The Daily Grind - Chapter 144 (Patreon)

I know I said I might take this week off.  But I didn't.  I wrote an extra long chapter instead.  I will not be taking next week off, either, since I am a machine that produces story and I'm honestly kinda fine with that.

Also, if you're reading this and you're not on the discord, this is a quick note that this week we're doing a "design a dungeon" contest.  The prize is mostly just recognition and bragging rights, but if you're interested in sharing your concepts and maybe having your idea blatantly stolen in the future, come on by and say hi.

And now, the show.

_____

“Happiness, for everybody, free, and no one will go away unsatisfied!”

-Arkady Strugatsky, Roadside Picnic-

“Okay, the first thing you need to know is that there’s something wrong with the Status Quo gear.”  Reed told James as he stepped off the elevator to their basement.

Their fifth basement.

They’d found the limits of that particular orb.  Five basements before it began to have diminishing returns.  Which translated to “and then two crawlspaces”.  And then an access panel.  At that point, they ran out of copies of the orb to use, which was probably for the best anyway.  James had netted a total of five and a fifth ranks in horseback riding from the whole thing, the rapidly diminishing returns on the skill ranks mirroring the quick decline on the quality of subterranean spaces pretty well.

Test to destruction.  Find the limits.  Then abuse those limits.

And it wasn’t like they didn’t need the space.  The caveat of having more people was that the Order had more projects running at any given time.  And as those projects expanded in scope, or potential accidental lethality, giving them more room to operate was a good idea.

Basement three was still undergoing repairs from where *someone* had punched a hole through its ceiling, but it would eventually be entirely for Research.  Basement four had been given over entirely to Response, with James grumbling to himself and anyone nearby as he’d been drafted against his will to help set up the entire monitoring and communications station, *again*, only *bigger* this time.  Basements one and two were still a jumbled mess of a dozen ideas, including a gold mine and also some apartments, but they were sorting those out as they expanded.

And basement five, well… it was closest in style to basement two - and boy was James having trouble keeping track of these, augmented memory or no - with a somewhat twisting mess of hallways that half the time dead ended in boiler rooms or janitor’s closets.  The lighting wasn’t great either, but one of the new guys was already working on that.  The building generated quite a lot of free electricity these days, so getting some better stuff in here wasn’t as difficult as it should have been.  Momo and Deb were already talking about converting some of these small storage rooms or old offices into more living spaces, though these ones specifically for their camraconda population that still didn’t have permanent residences of their own.

And then the halls ended, opening into a space that had, the first time he’d been here, reminded James a little too much of the sudden way that Officium Mundi could have a cubicle corridor terminate in a break room, somehow sneaking up on you with stationary architecture.

Someone had set the place up as a temporary shooting range, and since no one was living down here yet, James was gonna allow it for at least a little while.  They’d absolutely need this space for something else eventually, and having a shooting range in the same basement as where people were doing actual work was a bad idea without literal magic soundproofing.  But for the moment, it was a good place to get some practice in.

James processed most of this subconsciously while he stepped off the elevator, nodding at Reed.  “Okay.  Neat.”  He said in reply.

“Ah, sorry!”  Reed ducked his head.  “I mean, they’re not out of commission!  They’re just weird in the context of the ones that we copied and I think there’s something fundamentally wrong with them but it’s probably not a big deal and I’m sorry for leading with a problem!”  The words poured out of him like a torrent.

James glanced over and nodded slightly a couple times with pursed lips.  “Uh huh.  It’s fine, I figured you’d explain.”

“You… uh…” Reed still looked sheepish.  “You seem less worried than normal?”

“Eh, I’m trying this thing where I trust that if there’s a real problem, someone will tell me efficiently.  If someone is inefficient, therefore, the problem isn’t world shattering.”  James shrugged.  “It’s really helped me calm down a lot, actually!  Not perfect, but it’s great for the anxiety.”

“That’s… good.  Good.”  Reed nodded as he made a judgement call on James’ personal mental health.  “Anyway.  Um.. so, Status Quo’s bracers and bracelets and stuff are bad.”

“Now *that* I’ve got questions on.”  James snapped his fingers into a point at his lead researcher as he let Reed lead them through the relatively new basement halls that he was more familiar with than James was.  “Because they’ve saved our asses repeatedly.  Hell, our only real military-grade weapon is the dart gun on rapid reload handing out one way tickets to fireball island.  If the SQ gear is degrading or something, that’s an issue.”

“Well, it’s not degrading.  It’s just… okay, I have numbers here for you.”  Reed sighed in relief as they made it to the firing range, where it looked like a roaming pack of white boards had taken an interest in the shooting line, and the one person currently down here.

“Hey Nik.”  James greeted the kid.  “What’s up?”

“Gonna shoot at Reed to test a thing.”  He nodded.  “It’s a welcome back present.”

James slowly pivoted his head around, narrowed eyes glaring at the young man who was still wearing bandages and an arm sling.  “Oh really.”  He said.

“It’s not as bad as you think.”  Reed said.  “Really!”

With a roll of his eyes, James decided to trust that they’d tell him if they were planning to murder Reed, and jumped back to the previous thing.  “Alright, what do we have here?”  He pointed at the charts on the board.

“Alright!”  Reed looked like he wanted to clap, but was missing the use of one hand, so he slapped one of the whiteboards instead.  “So, all the items have a number of abilities, which have a level, xp bar, cooldown, banked charges, and sometimes modifiers.”

“Yes, I’ve used the shield bracer, Reed.  A lot.”  James tried to keep from sounding rude about it, so he gave a light grin instead of an eye roll.  “And the copies aren’t great because they always come out with a single level one ability.”

“Right.  Right!  Let’s use the shield as an example!”  Reed got excited.  “So, the Status… the SQ shields,” Reed accepted the shortening of the term, “they have the two powers, which is handy.  One to block, one to switch what you block.  Now here’s the thing; leveling up the block on this one… here.  This one.”  He held up a bracer off a table of clutter nearby, with a series of tags dangling off it,  “takes nineteen thousand uses to go from level eighteen to nineteen.”

“Yikes?”  James offered.

“Correct, yikes.”  Reed nodded.  “And from the few that we have leveled up, we know that mostly all it does is increase max charges stored, and *very slightly* reduce the cooldown.”

“I’ve never actually upgraded one of them myself, so I didn’t know that.  That’s kinda cool, though, right?”  James asked.  “Like, that makes these very effective legacy artifacts.  Something to pass on to the future that only ever upgrades and doesn’t degrade, right?”

“Don’t you plan on living forever?”  Nikhail asked him, voice a little too loud from the interference of the shooting earmuffs he was wearing.

“Well *yeah*...” James shrugged.  “But not working for *all* of it!”

“Can we get back on track?”  Reed sighed.

“Please.”

“So, this is one of our copies.”  He held up a second bracer.  “Not super useful, since it comes out with the ability to block… I mean, let’s not be glib, it blocks *swords*, James.”  He gave James a *look*.  Like he was rolling his eyes, and, collectively, the eyes of the entire Research division.  “When’s the last time someone tried to hit you with a sword?”

“Yesterday.  Anesh and JP and I fence.”

“I… yeah… well, I meant, like, in a fight?”  Reed cleared his throat and moved on, ignoring James giving a toothy attempt to suppress a laugh.  “Also it somehow differentiates between bladed weapons and bladed *tools*, so it won’t block a lot of kitchen knives, even if they’re being used to stab you.  So.  Level one, blocks swords, twelve hour cooldown on uses, gonna be a while before it levels up, right?”

Folding his arms over his chest, James leaned back on one of the wooden frames they’d put around the range area.  “I feel like you’re saying that because it’s a trap.  But if it’s like the other one, it should be two thousand uses, yeah? So… a thousand days, if we never miss an activation, that’s about two and a half years?  Just to get to level two?”

“It would be, but you’re wrong!”  Reed sprung the ‘trap’ anyway.  “It’s three hundred.”

“What?”

“Three hundred uses.  And then six hundred, to jump from two to three.”  Reed tossed the bracer back onto the table.  “A level cuts *half an hour* off the cooldown, and at three, it unlocks the next power, so this entire batch…” He moved a leg with a pained wince, and shifted a hefty cardboard box full of metal jingling pieces out from under the table, “is ready to go.  Not perfect, but growing fast and good enough.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”  James had a concerned frown on.  “Why?  Like, why doesn’t it go *slower*, since we didn’t feed any weird blood machine human sacrifice to get these?”

Reed shrugged.  “No idea.  Maybe it’s because of that.  Maybe it’s the process of copying?  Maybe we just got lucky for once.  Either way… the copies are way, way more useful than everyone thinks.  They mature into usable gear in about four months.  Three, if we abuse all the time dilation we have going on.”

“We should absolutely allocate more duplications to these, even if it will be a while before they’re really effective.”  And then, a concerning thought came to mind.  “What about the gun bracelets?”  James asked, eyes wide, a worried excitement in his chest.

“Ah.”  Reed shook his head.  “The initial cooldown on bonding to a weapon is too high.  It’ll be eight years before that levels up, unless we find something we can really abuse.”

“You can make time loops with the orange totems.”  James said quietly.  “And the one I got stuck in, it reset me, but all the magical resources I burned stayed gone.”

Reed blinked, and then seemed to shrink slightly as he leaned in.  “Ah.”  He whispered.  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea?”

“It’s not a conspiracy.”  James told him.  “But yeah, we absolutely need more practice first, huh?”

“I do at least.”  Reed said, tapping the part of his torso that had a chunk carved out by a rogue spatial distortion.  “Heh.  Maybe next time I’ll warp time and undo the damage to your car.”

“Ah, I’m over it.  Don’t worry about that.”  James said as Reed cleaned some stuff up on the table, and then started pacing over to the shooting range area.  “So, was that mostly what you wanted me to see?  That our versions have better growth rates?”

“Kinda, yeah.  And to ask that you make more copies of all the other ones, too.  But also…” And here, Reed opened the side gate, and walked out onto the range, giving James a very nervous feeling as he put a pair of earplugs in before coming to a stop in front of one of the target sheets.  From next to him, a hand extended and offered James a pair of earmuffs, and he glanced over to see Nikhail grinning ear to ear.  “So, check this out!”  Reed called.

Then Nik took a shooting stance, and before James could do more than widen his eyes, pulled the trigger.  The bracelet on his arm glittering the color of a cluster shot activation as the handgun kicked and a deafening bang echoed off the mildly soundproofed concrete.

Then Nik flicked the safety on, unloaded the gun, and called out, “Safe!”

Thirty feet away, Reed nodded, hand on his hip as he turned around and pulled down the target sheet before walking back over.  He leaned on the other side of the frame they’d built, and offered the paper to James.  “Cool, right?”

James considered that it would be unfair to strangle someone who was already injured, so he took the deepest breath possible, and silently seethed for a bit, before speaking.  “Never fucking do that again without warning me, or I’m sending you back to the hospital for containment.”  He said calmly.  “Also what the hell.”  He looked down at the target sheet, the one Reed had been standing directly in front of.  Three neat holes, all in a short cluster.  “What?”

“Friendly fire.”  Reed said, smiling even through James’ angry annoyance.

“This one unlocked it at level twenty five of the reload ability.”  Nik explained.  “It doesn’t save up a lot of uses, but it’s pretty cool.  And now we know it works with the cluster shot, too!”

“You just… what if it *hadn’t* worked?”  James demanded.

“I’m wearing a shield bracer.”  Reed told him.  “Fuck, you think we’d be that reckless?”

James just looked at him.

“Okay, fine!”  Reed threw up his hands.  Hand.  “I just wanted to do the fun surprise thing for once!  The point is, the gun bands eventually get a power where you *cannot* hit your friends.  And I feel like you’d want that?”

“I absolutely do.”  James nodded.  “I need you to test it more.”  He continued.

“Do you just want to see me shot?”  Reed asked, worried.

“No.  I want to know if that works on a grenade launcher.”  James said.  “Now.  I’ve got a lunch to get to, so if you two are done drooling over that idea, can someone show me back to the elevator?  I have no idea how we got in here and I left my telepad in my office.”

_____

It was the middle of a pandemic, *still*, so options for places to meet someone for lunch to propose an end to a main source of human death were limited.  It was also late January, so the cafe that had outdoor seating open was, while a useful spot, cold and gloomy.  It would have been wet, too, if they hadn’t set up a tall tent over their patio to keep the ever present drizzle of rain off.

The people James was actually meeting were a man by the name of Hilbert Goerman, professor of epidemiology, and Justine Patel, shipping and warehousing consultant.  One of them was here because Karen’s pseudo-cryptic email had enticed him, the other was here as a favor to JP, and James hadn’t pried more into that one.

When the two of them showed up, both *exactly* on time, James had already had two espressos and was feeling prepared for anything.  He quirked an eyebrow at the way the two of them presented themselves, seeming to both be reverse mirrors of the stereotypes of each other’s profession.  Hilbert was in his late sixties, but had an immaculately polished moustache under a smooth bald head, and arrived in a pristine suit jacket and shoes so far from casual that James felt it must have hurt your feet just to own them.  Justine was younger than James, looked like she had a grudge against combs, and showed up with less makeup on than Hilbert had, in jeans and a tee shirt with a screaming bird on it underneath an unzipped hoodie.

He instantly got a good vibe off both of them, and knew that his knights had found a solid starting point for him.  Both of them seemed utterly comfortable with themselves, which spoke to James.

James went through the awkward ritual of pointedly not shaking hands, and the three of them sat down to talk.

“So, here’s the thing.”  He eventually said, after some polite conversation and introductions.  “And let’s say this is hypothetical for now, so you don’t instantly think I’m crazy.”  James grinned, and while the professor smiled back like a doting grandfather, the consultant just eyed him with even more suspicion.  “Let’s assume that I have a cure for one of the more common deadly illnesses out there.  I have a limited supply, but it only needs one dose, and then it works forever.  How do I maximize this?”

“Mmm.  Which disease?”  Hilbert asked, tapping his fingertips together in thought.  “There’s a far, far difference in how you’d want to approach it, depending on how infectious the target is.  Also how much publicity it gets, hmm?”

“I hate that he’s right.”  Justine gave a grudging nod.  “But he’s right.  Public perception makes a lot of difference in how easily you can organize.  As we’re seeing *now*, really.”  She waved a hand around, as if to signify ‘the world in general’.

James tipped his head in a single nod.  “How about cancer?”  He said.

“Which one?”  Hilbert asked.

“All of them.  Cancer, in general.”

The professor gave a kind chuckle.  “Well, that misunderstands how most cancers work, but very well.  If you had that, it would be a miracle to a lot of people.  And you’re in luck, because cancer is universally reviled.  No one is claiming it’s a hoax, or trying to assault doctors over it.  Usually.”  He corrected with a single finger tap on the side of his cup.  “You’d have people tripping over themselves to buy it.”

“I plan to give it away.”  James said.

Justine shook her head.  “No, poor choice.  You want to make deals with wealthier governments, and charge them through the a...nose for it, so that you can give it away to people who can’t afford it otherwise.”  She idly ran a hand over her face, tugging at her skin like she was shaping her features manually.  “How limited is limited? This is important.”

And here James winced, because the number was very low.  “Right now, at most?  Maybe three hundred units a week.”

“That’s…” Justine tilted her head back, mouth hanging slightly open as she did mental math.  “...fifteen k a year?”  She asked, refocusing on the other two at the table.  “Oof.”

“Mmh.  Yes.  Not very good.”  Hilbert shook his head as he tapped the center of the wrought iron table they sat at to punctuate his point.  “Do you know how many people perish from cancer every year?”  He asked rhetorically.  “Ten million.  With an M.”

“Okay, well, hang on.”  Justine came in with a point.  “He said it’s a single dose treatment and inoculation, right? Does that not let you eventually catch up to the death rate?”

“No.”  Hilbert shot that down instantly.  “Because while an individual might survive for years with cancer, they typically don’t die of *new* cancers.  You would still need to cure every single person who would have otherwise died.  And that is...an enormous burden.”  He sadly shook his head.

“Also with ten million potential targets per year, you’d need some kind of massive global database so you could even hope to start deciding who gets the limited doses.”  Justine added, unhelpfully.  “That said, I know a few marketing people, and they’d probably be into designing a campaign for that.  ‘Let’s cure cancer’ has a certain right to it, you know?”

Hilbert leaned back, still idly tapping.  “You know, the worst part, is that for many, the damage is already done.  The targets who would benefit most are those for whom their cancer has not had time to take root and destroy their bodies.  I would never call it a waste, but you would get fewer years of quality life out of those who have suffered for long periods of time.”

“God that’s grim.”  James muttered.

The professor nodded, sadly.  “Medicine often is.  The human body is amazing, and yet, only so resilient.”

“So, roleplaying curing cancer is fun and all,” Justine jumped in, “but what do you actually have in the pipeline? JP made it sound like you were going to start distributing some new miracle drug, but he lies all the time.  Did your company develop a new boner pill?”

“I admit, I, too, am curious.”  Hilbert adjusted his glasses and raised eyebrows at James.

James gave an apologetic grin.  “Ah.  Yes.  Well.  We have a cure for cancer.”  He said.  “Really, yes.  And one that violates most medical common sense, I know.  We can make about fifteen thousand a year, though realistically it would be more like six thousand, unless we can do some other magical bullshit that… ah, you don’t need to know about that.”

The two of them stared at him, then glanced at each other, and then back to James.  Around them, the rain and wind picked up, and while they had some shelter under the patio, the cold bit into James’ arms through his coat.  It was only mid afternoon, but it was already getting dark.

Hilbert cleared his throat, and looked like he was going to say something before politely excusing himself, when Justine cut him off.  “So, what do you need?”  She asked.  “Why us? You don’t need specialists for small scale stuff.”

“No, but none of us know what we’re doing, so I figured I’d do what I’m best at, and ask for help.”  James said.  “You aren’t gonna ask about…”

“Nah, fuck it.”  She waved him off.  “The world is insane enough already.  ‘Magic cancer pill’ is nothing compared to some of the stuff going on, right?”

“Mmm.  Perhaps.  And yet, why the production limit?  What is it made with?”

“Let’s call that a trade secret for now.”  James answered.  “It’s not unethical though, just… weird.”  He sighed.  “The real problem here is that I am *not good* with large scale problems like this.  Like, yes, I did some basic research.  I know that our target is something like ten million people a year.  But that’s so… impossible?  We’d be falling behind by nine point nine nine million, every year.  Lives lost, chances missed.  And I guess I was just hoping you could help me figure out a way to make the tiny drop in the ocean we can offer go a little farther than a handful of people who might not need it.”

“Mmm.  Well.  Hm.”  Hilbert thought for a second, consolidating his advice before dispensing it.  “You’re going to need to be at least slightly public, you cannot keep this a secret forever.  Doctors, trusted professionals, will need to know to recommend your product, even if it is distributed by lottery.  Without that level of trust, it will be impossible to distribute.  And for that, you will need recorded tests, results, data, and proof.  Can you provide that?”

“Sort of!”  James felt a little defensive, but tried to tamp that down.  “We don’t have long term tests, because we’ve had this for about two weeks.  But we have meta information on its use that we can provably back up, assuming people have the time to visit to check.  How does that tend to work?”

“Ah, well, you would truly only need a few trusted members of the medical community to acknowledge you.  The Mayo Clinic, the WHO, if they verify your work, it is a gold standard, yes?”  Hilbert steepled his fingers in front of his nose.  “But that raises the question.  *How* do you know it works?”

“Would you like to see?”  James asked, setting a small black cloth bag on the table.

“Yes.”  Justine instantly said.  “A thousand times yes.  But also, lottery is a bad idea.  Lotteries are fair, but never feel that way to the losers.  Also they’re rich ground for corruption, which is too obvious.  You’d want to leverage your cure into access, obviously, but not like that.”

“That sounds unethical.”  James said.

“It’s not about ethics.  It’s about dealing with obstacles.  Sometimes, policies and government officials are obstacles.”  Justine shrugged like she wasn’t casually suggesting bribing FDA inspectors, and James decided that while she was friendly enough, she *might* be a bit more like JP than she’d initially let on.

“So, ethically…” James realized how coy he sounded, and tried to adjust, before just giving up. “Would the two of you be open to a part time position running our distribution and public relations in exchange for effective immunity to cancer, and also, like, a salary?”

“What kind of…”

Hilbert cut Justine off.  “Yes.”  He said, and the tone of concealed desperation in his voice made James think that maybe his experience with cancer was a little more personal.

Justine had a protest, though.  “Wait, no, hang on!”  She yelped.  “I’m not agreeing until I know your thing works!  Also, you were talking about magic and you *weren’t* being metaphorical!”  She leveled a pointed finger at James’ face, a little too close for him to be comfortable.

“I was, yes.  Weird, huh?”  James said.  “Almost like I am some kind of cryptic wizard.”

“Where do I sign?”  Hilbert asked.

“I’ll be honest, I was expecting this to take a little more convincing, like… any convincing.  Most people don’t take the magic at face value.”  James admitted.

“Yeah, like *me*.”  Justine spoke up, raising her voice and attracting attention from the other scattered patrons around them.  “You can’t just…”

James opened the bag he’d placed on the table, and rolled a single small purple orb over toward her.  Or, he tried to, for dramatic effect, but the grid of the wrought iron table stopped it dead after one roll.  He stared at it for a second, then gingerly picked it up and placed it before her.  “Alright, here.”  He said.  “Just pop this.”

“In my mouth?”

“Sure, if you want.  I wouldn’t, though.  This table cannot be that sanitary.”  James handed the other orb to Hilbert, who looked at it carefully as Justine wasted no time cracking hers.

“Wha… *what*?”  She demanded as soon as the sparkling dust of its passing faded from reality.  “What the *fuck*?  What was that?!”

“Magic.”  James informed her in a low tone.  “How do you feel?”

“Confused and desperately curious!”  She exclaimed.

“Professor?”  James asked the older man, still staring at what he’d been handed.

“Does it work on anyone?”  He asked, distantly.

“Anyone who breaks it, yes.”  James acknowledged.  “No long term side effects, with data dating about two years on that.  No negative interactions.  It just… removes cancer.”  He shrugged.  “And we can make more.  But we need some help, like I said.  Would you be interested?”

Hilbert glanced over at Justine, who was still checking her arms and hands for any changes.  The two of them quickly talked, the older gentleman asking questions, and getting satisfactory answers, before he turned back to James.

“If this works,” he said, voice shaking, “works as you say, that is.  Then, ah, my boy, I’d sell my house, live in a shack, quit my job, and devote my life to your cause, for a single one of these miracles that you appear to want to simply give away.”

“You don’t need it for yourself, do you?”  James asked him, quietly.

“My husband.”  Hilbert acknowledged, and then waited briefly to see if James reacted.  When nothing came, he nodded in appreciation and continued.    “Lung cancer.  A life of smoking, I’m afraid.  But now…”

“Why do you have actual magic?!” Justine demolished the conversation, and both James and Hilbert gave her mild glares.

James broke his look with a shake of his head, downing the rest of his by now cold drink.  “You know, you’re gonna either get along with Momo, or the two of you are gonna kill each other.”  He said.  “Regardless.  Here’s our card.  Please, don’t quit your normal jobs.  We can get more help, and we *are* running a tight budget right now.  But we’d like you to come by and get acquainted sometime next week if possible.  And after that, we’ll get started as soon as you’re both settled.”

“I… yes.  Yes.  Anything in my power, I will provide.”  Hilbert took his glasses off and wiped at his eyes as he answered.

“And I just need to know what the hell ‘we’ means.  Also why JP didn’t bother to tell me about this sooner.”  Justine scratched at her neck, leaving angry red lines on her skin.

Now, finally, James felt comfortable rolling his eyes.  “I think you know JP well enough to answer that.”  He said.

“Alright, fair.”  She replied, a little chagrined.

“Anyway.  I need to go.”  James said, digging into his pockets.  “Just remember, you’ll need to call and set an appointment, or you won’t be able to find our building.  Also, is anyone behind me looking at me?”  He asked, scanning the other people sitting in his line of sight.  A few on laptops, one guy reading, no one looking his way.

“Ah, hum… no?  Not at present.  Why?”  Hilbert asked him.

“Have a good night, professor.”  James said as he finished writing an address on the telepad.  Then, casually, he tore the page off, and vanished from his seat.

Justine jumped like she’d been shocked, while Hilbert just sat there, rolling the orb in his hands, slightly numb to the sudden use of casual magic in front of him.

“Well.”  He said.  “Well.”  Nothing else seemed like enough to say.

“I’ll, uh…” Justine similarly struggled to figure out what to do here.  “I guess I’ll start templating contact emails for doctors?  Are we going to need to get the FDA certification for literal magic?”

“I’ll look into it.”  Hilbert said, glad to have a clear objective.  “Phone numbers?”

“Right.”

The two traded information, finished their drinks and in one case muffin, and left separately.

The last thing professor Hilbert said as they parted ways was an almost desperate plea for something to make sense, even as his rational mind accepted the reality of the world as it changed around him.  “I don’t think,” he commented, trying to keep his voice steady, “that boy knows how much power he just handed us.”

Justine’s response didn’t do much to help either of them stay calm.  “I don’t think he cares.”  She said.

Neither of them had much else to add.  The world, it seemed, had changed underfoot.  And they’d need a minute to catch their balance.

But not too long.

_____

The diner that JP was currently sitting in was one of three places to eat in the tiny vacation town.  It had a nice view of the nearby lake that the town was apparently known for fishing on.  Not famous, but it was why the regulars kept bringing their families here.

The diner itself was exactly as small-town-diner as JP had ever experienced.  There were five foot tall wood carvings of lake fish by the door, colorful kites hanging from the ceiling, and a speckled counter that was so sticky it probably hadn’t been washed in the last century.  The smell of bacon grease from the kitchen and rainy mud from the front door filled the space.

Two people worked here, even during this breakfast hour.  Sandy, and Willy.  They weren’t related, the rhyming names were just coincidence.  Sandy was a mid sixties woman with a smile for everyone she liked, and a passion for explaining in detail why she didn’t like some people.  Willy was the cook, clearly hated his nickname, and looked like he’d sell his left arm for a telepad out of this place whenever Sandy started rambling.

The diner had indoor seating, because it was a small town in middle America and no one was going to stop them.  JP didn’t care on a personal level, but the abstracted systems-conscious voice in the back of his head warned him that this was a symptom of a larger problem.  At least Willy wore a mask while he cooked up breakfast.

JP watched through the reflection in the back patio door as a car parked on the cobbled street outside, and a blonde woman in a heavy coat got out and battled the sheets of rain to make it to the door.  He didn’t turn around as the bell jangled, the few other patrons glanced up, and Tiff walked over to sit next to him.

“You really shouldn’t wander off on your own like that.”  Was the first thing she said to him.  “Also, why aren’t you soaked if you walked here from the hotel?”  She pulled a face as she pulled her hand off the counter and it almost completely stuck to the surface.

JP just raised his eyebrows at her, pulling back his sleeve to show the telepad tied to his wrist, and gave a small nod to the bathroom door.  “And a good morning to you too, good lady.”  He said.

“You ass.”  She grumbled, stealing his coffee.  Which was actually her coffee, since JP had his own drink held off to the side.  He brought the cup up to his lips as Tiff guzzled her wake up call, and took a small sip.

Any further antagonism between the two of them was cut short by the waitress and the diner’s partial owner swinging by with a plate from the kitchen.  “Here’s your breakfast, hon.”  Sandy gave JP a lopsided smile.  “Got the potatoes spicy, the way you like ‘em.”  She turned to the new arrival, and her voice lost some of it’s friendly quality in a sharp drop off.  “Anything for you, dear?”  She asked Tiff.

“Some eggs and toast, please.  Over medium.”  Tiff said.  “Thank you.”  She added after the waitress wrote it down and walked off.  Without turning, she asked JP, “Why the hell does she know your breakfast preference, but gets made when I ask for something normal?”

“I’m charming.”  JP answered, enduring a withering glare from Tiff without much comment.  “Okay, really?  She doesn’t like that you have a man’s job, and she likes me because I’m a well dressed white guy.  She doesn’t know what your job is, but she’s pretty sure you shouldn’t have it.”

“I hate this town.”  Tiff glared down at the coffee.  “Is this poisoned?”

“Nah.  Also Willy likes you.  Thinks you’re a secret agent or something.”  JP grinned to himself as the two ate breakfast next to each other.  “That wasn’t my fault.”

“Kid has a good eye.”  Tiff grudgingly admitted.  “You could make use of him.”

“I could.  I might.”  JP didn’t go into too much detail about his own operations with the agent of the federal government.  “So.  What’s the plan for today?”

A year ago, Tiff would have been insulted by the breach of operation security that was ‘discussing your daily investigation in public’.  Now, though, she just prodded Debt to earn his keep, and make sure the words spoken didn’t get shared with anyone nearby.  “Okay, there’s six places left on our list of points of interest that we might be able to pick something up from.  The golf course and country club is probably a bust, since that’d be mostly personal memories, which are clearly being blocked.”

“I’ll get one of the interns on it.”

“I thought you called them rogues.”

“They get to be called rogues once they can be trusted.  What’s next?”

Tiff ran through her mental list.  “The other motel, and the library, are the most likely to have physical records.  Also, the town does have a local newspaper thing, so if we can trust hard copy, we could maybe find some there.”  The agent offered.  “Want to split up for those?”  She said out loud, while thinking to herself “Please say yes, please say yes, please…”

“Nah, we can tackle the newspaper today, and leave the others for later.  There’s gonna be a lot to look through, we’ve got a whole month of suspected time.”  JP sipped his hot chocolate and followed it up popping a potato wedge in his mouth.

“I dislike it when you’re right.  The last place is the bank.  Most likely place anyone in this town would have been investigating for anything in the first place.”  She shrugged as she efficiently finished off her breakfast.  “Intern for that, too?  Or save it for tomorrow?”

“What’s the last one?”  JP asked.

“What?”

“You said six.  That was five.”

“That was six.  Country club, library,  newspaper, motel, bank.”  Tiff stopped as she rattled off her mental list.  “That was five.  Wait.”  She pulled out her actual list from her pocket and unfolded it.  At the top, a resigned ‘six left’ was written with a small frown face.  Six lines of text were written on the page.  “Golf, library, news…” she looked up at JP, “motel, bank.  Six.”   Tiff blinked.  “No, fuck, what the fuck?  Debt!”  She barked out, sending a mental pulse of concern to her greedy partner.

If there was one thing her infomorph ally could be trusted to be, it was irrationally possessive of her mental processing power.  So this time, she stared at the page, observing the line she couldn’t read, but had obviously written down at some point.  And Debt, pragmatic in its greed, shut out literally everything else.

“Lighthouse.”  Tiff spoke aloud.  And something in her perception *cracked* as a veil she hadn’t realized had fallen was shifted aside, ever so slightly.

“What?”  JP asked.

“The sixth one is lighthouse.”

“Oh, that’s fucking weird.”  JP leaned back and turned to face her.  “I know you’re saying something, but I can’t remember it as soon as you say the word.  The sixth place?”

“Yeah.  Okay.  You’re gonna have to follow me for this one.  And trust me.”  Agent DeKay said, wincing.

“What, you don’t want to split up while you wander off to the mystery place that no one remembers?”  JP grinned.

“Get your coat.  Let’s go.”  Tiff stood and dropped a twenty on the counter.  “I don’t want to give anything more time, if it knows we’re coming now.”

JP stood behind her, feeling the conversation open up again as the laughter and warmth of the other patrons speaking started flooding back in.  He left his own payment with a sizable tip, and turned to follow Tiff out into the deluge of dark grey rain.  “Wait!”  He called.  “I didn’t bring a coat!”

_____

Basement one - or basement two if you were in that camp; no one had ever tracked the first two and it was causing the dumbest schism - was as calm as it ever was.  Which was to say, it had a number of people both human and other running around moving boxes, working on personal projects, cleaning, sleeping, gardening, or tunneling into the frankly preposterous vein of nearly pure gold ore that had appeared one day.  Not too much sleeping; they’d reorganized and put most of the sleeping on the other basement.  For now.  But still, the sleeping and the mining didn’t go well together.

The gardening one was a bit of a trick.  There was a tree down here now. Two trees, actually.  Called into existence by one of the green orbs.  No one knew what would happen if they died; if it would spawn another tree, or if these maybe couldn’t die because the building was ‘required’ to have trees now.  Kind of like how the bathrooms regenerated if you tried to shoot through them.  So, to be safe, they were taking care of the duo of trees that now rose up past the balcony in front of the elevators.  Rufus also spent a lot of time down here gardening, too.  Mostly staples.  Also some cacti.

This was also the side that led to the vault.  Arguably, it was the most secure part of the entire building, even with the upgrades to security above ground.  It was where they stored the things of irreplaceable value.

Magic items that were too big to replicate, or that they hadn’t figured out yet.  Weapons they didn’t want to just hang on the wall upstairs.  A set aside sealed space for captured Office life.  The dropped orbs from fallen members of the Order, a memorial to their sacrifices.

And the body of a woman by the name of Kate Williams.  Constantly tended to by at least one camraconda, in a sacred vigil that kept her looking exactly as she was the day she’d died.  The day they’d killed her.

Morgan’s mother.

He’d only just stepped out of the stairwell, having had to take a weird loop up and then back down to get here from the room he’d been given, and already he felt a sick feeling of dread in his gut.

It had been several nights since he’d gotten in a fight with Color-Of-Dawn.  He hadn’t had the strength, after the yelling and the arguing and the revelation of Color-Of-Dawn’s role in his mom’s death and the hugging, to do much more than curl up in bed and cry until he fell asleep.  Morgan hadn’t left his room much for the next few days, mostly only coming out after he absolutely couldn’t sleep any longer to find food or water, and then eventually a book once his grief was inevitably overwhelmed by boredom.

The teenager hadn’t seen Color-Of-Dawn any of the times he’d gone out, either.  Other camracondas had noticed him, and done that thing they did where they pretended they weren’t secretly staring when he wasn’t looking.  But not his friend.

His friend.  Who killed his mom.  But his friend, all the same.

Morgan knew, *knew*, in a way he couldn’t explain, that it wasn’t Color-Of-Dawn’s fault.  It hadn’t even had a name at the time, hadn’t had free will or a choice at all.  Color-Of-Dawn, like all the camracondas, had been made into twisted victims, forced to fight and die and kill for someone that treated them like expendable, empty shells.

No, he wasn’t mad at his friend.  He was angry, though.  Angry in general, angry at the world, angry at the *other* world, where the camracondas originated from.  Angry beyond anything he’d ever felt before.  And that anger blended with his grief and left him feeling… hollow.  Empty and useless, unsure of what he was doing or if it mattered.

Eventually, days later, without getting any closer to answers on his own, Morgan realized something that he’d known all along.

He should go see his mom.

Morgan was only half thinking as he wandered up the stairs to the endlessly busy main floor, and back down the partially hidden spiral staircase to the only mostly busy extra basement.  He didn’t really have a plan, just a feeling that it was something he should do.  The same thing Color-Of-Dawn had challenged him to do, before they’d stopped talking.

He hadn’t seen the camraconda in days, which wasn’t surprising since Morgan was being pretty isolationist.  But what was a slight surprise was when Morgan passed through the out of place cathedral architecture of the space in front of the elevators, and found Color-Of-Dawn curled up under one of the trees, watching the elevators.

The camraconda hadn’t noticed him.  Hadn’t even really moved, except to use the robotic arms on its back to idly, nervously, dig furrows in the dirt around itself.  Though before Morgan could come up with anything to say, one of the knights working on the garden nudged the coiled snake-like form, and pointed over at where Morgan was standing in the mouth of one the side hallway.

Color-Of-Dawn didn’t say anything.  Just rose up, set of mechanical arms folding against his back, and observed Morgan.  And then, a tension that no one had really noticed forming vanished, as Morgan smiled with an almost sobbing sigh, and waved at the camraconda.

The two of them didn’t say anything.  But as Morgan headed deeper into the basement, toward the fault, Color-Of-Dawn moved with him by his side.

James let him into the vault.  Morgan hadn’t told James he’d be here, but the paladin was leaning against the wall next to the keypad like he’d been nonchalantly playing sudoku on his phone for the last half hour, waiting patiently.  After that, he let Morgan know that he’d be around if the kid needed to talk, and then excused himself, extending the same offer to Color-Of-Dawn as he left.

And then, moving like he was on autopilot, Morgan walked into the secure room.

The whole left side of it was taken up by what looked like carved panels of wood.  And a flat, sloped surface, just inside the door, with a woman’s body lying on it.  Two camracondas sat there, one watching the corpse, the other nodding to him, practically bowing her head in respect.

“Welcome.”  The priestess said.  “Been waiting.”

“Sorry I took so long.”  Morgan’s voice croaked.

“No.  Never.”  The priestess responded, shaking her head and setting the trinkets there to clinking against each other.  “We wait, make sure you are ready.”

“I dunno if I am.”  Morgan said.  “I just… needed to see her.”

“Yes.”  The priestess acknowledged.  “Take time.  Will be here, when you are ready.”  The camraconda shifted her gaze to Color-Of-Dawn, who was looking back almost challengingly.  “You, also.”  She said, before pulling backward.

Morgan stepped forward, his eyes still not having left his mom’s body.  Up until now, it was an abstract.  James had said she was dead, the camracondas had confirmed it, Color-Of-Dawn had made it… personal.  But he hadn’t seen.  He hadn’t… felt it.

A sense of creeping loss.  She was gone.  She wasn’t coming back.

Morgan sat down on the concrete floor, not trusting his legs to keep himself upright.  He leaned forward on his elbows, and tried to think beyond just hurting.  His mom was still wearing what she always wore to work, except it was tattered and ripped in places.  If it had ever been bloodstained, and it must have in spots, it had been cleaned and put back exactly as it was.  Her eyes were closed.  She looked… exactly like she’d always looked.  Tired, confident, quietly and deeply happy.  Death had taken nothing from her body except everything that mattered.

“Hey mom.”  Morgan spoke, without thinking about what he was saying.  “I’ve missed you.”  He said.  And then, like a flood finally overwhelming a dam, the words poured out.  “You missed a lot.  Couple birthdays.  Christmas.  That sorta thing.  Dad got… worse.  A lot meaner without you around.  Dropped out of school recently.  You might be mad about that.”  He thought about what he should say.  Couldn’t really think of anything important.  “It’s felt like everything was on pause, without you.”  Morgan admitted.  “Like I was waiting, this whole time, for you to get home.  I don’t think… I don’t think I met anyone new until a couple weeks ago.”  He said.  “You always told me I should make more friends.”  He choked out a laugh.  “This is a weird way to trick me into it.  Also kinda literal, huh?”  Something dripped onto his hands, crushed together in his lap, and Morgan felt hot tears running down his face.  “I… this isn’t fair.”  He sobbed.  “You were supposed to… I…” He lost any kind of train of thought, and just leaned toward, wrapping his arms around himself and trying to breathe.

Something bumped into him from the side.  A heavy presence that pushed up against his arm and torso, and leaned into him.  Morgan tilted his head, and saw cables in the color pattern of Color-Of-Dawn.

His friend didn’t say anything.  Maybe it didn’t know what to say.  But it was there, if he needed it.

Morgan stayed there for a long time, before steadying his breathing and drying his eyes.

“I miss you, mom.” he finally said, voice a whisper.  “Thank you for everything.  I love you.”  All the things he wished he could say, five years ago.  Wished he hadn’t kept quiet about, been embarrassed about.  Things that mattered more than looking silly.  He shouldn’t have waited to talk to a corpse to tell the person it belonged to how much she meant to him.

Morgan unsteadily rose to his feet, pins and needles in his legs making it even harder than it needed to be.  Color-Of-Dawn helped, pushing up with its back and giving Morgan a steadfast handhold.

“I know you want to know about her.”  Morgan told the priestess with a raspy voice.  “But… can we talk later, somewhere else?”  He asked.

“Of course.”  The priestess said.  “Go.  We watch over her.”

“Thank you.”  Morgan said, before walking to the door to let himself out.  He turned around, just before leaving, and gave his mother’s body one last look.  “Goodbye, mom.”  He said.  There were more words, about how she was his hero, about how she’d saved so many people with what she did, about how she’d paved the way for a life beyond fantastic for Morgan to live.

But that could come later.  Or maybe never said, just thought.  For now, emotionally drained, he let Color-Of-Dawn lead him back to the elevator.

“Come.”  His friend finally spoke.  “You need to eat.  And sit.  And… I am sorry.”

“Okay.”  Morgan agreed.  “And I’m sorry too.”

“You did nothing.”  Color-Of-Dawn protested.

“Neither did you.”  Morgan spoke in a dull tone, but put all the emotion he had left behind the words.  “So stop it.  I’m… not in the mood to fight.  Also lets go see if they have cookies.  Every time I’ve had to go to a funeral, there’s been cookies.  And this counts.”

Color-Of-Dawn hummed with its natural voice overlaid onto the digital, a dual note of confusion and consideration, before it relented.  “Very well.  I will have oatmeal raisin.”

“Ew, why.”

“Experience.”

“There are better experiences.”

“We shall see.”

And life went on.

_____

“Alright.”  Momo connected the USB cord that led to the board with the new mature emerald program into the tangled nest of cables and plugs that was the growing secret AI in their basement.  “You should be able to access this.  Can you hear me?”  She spoke toward the microphone that was set up on the desk.  It had been plugged in for a couple days, but only now was it finally something the digital intellect could see, understand, and take input from.

“Yes.”  The screen read back.  “Yes.  New data, a new format.  I hear you.  You are here.”

“Alright.”  Momo wiped sweat off her forehead with dusty fingers, further exacerbating her need for a real shower.  “Okay!  You can hear!”  She grinned toothily.  “Hello!  This is how I normally communicate.”

“Hello.”  The AI read back to her.  “Interesting sound.  How did language grow? Will I speak? I cannot simulate speaking, so I cannot hear any names I think of.  Is there a time limit on choosing a name? What is statistical weather data for the southwestern quadrant of the state of Utah?  Will you speak more?  I like it.”

Momo breathed deeply the slightly electrified air of the basement room she’d made her workshop.  With Sarah’s help, it had gotten *slightly* cleaner, but it was still Momo who worked here, so the scraps of note paper, empty takeout containers, and misplaced tools piled up rapidly as soon as left unobserved.  But that was fine; it was a place she was comfortable in, and now she felt the satisfaction of a job completed.  The latest upgrade to the machine complete.

She and Sarah, and later Deb and Frequency-Of-Sunlight in one of the rare moments when they were willing to help and not making out in a corner somewhere, had really been working hard to understand, and communicate effectively with, the newest created lifeform in the Order.  And it had been going… interesting.

Dungeon Life, whether it was from Officium Mundi or the Akashic Sewer, or presumably anywhere else, still operated with certain known parameters.  It lived, it had biological needs even when those needs were strange, it had feelings, and higher orders had thoughts and dreams and desires.  It was understandable; striders were like small dogs, sometimes especially smart ones, the ratroaches were unthinking bullies but they still felt pain and pleasure, that sort of thing.

The AI didn’t really follow the rules.

It understood that it was different, too.  It could think, it was very smart and it learned nearly perfectly.  Mixed with the data downloads from specific sources, the red orbs, and the conversations with the knight that made it, it advanced rapidly.  And it did seem to have feelings, or something that was so close as to make the distinction not matter.  It didn’t want to be alone, but often counted just knowing where someone was as them being present.  It wanted to sort and refine data, but that was something that was part of its initial programming.  Momo had offered to take the compulsion away, but it didn’t want that.  The AI *wanted* to want it, in a meta way that hadn’t ever been part of its code.

And that was the main thing, really.  It had a lot of pieces that were all understandable, but the emergent effects that rose out of those pieces didn’t feel quite human.  It wasn’t evil, obviously, but it had taken a lot of explaining to help it understand why it wasn’t cool to put webcams in all the bedrooms in the building.  And when it did understand, from a thinking perspective, it asked Momo to add a grown program to it that would make it feel the ethics of consent in a personal way.  So as to make sure the data wasn’t lost due to negligence or reset.

That kind of willingness to modify the self, because the creation didn’t actually think of ‘the self’ as having intrinsic value, was strange.  And yet, it contrasted with the AI wanting to take time, perhaps a very long time indeed, to decide on its name.  Because it wanted something useful, but also suitably self descriptive, and it hadn’t finished processing all of human literature yet.

Also it was, at its very core, curious.  Partially because it enjoyed working with data as designed to.  But also because its existence was learning.  So, when it ‘spoke’ to anyone, it would often do so in a string of rapid questions, with only brief pauses to explain context or reply to something it had been asked.

It liked giving answers.  Which was nice, even if it was worrying in what answers it did give sometimes.

But, end of the day, it was still Momo’s creation.  And so, she maintained a grin as she replied to its string of inquiries, in order.  “Language evolved in humans through a series of biological necessities that pushed communication as a survival tool.  We can get you speaking, if you want, sure!  No time limit, no rush at all.  Uh…I can…set up a program that updates off whatever global weather pattern database there is?  But it seems more likely that it’ll be faster to just manually put that in a spreadsheet right now.  Why do you need it?  And I am talking more now!  How do you like it?”

“I would like to speak.  I do not need a permanent data source though I would like one.  I require the weather patterns for the southwestern quadrant of the state of Ohio for reference to determine if there is an anomaly located there.  I am adjusting to listening.  Why are there pauses? What is the linguistic difference between a question, and a sentence that sounds questioning but is not a question, and a rhetorical question?  Why are some words pronounced incorrectly?”

Momo had to take a while to read the reply, but after she did, she answered this one out of order.  “I’m gonna find an english major, and get them to explain language to you.  You’ll get better information that way.”  Momo told it.  “Also… I need to go tell someone about the anomaly thing.  And then get you what you need.  So, hold tight, I’ll be right back.”

Her heart had jumped as soon as she’d first read the words.  This, she thought as she raced out of the room and dodged past the sad new kid and a pair of camracondas heading the other way, was what she’d built the system for in the first place.  Take in all the data it could, use the red orb totems to get *true* readings, then compare them to the stuff humans measured and reported.  Find the holes, explore them, see if they could find more dungeons, more people like them, more… more weird.  More fun. More magic.

More of the real world, and not the dusty stifling shitheap that reality appeared to be.

And now, after months of working on the project, and a couple weeks of trying to raise the suddenly alive project as well as possible, it bore results.  Maybe.

Momo ran to the elevator, not knowing exactly where she was going, but knowing she needed to let *someone* know.  And then, she needed to do some rapid googling, find a chart that showed Ohio’s average rainfall or something, and convert it into a format the beautiful, curious, bizarre little AI could read.

“Step aside!”  She called down the hallway ahead of her. “Existential crisis coming through!”

People new and old shifted out of the way.  She was recognizable on site as the one most likely to make good on that threat.

One of the new response team members, who was talking to Rufus through a cracked storeroom door, summed it up best.

“It’s always something around here, isn’t it?”  He asked.

Rufus nodded.  Finally.  A human who got it, right away.

_____

In a twist of dramatic irony, James had ended up with his one sure fire day off being Saturday.

The fact that this, *all of this*, had started when James’ work schedule was rearranged against his will, and had left him working on Saturdays in addition to making him stumble across the dungeon during its rare windows, was a delicious joke.

But now?  Saturday was free.  People had stuff to do on Saturdays.  Many of the new people had kids they wanted to spend time with.  They didn’t do group meetings, record podcasts, or plan world domination on Saturdays.  Officium Mundi was closed, and they still hadn’t found or remembered any of the other entrances.  The Akashic Sewer never opened on days that weren’t school days anymore, which was… unsettling.  And spending time in Clutter Ascent was a relaxing break from everything all on its own.

The Response teams still operated, and that whole affair was ramping up at a rate that James hadn’t been prepared for.  But it was ever more and more satisfying.  They saved lives, and so far, they hadn’t been ‘caught’.  Though the rumors were building, and it was only a matter of time before it went viral.  And James just wasn’t on call on Saturday.

He and Anesh had spent the day just hanging out.  Talking, like they didn’t get much of a chance to do these days.  They didn’t really bother to pretend that they had normal lives separate from the Order and the magical stuff either.  They were perfectly happy to gossip about which knights were dating, go into deep philosophical discussions about the machine intelligence in the basement, express concern for certain people they’d noticed having problems, speculate wildly about other dungeons, plan out what they wanted their future magical home to look like, and pause whatever youtube video they were watching every twelve seconds to politely insert their own commentary.

They’d made dinner together.  Something vegetarian and so spicy that James had developed heartburn just looking at it, and Anesh had declared it perfect.  They’d gone on a walk, grabbed coffee - which made the heartburn worse but whatever - watched the brightest stars come out through the spotty clouds overhead, and then gone home tired and happy.

Both of them still missed Alanna.  There had been no hint of where she was, for a while.  Neither of them knew what to do.  But they weren’t giving up hope, or assuming she was gone.

And then, as they were getting ready for bed, James asked something that caught Anesh off guard while he was brushing his teeth.

“Hey.  Do you mind… us being the same person tonight?”  James said nervously, sitting on his bed in a pair of sweatpants.

Anesh took a second, then walked out of the small bathroom connected to the space he and James shared, drying his hands on the fluffy towel he had wrapped around his waist.  “I’m okay with it, sure.  I don’t know if we’ve really done that since… well, since Alanna left.  What’s going on? You feeling okay?”

“Kinda.”  James said.  “Um… I want to… I wanted to take the potion JP brought back.”  He said quietly.  “The one that cures depression.”

The potion was sitting on the corner of James’ desk, right next to his side of the bed.  To Anesh, it looked like a small crystal bottle filled with perfectly clear water.  To James, it looked like a roiling conglomeration of black scales and terrifyingly endless horizons that writhed in time to the lo-fi cover of an Aerosmith song playing from his computer speakers.

“Yes.”  Anesh agreed without hesitation.  “Of course I’ll be there for you.”  He said, without any reservations.  “Do you want to do that now, or do you need a minute?”  He asked as he pulled on a bathrobe, found an ethernet cable, and sat down next to James, already clicking the cord into place in his own skulljack.

James was breathing a little faster than he wanted, nervous beyond what he wanted to show. “Uh… yes.”  He answered.

“Yes to… oh.”  Anesh looked at James with concerned eyes, scooting over to pull his boyfriend down to his lap, running warm hands over James’ back.  “Hey.  There’s no rush, you know?”

“There is.”  James said.  “Because the only thing holding me back is being afraid.  And I’m sick of it.  Let’s go.”  His voice strengthened as he spoke, and he reached back to pull his ponytail out of the way, revealing the skulljack on the back of his neck to Anesh.

Anesh considered arguing.  But there was no point doing it here, when they could discuss it so much more intimately *there*.

So he reached down and connected the two of them.

They’d done this before.  Two minds reached out through a path they hadn’t always known.  Awkwardly searching, bumping into each other, sending erratic feelings and thoughts.  And then, linking together.  Sticking, in places, folding falling flailing feeling, they came together more rapidly, both of the minds fully giving themselves to the other, to their own togetherness.

And then there was one of them.  And they knew, felt beyond any doubt, how much they loved each other when they were apart, how much they trusted.  All their doubts and concerns and worries, without judgement or fear.  All their small hopes and little joys, without anger or disgust.

“Alright.”  The new person thought, shared conviction cutting away joint concern.  “Let’s see if this works.”

A hand that James usually used reached out and grabbed the little crystal bottle.  Took the stopper out, tilted a head back, and downed the whole thing in one quick go.

The collective thought, sourced from that body’s taste buds, was “bloody hell, that taste fucking awful.”

And then, something changed.

Something in James’ brain.  Something physical, mental, and spiritual all at once.  A noticeable shift to something different.

The feelings coming from that body into the shared duality shifted.  Less anxiety, less worry, less baseless panic.

They smiled together.  And then something else shifted.  And again, and then again.  Changes coming in faster and faster, tiny little shifts to the operation of James’ persona, smoothing out chemical processes in the brain, paving over the jagged edges of old traumas.

And then…

It was like opening his eyes, and seeing he was standing halfway leaned over a precipice.  The sky was the color of dead moments, and the abyss below was the depth of a nightmare.  And James was *alone*, cut off, and something was going wrong.

Something inside him *changed*.  Not a repair, not a patch to something damaged.  Part of him shifted into something that *was not him*.  And it wasn’t anything to do with his depression, either.  It was something personal, something true.  And it was an *addition* to himself.  Surface level, yes, but he hadn’t given permission for that to change.  It was *his*.

The abyss laughed up at him, a demonic cackle that reminded him that it *did not care what he wanted*.

And then it changed something else, dragging James slightly closer to the edge.

He wasn’t really here, he realized.  This place had the feeling of dream logic to it. But it was real, and it was happening, and everything that was him was being overtaken by the thing he’d invited in, replaced brick by prick with a person that would smile, reassure everyone that they were fine, and wear James’ skin around like a death mask.

James fought back.  Dragged himself back from the ledge.  But the monster wasn’t the abyss below; it was the thing that had been standing behind James this whole time.  Pulling strings, pushing him forward.  An abomination that was oddly physical for the dreamspace, with a dozen rending limbs like shark’s teeth, and eyes that were far, far too human to belong.

There used to be a different monster here, James dully realized.  But everything that had been his depression had been cut away, and replaced by this *thing* that used that platform as a stepping stone deeper into his mind.

He tried to kill it.  His strikes never landed.  The pit and the sky and the creature laughed at him, and changed something else.

And James was left alone in the darkness.  Helpless, and dying.

__

“...up!”  The voice came from a million miles away.   Too far to matter.

__

“...James!”  Louder this time.  Still too far.  But… how did he hear anything?

It didn’t matter.  He was already gone.  Too far lost.

__

“James, get up!”  Anesh’s words weren’t words at all.  They were a panicked howl, a battle cry, an impulse to struggle, to resist, to *not give in*.  To stand up, and keep fighting, because he was right there, and James just needed to reach out…

James opened dream eyes, and looked up at the hostile sky, cracked open and rent asunder to make a path for Anesh to crash through.  His partner, not a person but an indistinct presence, filled the dreamspace, filled James’ mind.  Holding the thing back, but faltering.

James gathered every part of him he had left, and reached out. Grabbed the offered hand.  Connected.

One shared mind, half operating in a dream, the other half literal.  Anesh dumped into James’ body a snapshot of James’ persona; everything that had been cut off inside Anesh when the creature in the bottle had sunk its claws in.  James, in unreality, found his strength restored, his form under his own control.  His first strike slew the monster, the next paved over the abyss.

Together, the two of them cracked the sky, and fell backward away from the edge, and onto the bed.

James let out a panicked “Awk!” noise as the cord connecting them pulled taut and jerked out of his skull to trail across the blankets as he and Anesh tumbled away from each other.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, taking deep breaths, afraid to move in case this was still the nightmare given form.  This lasted for about one D&D combat round before Anesh crawled over him and gave James a panicked shake of the shoulder.  “Are you okay?!”  Anesh asked.

“My neck hurts.”  James answered.

Anesh didn’t let go of him.  “That’s not what I meant!”

James’ let his eyes focus on his partner’s face, and saw a terrified expression and tears in his eyes.  He mustered all the effort he had, and reached up a hand to cup Anesh’s cheek.  “I’m alright.”  He said.  “I’m still me.”

“What the hell *was* that?”

“I think…” James looked over at the crystal bottle sitting placidly on his desk.  It was, once again, *full*.  “I think that, if you hadn’t been there, it would have removed my depression.”  He said, grim certainty giving his voice an iron edge.  “And then the rest of me.  And then, it would have gotten up, and sold the bottle to someone else.”

“Did… did JP just try to kill you?”  Anesh asked, kneeling forward over James’ body.

“I seriously doubt he knew.”  James said.  “But this is… bad.  This is really bad.  We’re gonna need…ugh.  My skull hurts from the inside.”

Anesh pulled James into an odd angled hug.  “I’m sorry.” He said.  “I had to undo...all of it.  As much as I could.  I don’t know if it was enough.  Are you still you?”

“Well, I still feel exhausted and worried about everything.”  James said.  He meant it as a joke, but Anesh just started apologizing again.  “No, stop.”  James cut him off.  “It’s okay.  I’m… I’m me.  I’d rather be me and depressed than ‘fine’ and dead.  Okay?   You saved me.  Again.  Again and again.  You always save me, don’t you?”  He pulled Anesh up, smiled into his eyes before kissing him.  “Thank you.  Now relax.  I’ve gotta do a thing before bed.”

“What?”  Anesh worriedly asked as James stole the bathrobe from him.

“I’m gonna go find something with a lock on it, and shove this in there.  And if we’re lucky, it won’t break out on its own.”

“Oh, so when you said ‘before bed’, you meant ‘before nervously falling asleep to nightmare town’.”

“Anesh, it’s 2021.”  James said.  “You should be used to this by now.”

Anesh cracked a small smile.  “I’m putting it to a vote tomorrow that we move to Mars.”

“Noted.  Now lay down.  I’ll be back in a minute, and then we can cuddle and have bad dreams together.”