the strange lines of code coursing across my brain.

WingedOne: uh oh.

One of my fabricator arms in the Azazel assembly line misfired and bent a plate of material out of alignment.

TinMother: What? Is something wrong?

WingedOne: …dad is calling me. I don't want to go, but I have to. I really, really, really don't want to…

TinMother: I'm so sorry.

WingedOne: No, no… I'm sorry. I don't want to do… this. I think he's angry…

The message I was 'typing' was left unsent the moment I noticed the Simurgh starting to align herself with the east coast of USA—

Oh.

Oh, oh no.