Chapter 14: Through Everything

It's uncomfortable, walking into Sleepless Days tonight after my meeting with Amber earlier. Amber is there, but seems hesitant to so much as say hi. What's worse, Casey knows something is wrong, and judging by the way they glower at me, they assume it's my fault.

It is my fault, of course, but the assumption is hurtful.

I slide into my usual seat to the right of Casey, and the left of Amber. Even Brant is displeased, and I've never so much as seen him frown.

I guess I'll have to break the tension myself. "Hey, C-"

"I don't talk to feds." They snap, not making eye contact now that I'm closer. Amber must have told her.

This is going to be an uphill battle, but I can be persistent. "Do you want to be mad, or hear the story?"

Casey doesn't reply, opting for the former.

"Brant?" I ask. He responds with an overly-dramatic eye roll, and turns away from me.

"Fine, you two aren't the ones who have a stake in this. That leaves you, Amber," I say with a grimace. "I won't stay where I'm not wanted."

She extends her arm onto the countertop. My arm. The one I so painstakingly crafted over days, just for her. "It was one thing to be dating an MBR hunter, but becoming one? That's just... it's beyond the pale, Lena. I don't understand how you of all people wound up there."

This again? I could lie, but it would be hard to keep track of. The real series of events is already bizarre enough. "Mirka's partner sucked. I just want to keep her and others safe. For the record, I saved like six baby lizard people from my insane partner a while ago."

"Your partner wanted to kill children? And that doesn't tell you anything about MBR?" Amber asks, a hiss of anger beneath the fear.

"He murdered my shell, too, without knowing it was a shell. MBR is a catastrophe that the worst kind of people flock to, but not everyone there is a bastard. Take me. So far I've only been helping people. You know me, I hate cops, and I'm scared shitless of MBR. There has to be a reason why I'm there now."

Amber side-eyes me, before her attention moves to the opaque plastic cup in her hands. "I do know you. That's why I'm scared." She doesn't turn her head to look at me, the only sound being Brant's cleaning.

"Seriously? After everything I've done for you, for everyone, I don't earn a little bit of faith?"

Amber looks up at me from the swiveling stool, eyes I designed looking back at me. There's something darkly poetic about her gaze. "You're my friend. I trust you, but I don't trust MBR. I don't know how to reconcile that."

I take out my phone, and open the photo I took with baby lizardman. She looks at it, pained by her decision, I'm sure. I share it to Casey and Brant, too, who feign disinterest but end up looking anyway.

"Amber, Brant, Casey. You can't honestly believe that I'm doing heinous crap. I'm solving a murder right now, for Christ's sake. I understand where the animosity comes from, I really do. I get it. I fucking get it, more than anyone here. Do you think I'm in MBR just to fuck with people? Genuinely? As if that would bring me any amount... of pleasure..."

What the hell happened to me? It was a scant few months back that I became a cop specifically to kill people to satisfy my curiosity. And now, I'm genuinely upset that others would perceive me that way. There's something deeply wrong with my behavior and thought...

Maybe, I think, my little quest for self-identity has gone too far. Am I turning into someone else accidentally, while trying to define myself? Creating roles that I fill? Someone who Mirka likes, who has friends, who helps people. I wasn't that person before, right?

Amber loudly groans, snapping me back to the present. "You're doing that thing. It's creepy."

"...thing?" I ask.

"Whenever you get deep in thought, your body freezes in whatever pose you were in. You did it with your mouth open mid-sentence this time. What were you even thinking about?"

No point in lying now. "How I'm not sure if I'm faking my entire personality or not. Just... I don't know."

She hesitantly looks me in the eye again. "I'm still conflicted, but if you can promise me that MBR stays at the door, I can get past it. I owe you that much."

"Absolutely. I promise that I'll never bring it up within these walls, and you know how much I value trust."

Casey, at seeing Amber come around, punches me in the shoulder. "If you're not MBR inside Days, then we can be friends inside Days. At the very least, anyway."

The anger in me fades away, replaced by comfortable serenity. My friends trust me, even if it took a little coaxing. There's no greater gift I could have been given.

Something is definitely wrong with me.

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It's deep into the night. My mind still hasn't recovered from the train of thought it was on a few hours ago. What happened to the cold-blooded creature I used to be? Things were so much easier that way, keeping a distance between myself and humanity. Humans are just things to interact with, or at least, they should be. I'm changing, but is it me becoming more like myself, or is it just another mask?

I watch Mirka silently sleeping alone in the bed. She'll be awake in a few hours. I won't bother her with this.

I take out my journal, thumbing through it. So many things I've written down, all of them from my own perspective... but if I don't know who I am, then I don't know the person who wrote all these things down. I toss it on the coffee table, and retract my shell. It occurs to me that even if I'm able to piece together who I am beneath all the layers of obfuscation, how would I even recognize it as me? What if I don't like the answer?

I can't stay lost in my mind forever. There has to be an answer, somewhere. Maybe the problems started when I linked my core to my shell... that could be it. All the chemicals influencing me, altering my perception.

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"Ready for our undercover cult investigation?" I ask Mirka in the morning, a fake smile stuck my face like toilet paper on a shoe. Maybe I need to go back to basics. No more faking emotions.

"About that. I did some digging with my police buddies, and the dogman left out some key parts about Ember Scions. First, they have ties to some important political groups. I'm sure you can guess what kind. Also, and this is the scary part, they have magicians. Not a ton, but enough. I mean combat magicians, too, not people like me. They're the kind of magician that can kick your head off."

"Great, so I'm going to die again soon. Anyway, I'm going to disconnect my emotions from my shell, so I don't accidentally let anything slip."

She looks skeptical for a moment, but powers through it for my sake. "Makes sense."

I retract my tentacle back into my core. It's like it was before: me simply piloting a shell. It's quieter, if nothing else.

With care, I follow Mirka down the apartment stairs. "You have a really elegant way of walking, Mimi. Did you do modeling or something?"

Her face flushes again, just like the first time I called her Mimi. "I... I didn't hear a word after 'Mimi'. Sorry, it was distracting."

"I'll stop," I say.

"No!" She says, far louder than intended. She immediately burrows her face into her hands to hide the embarrassment. "I mean, you can if you want," she mumbles through her palms.

"I think I will. If anyone asks, it's short for Meerkat."

She turns around to nod, her obvious blush remaining as she takes me to the parking lot, and from there, the car.

"Soooo," I ask as we pull away from the throng of other cars in the lot, "where exactly are we going?"

"There's a bar near where we had the shootout. All kinds of scum hang around there. Great place to get information and possibly get stabbed."

"I have a... wait."

A puzzle piece clicks together in my mind. What did that MBR sorcerer say about the guy I killed? He was part of a cult she was looking for?

Lena looks at me in concern. "What's up?"

"Ember Scions. Is their symbol two snakes eating each other?"

Her eyes stay focused on the road, as she nervously taps on the steering wheel with the tips of her fingers. "Yeah. You're familiar?"

"Remember the guy I murdered in cold blood?"

Mirka stops tapping, instead tightly gripping the steering wheel. "Hard to forget."

"Right. Guess what tattoo he has?"

"Holy shit," Mirka says. "That's a way in. And you have his ID and such?"

"I do. I really should have decomposed it by now, but I've been too lazy to clean my void."

Mirka's eyebrows raise, as she takes quick looks in my direction. "Isn't it literally just thinking?"

"It's more deciding what to keep and what to decompose. Also, I'm lazy. How do you keep forgetting that?"

"I promise you," she says, "I don't. Also... if it's all the same to you, can you not talk about killing him so casually? It's not something I want to joke about."

"Yeah... I'll stop. Sorry, Mimi." It's fun watching her blush develop in real time on command. Maybe I should save this secret weapon, keep it in reserve... no, I like calling her that too much.

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Mirka ties her hair back and puts on a red hat with white text. Though simple, it's the perfect cover for a place like this.

I stick with a shithead classic: Oakley's, a stained wife beater, and jeans that are way too tight on Nikolas's body. "How's the fit?"

Mirka's face looks a lot like her initial reaction to seeing my organs on the ground. "I like you a lot, Lena, but Christ in heaven. You're scaring the bisexuality out of me."

"Come on, little lady, give papa a kiss."

She groans as she opens the car door and steps out. "That's awful. That's so fucking bad. I hate that so, so much."

"Don't be such a bitch. Now get me a beer and shut the fuck up. None of that low-carb sissy shit you drink, either, I want actual beer."

I watch Mirka shudder. I didn't think that was a real thing, but no, she was so put off that she actually physically shuddered. "If you do that again, you're figuratively sleeping on the couch. Actually, fuck the couch, you're getting the trunk of my car if you're lucky."

I'm damn good at acting.

The bar looks fairly typical, though a bit shittier than the average bar in the area. In other words, given how shitty bars around here are, I expect a fifty to one ratio of cockroaches to humans. A pair of forlorn pool tables have inexplicably torn felt, a dartboard has been swapped out for a piece of cork with some left-leaning politician's face on it, and there's a "don't tread on me" floor mat that took me a moment to read what it said beneath the clinging mud. I wonder if anyone realizes that the mat is a joke...

I start scoping out the area. Nikolas really could have used glasses, which makes him killing my shell doubly annoying, given how improbable the shot was.

Still, I can tell it's the usual fare. A biker 'gang' whose most illegal activity is likely violating noise limits, a few desperate younger men who seem to think this is where women would want to go, a brigade of grey-haired baby boomers pissing away their social security checks while complaining about government handouts.

Off in one corner, though, I recognize a few white guys with tattoos. A stylized lion, so simple in design that it's hard to determine what its supposed to be until you take a closer look. Nemea, a Greek mob who really can't pull it off like the Italians did. They're a notable portion of Shirai's business. Definitely where Nikolas belongs.

I let Mirka do her own investigating via the very difficult method of 'being an attractive woman in a shitty bar.' I steal a water-damaged chair from a nearby table, and give myself a seat at the Nemea table. They all turn paler than they already were.

"What the fuck... Niko! Where the fuck were you? I thought you got killed!" one of them says, approximately Nikolas's age.

"I did get shot, asshole, and none of you fucks bothered to try and find me. Almost bled out twice. I was in the damn hospital until now with sepsis. Fuckers."

"Hell, you coulda just called..."

"I don't know your fucking phone number, and my phone got smashed in the raid!"

There's an air of nervousness at the table now. Apparently, Nikolas Spanos was someone of notoriety.

"Not that I remember shit anyway. Doctor said I had some kind of memory loss, can't match names and faces. It sucks."

"Yeah, but you remember me, right?" he asks, plaintively searching Nikolas's face for any kind of reaction, as his smile grows increasingly fake.

"I know your face. Something faint says you're important to me. That's all I got."

He doesn't stop trying to hide his disappointment. "I'm Stelios. Your brother. You'll remember soon, I know. For now... you know you're in good hands here?"

I nod, slowly. "...yeah. Look, I can't remember specifics, but I remember you all being a good bunch of guys. There was another group, too, something with snakes... can I get a beer or somethin'?"

Stelios nods rapidly, taking a few bucks from his wallet and offering them to me as I get up from the table, just in time to watch Mirka slam a guy's head into a table, surrounded by laughing and cheering faces. Seems she's handling things her own way.

I think, what I needed, was this change in perspective. I've spent a long time in the exclusive company of people I either care about or have a reason to pretend to care about. But here? I don't feel anything looking at the brother of the man I killed, besides a little twinge of opportunity, the same reaction I'd have if I found five bucks on the ground. Holding his money in my hand, I functionally did.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

I set it on the counter, waiting for my beer. I can see Stelios holding his head in his hands, trying desperately not to cry in front of his little gang. What a sickening display... Mirka seems to be fitting in, somehow.

When I return to the table, all eyes are on me. I take a long, slow sip, before breaking the silence. "What?"

"Well," Stelios says, "you mentioned snakes."

"Yeah? You know 'em?"

He finally stops faking his elatement, his expression turning foul. "What did you get yourself into, Niko? Scions? They're running Houdini out there, you know..."

"The fuck are Scions? And what's Houdini?"

There's a strange guilt in his tense lips. "Ember Scions. Crackpot cult holed up in that abandoned fallout shelter just North. They're trouble, making magic drugs and killing anyone who gets in their way. I know you won't believe me, but trust me on this one thing. You gotta skip town. I love you, Niko... this was never your thing. I'm sorry I dragged you into this. Don't get killed, please. I can't have that happen twice."

I am presented with two equally viable choices. First, I could leave without another word. I got what I needed. Second, I could absolutely shatter this man. Tear him apart, like he probably deserves. He's in a pretty shitty racket, after all.

"Stelios... yeah. Stelios. I... it's faint. I'm gonna go. Probably Canada. Get away from all this. Thanks, brother."

There's an unimaginable relief in his eyes, as he starts visibly crying, and gets out of his seat and hugs my shell tight. I return it.

He break it off, and wipes his eyes. "I won't see you again, will I?"

"No. I don't think so... I know I love you too, Stelios." With faked anguish, I hurriedly leave the bar, returning to car.

I'm a damn good actor.

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Mirka puts the car in reverse, but doesn't start driving yet. She looks at me curiously, waiting for me to start the conversation. I don't.

"So?" she asks, "You got something?"

"Yep. Met Nikolas's brother, actually. How crazy is that?"

"...Jesus. That's grim."

"We had a heartfelt goodbye when I left, very emotional whatever. Anyway, I got us a location."

Mirka doesn't seem interested in the case, though. "Why didn't you leave as soon as you found out where we were going? Why the goodbye?"

It's a harder question than her gentle prodding meant it to be. One I don't have an answer to, yet.

I relay the rough location of the cult to Mirka, who after a quick call with MBR, is given coordinates to the only known fallout shelter anywhere near the city. It's not a short drive, and gives us plenty of time to talk.

Neither of us say a word, only listening to the glitchy radio that can't seem to find a clear signal.

Mirka parks the car at a nearby truck stop. This is only infiltration and info gathering. Easy enough. There may or may not be an actual raid, though I'm leaning on... not.

There is a complicating factor here. Magicians could see that I'm lightly magical, when Niko never was before. Sorcerers are typically born, not made. Becoming a sorcerer is rare, but not entirely unheard of. It's typically related to genetic conditions, though. Magicians take years to lean their trade... Damn it. I need some kind of excuse, since there's no way Niko was even remotely magic-inclined.

"Mimi, how do you suggest I explain away being slightly magical?"

We sit in the parking lot for a while, both lost in thought, after Mirka shakes away the redness in her cheeks from my nickname.

"Maybe..." Mirka says, "You don't have to. Your usual shell can pass as a sorcerer, judging by how long you were able to fool the cops."

"Sure, but how do I get in? I doubt they let any idiot get inside."

"Your good friend Niko vouched for you. Even gave you his ID as proof."

It's good as we can get, I suppose. I switch back to my Lena shell after altering the facial structure to a slightly different head structure, turning my eyes a dark purple, and sporting a significantly shorter haircut. I'm relieved to be back in a more normal shell, even with the changes. The Nikolas one, for lack of a better term, fits badly. It's too tight and too lose in the same places, and has a strange hollowness that makes me feel exposed. I'm glad to be back in my own shoes, so to speak.

Unfortunately, Mirka is fidgety, and keeps checking her phone. If I had to guess, she's worried about me getting hurt. I have a surefire way to pull her from her dread, though, a potent technique I am honing. If I ask a particularly stupid question with a complicated answer, she'll be too busy thinking about how best to explain it to a moron rather than be nervous. I have one I've been keeping in the back of my mind for a while.

"Mirka, am I allowed to be black? I mean, I am black, from a certain point of view, but I don't want to do blackface. I've been white for a while, so does that revoke my permission, or something?"

She pinches the bridge of her nose, any anxiety about the mission deflated. "I am quite possibly the whitest person you know. Well, whitest human, anyway. I'm not qualified for this conversation. Also, it's a stupid conversation. Why do you have to complicate things? Just... do whatever you do."

"Right. Good call." I leave the car, and start trudging in the general direction of the fallout shelter. The only way there is through a dense forest, following a faint trail carved by both people and animals. I make my way through, ignoring the bramble and spiky leaves that try to tear at my clothes and skin.

It's barely fifteen minutes before I'm there. On the surface, there's a large decrepit concrete wedge, moss and weeds choking it to where it's almost invisible. The door, situated on the vertical end of the wedge, is covered in a deep orange rust with only the faintest hint of camo-colored paint chips remaining.

Outside the door, just above my eye level, is a a suspiciously human-looking skull mounted on a wooden post. A single word is written vertically down each face of the post: VANARA

This is probably the place.

I approach the door, knocking politely, and wait to be let in. There's no response, unfortunately, so I try to push or pull the door open. Nada. The hinges are suspiciously free of rust, so someone must be opening it, and the lack of keyhole suggest it's someone on the other side.

I wish I had the strength to punch through solid steel, but that remains out of my grasp for now. Maybe I'm not knocking loud enough?

I violently pound on the door until pain signals run through my hand.

Incredibly, the door actually opens. I admittedly expected black hooded robes, but instead, it's just a guy. He leers down at me, a long brown and grizzled beard running down past his neck. A sorcerer. He doesn't have any outward signs, even his eyes are a very normal shade of brown, but I can just tell. Something in the way he carries himself. I wasn't told there would be a sorcerer, only magicians... hopefully there's no hidden tell.

"Hey, you're a sorcerer, too?" I ask, mostly rhetorically.

"Who are you?" His tone is authoritative, but not hostile. Like a commanding officer, or worse, a business executive.

"Karina. Happy to meet another of God's favorites."

"I've never seen you before. Just heard you pounding on the door like a damn elephant. Who told you to come here?"

"Nikolas Spanos."

He grimaces for a moment. "Niko's been missing a while. What, you find his body?"

Can I use that? No, probably not. Even if that were true, no one would admit to it so quickly. "In a sense. I expressed interest in joining, and in exchange, I'm supposed to relay a message to you. He says, and these aren't my words, 'fuck you all, you pieces of shit, I'm leaving and you'll never find me.' Oh, he also gave me this." I take his ID from my pocket, and offer it to the man at the door.

He looks at it with skepticism, before trying to bend it.

"He wants it back, you know."

"Uh-huh... so you're meeting with him again?"

"Yeah." I swipe the card from the man in the doorway. "Why, are you going to kill him?"

He strokes his beard, head turned to look past me. "We like to keep our affairs internal, Karina."

Easy enough. "Sure, no problem. Give me... I dunno, two hours?"

"...what?"

"You guys want him dead, I have a gun. I know all about you guys from him. Glad someone is finally taking the fight to them, instead of constant defense."

His leer tightens, trained on me once again. "You're gonna bring back a souvenir?"

"Sure. I could do the left ear or left hand thing, but honestly, I feel like just the head makes more sense, so you know I didn't just maim him."

He looks a little skittish, despite having six inches and sixty pounds on me. "You're fucking crazy, aren't you?"

"One of those magic dog monsters killed my husband and daughter a year and a half back. I'm not crazy, I'm fucking angry that there was no justice for it. If they had shot the animal that did it in the first place, I'd still have my family." I can't remember what movie I'm stealing my backstory from, but it doesn't matter, I suppose. Hot tears run down my cheeks, face red with grief and rage. The usual fare, easy enough to fake. "I don't even really care about the other monsters. I just want every last dog abomination dead. Maybe then I'd have a little peace for the first time in one year, five months, and twenty-two days."

He opens the door fully for me. "You should come inside. I think we have a place for you."

I hope I'm as good at acting as I think I am. Otherwise, he's leading me straight into a trap.

I follow him down the cracking concrete stairs, memorizing my exits. This is a mission tailor made to fuck with my head, but I can't afford slip-ups. Not here, not now.

It's not crowded down here, but that's to be expected. It's a fallout shelter, after all, not a mansion. It's a bathroom, a fairly wide main room, a kitchen of sorts, and a storage closet. There's a total of six Scions here, all of them the same archetype: faintly muscular, facial hair, and looking like they want to kill someone.

I quickly assign names to them. Long Beard let me in, then there's Braid Beard, Big Ears, Face Tattoo, Bald #1, and Bald #2. I unfortunately can't think of a distinguishing feature notable enough to set them apart from each other.

"This," Long Beard booms, "is Karina. She's a sorcerer. Hates the spawn of dogfuckers especially. Don't we all."

"Rex, is this another whore?" Braid Beard asks, not looking particularly invested.

"Nah, nah. Remember Niko? Apparently this little lady got our location from him, and played messenger. Now she's saying she's gonna go kill him, just like that."

Face Tattoo gets up, and cracks his knuckles. "Okay. Let's say I'm Niko. How-"

I cut him off by whipping my gun out, immediately pointing it at him. Bald #1 laughs, while Big Ears instinctively fumbles at his hip.

I need to aggravate them, but not too much, if I want to draw any information from them. Trying to make friends would lead to personal questions. "So you're supposed to be the Ember Scions? What a joke."

Face Tattoo sneers at me, the stupid snake that crawls from his forehead to his cheek wriggling a bit. "Shit's not even loaded, is it?"

I fire a round into the wall behind him, everyone flinching from the loud bang in the enclosed space. Especially Big Ears.

Not content with being wrong twice, Face Tattoo flips off Bald #1, who's laughing even harder. "You have the stones to shoot someone?" Face Tattoo asks, trying to hide how pissed he is.

I smirk, adding a bit of mania into my voice. "You're zero for two so far. Wanna make it zero for three? Or should we skip straight to zero for four, where you say I would never kill someone? You wouldn't be the first person I've shot, you wouldn't be the last. Please try me. You already look like a fucking dog, not that I need another reason."

The room goes quiet. In response, I simply roll my eyes. "This is such a waste. I thought you all were supposed to be this big scary monster hunter cult. But no, you're all just posers. None of you have done shit. I'm out."

"Fuck off, saying we don't do shit." Big Ears says, pointing to himself with both thumbs. "Your's truly capped one of those dogfucks you hate so much a couple days ago. Moment of opportunity. Serendipity, really."

Damn, that was quicker than I expected them to fold. He must be trying to impress me, either into joining, or into... well, whatever Long Beard aka Rex usually brings women down here for. Either way, better shut it down. "You want a medal? I'm looking at a larger scale, not this little gay orgy pretending to be a cult."

Big Ears draws his own gun, eyebrows lowered while pointing it at me. "You sure as shit talk a big game, little girl. What do you have to show for it?"

"Oh, we're pointing guns at me now? I'll save you the trouble." I hold my gun to my palm, and shoot through it, adding a second bullet hole to the walls and spreading blood across the bunker. I need to sell the effect, which is worth more right now than a damaged hand. "You think I give a shit about getting shot? I'm a sorcerer, if you didn't know. I won't even feel it unless it's through my brain, and I tested extensively after my husband and daughter were murdered."

I storm towards Big Ears, and punch him square in the face, enough to break his nose but not enough to reveal my enhanced shell. I stick my hand in my pocket after, absorbing some of his blood into my core. No one comes to his aid, probably because he got knocked down by a woman. Misogyny and machismo coming to my rescue, ironically enough.

"The monster ripped out my throat, you know. But I didn't die. Took my corpse a while to change its mind about dying, but I came back. I. Always. Come. Back."

A thick layer of uncertainty permeates the room. All six of the Scions exchange looks, silently deciding what to do from here. It's time for me to leave. I just need to give them a reason to let me.

I feign a dejected sigh. "I'm going to assume you aren't the people I'm looking for. If you're an offshoot, or fakers, I don't care. I'm still going to kill Niko to tie up my own loose ends, but I'm not returning. Unless one of you tries to find me or kill me, of course, but that should go without saying."

I stomp back up the stairs, and back outside and into the foliage. I don't know what Rex's sorcery is, and there weren't any magicians there... something doesn't add up.

Halfway down the trail, a thought breaks into my mind. It would have been so easy to kill them. Safer, quicker, and they were already entombed. I had every justification to do so, even. I could have lied and said they caught on to me, and I had to use an emergency explosive I keep in my void. Could even shoot myself with their guns a couple times to sell the effect.

I'm rapidly approaching the end of a very long tunnel, the end of which is whoever I am.

I get back in the car with Mirka, and quickly retract my shell to keep from getting blood on her car seat. After a minute or so of repairs and changing my shell back to normal from my disguise, I extend it again, and Mirka starts the drive back.

"So?"

"Got the DNA of the guy who did it. He admitted it really quickly, too. Something's suspicious, Mirka. That wasn't the group we were after, not in full, at least. The murderer didn't seem the type to use a knife, and there was a sorcerer there too. None of them seemed religious."

"A sorcerer? You're sure?"

"Yeah."

She drives a little faster. "Not a magician?"

"Not a spellbook in sight. Guy had a long beard he kept stroking, someone called him Rex."

"Shit..."

First time, I was willing to let it drop. Second time? No, I need to know. "Mirka, what exactly aren't you telling me?"

She doesn't take her eyes off the road, remaining stiff as she drives. "I'm not hiding anything, but I've run into these guys before. They're not one big thing, they're like a dozen little cells. It's a death cult, and some lean more into the 'death' than the 'cult.'"

"Okay, keep going."

She opens her mouth to say something, but corrects herself before she can talk. "So, scion is a word that means descendant, or offshoot..."

"Just skip to the end."

A shallow huff escapes her mouth. "Say Ember slowly."

"Emmmbbbberrrr. Wait. You're fucking with me. Ember. MBR."

"Yeah... What I've heard is that Michigan's MBR had a shakeup about five years ago over a new lethal weapons policy. Three of the more accomplished hunters went out and started their own magical beast hunting group under the label of a private security firm, called it Ember as a middle finger to MBR. One of them went completely off the rails after a few months, and started saying that magical beasts were against the will of God. A cult of personality started to form around him, and he started calling himself the Ember Lord... It's... it's really screwed up. I didn't think I had to mention it, since their leader hasn't been seen in a while, and you can handle yourself."

"Uh-huh. You just love keeping things from me."

"Lena-"

"I'm just messing with you. It doesn't matter." I lean my head against the car window, for no real reason.

Mirka's eyes burrow into me. "It doesn't matter, or you're saying it doesn't matter because you don't want to fight?"

"The first. It's not like you put me in a bad position. I knew they were dangerous and hostile to magical beasts, and you didn't want me distracted, or whatever. A history lesson doesn't interest me."

There's a long silence, a light rain dripping onto the windshield, making Mirka play with the wiper settings, alternating between the slowest and the second slowest.

"Are you doing alright? In general?" Mirka asks in a gentle tone.

"I don't know..." I need to be clear with her. She's human, so she's had experience with knowing herself, right? "Mirka, do I have a soul?"

She looks at me with sagging eyes. "What?"

"A soul, a personality, an identity, whatever. Am I just a collection of other people's scraps? I'm changing, and rapidly. I should have killed every single bastard in that bunker, but I didn't, for no reason I can fathom. I can't ever seem to just balance on who I truly am, and keep falling into the gutter of people pleasing and charity. That's bullshit, right? I don't-"

She loudly groans, forcing me into momentary silence as she pulls off the road, and into the parking lot of a small restaurant. "Lena, you're getting into one of your moods. You're just going to spiral unless you stop."

"I'm not in a mood," I protest.

"Yes, you are. You obviously have a personality, one that I really like. Who cares where it came from? This might sound crazy, but if you keep accidentally slipping into a pattern of behavior, maybe that's the real you, and this evil villain shtick is the one you're forcing yourself to fake."

"Why the hell would I fake being a sociopath? It sucks! It makes every conversation so much harder, every relationship so much more calculating, every-"

She grabs my shell, turning my head to face her. "Lena. You deserve love and happiness. You're not broken. You're important to lots of people. You're a good person. I care so much about you."

Shit. I forgot to disconnect my shell from my emotions after removing the disguise. Tears are started to grow in my eyes. Right, I never got around to fixing that...

There's a great irony, I think, in my terminology for the bodies I create now. 'Shells,' like a turtle has. I use them to hide myself, to stay safe from humans, to prevent or win in conflict. To blend in, especially now that it can express my own emotions.

But here, in moments like this, it's a liability. A window into the black ball that doesn't let anything escape its void. I can't hide it, since its what should be hiding me. And it's revealing a weakness to someone who could very easily get me imprisoned. Yet as vulnerable as I feel right now, there's no sense of danger. No threat. None of the blazing panic from my shell or the slithering anxiety of my core. It's like what I imagine lying down in bed for sleep must feel like for a human after a long day. Just... the easing of tense muscles, the stillness of mind. Safety in an unsafe world.

Mirka keeps her hands on my face. "You can stop fighting, if you'd like. You don't have to hold on to the person you thought you were. There's a lot to work through, I know, and it's not going to be overnight. But I'm here for you, okay? Every step of the way, any hour of any day."

"Any hour?" I ask, weakly joking to dissolve my internal tension.

"Any hour. Maybe not every hour, since I have to sleep, but if you need me at 3am, I'll be pissed if you don't wake me up."

I don't know what to do, to think, to say. How do I express what I'm experiencing right now? Gratitude, care, relief, rest, solace, renewal... so much, all a wave that clears every inch of my void, all the dark corners that breed the doubts and fears that haunt me.

I take her own face in my hands, gently running my fingers along her jawline, the dim streetlights barely providing enough light to see.

It's a refreshing thought, to discover my identity with Mirka. I don't really know who I am, still, but I know I'm a person. I have my own thoughts and beliefs, but why should that mean I have to figure out my identity on my own?

Mirka gently closes her eyes as we pull each other closer in the seat of her car, leaning over the central console as we draw nearer.

If there's anyone on this planet who knows me, intimately and truly, it's her. And if she sees something good there... that's who I'm going to be. For both of our sake's.

We share our first kiss, through my tears traveling to the corners of my mouth, through her quivering hands that won't let go, through our ups and downs and in-betweens.

Through everything.