2103:12:10:15:42:44

  I was back home, lying on my couch and watching the CAS.

  “-unmitigated disaster!” the token anti-Guardians, ‘pro-normal citizen’ person on this pseudo-debate shouted. “Over fifty people, fifty regular citizens died! How can you say-”

  Talking with the heroes had taken a while. We had to explain the whole Nth-Sight situation a few times over before they finally let us go. Thankfully, Amber explained things for the most part – including her own survival – with me only filling in where needed. Things like the beginning of our last conversation with the rogue augur, or me explaining some specifics about the requests he’d made me do, like the wheres, whys and whens of things.

  “-unprecedented event in Charm’s history,” Director Paradisia Kim of the Guardians West Coast replied evenly. “Not just the Jannacht Syndicate’s incursion into our city, but such blatant violations of the Treaty haven’t been-”

  Turns out, the heroes had been suspicious for a while. Which wasn’t that much of a surprise. Although the Sentinels hadn’t clocked their own augur as responsible, even they’d been growing suspicious of what was happening in Charm, and they weren’t the ones with a giant organization of thousands of heroes behind them. Also, the whole secrecy and haste surrounding the (hopefully) crippling strike against the Jannacht kind of gave the whole thing away.

  Hence Nth-Sight’s escalation, I suppose.

  “-span of the augur’s reach and consequences of his actions are still being-”

  Either way, that and Millie’s testimony had helped further things along a lot. Rather than Amber and I needing to explain ourselves and vindicate our actions, it was us merely filling in the gaps. Nth-Sight’s multiple identities, his sabotage of inter-villain talks, Motorgang’s actions, the bombings, the strike against Soliloquy; stuff like that.

  “-about the aid your organization received?” the host of the news program asked. “Is it true that in spite of your previous commitment to standard policy-”

  The only thing we didn’t share was what he’d tried to use against us. Which was good, since they were blasting everything else all over the news.

  “-line remains the same, but I will not minimize the amount of aid these two vigilantes – and the Sentinels, and every hero – have given us and this city as a whole.” Director Kim definitely wasn’t saying it through gritted teeth. No way no how. “Jester’s efforts in tackling Soliloquy and her and Crowsong’s swift apprehension of the true Treaty-breaker, the augur we now know as Jules Hessian, have spared our heroes and Charm as a whole-”

  Including Amber and I’s involvement in the whole situation.

  “-because of people like them that our Wardens – along with some of Charm’s Guardians, albeit on a… more personal level,” the Wardens’ spokesperson levelled a stare that was somehow both neutral and accusatory towards Director Kim, “continue to employ and support pro-vigilante policy of mutual cooperation. If it weren’t for the efforts of Crowsong – the protégé of the late Guardian-turned-vigilante Blackhawk, if you recall – and her teammate Jester, it would’ve taken weeks, if not months until the span of the augur’s network-”

  That was enough of that. I switched the channel.

  Naturally, it landed on another news segment, thankfully one more focused on the actual news than the debating around it. The scene of where Soliloquy’s last moments took place replaced the news/discussion/debate/shouting-match or whatever else you want to call it.

  “-of the tragedy took place,” the Intramerica reporter said, reporting from the scene of Soliloquy’s demise. “Though as you can see, the evidence of said tragedy is quickly growing scarce.”

  The roads were already close to being fixed. Charm’s Department of Public Works and Restoration (PWR, funnily enough) had their network of in-house and hired professionals on it the moment the scene was cleared of victims. First, a combination of plumbers, makers and alters restored the subterranean infrastructure – plumbing, wiring and the like – and then the holes made by the bomb and Soliloquy’s transformation would be filled in by primarily earth-themed alters and casters. Lastly, maker-machines and supers would retile, re-pave and re-asphalt the area.

  All would be done within the day or two at most. Routine work done quick thanks to decades of dealing with the most common victim of the masquerade: public infrastructure.

  “-up from a nightmare,” a random citizen said. “My family and I were lucky. We were still inside Soliloquy’s blast zone, but thanks to ehhh… I think it was Gaptime? Either he or Pia Pietra. We were inside, but our house was in one of those areas-” the video feed cut away to show the triangular cones one of the heroes created by their body tanking Soliloquy’s doom, “-and we survived thanks to that.” He looked forlornly behind him. “Our home didn’t, though.” It had been one of the homes Soliloquy had thrown Pia Pietra through with his scepter.

  People’s homes would take longer to rebuild. They weren’t as often a victim of the masquerade thanks to the city shield. New ones would need to fit the aesthetic of the street and be built to code, while the homes that had been caught in Soliloquy’s apocalypse-in-miniature would need them repaired to a functional state.

  It would take three weeks at least before the lost houses get replaced or restored to a functioning state.

  “-depends on which option, I suppose,” the foreman of the restauration said to the reporter. “Many have already taken the quick and easy monetary compensation for their valuables. But well, ahh, there’re plenty of things people value besides the money, and for them things might take a while. It’s specialized work, and the professionals are few and-”

  That, or more if they’d opted-in to Unified Insurance’s extra cover on – or outright paid extra for – professional alters and casters that could temporally restore any destroyed personal property.

  “-one of the family members of the bereaved,” the reporter said, turning to said family member and starting the interview. “How do you feel the Mayor’s proposal?”

  Not all homes were to be restored. Already there were talks about leaving some, or even all of the space open to build a memorial garden there. One centered around Soliloquy’s house, describing the events – including Nth-Sights role as the main perpetrator – and mourning the victims, while also reinforcing the need for the Treaty.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  And – purely by accident, of course – implicating both the Jannacht and rogues in general as responsible for what had happened here. Not that that was a lie, but since it was in Little Europe, Soliloquy was both victim and perpetrator, and Darkstar had helped take him down…

  “-a good idea in general, but… I don’t know. I think my uncle would’ve liked a simple plaque more, or a memorial wall with the names. Focus on the victims, you know? instead of-”

  I heard keys rattle and being forced into the lock of the door. It clicked open, and Michael stepped in, looking deader-than-dead tired. His face was pale enough to be called sickly and there was a haunted look to his eyes that spoke volumes.

  The TV continued happily. “-cousin was- well, he wasn’t exactly happy when the Jannacht arrived. They’re still a gang-

  “You look like shit,” I said to Michael, speaking bluntly. It was something he, I thought, appreciated.

  He turned to look at me, mouth opening with undoubtedly some witty retort on his lips, when he noticed what the TV was playing. “-saw the positive. He’d say, rather them than Magistry, or the Dusk Bandits, or-”

  Seeing him distracted, I muted the TV. He shook his head and his eyes turned back to me.

  “Like you’re any better,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  He was right on both accounts. The last two days were taxing, and not in the usual way where I could easily recover. It was a mental exhaustion; a spiritual one, if I believed in (or possessed) that sort of thing. Participating in the heroes’ strike against the Jannacht and helping take down Soliloquy were bad enough, but then I ended up killing someone.

  Actually killing someone.

  And while Nth-Sight had deserved it – that and worse – and while I didn’t regret that he had to die, I was disappointed in myself. I hadn’t killed him because he broke the Treaty, but out of fear. Fear that he was about to reveal my true identity, reveal me to be an android to my mentor and friend, and through her, the rest of the world.

  It was an unpleasant reminder of the precariousness of my situation. That, no matter how welcome Sam was, how many people liked or even loved Sam, or how well I even fit the shape of Sam… I wasn’t her. Not really, not in the way humanity understood personhood. And if they ever found out, I would never, could never be Sam again.

  As for school… “I didn’t go,” I said. “Didn’t feel like it.” I could not be bothered to make a better excuse.

  He looked at me for a moment, before shrugging. “Oh well. Not like I’ve got room to lecture – I must’ve skipped half my classes back in high school.” He smiled as he said it, reminiscent. His smile turned genuine, and more (jokingly) malicious, as he said, “Be prepared for a Mom-level fallout.”

  I rolled my eyes. Though I did dread Mom coming home and confronting me about my absence, “Unlike you, I’ve never had to deal with a ‘Mom-level fallout’.”

  “Oh?” Michael smiled. “I recall something very different. While never the shouting matches like I had after… well, after, you could be incredibly stubborn. You and Mom both.” He laughed openly – a rarity – and there was a nostalgic spark in his eyes. “You’d stay silent, crossing your arms and pouting while dead-set on going to, like, a friend’s house after a special curfew had been called or something. Then Mom would try to convince you, get angry when it didn’t work and then storm off. Dad would try to mediate – it never worked – and then Mom would turn her anger at him, say he was indulging you even though he wasn’t!” He chuckled.

  I remained silent, awkward at the mention of other-Sam. Michael saw it and, as I didn’t say or do anything, his smile turned brittle. He opened his mouth to say something, but I beat him to the punch.

  “Why’re you back anyhow?” I asked, a bit too sharply if his wince was any indication. I softened my tone and said more neutrally, “I mean, it’s still working hours, right? Normally you’d be back by dinnertime.”

  If at all, I didn’t say. His work – allegedly – kept him busy for most days. Though he had yet to reveal whether he’d be staying in Charm for the long term, it seemed to me that that outcome was getting more and more likely.

  Not that it bothered me much. For all his stubbornness, sarcasm and resentment towards Mom, I didn’t hate him. And for all that he claimed to hate my mother, he sure indulged her from time to time. Coming home for a family dinner every so often being the primary example of that, along with the rare occasion I managed get them to perform an adequate simulation of a conversation, no matter how stilted it sounded.

  Until inevitably, Mom or Michael would say something that steered the conversation into too serious a direction for either of them to handle.

  Michael’s smile vanished, eyes filling with pain and regret. “My boss died.”

  I blinked, and rose from my lying positions. “Was it…?” I looked pointedly towards the flatscreen, still focused on the same scene as before.

  He looked at it and his eyes lingered, looking lost for a moment. “Yes,” he said eventually. “I was supposed to meet him in Portside for a shipping thing, but he never showed up. Then I got that call and, well…” He nodded to the TV. “Had to inform the higherups after about what happened… it wasn’t a fun conversation.”

  “Were you… close?” I asked, hesitant to prod a raw wound.

  “Yes,” Michael said. He didn’t even hesitate. “I, ah… had troubles at school, and at home as well, as you already know. Felt like I was stuck inside a hole, and he was the one to get me out of it. The one to give me a second chance. He signed off on my sponsorship, helped me get a grant, helped me get a position at Miele & Van Dijk. He was always there to talk to me, even if he was a bit of an asshole at times… He was kind of like a second father to me, after…” Tears pooled in his eyes.

  Not quite knowing what to say, I awkwardly said, “I’m… sorry?” I cringed. That was bad and it sucked, and now I felt even worse.

  “Heh,” he snorted and wiped his eyes. “That sucked. But thanks.” He dumped his bag on the ground next to the couch and said, “C’mon, scooch over.” Which I did.

  He plopped himself down next to me, bouncing at the spring’s rebound and the couch creaking under the impact. We stared at the TV, still on mute.

  After a moment, I carefully began, “Are you… still staying in Charm?”

  “Want me gone, do you?” he tried to joke, but it sounded hollow.

  “Not really.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw him smile slightly. “Well, good news then. Although Alfons’ death has caused more than a bit of hesitation amongst the higherups, other, uh… obstructions have cleared up at the same time. It’s still up in the air, and I’ll have to go back to New York soon to discuss things in person. If they do, they’ll have to find someone willing to take over while I liaison between.”

  “Liaison?” I asked. “I thought you and your mentor were here just to explore options or something?”

  Michael was silent for a moment. “Me and a small team, but yes,” he said. “We were mostly focused on negotiations with potential smaller partners rather than, you know, planning to set up a whole factory and infrastructure and stuff like that. But that’s the part that’s starting to clear up.”

  I frowned. “Right after your mentor’s death?” That’d be weird.

  “No, no,” Michael was quick to deny, “before that. I was meant to be in Portside with Alfons, remember? We were supposed to meet another party there and work things out and… well, it’s all hush-hush so I can’t really talk details, but if I manage that part well, it could convince management that there’s still potential in Charm.”

  “And then you’d stay,” I concluded.

  “Hm-mm,” he affirmed. “It’s a bit of a longshot, but I’m determined to make it work.”

  That honestly surprised me. I turned to him. “I thought you said you didn’t want to stay here?” Or something along those lines anyway.

  He shrugged, though he still didn’t look at me. “I didn’t, but… I’m more determined now, I suppose. For my mentor, if nothing else. He really put his all into this, and it’d be a shame to just… let it go to waste. I owe him to at least try. Besides, I do see a glimmer of hope on the horizon.”

  That’s fair. “What about Mom?”

  Now he did look. “Mom?”

  “Well, if you’re staying, are you two going to talk?” I asked. He opened his mouth, but I said, “like, actually talk? About… whatever it is that happened before?”

  He closed his mouth with a click, hesitating. “I don’t know. It’s not-”

  “Up to you, yeah, sure. Except Mom doesn’t want to talk about it, so now I’m stuck here in the middle of you two without-” I shut up.

  I had no right to talk with the secret I’d been keeping. This was a family quarrel, revolving around a past I wasn’t involved in, involving in some no-doubt convoluted way other-Sam, and her and Michael’s father. What right did I have to know about that? It wasn’t like I knew them. Nor was I actually family anyhow. Not really.

  Besides, now was not the time.

  “Whatever,” I said. I turned my eyes to the screen. “Forget it. Do whatever you want.” I unmuted the TV.

  Michael hesitated. I watched him open and close his mouth a few times in my peripherals, but he didn’t say anything. He, too, turned to watch the screen.

  For a minute, we sat in silence, looking at the screen and listening to the news without, I suspect, either he or I actually absorbing anything they said.

  “Want to watch something else?” he asked eventually. “This is bumming me out.”

  I shrugged. “I guess.” I thought for a moment. “Want to watch Marling’s Men?”

  It was a serial about a squad of pre-masquerade powered soldiers in the old American military, going all the way from the post-Quetzalcoatl Fakeuppation of Central America in 2019 to the end of the Great American Civil Wars in 2033. An interesting time and a great series, with supposedly great historicity. It was a long, very long show with many characters, plots, stories, side-adventures, point-of-view switches and one-offs.

  In other words, not the kind of show you can just jump into.

  Michael groaned. “Where are you?”

  I grabbed my phone and browsed to the series. “Season 10, episode twelve. The end of the Cuban Intervention, I think. Unless that goes on for another episode.” I clicked it and began casting.

  Again, Michael groaned. “I think it goes on for two more. It ends with Pliskin’s Miami landing and-”

  I slapped his shoulder and scowled. “Don’t spoil it!”

  “It’s literally history,” he complained.

  “Well, I didn’t see that history, so either stop spoiling or go to your room,” I said. Despite how annoying he was, it strangely helped lift my mood.

  Michael snorted, but said nothing more as the orchestral intro finished and the show began.