“You're sure?” Piggot asked.

  “Yeah I'm sure,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “I told you this already, Hookwolf's going to talk about what to do about the Slaughterhouse Nine. I mean, he'll fuck with the Undersiders and Travelers, but fuck them.”

  “Language,” Gallant said tensely from his seat to my left. “Was that it, ma'am?” She breathed out through her nose.

  “In an ideal world,” she said, her voice low. “I'd send Amaranth to that meeting, in case she 'remembers' something else. Considering the circumstances though, absolutely not. Gallant, you and Weld will go with Miss Militia, Battery, and Triumph. Take this.” She slid a small device over to him. “Even if we can't risk Amaranth in the field, we need her insight; fleeting as it is.” I felt a little indignant, but she wasn't wrong.

  “Where does it--”

  “Attaches to your helmet.” Piggot tapped the side of her head. “Two buttons, power and connect. We'll do that here, you won't have to touch it outside.”

  “I have to object to Amaranth being involved.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I'm fine,” I grunted. “Little pissed about having the therapy you insisted on interrupted, but fine.” He sighed and shook his head. “Look, I want to help and if you won't let me out there, then at least let me do this.” I wouldn't remember anything new but maybe...maybe I would when I wasn't a suicidal mess.

  “Jesus,” Gallant whispered, then louder: “Fine. When's the meeting set for, ma'am?”

  “Late,” Piggot replied with a grimace. “Get some rest, both of you. Gallant, briefing is at nine sharp, Amaranth, be down by the PRT dispatch console by ten.”

  I glowered, but nodded as she dismissed us curtly. I followed Gallant into the elevator and kept quiet as we headed down. The meeting, operation, whatever, was the last thing on my mind. Therapy had been a...worrying experience. I hadn't expected the PRT to use a therapist as an interrogator, hadn't expected Yamada of all people to go along with it.

  Maybe that was uncharitable, but we'd talked an awful lot about my pseudo-precog crap; stuff I'd only talked about with Gallant, stuff the heroes were eager for. Understandably so, it was literal visions of the future they were chasing after all. I knew how valuable that was, I also knew how dangerous; I didn't want to wind up like Dinah.

  It had felt...nice talking about it, and that was the worst part. Nearly as bad was how fucking confusing it made things. My stress was probably just getting to me, but it was affecting who I thought 'me' was. I wasn't Amelia D'souza, and right now that was a blessing. I took a deep breath and tried to settle my nerves as the elevator opened and I stepped out and began walking towards my apartment.

  Only a few days to find Amy and sort that shit out. I had to find a way to persuade them to put me back in the field. Sure I could tell them to canvas the shelters til they found her, but I was pretty sure that would put anyone but me and Weld at risk. As much as I wanted to believe in her, I'd seen her do the same thing three fucking times now, despite intervention. There was a chance, however small, things could go much worse.

  Besides, it wasn't like the heroes knew what was up. Like I'd told Gallant, we'd be the ones to fix it because we were the only two that could. The only ones that knew the shit Amy did and weren't murderously enraged; at least I wasn't Gallant hadn't really talked about how he felt. I hadn't really asked either. Maybe I should, having at least some help with this would be nice. God it was weird, getting a soft spot for him.

  “Amaranth.” I paused and turned, finding Gallant had followed me out. Well, better than coming into my room. “I just wanted to apologize. Of all people, I know how things have been affecting you lately. I'm sorry we interrupted your therapy I...I tried to veto it but...”

  “It's fine,” I replied, because it had to be. It stopped me from freaking out any more than I had been at least. “Need to be focused on work anyway.” I paused, opened my mouth to continue, then stopped.

  “What do you mean?” I sighed.

  “I mean I need to...help people.” Two of them, at least. “I can't do it wallowing in my BS in a therapist's office, you know? Dr. Yamada's fine, she's nice and stuff, but her solution to handling the Nine was 'call the heroes'. Not exactly useful.”

  “You think calling reinforcements is a bad idea?” He asked sarcastically.

  “I didn't say that,” I countered, grimacing. “Just...okay, so what, I call for help and then Jack and everyone waits patiently for you to show up?”

  “Or you retreat,” Gallant offered. “Or fight a delaying action if you have to. I'm sorry we haven't had the chance to bring you up to speed on team tactics, but there are options.”

  “They'll just threaten civilians,” I said, grimacing as I thought of Cherish. “Look, it doesn't matter if I'm suspended anyway so forget it.”

  “You're not suspended,” he replied, shaking his head. “Just off the patrol roster, it's why you're doing operations tonight.”

  “'Operations' like it's cool.” I rolled my eyes. “Just gonna be at a meeting through your eyes.”

  “Don't discount how valuable that is,” Gallant chided me. “Especially with your power.”

  “Okay,” I said flatly. I didn't want to argue anymore. “Well, I'm gonna go to bed so...see you.”

  “Hey, you're not--” he called as I began walking, then stopped and lowered his voice. “This isn't the first time we've had this talk, is it?”

  My hand slapped into his helmet, doing nothing but making a dull 'ping'.

  “Fuck off, Gallant.” My heart pounded and I felt my face burning as I pulled my hand back. “Don't make me regret telling you.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “You should be.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shutting my eyes. “I won't hold it against you, but...don't ask that again.” I didn't need to be reminded how bad I'd been.

  “Alright.” He straightened up. “See you later then Amaranth, and...thanks.”

  I nodded and pushed my way into my apartment. I couldn't afford to hold a grudge against the only ally I had.

  “Reporting as ordered,” I said as I entered the PRT's own console room.

  Unlike the one down in the Ward area, it was clearly made with multiple operators in mind. Phones rang, usually only once, before being answered by a surprisingly gentle sounding voice; gentle for the kind of guys and girls the PRT tended to employ anyway. I joined a trio of PRT officers crowded around a screen off to a side of the busy room when one gestured to me. He was a squat man, built three of me wide with a captain's pip on his fatigues. He looked grim behind his salt and pepper moustache.

  “Amaranth, right?” I nodded. “I'm Captain Thompson, ops. This is Corporal Vasquez and Officer Haley. We're mostly here for data collection and making sure QRF is on top of things. You...I mean, you're here for whatever it is you do.”

  “Audio?” He shook his head and I frowned as another phone rang. “Nothing yet?”

  “Show hasn't started,” the guy with corporal stripes, Vasquez, said. “Give it a minute.” I sighed and snagged an empty office chair, plopping down and leaning back.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Not gonna be much of a show,” I said dryly. “A bunch of Nazis throwing their limp dicks around and kid villains getting messed with.” That was all I remembered at least.

  “Truce rules, what they said upstairs.” Haley, the only one who hadn't spoken yet, was obviously the youngest, with pudgy cheeks and curly blonde hair. “Makes sense it'd just be dick-slinging.”

  “Yeah but it's kinda fun watching these dumbasses get all worked up,” Vasquez said with a grin. I noticed it was twisted by a winding strip of scar tissue that stretched down his neck. “'specially the Nazi shits think they own their part of town. Wish the Nine started with them.”

  “Kind of wish they didn't start at all, corporal,” Thompson said gruffly.

  “If wishes were fishes,” I said slowly. “We'd all be working the boats.”

  “Preach,” Vasquez grunted. “You're the new Ward, right?” I nodded.

  “Amaranth, I think they call me a Brute.” I stuck out my hand, felt like the right idea. “Shake?” He eyed me warily, but Haley jumped right in.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said, gripping my hand tightly. At least, he thought it was tight. I saw him frown slightly and there was a slight increase in the pressure around my hand.

  “You too.” I squeezed back until I got a startled yelp, then let him go as the other two officers chuckled. Haley rubbed his hand as I offered an apologetic grin he couldn't see. “Sorry, couldn't resist.”

  “Really went for a handshake from a Brute?” Vasquez drawled. “Rookie.”

  “Hey same,” I said with a shrug. “I take it you're not.”

  “Seven years in July,” he replied, thumping his chest. “Two in tactical, longest in this office.”

  “Besides me,” Thompson grumbled.

  “Goes without saying, sir,” Vasquez said easily. “You're just not usually in the office.”

  “Special occasion?” I asked, cocking my head.

  “This crap with the Nine is as special as it gets besides...” The captain grimaced and shook his head. “Monsters like them are why I joined the PRT; if the big guys are talking about how to kill 'em, I want to be in on it.”

  “Captain you ever read 'Moby Dick'?” Haley asked innocently.

  “Go to hell, rookie.” Thompson frowned and cocked his head. “Ops four everyone. Haley, eyes.”

  I fiddled with the controls for my radio until the noise of a boat engine and splashing water played in my ears. The screen in front of us popped on, and I leaned forward in my seat, watching the view. It was one I'd seen, though with different players. Battery, Weld, Triumph...Miss Militia. Everyone that was supposed to be there, besides Gallant of course; my fault.

  It was a good thing I wasn't there. Even on the other end of the screen, my hands shook, and sweat beaded on my forehead. Never again. They landed and the sight of an endless, fathomless expanse of black was replaced by the grey interior of a shattered skyscraper. It didn't do much to help my rapidly beating heart, and I swallowed against my dry mouth.

  The collected villains came into view at last. Fenrir's Chosen and their little horde had taken the eaves like last time, high up in the meeting place. It was too bad Shatterbird had left all of them alive, I wouldn't have been that sloppy. They began speaking, and right away I rolled my eyes as Hookwolf drew himself up.

  “Here it comes,” I muttered dryly, getting an odd look from Vasquez. The Nazis made their play, in front of Gallant's eyes, and I sighed. “Fucking dipshits.”

  “They seriously whining about territory?” Haley sounded shocked. “Isn't this meeting about the Nine?”

  “They're villains,” Thompson said grimly. “Wouldn't trust them to stick to an Endbringer truce, especially not these ones, so I'm not surprised.”

  “History?” Vasquez asked. Thompson pointed at Tattletale as she bartered with the group.

  “That one was fucking around after Leviathan,” he said bitterly. “Trying to get the truce broken early, using it to defame the Protectorate, all that shit.” I grimaced.

  “Think they're trying to exploit it?” Vasquez asked as the villains did the same. Trickster's defence was as weak to us as it was there. “Shit.”

  “Whether they knew or not doesn't matter,” I said, glaring at Tattletale's pixelated image. “It's more fucked up they decided to abuse a disaster to take territory, frankly. The Nazis are worse; I broke Hookwolf's jaw when he was attacking one of the early aid convoys.” My teeth creaked as I clenched my jaw. A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, making me flinch.

  “We'll get 'em.” I looked up and found Thompson, a look of total surety in his eyes. “This shit won't last forever kid, don't let it get to you. They've got territory because we're too busy protecting the people trying to rebuild. Once we don't have to, we'll break their backs.” I took a deep breath.

  “Thanks, sir,” I said, exhaling slowly. “For Tattletale, may I recommend the jaw instead?” That got a series of grim chuckles from the trio of officers.

  “Oh, looks like the drama's over,” Haley commented as the Undersiders and Travelers retreated. “Hey anyone else think they sounded kinda young?”

  “Think I sound young?” I asked dryly. “Every last one of them could kick my ass from here to Timbuktu.”

  “Timbuktu?”

  “Ancient city in Africa,” Thompson explain. “It's where Mt. Djenne is now.”

  “Oh, that volcano Behemoth made back in the nineties?” Thompson nodded. “Damn, that's a hell of a way.”

  “Not even metaphorical,” I said. “Trickster can teleport people, and Ballistic can launch shit at a reasonable fraction of lightspeed.” I shrugged. “They're probably my age but like...still capes.”

  “Good thing to keep in mind,” Thompson said, nodding. The conversation in our ears had turned to treaty negotiations, nothing too interesting. “All parahumans are dangerous, I think Amaranth demonstrated that pretty well a minute ago.” Haley winced, nodding as he rubbed his hand.

  The back of my head thumped against my chair as a realization came over me: I had never made it further than this. This right here was entirely unexplored territory. Of course every second that passed now was, it shouldn't have been that overwhelming, and yet... God, I had another week of hell to look forward to at least, if I was lucky. I didn't feel too lucky.

  That didn't matter too much, I had a general calendar of events in my head, minus the calendar part. Before any of that though, Shatterbird had to sing, and she still hadn't. The meeting slowly began to break up, villains and heroes returning to their boats. Several phones began ringing at once, all answered in seconds. I jumped as my radio squawked in my ears.

  “Miss Militia to Amaranth,” she said sharply as the view shifted back to the boat and the hateful water.

  “Here ma'am,” I snapped immediately. “Go ahead.”

  “Anything?” I shook my head, then rolled my eyes. Idiot.

  “No,” I replied. “I have...feelings, but nothing concrete. I know Shatterbird still needs to sing and--” If I'd been holding a phone I'd have dropped it.

  “Amaranth?”

  “Shatterbird is singing soon,” I barked. The sound of phones ringing off the hook made an awful cacophony. “Everyone needs to get away from anything glass!”

  “Silicon too,” she said grimly. “Captain Thompson?”

  “Ma'am.”

  “Get out now, warn everyone you can.”

  “Yes ma'am!” He turned and began barking orders to the room of troopers, all leaping to their feet and beginning to scramble.

  “Amaranth.”

  “Fuck,” I swore, shoving the door to ops open and jogging out into the hallway. “Should have fucking seen this coming, should have figured it would be now of all fucking--”

  “Amaranth, focus.” Miss Militia's voice was sharp. “Get down to the Ward quarters and get everyone up.” A general alert rang out over the intercom.

  “No need ma'am,” I raised my voice over the noise as I took my phone out of my pocket and threw it in a metal trash can as I passed by. “No one's sleeping through that.”

  “Get ready for search and rescue then,” she ordered as I burst into my apartment.

  “Yes ma'am,” I replied, grabbing my backpack from the closet and running into the bathroom. I started stuffing everything that could dress a wound inside. “Toss your radios, no idea when it happens.”

  “We'll take care of it.” There was a beat of silence. “Be safe, Amaranth.”

  “As best I can be.”

  I took out the earbuds and tossed them into the toilet; I had my doubts a few micrograms of silicon would damage the porcelain. I ran back to the closet and grabbed a hoodie and sweats, stuffing them in the bag on top of everything. I headed to the kitchen and grabbed a few bottles of water, then a few more, filling the front pouch.

  'Be safe'. That wasn't possible anymore. Shatterbird's concert was the starting gun, after this the Nine would have open season for...fuck, until half of them were dead and they were run out of town. Until then, anyone around me was in more danger than I was. Worse, after tonight, there were bare minimum seven chances for me to die, horribly, excruciatingly. My job was to not die horribly, excruciatingly, or at all.

  And help Amy. Shit. I threw my bag over my shoulders and jogged out of my apartment, heading towards the front. Okay, that was doable, maybe. I'd have to check shelters, but they were all publicly listed. As long as I worked quick, and god and the parasite stuck in my brain gave me a modicum of mercy, I'd be fine.

  The world exploded around me in a storm of noise and glass. I froze, eyes wide as razor shards whirled through the air with a haunting resonance. They struck, scraped, battered me and my bag, but they didn't hurt. What felt like agonizing minutes of enduring the storm later, the glass fell to the floor, inanimate as it ever had been.

  I checked myself over. Clear, no blood, no flinching. My backpack had taken a beating, but the tough material it was made of was still mostly intact. I couldn't speak to the supplies inside, but didn't have time to check. I ran over the carpet of glass dust towards the lobby.

  It was a mess, worse than when the Undersiders had visited. I blew right past it, it was empty anyway, and ran out front. I paused, breathing heavily as I stared out at a slowly falling wall of sand at the ocean, rushing out into the streets like a dust storm. Fuck. Okay, maybe Shatterbird could cause me problems too. I rocked back on my heels, staring at the gaping holes that riddled every building around. My stomach churned and I swore I heard the sound of a clock ticking. Taking a deep breath, I struck out and headed into the city.

  The heroes would be fine without me, they had been in canon. Sticking around there only opened them up to suddenly not being fine because some murderer or another decided they were part of the game. I couldn't stick around in good conscience. My heart hammered loudly in my chest as the haunting, empty towers loomed overhead. I was alone now. It was better this way, I knew, safer.

  I wished to hell it wasn't.