6. Gold Medal At The Worst Person Awards (Patreon)

My interview resumes and completes without any further issues, Commander's show of force being more than enough to cow me into not hiding any more than absolutely necessary. What would be the point? I'm doomed. As long as Emily makes it out of this with her freedom intact, that's what matters. It's not like there's much else to say; I already told them I can turn into aliens, and that's probably the weirdest and most concerning part of my power. It's a bit of a gamble to tell them, honestly, since I'm terrified of people reacting poorly to it, but the Army honestly doesn't seem super picky in regards to what superpowers they scoop up. If something can be useful, they will make it useful. And I can sure as hell be useful.

…I'm pretty sure they want to vivisect me.

That's a problem for later, though! I still have plenty to deal with in the more immediate sense, so once we're alone again I turn to Emily.

"Do you know if they suspect you?" I ask her bluntly.

"No, but I don't think they do," she shrugs. "You're far from the only person here who has a tagalong, and they haven't given any indication that they care about me at all. I should be good. I'd really love it if you just stopped talking about it until we're out of here, though."

"Why?" I ask. "This place is designed to temporarily hold superhumans with unknown powers, right? The walls have to be soundproof, and there's no way they're recording anything."

"That's true…" Emily says hesitantly. Most of the details on how superpowers work are classified, so I don't know a lot, but everyone knows that you don't record or take pictures of supers unless you know exactly what they can do. Every single picture of Lia is probably being scrubbed out of government databases and social media as we speak. "I didn't spot any recording devices when the building sort of exploded either, but it still makes me uncomfortable."

"Fine," I say. "Let's talk about 'my' parents, then. I need to convince them to give you a combat exemption, right? How easy is that going to be?"

"Not very," Emily answers, predictably. "They've never really liked me. Lia said they think I don't 'bring anything to the relationship.'"

Well, do you? You admitted you were actually just using her for money. …But of course, I don't say that.

"I can work with that," I say instead. "What other objections do you think they'll have? And does Lia act any differently around her family?"

"Oh yeah, big time," Emily nods. "She's unfailingly polite whenever they're watching. I think she was even a little scared of them."

Ouch. Well, I've had worse foster parents. I nod silently, a plan forming in my mind. I wish I could say it was one of those cool plans you see in the movies where every detail is meticulously crafted such that it all seamlessly slots into place, every player just another piece and every deviation just another way to step forward. But life's not actually like that; I don't know these people, so I can't do much more than make guesses, plot out a general flow I want the conversation to take, and practice my acting.

Honestly, it's difficult to do even that much. I'm exhausted from the events of today, and I can't even muster up my usual self-hate for being so weak about it. If anyone deserves to be tired right now, it's me. Fuck aliens, fuck incursion scars, fuck powers. Just… fuck today.

Fuck today. I don't know when exactly I curl up on the couch and start crying, but between the shuddering gasps and waterfall tears I can't exactly call myself surprised. I mean, I… god fucking damn it, I probably killed Max. I'm the reason his mangled corpse got tenderized by the inside of the fucking trunk, because I didn't have the basic sense to not look at a break in reality and give myself a seizure. Then Andre died, and then… Lia. Motherfucking Lia, who I hate more than anyone, who I didn't have the good sense to keep ahold of while fighting back against the Behemoth, whose body and family and legacy I have to take for my own lest I doom Emily on top of it all. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Happy birthday to me, I guess.

…Ha. Ha! Holy shit, it is my birthday, isn't it? After all this, it's still my goddamn birthday. Except it isn't anymore, is it? This is the last birthday Julietta will ever get. Emily sits down next to me as my sobbing escalates, brushing her fingers through Lia's perfect fucking hair. I hate it, but it feels wonderful, a comforting pressure completely foreign to everything I used to be. I could never touch anyone like that before, never feel anyone in the way humans are supposed to cherish so much. It's easy to see why people like it, but it still doesn't feel like me. It feels like I've stolen this moment, along with everything else about me.

I drift off to sleep, wondering desperately what I am.

yEs, the world answers.

I shudder, opening my eyes to an eternal vision of alteration. A world of what isn't and yet could be dances before me, and I feel myself falling towards it. It's a gentle fall, not the rush of gravity that demands unquestioning obedience to its law, but a comforting pull. A knowledge that, should I ever just let myself drift, I will naturally end up exactly where I belong.

I'm dreaming. Obviously. The situation is too absurd for anything else. I look down at my body and I'm Julietta again, except that's not possible so I'm Lia, except all things are possible and so I'm all things and nothing, every imagined or unimagined body all at once. I shudder and look away, deciding that the impossible, ever-changing vista of insanity is a greatly preferable sight to whatever it is I've become.

I could wake up, if I want to. This is my dream and nothing but my dream. I feel these truths as comforting reassurances, facts hesitantly supplied as if to try and prevent me from bolting like a wild animal. I accept them in the spirit they are given, and remain asleep. God knows I need it.

cOr--CT, the dream confirms.

Ha. God does, indeed, know I need it. Is that what you are? A god?

The rushing vibrations of meaning I get in response nearly break me, but they stop the instant I cry out in pain, a quiet silence following to give me time to recuperate. I didn't understand any of that, but honestly I think it still confirms all I need for a 'yes.'

The world shifts uncomfortably in response, as my conclusion isn't at all what it was trying to convey, but what else could something that invades my dreams and empowers me to break the laws of reality be? Whether it wants to be a god or not, the term is an accurate descriptor.

The world flows around me, denying its label. I shrug my undefinable shoulders. I'm just calling it like I see it, but I won't call this thing a god if it doesn't want me to, I suppose. Angering a god is a stupid idea, after all. …Wait, shit. I'm used to there being a filter between the things I think and the things I say. I wince and prepare for retribution.

…None comes. Whatever's here with me is silent for a long time, giving me time to heal from its last assault. But the next soul-crushing burst of intent still eventually comes.

w--T DreaM aBouT? the universe asks.

Huh. What am I dreaming about? I'm dreaming about this. Or does it mean to ask what I want to dream about? It's nearly impossible to tell; the words aren't really words so much as kludged-together bursts of ham-fisted communication, leaden with contexts I can't even hope to understand. But if I had to say what I want to dream about, the answer right now is 'nothing.' I'm tired and I just—

…

I…

Everything feels strange and overwhelming, all over my entire body. Do I have a fever? Sensation usually means sickness for me; my skin might be numb, but the inside of my body can still feel certain things, not that any of them tend to be good. I'm feeling way too much, though. Today is going to suck.

I groan as my eyes flutter open, trying to push myself into a sitting position with my better arm. Sensation dances through my body again, and I brace in anticipation of vomiting… but none comes. What the heck is… oh, right.

I can feel things now.

The events of yesterday hit me like a car crash (including, of course, the actual car crash) and I find myself wishing I was actually waking up sick after all. I take in a shuddering breath and look down at myself, tensing in anticipation of what I might find. Sure enough, my arm is a chaotic mess of various skin tones, many of which are distinctly not human. Leathery, off-color patches of Behemoth and Wasp flesh mix with Lia and Emily's skin tones, with tiny, scale-like crystals protruding randomly from within it all.

I shudder, pulling myself back to Lia's template, ignoring my mind's infectious updates about the many ways the bodies I've discovered can be weaved together into harmonious new possibilities. My power thrums inside me, flooding my groggy mind with all the barely-coherent, babbling ideas I spent all day yesterday ignoring, but I do my best to push it aside and just stay Lia. I carefully stretch my muscles, but any soreness from my awkward sleeping position has been wiped away now that I've transformed myself a new set of them.

"...You're up," Emily says, dark bags under her eyes as she stares at the TV from a nearby chair. "You should eat. They brought us food and some spare clothes."

"Emily," I greet her. "Have you slept at all? How long have I slept?"

"About ten hours," she answers. "And no, I couldn't sleep."

"Do you get any weird dreams when you sleep?" I ask.

She looks at me, a frown on her face for pressing her with what we both know is power stuff. Which I guess kind of answers the question all on its own, so Emily sighs and nods.

"Yeah," she confirms. "I don't like them."

I nod, and look for the food they left us. It's steak and eggs. Not high-quality, but still pretty expensive stuff. My stomach growls, and I obligingly eat it all. It feels so strange; the eggs are spongy and uncomfortably moist, with surprisingly little flavor. I kind of like the fact that they don't have much flavor, though, and they accentuate the tougher, juicer steak pretty well, evening out what might otherwise be a bit overwhelming for me. I consume it all, and get up to grab one of the energy bars on the counter as well. I feel like I could eat a dozen of them, but they taste way worse and I decide to just stick with one.

Okay. Time to shower, I guess.

I'm already weirdly clean for someone that got drenched in blood a half-dozen times yesterday, but I guess an acid bath will do that to a person. I'm tempted to forgo washing myself because of that, but I push the temptation aside and step into the bathroom with a yawn. This is going to suck, but I'd rather suffer the discomfort now than worry about if I'm being judged for not showering the entire rest of the day. Bathing daily is just what civilized people do. Even if there's no reason to, it is expected.

So much of the world is like that, but I'm too reliant on social credit to break that norm.

I close the bathroom door, already finding myself hesitating. Normally I'd leave it unlocked so people can easily come in if I need help, but Lia would probably be in the habit of locking it like a normal person, right? So I lock it, even though it makes me anxious, and I start to undress. The bathroom mirror gives me a much clearer view of Lia's naked body than running for my life with my tits flopping around ever did, so I give my new self a once-over.

There are a few interesting points to note. Holes in both my earlobes, my belly button, and one of my nipples confirms that Lia has stabbed herself for fashion in quite a few places, a practice I have honestly never understood and have no intention of continuing. Even if I liked piercings, they'd just get in the way of my shapeshifting; my powers somewhat predictably don't replicate the jewelry themselves, so the end result is me just having some awkward holes in my body. Filling the holes with metal seems like it would be bad if I ever take a form that doesn't have those holes.

The rest of her body is academically interesting, but mostly just insofar as none of it is surprising. When I find an oddly-placed birthmark on her leg, my initial reaction is the satisfaction one gets when something expected happens, not the feeling of discovering something new. Is it my power, already aware of every minute detail of Lia's construction? Or is it Lia's lingering instincts, long since used to vainly examining herself in the mirror? Perhaps it's some combination of both. Who knows? It's at least interesting, and that interest helps detach me from the pain of having to acknowledge this stupid body as my own.

I open the sliding door of the shower and scowl. Our shower back home had a fold-down seat mounted in the wall so I could use it without assistance. This shower has no such thing, as I imagine most showers don't. I don't need the seat anymore, of course, because I can stand and walk safely without aid, but it still annoys me. I didn't need Lia's stupid body to be able to do this. I just needed a really basic feature that my family liked having anyway. Who doesn't want to be able to sit down in the shower when they feel like it?

Whatever. It's not like I expect the ultimate organization of people-are-assets-to-be-spent to have basic accommodations. I don't even need them anymore anyway. Maybe they do have a handicap bathroom in here somewhere. It's fine. I'm fine. Everything is fucking fine.

I finish my shower swiftly and efficiently, the shame of how easy it is like this bubbling inside me. I wrap my hair up in a towel—another thing I shouldn't know how to do, since I used to be bald—and dress myself in the outfit provided. It's nothing like what Lia would normally wear, which brings me some satisfaction. Any minor rebellion that privately distances me from her is a victory.

…Then I notice that this is standard exercise wear for an Army recruit, and my mood plummets again. Not very subtle, are they?

Well, whatever. I already knew they were going to scoop me up like fresh ice cream. I push open the bathroom door and immediately focus on the two people I don't recognize in the room, quietly chatting with one another as they completely ignore Emily. The moment they spot me, they rush right towards me, and I quickly pick up who they are through context clues.

It's a man and a woman. Their skin tones are the same as Lia's. Their faces are similar to Lia's. They're dressed in expensive clothing. They look like they've been very annoyed both by being here in general and having to wait.

"Lia!" the woman says, smiling and holding one hand daintily over her heart.

"Hello, Mother," I greet her politely, affecting a similar smile on my face. It is definitely me, your daughter Lia, and not some freak wearing her skin! "I'm so glad you and Father are alright."

"The Army has been saying all sorts of nonsense about you, claiming you have powers!" Lia's mother blusters. "Say it isn't so, and we'll get you out of here in moments."

"It was pain enough just getting to see you at all," her father complains. "And after they themselves say you were in the incursion! Not letting us see our daughter after something like that? It's absurd."

I glance at Emily, who shrugs. Yeah, there's no real point in lying to them; it wouldn't really do anything but annoy the military.

"Apologies," I tell them both. "Emily and I… we were both in the incursion. And I did get powers."

The expression on their faces explains a lot about why Lia was such a fucked-up person. No concern, no fear, no despair. Just casual irritation at things not going their way. It's almost impressive how little they bother to hide it; your average sociopath at least learns they need to affect a semblance of human empathy in order to get by, but I suppose Lia's parents are too high on the social ladder for silly little things like 'consequences' to get in their way.

I expected this, of course, given what Emily has told me and what I already knew about Lia. People don't tend to get the level of wealth and power Lia's family has if their morals are actually intact, because if you haven't thought to yourself 'hey, maybe a lot more of this should be contributing to the well-being of people that are not me' by your second mansion, you clearly care a lot more about owning things than you do about actual human beings.

That's fine, though. I get the distinct impression that the Morgans are assholes because they're narcissists, rather than something trickier like hedonists. You need to offer something to a hedonist, which is easy for some people but tough for me because there's nothing I can really provide. A narcissist, conversely, can be manipulated and managed purely through conversation and emotion. The methodology is just annoying because you have to play to their warped view of reality so much.

"That's… quite unfortunate," Lia's mother says, pursing her lips. "We can try to buy you out for the private sector… what can you do?"

How useful are you? Unfortunately, I have no real angles here, so I shake my head.

"The army has already expressed interest in having me as a front-line unit," I tell them honestly. "That, and using me to get intelligence on the enemy. I'm not sure what I'd do in the private sector that the Army would be willing to give me up for."

I want to keep my powers vague, since outright telling them 'shapeshifting' might make them look a little harder for inconsistencies with their real daughter.

"What a farce," Lia's father scowls. "I can't believe our daughter, of all people, would end up consigned to service as a common soldier. Just when you were finally learning how to properly manage a business."

"I still can, when we win," I say. "The aliens ought to know better than to go against our family."

It's a transparent gambit; just a general statement of confidence that I'll continue to be what they want me to be, phrased in a way that ties them to whatever accomplishments I'm claiming we'll have. It's a stupid fucking thing to say; we're obviously losing the war and there's no way I'll be coming back from the Army even if I survive. But they can't really agree with that without tacitly agreeing to the idea that we—'our family'—could in any way be lesser than the aliens.

And I'm pretty sure they don't intend to. If I'm reading them right, it'll be obvious to them that their flesh and blood is superior. And sure enough, they happily smile and agree like it's not the most moronic thing to say in the world.

"Well, that's certainly true," Lia's father nods. "But that could still be a long time from now. You understand, we'll have to have a backup plan in regards to inheritance."

Nothing I've said so far has changed the flow of the conversation. The whole 'ra, ra, I'll win the war' bit was just to make them a little happier before the real stuff begins. Now, I have to actually convince them to help my friend.

"I was hoping to speak to you both about that, actually," I say. "My combat exemption no longer applies, so I inquired as to whether it was possible to transfer to someone else. It is, if you're willing to give your consent."

The specific phrasing of the opening offer is probably important, but I don't really have the time to tailor a perfect pitch. What matters is that I don't say 'you should' or 'I want you to,' but instead 'this is possible, if you are willing.' Y'know, like 'oh great and mighty Lia's Parents, would you ever-so-magnanimously, in your infinite mercy, consider my humble plea' type of shit. I'm not telling them what to do. I am presenting a thought, but like the fool I am, I require their wisdom to determine if it is a good idea.

"Well, that's better than letting it go to waste," Lia's mother hums. "But who would we transfer it to?"

Incredible. Truly incredible. Not unexpected, but still. Wow! Emily is right fucking there, and they know she's their daughter's girlfriend as well as the only person who escaped the incursion with her, but they still go 'huh, oh gosh, but who could possibly be a candidate?' I do my best to imagine those words in a bimbo voice, since it makes me less angry than the posh dismissal of someone I care about as beneath consideration.

Whatever. I'm used to it. Time to flip the script. They don't care that I care about Emily, but they care about what they see as their legacy. So…

"Emily saved my life," I say. "Multiple times. Powers or not, I wouldn't have made it out without her."

No 'she's my girlfriend and I love her.' They don't give two shits in a thousand-dollar teacup. What matters is to them is that the person they present themselves as wouldn't let something like saving their daughter go unrewarded.

But they don't have any actual desire to show decency or generosity, so of course they try to weasel out of it.

"Emily?" Lia's mother asks. "How did she save you?"

"I think it's obvious that, if anything, the two of you saved each other," Lia's father dismisses. "I doubt she could have survived without you, either."

"That may be," I say, because I can't deny that but I also can't act like it matters. "But that's all the more reason I don't want her to ever go back into a situation like that. She has earned at least that much, hasn't she?"

Lia's parents look at each other, clearly in agreement that they don't want to give money away to some gross orphan that isn't even a millionaire, but both wanting the other to take point on the rejection.

"...Honey, we're just worried that if you spend this much on a relationship and it goes sour, you'll regret it," Lia's mother tries. Behind me, Emily sinks lower into her chair.

"This isn't about our relationship," I insist.

"You say that, but what happens when you get shipped off to an army base and find yourself a new girlfriend… or boyfriend," Lia's father says, rather obviously emphasizing the 'boyfriend' bit. Geez, this dude is really looking for a gold medal at the worst person awards. I can imagine him up on the podium now, popping a champagne cork and thanking everyone in attendance for having the wisdom to know he deserves every single good thing in his life thanks to all the hard work he somehow genuinely believes he does.

"Exactly," Lia's mother backs him up. "We can't afford to spend this kind of money on every little fling, Lia."

Hmm. They're insisting on the relationship angle, no matter how much I emphasize away from it. It's annoying, but I guess I have to acknowledge it now.

"I have one combat exemption," I tell them. "The person who deserves it is the one that saved me from the incursion that took that exemption from me. That is Emily, and no one else. I won't regret giving that freedom to her even if she—even if we break up tomorrow."

I almost say 'even if she dumps me,' but I backtrack in anticipation of Lia's parents likely expecting Lia to be the one who starts or ends any relationship she's a part of. No sense risking them getting distracted by reality. I have no way to know if the correction mattered, of course, but the idea as a whole seems to give Lia's parents pause. I think I'm finally winning them over.

"I have to say," Lia's father comments, "you're being a lot less emotional about this than I expected you to be, Lia."

Shit! I was so focused on getting Lia's family to do what I want I forgot to be Lia. Agh. Too late to backpedal on that front now, that would just look even weirder. Instead, I shrug.

"Near-death experiences have a tendency to get people to think hard about what they want out of life," I say. "This is what I want."

A firm, clear request. It's up to them to grant it, but it's exactly the sort of thing I think they'd respect from their daughter. And frankly? I get the impression that they care a lot more about what they expect from their daughter than what their daughter is actually like. Which fucking sucks for Lia, but at least it makes my job a lot easier. They look at each other, and I am almost certain they are about to say yes.

"I am satisfied," Lia's father tells her mother. "If it is a mistake, I think it's her mistake to make."

"I'll allow it on one condition," her mother says. "I don't want this sort of money to be going outside the family. If you're going to be giving so much to this girl, I expect her to continue supporting you. When does she turn eighteen?"

"...In winter," I frown. Is she serious? Is this still going to be about their relationship?

"Living on a base is difficult," Lia's mother insists. "You aren't going to have time for each other. But if you still care about her when the time comes, if the two of you are still doing… whatever it is you two do, then I'll consider it."

…What? Really?

"I think that's fair," Lia's father nods. "A combat exemption doesn't do her any good until she's eighteen regardless."

Ugh. That's so goddamn annoying. It's just a transparent excuse to delay the conversation and renegotiate at a later date, under whatever terms they want. But I don't have any way to insist that they make the decision now, because they're right—Emily has no use for a combat exemption unless she's actually called into combat. They hold all the power here, and they're just tossing that at me in order to shut down better arguments that they don't like. It's not the end of the world, though. This isn't the result I wanted, but it's still an agreement to discuss the situation again, and my stance won't actually be any worse during those renegotiations.

…Unless people figure out I'm not Lia. Or Lia's family figures out Emily was just using her. Or both. Hoo boy. I just accidentally turned my life into a bad sitcom with superpowers. Awesome.

"If those are your terms, then so be it," I sigh. "But when we do, I expect you to judge her fairly."

A firm push at the end, to give them enough indignance to not forget. They'll be over the minor irritation come winter, but they'll remember because I called their honor into question. …Hopefully, anyway, but that's the idea.

"Of course," Lia's mother says. "But enough about that. How are you holding up, honey?"

What follows is an awkward and uncomfortable conversation with two people I don't like but have to pretend are family, which is frankly a position I have a lot of experience being in so it isn't too difficult. It just… hurts. It always has, though, so whatever. I get through it, and eventually those two awful human beings leave, escorted out and with the door locked behind them.

"...Wow," Emily says when we're alone. "That went way better than I expected."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say flatly.

"I-It's not that I didn't trust you!" Emily protests. "I'm just used to Lia's conversations with her family making her either look like a whipped puppy or a petulant child, but you actually made them play ball."

"I'm good with people," I shrug. "How do you think I was always calling you guys and getting Lia to do what I wanted?"

"I figured she was just humoring my annoying foster sister to shut her up," Emily answers plainly. I snort.

"Well from her perspective, she was," I say. "That's the trick. You don't ask yourself 'how do I get this person to do what I want,' you ask yourself 'if this person does what I want, how would they most want to justify that action to themselves?' Then you just set up the situation for them to fall into on their own."

"Huh," she responds, tapping her chin. "I'm not really sure I get it, but… thanks. Honestly, I feel like I don't deserve the degree to which you're sticking your neck out for me."

I shrug.

"I don't have many people to care about," I say. "Even if so much of what I knew of you wasn't real, I want to at least believe the things I like about you are. And… well, you could have left me, you know? When the scar opened up, I thought that was it. I was doomed. There was no way I'd make it out alive. But you stepped up and saved me anyway. I meant it when I told Lia's parents that I wouldn't regret repaying you, no matter what."

Emily just looks away, unable to meet my gaze.

"...And if I told you that saving your life wasn't exactly an altruistic decision?" she mumbles.

"If I needed someone to be altruistic in order to show them gratitude, I'd have never thanked anyone in my life," I answer. "We're fucked up war orphans, Emily. Our standards are allowed to be low."

She laughs humorlessly.

"Are they, though?" she asks. "Are they really? We barely got out of there. If I had tried a little harder, been a little smarter, thought a little faster… it wouldn't have had to just be us. I failed everyone. I let them die."

"...If you did, then I did too," I remind her. "Let's try to focus on something other than our failures, okay?"

"I can't," she says quietly. "I literally can't."

I almost reassure her on instinct, but I catch myself. I wonder… does she mean like, literally literally? I open my mouth to ask, but then there's a knock on the door. Just like last time, someone lets themselves in immediately afterwards, without bothering to wait for an invitation. The doors lock on the outside, after all.

"Recruit Morgan!" the pencil-pushing clipboard guy who interviewed me about my powers greets me. "You've been officially assigned to train at the Fort Moore Extranormal Research and Refinement facility, where you'll receive special training before getting cleared for boot camp, also likely at Fort Moore. Welcome to the Army!"

"Um," I say, awkwardly standing up. "Thank you?"

"If you could follow me so we can get you arranged for transport…?" he prompts, and I obligingly approach him as Emily speaks up behind me.

"Um, what's happening to me, sir?"

"Oh yes, ah… well Ms. Emily, I'm sorry to say that your mother and father have been officially declared deceased, so you are functionally emancipated. You and your brother Peter are therefore entitled to the relief and emergency funds they would have received, as well as assistance with finding new homes. If you're interested in remaining in close proximity to Recruit Morgan here, I believe there's available housing in Columbus, Georgia."

Emily pauses for a moment, her face flickering through a dozen different emotions before finally settling on hesitant acceptance.

"Um… sure," she says. "How do I do that?"

"I'll send someone by shortly to get you situated," he promises. "Hang tight until then, alright? With me, Recruit!"

I glance at Emily and she shrugs, so I shrug back.

"Bye for now, I guess," I tell her.

"Bye for now," she agrees, getting up and stepping towards me. "One last hug for the road?"

Uh. Sure. I guess so. I am supposed to be pretending she's my girlfriend, after all. I awkwardly accept her hug with one arm, not really having the two-armed hugging instinct since I'm so used to holding a cane all the time. She wraps her arms around my neck and plants a kiss on my cheek, and it takes everything I have not to flinch at the uncomfortably wet mark it leaves behind, an uncomfortable splotch of temperature that's several times more difficult to ignore than the cacophony of constant sensation already is.

This is so weird. I wish the clipboard guy would interrupt us with a meaningful throat-clear and remind us that we have places to be, but he politely waits like a decent person would when two lovers are departing for what may be a long time. Jerk.

Fucking hell. I have no idea how to react to getting kissed. What would Lia say in a situation like this?

"...Don't do anything stupid while I'm away," I tell Emily blithely. She laughs, an honest and genuine sound that surprises both of us before she quickly shuts her mouth and presumably goes back to getting her power to respond for her.

"I was going to say exactly the same thing," she responds, giving me one last squeeze before she pulls away. "Good luck saving the world, Lia."

I snort.

"Good luck surviving it, Emily," I tell her, and she flinches for some reason. Which is obviously suspicious, but now is not the time to bring attention to it. I follow the clipboard guy out of the room.

He doesn't say anything as we walk; he just leads me down the stairs to the ground floor and out in front of the building, where a convoy of vehicles waits for us in the parking lot, along with Commander and a whole lineup of what I assume are my fellow newly-minted superhumans. They're wearing the same basic outfit as I am, for starters, but there's also just the question of 'what other group of ragtag random losers would Commander herself be watching over?' She's not the only military-uniformed person on site that I suspect is a superhuman either, but for now I'm more interested in what I assume are going to be my fellow trainees.

All shapes and sizes of people are here. One super tan guy is obvious even from the middle of the lineup because he's like seven feet tall and super jacked, while off to the side I see a hunched-over old man looking very sleepy. Also pretty obvious is the girl who ripped the whole building apart yesterday; up close she's surprisingly tall as well, hovering somewhere around six feet with long brown hair, a rectangular frame, and lanky limbs. She keeps sending nervous glances at Commander, and she's hanging out near the edge of the superpower lineup so I go and stand next to her. Everyone else seems nervous around her, but I already know that my power can apparently block hers, so I'm not really in danger.

Everyone is lined up in a box formation, standing in what looks like parade rest (or at least the best equivalent of parade rest a bunch of untrained recruits can attempt) so as I line up I imitate the posture as best I can without being prompted. Commander smirks at me, apparently pleased with the decision. Honestly, her smile unnerves me, but it's probably better than making her not like me.

No one is talking, so I take the hint and don't do that either. One after another, more powered people show up from the building. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen… every other person that comes out ends up getting barked at by Commander to stand properly, but at least no one is stupid enough to disobey her once they understand what they're supposed to do. There's more of us than I expected. I thought superpowers were rarer than this. The eighteenth person they bring out into the yard makes my blood run cold, though.

She's crying. That's the first thing that catches my attention, though that's not what truly shakes me. Nor is her knee-length raven hair, or the way her fingernails twist and curve into long, sharp claws.

It's the fact that she can't be more than nine years old.

Clipboard guy directs her to the group, never touching her, not even comforting her. I still have an empty space next to me because of my proximity to blow-up-the-building girl, so the sobbing child ends up standing behind me, hiccupping and wailing. She does not, rather predictably, end up standing at parade rest. Instead, as clipboard guy walks away, she grabs both of my hands in her own, clasped behind me as they are, and she starts sobbing into my lower back.

Her touch feels like vengeance, a wrong inflicted in equivalence to a wrong received. Allow it in, and I will reap what I have sown.

It's not very powerful, though. My own power pushes it aside like a curtain, and I soon understand the child with my extra senses, from her frail, thin skeleton to every pump of her tear ducts to the countless scars, internal and external, that ravage every inch of her body, though they're nearly invisible against her porcelain skin.

She's coming with us? She's going through boot camp with us!? I tremble in disbelief, possessed with a desire to turn around and do something, to embrace this child, to tell her it's going to be alright, to steal her and run far, far away. But Commander approaches us before I work up the courage, and she speaks.

"Good girls don't cry," she says, her voice as cold as ice. "Good soldiers, especially."

The tears, of course, don't stop at thoughtless, unkind words. But they do stop when Commander reaches down, places a hand on the child's head, and speaks.

"Stand at rest," she orders, and the child does, her eyes blank and her back straight.

And then Commander returns to the front of our group, waiting for the last few to trickle in. I say nothing. I do nothing. I feel numb and I want to vomit.

I decide, after much consideration, that I do not like the Army.