I woke up several hours later to gorge myself on frozen fish and dodgy beef. The sounds of video games were coming from upstairs. Taylor had a light and a chair set up downstairs with me. She was reading the book I’d given her. A pile of my stuff was sitting by the doors, heaped up on top of my bed. I smelled clean laundry. My power was somewhat active in my head, but not to an extreme extent.

  She wandered over while I was eating and leaned against a beam.

  “It really doesn’t bother you eating that, like that?”

  I dumped the last of a ten-pound bag of cod into my maw, crunched it twice, and gulped it down.

  “When I’m wounded, I crave proteins, meats. Bones and everything. It tastes good to me. Eating it frozen is nice, feels good. Like having a smoothie on a hot day. I… run hot if I’m doing anything strenuous. Real hot. Dangerously hot for people.”

  “And when you’re not wounded?”

  I tore open a huge package of beef shank and munched on it. “Sort of the same, but more calories. Fats, some carbs. I–what I eat at home is pretty gross. I prefer not eating around others.”

  She tucked some hair behind her ear and adjusted her glasses. “Why?”

  I turned my head to face her. “Because it’s gross? It’s one thing to scare or put people off in a fight, but I don’t want to do that to family… or friends.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Doesn’t bother me. If that’s what you eat, that’s what you eat.”

  I slid my tail across the floor and draped the narrowest section over her shoulder.

  “Thanks, Taylor. I’ll try and keep that in mind, but it’s hard not to be self-conscious about it.”

  She gave me a look. “You should spend some of the energy you use on others… on yourself.”

  I knew she meant well. Still stung a little. That reminder to practice what you preach.

  I dipped my head to her, then resumed eating.

  “Lisa and I washed your clothing, dried it, and folded it up for you. We were able to save most of it. Some of it was torn, ripped, or horribly stained. We tossed what we found that wasn’t clearly salvageable.”

  I turned away from her and yawned.

  A quick status check showed that I’d recovered significantly, but I was still fairly messed up. No holes in me, but big craters and pits under my hide where chunks had been torn out. Shredded wings fixed. Missing wings growing back in. Still exhausted. I needed more rest.

  I finished my meal, tossed all the wrappers and packaging into a trash bag Taylor gave me, and tied it off.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about the past few days. The things I saw and experienced with you.” Her voice was soft.

  I stood up and padded over to take the stuff off the bed, lifted it with my tail, and headed back over. I set it down gently, doing my best not to kick up too much dust. Then I slithered into it. It might have cost me a couple of thousand bucks to buy and ship, but it was worth every penny.

  “You can come up, if you want. It’s super comfy,” I offered. She hesitated, then walked over, cut the light off, and returned downstairs to a state of mostly-darkness. Only some light reflected down from the loft above. Then she climbed into bed with me.

  “It really is,” she murmured.

  I waited for her to get to what she’d been thinking about.

  “The Dallon household was weird,” she finally said.

  I chuckled softly.

  “At first, I felt like an invader. And then I didn’t, and that made it even stranger to me. It was… painful, too. Not just the things with my life I talked to Carol about, but seeing… a full family like that, together. Happy.”

  I reached a few tentacles over and began massaging her shoulders. She was tense as a brick—no surprise—but relaxed a bit under my touch.

  I spoke quietly, barely above a whisper. “Don’t get caught up on the surface. That’s a type of broken home too…it’s just better at hiding it.”

  “It is?” She asked.

  “Vicky and I talk about it a lot. Her parents have split up a few times, never divorcing, but things have been rocky. Carol spends too much time on her work as a lawyer, and she’s bitchy. She doesn’t treat the sisters equitably, and that’s just… fucking agony, honestly. Mark’s got clinical depression and struggles with staying on his meds. The best thing going is that Amy and Vicky are close.”

  “I couldn’t see that. I just saw… two parents, two kids. People smiling and arguing. Family photos on the walls. They love each other, and it shows everywhere you look.”

  “It does,” I agreed, “but loving each other doesn’t mean that there aren’t real big issues. Things are strained between you and your dad. But he loves you, Taylor. Fiercely. He’s just… sort of withdrawn. Doesn’t do a good job of showing it. I told him he needs to work on that.”

  Taylor stiffened. I felt it. But she nodded.

  “That’s a two-way street, though, Taylor. And it needs to be. It can’t work if it’s one-sided. I sort of observed this dynamic you two have, where you take turns talking to each other, but sometimes not with each other. Does that make sense?”

  She was quiet for a long moment. “...Yeah. It does.”

  “I talked to him while you were packing. Told him you’re not okay, but you are doing better. I didn’t speak for you, but he’s been stressing himself out worrying. I wanted him to know you’re doing alright—at least materially—and that you’re working on things in your own way.”

  She leaned back against my side and looked up at the ceiling.

  “I can’t tell him. I’m not ready. I think I’d fall apart if I did. I know it’s going to hurt him. Change things.”

  I sighed deeply. My own dilemma, echoing hers. “Yeah. I haven’t told my parents either. I’m fucking done hiding and locking myself away. I just haven’t braced myself for that yet. Soon, I hope.”

  I covered my mouth and yawned again. I was starting to drift off.

  Taylor just rested her back against my side. Quiet. Thinking.

  I woke up the next morning to my phone buzzing in my hair. It was my 11 AM alarm.

  I went through my morning routine of catlike full-body stretches. Coiling and flexing my tail was the best. I was fully rested, rejuvenated, and felt great. There were bits and chunks of metal scattered across the floor. Remnants of what had broken off inside me during yesterday’s fight. Expelled during my healing process.

  My battle trophies. I picked up a broken link of chain. It was shiny, and a bit lighter than I’d expected. Titanium, maybe? I wasn’t sure. I flipped it around in my hand and studied it. It’d make for a neat keepsake. I had an idea for what to do with it.

  I pressed one end of the link together with the thumb of a big hand, closing it around the tip of another big claw so the broken end was flush. I could feel it heat up between my fingers as I bent it. When I was done, it looked like a nine, a six, or maybe abstractly, a claw. I fished around in my bags of stuff, found a heavy cord from a necklace, and ran it through the closed end I’d made. It was neat.

  Maybe a touch morbid when you consider this was scrap from someone’s body, but hey, we live strange lives, right?

  I’d bled for this. And came out stronger for it. That matters.

  The door banged open as I was finishing up, and Bitch and Skitter walked in. Civilian clothing. I could smell dog on both of them. Taylor looked a bit more relaxed than usual. Bitch looked angry, but I was starting to think that was just her default setting.

  Resting hate face. It wasn’t as catchy as RBF.

  Bitch stomped up to me like she had a bone to pick. It was always something with this girl. The work boots certainly added to the effect of the stomping. Or was that just how she walked all the time?

  She pointed an accusatory finger at me, but didn’t jab me. That was good, for both of our sakes.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” she snapped. “I don’t owe you shit. I didn’t ask for you to come in. Don’t like being put on the spot. Making me look bad.”

  I drummed my big claws on the floor. Not turning my head away from Bitch, I asked Taylor: “Can you open the big doors, if it’s clear outside?”

  She nodded and headed upstairs. Maybe to get keys.

  Clack, clack, clack.

  “You didn’t ask for help. I offered because I wanted to, not because you needed it,” I told her.

  Clack, clack, clack.

  “Why do you think you looked bad?”

  Clack, clack, clack.

  “Because! That fight came to me, and someone else won.”

  “Are you mad that I won?”

  Clack, clack, clack.

  “...No.” Still angry, but more sullen now. “You’re strong, but that’s not the point!” The heat came rushing back.

  I kept my voice neutral. Still deep and resounding off the industrial space. “You fight on a team. Work with them. If someone else on your team knocks out Lung, does that bother you?”

  I sat on my haunches, but I brought my head down to her level to talk to her. I didn’t want to be rude.

  “No,” she said quickly, grit her teeth, then amended her answer: “Maybe a little.”

  I rolled the chainlink in a lower palm. Thought a moment.

  She’d been honest just now, in a way I hadn’t expected. I’d reciprocate and see how she reacted.

  “Bitch, can I ask you what your name is?”

  “Just Bitch to you.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Well Bitch. I offered to fight for you because I wanted to fight. I wanted to hurt someone. I don’t get to really fight like that often. People break too easily. I think you know how that feels.”

  “Yeah, so?” she shot back.

  Taylor came back downstairs, unlocked the doors, and started pushing them open with some effort. Daylight streamed in, lighting up the thick miasma of dust particles in the air. I could smell them. Taste them, too.

  I turned back to Bitch and kept going.

  “So in a way, you did me a favor letting me fight for you. So, thank you. I got to go hard on someone dangerous. You got to settle the beef. Your team wasn’t hurt. Sounds like everyone won, doesn’t it?”

  She squinted at me. Something was going on upstairs, but I wasn’t privy to it.

  I didn’t fully understand her response when she did speak. “You’re like the rest. Not always. Thought you’d be different. This is dumb. Whatever..”

  She dropped her arm and motioned to the trio of dogs tagging along behind her.

  “Bitch?”

  She looked over.

  “Here. I was just playing with it. You can have it. A trophy.” I dangled the makeshift necklace from one clawed finger in front of her.

  She bared her teeth, squinting at the chunk of metal on the end of the string.

  “What’s that? Junk?”

  I fudged the truth, just a smidge. “It’s a chunk of Hookwolf I pulled out of myself after the fight yesterday. Bent it a little. It’s yours.”

  She clenched her fists. Big hands, for a girl, but it matched her build. I found myself wondering how old she really was. Whether she still had growing left in her. Hard to tell. She wore her trauma in the set of her jaw and the weight in her shoulders. Stuff like that made estimating people’s age harder.

  “...Stupid,” she muttered. But she snatched it off my finger and left.

  Taylor walked over after the bay doors had been opened back up fully. Dusting her hands off, she said, “I think she likes you.”

  I chuckled. “Strange way of showing it. But we’re all strange, in our own ways.”

  Taylor gave me a long look, then nodded.

  “What are you doing?” she asked me, then gestured at the doors.

  I laughed. “Cleaning this nasty fucking dump out. Help me pull the sheets off the machines? If it gets too bad for you, take cover, alright?” She cocked her head, then shrugged.

  We pulled the sheets off the old machines, took them outside, and gave them a few sharp snaps to knock the dust loose. I kept cycling my wings, blasting air from inside out the bay doors. Half an hour later, I’d cleared out most of the grime and dust. Some of the wind disrupted the upstairs loft, and there were shouts of protest from Alec and Lisa, but Brian hushed them. I think it was mostly performative anyway.

  When all was said and done, the warehouse was about ten thousand percent cleaner than before.

  Finally, I feel like I can breathe and move in here.

  I did a couple of strong blasts on the street outside to disperse the dust cloud so it wouldn’t act like a big neon sign of activity, then we shut the place down again. I said goodbye to the Undersiders, grabbed my stuff, and took to the air to drop it at the fire station.

  Flying with very large but light, bulky items was a bit of a hassle. I went very slow. The station was all set up. Looked amazing inside. Not quite like-new, but good enough. It even smelled like fresh paint and cleaning chemicals. That olfactory stamp of approval we’re all trained to associate with clean.

  I was able to get around inside the station, even the firehouse, without transforming. The interior was built like a tank, perfect for me. Still, I moved carefully.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The bed from my apartment became the central piece of furniture in the lounge area, and I shoved the two sectionals that had previously occupied the space against the walls.

  Then I took a shower. As Apex. For the very first time.

  Turns out you can make it work when you have a communal shower block with open floor space and a dozen showerheads.

  After that, I hit a local grocery store. Mild alarm followed me around as I made my way back to the meat counter.

  A store employee was following me around, radioing in my location and the play-by-play like this was a sporting event. A manager, a heavyset woman with a kind face, came hustling over only a minute or two later.

  “Ah-um-eh…sir…?”

  Ah yes. The gender confusion question.

  “Doesn’t matter what pronouns you use. Or just Apex.”

  She nodded rapidly, sweating and fidgeting in place. “W-we don’t want any trouble.”

  I looked over at her. Slow and deliberate. “Why would there be any trouble? I’m just here to buy lunch and be on my way.”

  “You, um… are paying? With money?” She looked bewildered.

  I tried to put myself in her shoes. If a giant, naked, vaguely insectile sea monster walked into my store, I’d probably be confused too.

  I pulled my wallet out of my hair and gave it a shake. “You take debit, right?”

  She held her chest, coughed, and nodded quickly.

  “Okay, great.” I turned from her back to the counter. “Do you have like… a full ham, or something, you know, size-appropriate? Meaning big?”

  The manager stood there looking around. People were rubbernecking from the aisles, also. I was being very careful not to damage the floor or touch anything.

  “Uhh. Yeah. We have some big briskets, two uncut shanks, and a couple of pork shoulders.”

  Oooh. Pork. Fatty.

  “Can I have one of each of those?”

  The clerk behind the counter shrugged and headed into the back. A minute later, he came back out with three peel-and-stick labels and handed them to me. Eight pounds, ten pounds, nine pounds.

  “This look good?”

  “Are you kidding?” I said. “Looks great! I’ll take them.”

  He wheeled out a metal handcart with three plastic-wrapped hunks of meat and bone and handed them over. I took the brisket into my tentacles and carried the other two with one in each lower hand, and went up front to check out. The manager herself checked me out.

  “Do you have a club membership card?” She asked, then blushed. “Sorry, force of habit.”

  I chuckled, swiped my card, and told her to keep the receipt.

  Outside, I stopped at the front of the building in the fire lane, sat down upright, and carefully unwrapped my lunch with the assistance of one razor-sharp claw. People were gawking. Taking photos. Whispering and pointing.

  Maybe Taylor was right. Why should I hide who I am when I’m doing mundane things, like eating lunch? I wouldn’t go too far. I raised my face so it pointed skyward and popped each hunk of meat in, one at a time, crunching a few times as quietly as I could and gulping them down. The pork was amazing.

  When I finished, I carefully disposed of the bags and wrappers in the trash bins outside the store, waved at a few people, and walked into the street. I hopped up and took off.

  I flew to the gatehouse for the Rig. It was time to meet Melody there. Mom and Dad were standing next to the car, and it looked like she was already signed in and badged. I glided in and slid across the parking lot toward Melody with room to spare.

  Mom and Dad were pointing, shouting.

  Melody just stood there with a massive shit-eating grin on her face as I prowled up to her.

  Four officers in heavy gear came out and pointed containment foam sprayers at me. They looked like a cross between a super squirt gun and a flamethrower. Big tank on the back, hoses leading to the sprayer up front. They didn’t fire.

  Melody held her arms open, I walked up, sat down and leaned forward, and hugged her.

  Mom and Dad looked like they were malfunctioning. I waved at them with one lower arm. My dad tilted his head and waved back, but he was clearly unsure who I was.

  Miss Militia stepped out of the gatehouse with a lanyard and badge in hand.

  “We figured you’d be arriving… a bit differently,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

  I pointed at Melody. “She’s not in costume.”

  Miss Militia nodded. “No, she isn’t.”

  I shrugged with my lower shoulders and held my hands out wide, palms upturned.

  “We’re doing Casual Friday early this week. On Tuesday. If she’s not wearing a costume, why should I?”

  I could very clearly see Miss Militia’s eyes were smiling, even if her bandanna obscured her lower face.

  “Shall we?” she asked, gesturing to a golf cart. I looped a tentacle through the lanyard and let it hang from the side of my face like a hair accessory.

  Melody turned and waved to Mom and Dad, who still looked shaken and confused. They both waved back to her. She climbed into the cart with Miss Militia, and I chose to just lope alongside as they drove over the bridge. It was nice to be able to stretch and work the muscles a little.

  I got a lot of weird looks when we got on the rig itself. The place was built like a fortress, so I wasn’t worried about causing damage on accident. Melody had a packet that looked like it contained a bit less than half a ream of paper in a big manila envelope, and she handed it to the admin staff inside, who set about digitizing it right away.

  First stop was a visit to the doctor’s office.

  Melody was put through an insane battery of tests. The same ones I’d gone through. Enough imaging to glow in the dark, enough blood and fluid samples to fill a bucket. A head-to-toe health inspection that was compassionate but, by nature, invasive. I was glad to see my own doctor had the day off. Melody’s was a middle-aged woman—kind, professional, pretty good overall.

  I did my best to chat and distract Melody during the worst bits.

  During the more private parts of the exam, I ended up chatting with Miss Militia. I asked if Ms. Yamada was in town. She told me yes. Tapping my claws on the floor, I hesitated, then asked if I could see her—just to say hello. Miss Militia fired off a quick email on her phone and let me know she’d follow up.

  There were a number of things I wanted to ask her. But this wasn’t the place for it, sitting in a waiting room in the middle of a secure PRT facility.

  I turned my head to face Hannah. “Miss Militia?”

  “Hmm?” she looked up from her phone.

  “There are a lot of things I want to talk to you about, but now isn’t a very good time. Melody’s priority number one.”

  She tapped an index finger on the side of her phone. “You do have my phone number still, don’t you?”

  “I do… some things I’d feel more comfortable talking about in person, though.”

  “Are any of the things urgent or critical in any way?”

  I shook my head. “More like… ideas. Questions. Looking for advice. Wanting to tap the experience of people I trust.”

  She nodded slowly. “Alright. Let’s make plans. We’ll talk later.”

  I smiled at her, and she drew her head back and stared, eyes fixated on my maw. I clicked my jaw shut quickly.

  “...Sorry. I’ve been walking on two legs too much lately. Fell into old habits.”

  She blinked rapidly. “Huh?”

  I sighed. “That was my brain interpreting a smile. Doesn’t really work when you don’t have lips. Or when your mouth’s this full of teeth.”

  She tilted her head at me, then chuckled. “You ever see a dog that’s learned to smile from people? Sort of similar. They draw their lips back and flash teeth, and it looks like they’re about to snap at you, but they’re happy.”

  I went for humor instead of facial expressions. “I can’t believe you just called me a bitch to my face.”

  She laughed.

  Hours passed as we hit other stops for more tests, more paperwork, more documents. Personality testing, reasoning, and cognitive testing. Physical testing with weights and running on treadmills with breathing masks on.

  Finally was the big moment: ability testing.

  We descended into the lower belly of the Rig. A big, armored, reinforced space like a miniature gymnasium. Sensors everywhere. Cameras in every corner. Resistance machines, blast targets, biometric gear. You name it.

  Melody asked that I stay in with her.

  Armsmaster had shown up for this part, and both he and Miss Militia weren’t fond of the idea. I pointed out that I’d already been exposed to her thing once and hadn’t suffered any ill effects.

  There was an analyst I hadn’t met before, young, maybe mid-teens, with a serious physical deformity: a hunchback. A fellow parahuman.

  He introduced himself as… Hunch. A Thinker. His chesnut colored eyes stood out to me. Sharp as a needle, taking everything in. A bit reminiscent of Lisa, but without the attitude. He’d be helping to analyze Melody’s power. He voiced an opinion that he didn’t see any danger in my staying, and that seemed to calm the two leaders.

  Melody and I stayed in the room; the rest of them, along with some other PRT staff, left for a control room that hung up near the ceiling of one wall, all mirrored glass and armored panels. A minute or two later, voices came over the loudspeakers. Status lights went green on countless devices around the room.

  Hunch’s voice came through the speakers: “Alright, Apex. Stand back from Melody, outside where you think her ability might reach. Melody, when we give you the signal, you’ll step into the marked circle on the floor and activate your ability. We’re aiming for ten seconds, then shut it down. We’ll call start and stop.”

  I stood back, twenty or thirty feet. Melody took her position in a box painted on the floor.

  “Ready?”

  She gave a thumbs-up.

  “Go ahead… now.”

  She blinked out of existence.

  Her and an elliptical sphere around her—maybe three feet in radius—vanished. Absolute void space. No detail. No texture. Just… absence. A glowing white-silver ring marked the edge of her sphere, where normal space resumed. It glowed, but didn’t cast light or shadows.

  You could see a field radiating outwards from her as a gradient effect, where color and brightness fell off the closer it got to her. There was no clear outer boundary. Brightness and color just progressively dropped off the closer to her sphere you got, and it was an exponential effect. The space immediately outside her sphere was pure grayscale and very dim.

  It was a strange effect to look at. It was also perfectly silent. I felt a little something where I was sitting. A peculiar sensation that was hard to put my claws on. Not painful, just slightly…odd.

  “And stop.”

  A beat passed. Then the void popped away. Melody was standing there again, looking sheepish.

  “Alright. What did you experience just now? Describe it in your own words.”

  Melody cleared her throat. “Well, it’s like a switch I pull, and it turns on. I feel perfectly normal with it off, and with it on, too. I see things get darker around me. I know it’s pitch black in the middle, but I can still see somehow? It’s weird. Like I shouldn’t be able to, but I can. It’s completely silent. And I can feel things.”

  “You didn’t hear us give the message to stop?” She shook her head.

  “What do you mean, ‘feel’?”

  “I could feel the floor. The equipment. Apex. I’d say I was seeing them, but I wasn’t looking. So it’s more like touch? But without contact? I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Thank you. One moment.”

  Melody looked over at me, and I gave her a thumbs-up. She looked super nervous.

  “No big deal, right, sis? You’re just casually breaking reality. Typical Tuesday for the Riveras.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes, but visibly relaxed.

  “Apex?” Hunch again.

  I looked up at the booth.

  “What did you feel during the test? Our readings show you were inside the outer radius.”

  “It felt… strange. Not dangerous, just off. Like something in my body was misfiring slightly.”

  I paused. “What’s that word… when you send messages between computers and they get delayed?”

  Armsmaster spoke up. “Latency?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. That. Everything felt like it had… lag.”

  Colin continued after a moment. “We want to run another test. Apex, pick up some small sports balls from the rack. Something softer, like tennis balls.”

  I walked over and grabbed two tubes of tennis balls.

  “Okay. Melody, we’d like you to turn your power on when we give the signal. You see this light?”

  A bank of LEDs on the wall came on, arranged like a traffic light: green, yellow, red.

  “Yep!”

  “When the light turns green, turn your power on and keep it active. Yellow means stay on, but ready to stop. Red means shut it off. Got it?”

  She gave a thumbs-up to the booth.

  The lights on the panel went off, then the green light lit, and she disappeared once again.

  Hunch spoke this time. “Okay, Apex. Take a tennis ball and underhand toss it a few feet to the side of Melody, like you want to get it just to the opposite wall.”

  I did as he asked. As the ball approached her, it slowed and dropped out of the air, barely bounced on the floor, and then came to a complete standstill. Everything about the way it moved was weird.

  “Nice, once more, but this time do the same thing, except throw it underhand directly at her.”

  I threw the ball. It did the same thing, but it came to a stop on the floor closer to me this time.

  Huh.

  The light on the wall turned from green to yellow.

  “Okay, Apex,” Hunch said. “How’s your throwing accuracy?”

  “Pretty good!” I replied.

  “This time, throw the ball as hard as you can toward the far wall, passing within two or three feet of the sphere. Avoid Melody, obviously.”

  “Just verifying: really hard? You sure?”

  The speaker clicked. Armsmaster. “Yes. Just don’t hit her.”

  Alright then.

  I placed the ball in my tail claws, braced, and launched it toward the opposite wall. It tore through the air—

  —and then slowed. Not gradually, but like it had hit water. It decelerated sharply, coming to a stop mid-air, about a foot from the edge of Melody’s void. And it just stayed there. Hanging. Motionless.

  “Fascinating,” Hunch’s voice.

  I wanted to groan, but at least this time it wasn’t me someone was fascinated by.

  Colin again. “Repeat the throw, this time, aim directly at Melody. Full strength.”

  The light on the wall changed from yellow to green.

  I took a breath. Steeled myself. And hurled the ball as hard as I could. Same result.

  Hanging. Unmoving. Both balls were just… frozen in the air.

  The light went red.

  Melody’s power turned off, and the balls fell to the floor and bounced away.

  Melody was flushed, grinning widely. Her eyes lit up.

  “That was cool! That was so cool!” she said, practically shouting.

  A few moments passed, and Miss Militia came down and entered through the side.

  “Melody, I’d like your permission to shoot you with a rubber bullet. I’ll aim for your thigh. Everything we’re seeing says it won’t touch you, but we need to observe how your field reacts to a high-energy projectile.”

  Melody hesitated, chewing her lip, then gave a quick nod.

  Miss Militia summoned her weapon. A blocky black pistol shimmered into her hand.

  “Proceed with the test,” Armsmaster said over the PA.

  The light went green, Melody blinked out, and Miss Militia aimed her pistol.

  Crack!

  The rubber bullet blinked into view midair and froze, suspended like the tennis balls had been.

  Her gun shimmered and elongated into a rifle. She counted down from three, then fired again.

  Bang!

  Same result.

  Miss Militia’s weapon morphed a third time, now into a shoulder-braced monstrosity, something between a cannon and an anti-materiel rifle. She hefted it carefully and braced hard before counting down once more.

  BOOM!

  The gun roared. A concussive shockwave hit me square in the chest, and flame belched from the barrel and vents in a three-foot plume.

  Another bullet, massive in size, appeared near the first two, this one slightly closer to Melody.

  The red light flashed. Melody returned in a blink, whooping and jumping up and down.

  “THAT WAS AMAZING! I LOVE MY POWER!”

  Miss Militia actually laughed.

  There was a pause as the control room deliberated. Miss Militia crossed to the cluster of bullets and crouched beside them.

  She picked one up, tapping her finger on it before picking it up. She frowned.

  “That is… incredibly strange.”

  “What is?” I asked her.

  “It’s not deformed at all, which I half-expected, but it’s cool to the touch. And it shouldn’t be.”

  Melody was grooving on the floor when the loudspeaker came back on. “We have one last test we want to run, and I think we’re done here. Melody, Apex, Miss Militia, are you three ready and willing?”

  We all answered in the affirmative.

  “Okay. For this test, Melody is going to hold her power up, and both Miss Militia and Apex are going to approach her, one step at a time, while we collect data.”

  I gave a thumbs-up, and Miss Militia nodded.

  We moved away, the light went green, and we started.

  Miss Militia went first. Reporting as she did.

  “Strange feeling,” she said. “Hard to describe, just like Apex said.”

  A few steps closer.

  “The air feels… thick.”

  Armsmaster’s voice came through: “Any difficulty breathing?”

  “No, none yet. But any kind of motion? The air’s resisting me. A lot.”

  “Proceed at your discretion. If breathing changes or becomes difficult, abort immediately.”

  Another couple of steps. She was going grayscale, and this time, when she spoke, it was like she was fifty or a hundred feet away and not fifteen. Quiet, distant.

  “Air feels like water. Still breathing fine. But movement’s difficult.”

  “Keep going if you’re willing. As close as you can manage. Abort if anything changes.”

  She advanced four or five more steps. Her posture shifted, braced, muscles tensed like she was fighting a current.

  Then… she just stopped. Perfectly still. Her chest rose and fell, but she couldn’t move anymore.

  “Okay, Apex. We want you to charge and attempt to tackle Melody, using as much speed and force as you can. Use the full room to get speed if you have to. Please go all out.”

  I turned my head up to the booth. “I’m going to really damage the floor if I do.”

  “That’s fine,” Armsmaster said.

  I shrugged and moved to the far wall. Coiled my tail behind me, extended my toe claws, braced, then launched with everything I had. The screech of tearing metal under my feet followed me as I accelerated. I hadn’t even reached top speed when I started to feel it.

  Imagine diving into a pool with layers, from the top down: pillow stuffing, then water, then molasses, then liquid concrete.

  I got within about two and a half feet of the inner sphere of Melody’s power, and I was stuck. Like full-body superstrength fly paper. I couldn’t move a muscle. I tried, as hard as I possibly could. My skin around my back, shoulders, upper arms, thighs, and calves rippled and bulged as I pushed as hard as I possibly could.

  Nothing.

  I could breathe. Move my jaw a fraction of an inch to open and close it. That was it.

  Beyond the bizarre and slightly unsettling feeling of being completely immobilized in place, other sensations were strange too. It was silent. Completely silent. I could hear myself breathe and my heart beating, but only as it was conducted through my body. It was dark, nearly pitch black. And not just visible light, but across the full spectrum of my vision.

  I could move my eyes around inside their shells.

  Looking directly at Melody made my vision ripple and swim. I think it was that fill-in-the-blank thing your brain does doing it. Lack of input. Looking away, I could just barely make out the shapes of the room: the overhead lights, the walls, but only as faint smudges in an ocean of darkness.

  I creeping, slimy dread started to crawl up from my lower belly.

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  Keep calm. Just breathe. Don’t panic.

  Time passed, the feeling intensified, and I could feel the muscles in my limbs start to tremble, even though I was totally immobilized. I was trying desperately to keep my composure as my breathing started to pick up.

  Being trapped in place like this was bringing back memories. Bad memories. The worst of my entire life, actually.

  My trigger event. Being trapped entirely in place. Trapped inside my own body. Shut-in.

  Why is this taking so long? Why aren’t they ending the test?

  The test ended.

  I dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, rolled onto my side, and curled up. My tail wrapped around me.

  And I sobbed.

  I covered my face with my tentacles and curled claws. Melody ran over, poking and prodding, calling my name.

  I didn’t answer. I focused on feeling every limb. Reminding myself that I could move. That I was okay.

  “M-my phobia…” I rasped. Melody hugged my side tightly.

  It took a couple of minutes, but I got back up. Melody stayed with me. Colin, Hannah, and Hunch conferred quietly a few feet away.

  “I’m sorry, Morgan,” Melody whispered. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t even know it was happening.”

  I worked some saliva around my dry mouth. “It’s okay. Not your fault. I was fine at first… then I had a flashback. Stupid PTSD. Been a long time since the last one.”

  I hugged her, and she hugged me back.

  “Today’s your day, Mel. Let’s keep going, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

  She blushed, then nodded.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur—more testing, more paperwork. We got lunch, then dinner. I made the PRT regret letting me eat with every trip to the canteen. I chatted with the Wards. Introduced myself as their old friend, now flying a new banner. There were jokes, disbelief, and shock. It felt good.

  We wrapped at nearly midnight.

  Melody was officially the newest member of the Protectorate ENE.

  No debate. No delay. No deliberation.

  Immediate invite. She accepted.

  I was so, so proud of her.

  And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt.

  Deeply.

  I told myself it was a good pain. Not sure it was. But like I told Taylor, framing is everything. Semantics matter.

  If I lied to myself long enough and consistently enough, maybe I’d make it true.

  It only took a brief consultation with branding, and Melody had picked her cape identity.

  Eclipse.

  It was a fucking badass name, for a fucking badass lady, with a fucking badass power.

  I was so god damn proud of my sister.

  The final analysis came in.

  Her power?

  She stops things.

  What kinds of things?

  Everything.