MB Short Story: Nox (Kenna, Talia, and Ambrosia Version) (Patreon)

“You’ll need to act as a Ment, should you agree to enter the program,” Ambrosia Kim continued. “A cover has already been selected for you as a Level Eight Empath.”

Kenna stared at the paperwork before her. After receiving her lackluster ASE Score in the mail, she’d felt disappointment, sure, but mostly relief that she hadn’t told her father about her initial decision to apply for Aeon. Kenna hadn’t anticipated receiving a phone call from Adsila Branham, nor her request that she undergo the test usually only administered to Ment operatives—AMOs, they were called. She hadn’t anticipated that she’d be able to pass most portions of that test, the APE, with flying colors, either. And she most definitely hadn’t expected to be offered enrollment for a program that sounded too good to be true.

“My classmates won’t get suspicious when I don’t react to their emotions?” she asked.

Kim leveled her with a solemn stare. “If your real score comes out, the NPO Program will be deemed unsuccessful. But many Empaths choose stoicism so as not to expose the feelings of others.”

Stoicism was something that Kenna was good at. She wondered if that reason was why Kim had selected her for her grand experiment. If so, Kenna supposed she might actually owe a debt of gratitude to the paparazzi who’d hounded her after her mother’s death; they’d inadvertently trained her for this. As had her father.

“The Mayor will need to be convinced,” Kenna said.

Kim didn’t even blink. “Let me worry about that.” She sounded so certain, so utterly sure of her persuasive abilities, that Kenna couldn’t help but feel a tiny seed of hope. Maybe Kim could get her father to go along with this—something about her potential new supervisor made Kenna instinctively respect her. Ambrosia Kim acted like a woman who deserved respect, with an authoritatively dangerous air of someone who had places to be and people to kill.

Every fiber of Kenna’s being longed to grab the pen off Kim’s desk and sign her name. This was her chance to be an example, to prove to everyone that it was possible for a Lo-Po to go up against Ments . . . and win. She’d thought that perhaps she could prove that as an MIV, but Kenna’s talents lay more to the physical than the tactical.

“Will I be the only person in this program?” Kenna asked.

Kim didn’t answer, only stared pointedly at the still unsigned document. Her message was clear: either Kenna agreed to join, or she’d learn nothing more. The nondisclosure agreement that she’d signed before entering Kim’s office would take effect, and the role as first ever non-Ment AMO would be offered to another hopeful.

Yet Kenna could hear each of her father’s objections in her mind:

This is the reason you graduated college early? To throw away the tuition that I paid and become a glorified cop?

You’re my daughter. Stop running from your responsibilities, and become the leader that you were raised to be.

Playing superhero won’t bring back your mother.

Kenna wasn't totally sure that her father would ever voice the last protest; Tobias rarely mentioned what had happened to his wife, or talked about Kenna’s mother at all for that matter. But even if her father never uttered the words, Kenna knew that they’d both be thinking it should she give her father the chance to dissuade him. And the words, however imaginary, were true: joining Unity wouldn’t bring her mother back.

But it might save someone else’s. If not by her, then by a police officer inspired by Unity’s decision to bring non-Ments into their operative ranks. Maybe Kenna joining this NPO Program was the first step to a world where law enforcement didn’t timidly wait for UCRT to arrive and save a victim from a Ment, but rather took action and did their jobs. Maybe her mother’s death wasn’t just a source of darkness in her life, but could also be a motivation for change.

Kenna signed. She filled out the boxes of information—her health history, her actual Pollard score, her ASE and APE results. The only box she left blank was for her future AMO facename, which she wasn’t ready to choose. That felt too much like settling on an identity, and everything still felt too new.

Kim picked up the paperwork when she was done, with only an arched brow to acknowledge the portion that Kenna had failed to fill out.

“Your MIV’s name is Taliaferro Parker,” Kim said.

* * * *

“I’m thinking that we tell our classmates that you’re mute,” Glitch said as she and Kenna walked down the hallway, headed towards their first joint class assignment between AMOs and MIVs. She glanced at Kenna from the corner of her eye. “I know, I know. It’ll be excruciatingly difficult for you to keep quiet, given that you’re such an incurable chatterbox, but silence probably our best bet to not get caught.” She motioned zippering her lips. “From now on your codename is ‘Silent But Deadly.’”

Kenna bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. She still wasn’t entirely sure what she thought about her new partner, Taliaferro Parker, but thus far any positive response only seemed to encourage her to talk more, and ‘Glitch,’ as Taliaferro insisted on being called, talked a lot. Kenna had been living alone since her grandparents had passed away during her senior year of high school. Before that, even, if one counted her father’s constant absence. She wasn’t sure how to respond to Glitch’s constant chatter, nor the fact that Glitch had picked out a facename despite not needing one, and that Kenna was still undecided upon her own.

Thankfully, Glitch had no issues self-conducting the conversation without Kenna’s input. “We’ll claim that you damaged your vocal cords while moonlighting as a circus performer,” Glitch said, her hand motions growing more and more enthusiastic as she warmed up to the idea. “It’ll work given your past as a gymnast, and explain any incidents where you don’t act Ment-like. Everyone expects carnies to be a little different.”

Kenna sighed. “I’m not pretending to be an acrobat.”

Glitch gaped dramatically, then her shock turned into a wide smile. “That’s the longest sentence you’ve ever said to me! It contained more than five words!” She gasped, overloud. “We’re becoming friends, Kenzie. Friends.” She raised her fist for a bump that Kenna didn’t meet.

Glitch’s overexaggerated delight made Kenna frown. If she hadn’t spoken much, it was only because she didn’t think that there was anything necessary to say. They’d both been assigned their duties: Kenna as a false Ment AMO, and Glitch as her MIV. What else was there to discuss?

“Fine, then,” Glitch blithely continued on, “we needn’t pretend that you can’t talk. How do you feel about—”

“Why did you join the NPO Program?” Kenna interrupted.

Glitch gaped at her again, this time in genuine surprise, causing Kenna to feel a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t thought to ask the question earlier. She hadn’t considered it relevant, but she and Glitch were supposed to trust each other, right? That necessitated some level of learned familiarity.

“I don’t like limitations,” Glitch said after a moment of pondering Kenna’s query. “If someone tells me that I can’t do something. . . well, don’t folks like that just make you itch to prove them wrong?”

Kenna tilted her head, contemplating the other woman’s words. In truth, she didn’t feel any particularly strong need to prove anyone wrong—not even her father. She simply wanted to help people, and maybe prove that they could help themselves along the way. Glitch’s rationality seemed almost child-like, in Kenna’s mind, and she couldn’t help but feel a stab of disappointment over her partner’s immaturity.

“You only signed up because it was a challenge?”

“I signed up so people one day realize that brains are worth more than their Pollard Score,” Glitch’s tone became louder and increasingly impassioned. “Have you listened to the news—listened for what they don’t say? UCRT and AMOs get all the credit for fighting Ment crime, but it’s Lo-Po MIVs who make victories possible behind the scenes. Honestly, Unity’s whole divide is stupid. What if a Ment is a genius who should be an MIV? Or what if a Norm could kick ass as an operative? People should be able to be whatever they want, without . . .” She took a deep breath as if overwhelmed by her own vehemence. “Without letting their brains define who they are and what they’re capable of.”

Kenna nodded. That rational, she could understand better.

“What about you?” Glitch countered. “Why did you join?”

Kenna froze. She hadn’t thought far enough in advance to realize that she’d be expected to share her own motivation, and she wasn’t quite ready to talk about what had happened when she was eight.

“Similar reasons,” she settled on saying.

“Uh-huh.” Glitch’s side-eyed stare returned but seemed gentler this time, giving Kenna the definite impression that her partner had already researched her backstory. “It’s fine,” Glitch said, confirming Kenna’s suspicion. “I can wait until you’re comfortable sharing.”

They reached the door to their classroom. Glitch grinned at Kenna, and this time Kenna didn’t bother to bite her cheek.

“Ready to go make history?” Glitch asked.

Kenna nodded. She still wasn’t entirely certain how she felt about her assigned MIV—she’d have to ask how Glitch felt about dogs, later—but she was beginning to understand why Kim had paired the two of them. “Ready,” she said, just because Glitch seemed like the type to appreciate the additional verbal confirmation.

Glitch’s smile widened. “Then let’s go, partner.” She began to turn the doorknob before pausing once again and turning back to Kenna. “Are you certain that you want to nix the acrobat story?” She sighed, getting her answer from the way that she crossed her arms. “This is the fifth idea of mine that you’ve turned down. I’m going to call you The Nixer. Miss Nix, dark and broody.”

“Not Nix,” Kenna replied immediately. Glitch’s words inspired an idea for her facename—one that addressed her motives for joining the NPO Program, without being too on the nose. That being said, she preferred the Romanized version of Greek god names. “Nox. I’ll be Nox.”