“It was in the records,” Ms. Yamada said, “I need to hear the answer from your lips first, before I can offer you my thoughts. But let me warn you, I’m only offering a suggestion. Food for thought. I read the transcripts from the debriefing you gave Chevalier. You talked about anchors. I don’t want you to… ‘anchor’ to anything I say. Use it to find your own answer, instead.”
“You claim to know me better than I know myself.”
“We’ll discuss that point if and when we get that far. For now, I need to know your thoughts on what happened.”
“I-”
“But please sit down, first,” the therapist said. “We both know you could kill me at any moment, here. Having them here doesn’t change that, but it’s…”
“It is admittedly vulgar,” the girl supplied.
The therapist nodded. “We’ll go with that.”
The shadows dissipated.
Ampelos, the ill-fated. I was the ill fate.
Daimones, the lost.
The ones who replaced them were children. One, young enough to be androgynous, wore a long-sleeved shirt that hung down to its knees. It spun in place, skipping, then spinning again, a toddler at play. The other explored the room. The man with the hood and cape remained by the window, arms folded, staring out at the world beyond.
Ciara spoke. “He broke. He was strong, he was noble, proud. He was a monster, alien. They brought out the humanity in him, and then they broke him. I could have stepped in, but I didn’t. I don’t know why.”
The words were a challenge more than an admission. A demand for a better answer.
“Would you like to hear my theory, then?”
“As you wish,” Ciara replied. She didn’t quite manage to feign the indifference she was going for.
“You’re exactly what you appear to be.”
“What do I appear to be, doctor?”
“An adolescent.”
Ciara frowned. “I had hoped for a good answer. I’m older than you.”
“Only just. Chronologically, I think we’re the same age, nine months apart.”
“You miss my point,” Ciara said, clearly annoyed.
“No. I got it. Chronologically, you’re older, and by those measures, your youth is only a mask you wear. By other measures, you’re still a child. You triggered at a very young age, you were no doubt isolated, as masters tend to be. No doubt surviving purely by your own methods. Somewhere along the way, something happened. You stole the wrong power, you fought someone and lost, or you found yourself in a bad situation. In the course of that event or in the wake of it, you unlocked stronger powers, and they eclipsed you as a person. Am I too far off track, here?”
Ciara didn’t respond. Her hard stare was a challenging one, now, a hard stare.
“You were still a child, and you needed rules and a foundation to define yourself by, as any child does. Your chose your anchor, chose Scion, and you formed your view of capes as faerie to distance yourself from a world you barely felt in touch with. You built up your persona as Glaistig Uaine, a name others gave you. It might have even played a role in why you turned yourself in and took up residence in the Birdcage. You craved structure.”
“You’re calling me a child?”
“I’m suggesting you were functionally a child until a very short time ago. You’re now an adolescent. Scion was a powerful figure in your life, owing at least partially to your power’s involvement in your day to day, minute-to-minute existence. Virtually every child goes through a phase where their parents are invulnerable, incapable of failure, strong, and beautiful. They grow out of that phase when reality challenges that assumption. If what I’m suggesting was true, well, reality never challenged the assumption because it was true, in Scion’s case.”
“Up until the moment he began to lose,” Ciara said.
“Many begin to rebel against their parental figures around the time they enter adolescence, around the time they start seeing their parent as flawed humans. In your case, it was a faster process. A moment’s decision. Whether I’m right or not, you were thrust into a new mode of thinking, a new mode of being, and it has to be bewildering.”
“Your theory, then, is that the most powerful cell block leader of the Birdcage was a mere child, however old she might have appeared? That the answer to my present crisis in identity is that I am a mere teenager?”
“For the adolescent, the greatest, most defining challenge is to find themselves. To seek out identity. For the unpowered youth, it’s often a question of what clique they fit in, what clothes they wear, how they express themselves, and what path they want to step forward on, in terms of possible careers. For powered youth, it’s about all of the things I just mentioned, as well as the villain and hero labels, their place on the team, their place in family, the bonds they form. These are questions you’re now asking yourself. Am I wrong?”
“I dislike being painted with such broad strokes, doctor,” Ciara spoke.
“There are always variations,” Ms. Yamada said. “I’d never approach a patient with the idea that it comes down to this and this alone. It’s a starting point. You need to find yourself, and you need to do it with the burdens of the strongest human being on the planet. I’m telling you, here and now, that this is something everyone faces at some juncture. It’s perfectly alright to define yourself as ‘someone who is looking for definition’.”
The girl smiled a little. She lifted her mug to her lips, then wiped her mouth with her thumb.
The therapist took another drink of water. “You’re smiling? I suppose I don’t need to worry about my impending death, then?”
When Ciara spoke again, her voice was normal. “What you said is… a thought. I was smiling because I was wondering what your superiors would think if they knew what you’d told me. A powerful parahuman, free to find herself? Perhaps I’ll follow in the footsteps of my ‘parent’.”
“I don’t have any superiors,” the therapist said. “The PRT is done. There are groups trying to cobble together a replacement, but it’s looking shaky at best. I’m here because I was invited, and because I want to help people. I’d like to help you. I think everyone would be much happier if we found you a path that isn’t following in his footsteps.”
“Did I ask for your help?”
“You’re still here,” Jessica Yamada said. “Y-”
She didn’t get further. There was a knock on the door.
The concern on the woman’s face, Ciara noted, was more than it had been when she’d been threatened with her own imminent death.
“Please excuse me.” The woman stood from her chair and crossed the room. She opened the door.
Ciara watched as the figure unfolded before her. A giant armored in the skin of a monster, a knight, a wisp of a figure, all at once. She could see his very presence tearing through the doorframe, the slightest movement tearing whole sections of the building to rubble. She could feel the vibrations, taste the dust in the air.
But that was only one version of the building, out of sight, out of mind.
As if she was squinting without moving her eyelids, she refined her vision, saw him as the therapist saw him. A man in gold and black armor.
His voice was barely audible. “Ms. Yamada. I’m sorry to int-”
“I’m in a session, Chevalier. An exceedingly important session.”
“I know. I’m really very sorry. I had a small opening in my schedule. I was hoping for just one minute to talk with you.”
“I’m in a session. You agreed to abide by any rules I set. This was a pretty big one.”
“If I didn’t talk to you now, I’d have to wait three days to get another chance. My hands are full.”
“I can imagine. But I’m in a session.”
“One minute. Trust me when I say I know how important it is that you stick to your rules. But this is important enough that I have to ask. Can I have one minute of your time?”
The woman hesitated.
“Please.”
/> The therapist turned, meeting Ciara’s eyes. “No, Chevalier, I-”
“I’ll manage on my own,” Ciara said. “In fact, I would appreciate having a minute or two in private to think over what we talked about earlier.”
Ms. Yamada frowned. “I’ll be back shortly.”
The door closed.
Roucouler, the Liar.
The little girl that was exploring the room dissipated. A man appeared behind Ciara’s seat, his leering grin stretched into a caricature, a mockery of what he’d worn in life. His teeth had no divides between them, making them one bony shelf, and his eyes were stretched into slants by the too-wide grin. A cartoonish appearance.
Roucouler leaned over the top of the chair, and she could hear his whispers, in a French accent. He pitched his voice to distinguish between the two.
“-cohol in there?”
“She had her shadow make it for her. She’s not the type to get drunk, and it’s more of a comfort thing than anything else.“
“A bear walks into your restaurant. What do you serve him? Anything he damn well wants.”
“There is that. What do you want, Chevalier? This is nerve-wracking enough, without interruptions.“
“Did something happen?”
“I can’t talk about my sessions with my patients. If we’re going to talk, let’s talk about your business.“
“I’m running out of time. Three days from now is too long to wait, because things take time to set in motion. I’m going to have to start making decisions, about amnesty for everyone who participated in the fight, about the hero teams, how we’re going to administrate a city that has more sheer depth than anything we’ve ever conceived of. That woman, in there, she’s at the crux of this. Choices I make in regards to her affect everything else. If I forego amnesty for her, if I have to forego amnesty for her, then I’m drawing a line in the sand, and others are going to wonder if they fall too close to that line.“
“I can’t tell you how the session is going, Chevalier.“
“I hate that you even have to say that. I’m not going to ask you to violate any confidentiality. I’m saying I could really do with you making your evaluation and then sending her on her way. There’s apartments here, we can set her up very comfortably. As comfortably as a queen might want. If she needs further therapy, you can send her there. If she’s stable enough to discuss business, be it amnesty or something else entirely, you could send her to me.“
“I understand what you’re saying. If she’s dangerous enough to warrant violating confidentiality, it doesn’t matter. If she isn’t, then I can let you know how the therapy went without explicitly telling you. I’m not entirely comfortable with this.”
“There have been more overt communications on this front in other situations. Situations that weren’t so grave. We can’t afford not to know.“
“I can’t afford to tell you, Chevalier. I just… let me think on it.“
“That’s all I ask. We need help, Jessica. I know you can’t make a full judgement in three days, not with someone as… complex… as she is. But a starting point could make all the difference.“
“I understand.“
“We’re putting the pieces back together. The scale of it is the biggest issue. All these worlds. There’s room for people to start piecing their cultures and their cities back together, there’s wilderness. Everything old is still there. Sometimes multiplied many times over. But there’s a lot of new, with more every day. It’s all exaggerated. We don’t have clout, and there are a lot of powerful people throwing their weight around. Scary people.”
“Speaking of…“
“Your patient, I’ve kept you too long. I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m wondering about someone who was a patient some time ago. Can I ask about this ‘Khepri’?“
“You can ask, but you won’t like the answer. I wouldn’t want you to be distracted for the remainder of your session in there.“
Ciara heard the Liar sigh, mimicking the woman on the other side of the door. “I’ll take your word on that. I should get back to Ciara.“
“Ciara? Her civilian name. I’m going to walk away feeling optimistic about that.“
“My lips are sealed, Chevalier.“
There was no goodbye. The door handle moved, and the door swung open. Roucouler disappeared.
Pime Abtiss, mother of the blind.
Another shadow appeared as the therapist entered the room. A blindfolded woman with a small, deformed baby in her arms, umbilical cord stretching into a gap in the robe.
Ciara could see a glimpse of the giant in the hallway, retreating, before the door shut.
“I’m very sorry. That took longer than I expected,” Ms. Yamada said, as she took her seat.
“No matter,” Ciara said. She ran her hand over the baby’s misshapen head. It dissipated into shadow, along with Pime Abtiss. She didn’t replace it with another shadow. “Forgive me, I overheard.”
The therapist reacted a little to that. There was a moment’s pause, as if she was recalling everything that was said, searching for any damning detail.
“I’ll spare you the dilemma, doctor. When we are done, tell me where I should go. I relieve you of any confidentiality, tell the Destroyer what you must.”
“I don’t think that’s what we should aim for,” the therapist said. “If we go with my theory from before, then you’ve only just started making strides on your own. You’re growing up, belatedly, and you need to start making choices for yourself.”
“You’d let me choose?”
“I think a better place to start would be figuring out who you want to be. That equips you to choose, if you feel you’re ready.”
“And what if I were to say you’re being presumptuous, that I don’t need your help? I know who I am?” There was a threatening note to the girl’s voice, a return of that echo.
“Then we can talk about something else. Or you can go, if that’s what you really want.”
Ciara didn’t move, and her shadows remained in place, poised like animals ready to pounce.
While the girl remained still, the three shadows resumed their ordinary business.
“Let’s begin, then,” Ms. Yamada said.
■
The rooftop was lined with crenelations and a wrought metal railing in a metal darker and stronger than iron. Some capes rested in the spaces between the twists of metal, while others sat with their backs to the shorter wall beneath it. The crowd had gathered around.
But the moment she relaxed, it became something else. Phantom images, a man on fire, a woman who stood half again as tall as others. Images like her own shadows, caricatures, exaggerations, powers manifested physical. Except these were undoubtedly alive. They shifted from moment to moment.
“Legend?” the Destroyer- Chevalier spoke. His voice echoed, but despite the massive size of his one suit of armor, or the slight form of his other suit, mangling the body within, the three voices were the same, only coming from different places.
A man who blazed with light stepped forward. He was a living bonfire, blue-white in color, with living etchings solid in the midst of it, white hot, a stylized mixture of flame and lightning in one shape, floating in the storm of energy. They marked the position of his head, of his chest, his hands and feet.
When the Coruscant Knave spoke, though, his voice was normal. Legend, she reminded herself.
“I was there at the beginning. I suppose it’s fitting that I’m here at the end. Maybe not right, there’s a hell of a lot I’m sorry for, but it’s fitting.”
He took a deep breath, the flame swelling. “They say a picture’s worth a thousand words. Let’s shorten this speech, then and take a second to look.”
He gestured, and heads turned.
New York, in the process of being rebuilt. Dust and ominous clouds were being held at bay by a thin forcefield, and the city stood in the center of a brilliant sunlight. Where glass had broken and where oils had risen to the tops of city str
eets, things almost glittered. A shining city.
For every damaged area, there were people, fixing things, scavenging and hauling things away. Tents and tarps were erected, barriers raised. Already, buildings were going up where portals had been torn between realities.
Chevalier had called it a city with depth. It was true. Most cities existed on a two dimensional level, spreading along the four cardinal directions. Buildings extended above and below ground, but even the tallest building was but a fraction of a distance compared to the breadth of the city.
Here, in this city, one could travel to one area and make a turn into another world. There, they would find the fledgling beginnings of an expansion, sprawling from that central point.
It was too much to manage. Even the smallest villains had elbow room to maneuver and manipulate.
“I’ve never been one to couch my words. I’m direct, like my lasers,” Legend said. “It’s beautiful and it’s frankly terrifying. The Endbringers are, we’re praying, dormant. The major players are busy recovering and rebuilding, giving us six straight months of peace for the first time in twenty years. If you count non-parahuman conflict on a global scale, well, I don’t know how long it’s been. It’s been a hell of a while, if ever.”
Ciara closed her eyes briefly. When she reopened them, Legend was his human self.
Tiring, to maintain focus.
“The peace will end. It always ends. When things go bad, it’ll be worse because we’ve had the break, because it’s had time to stew, and because we’re still reeling from last time. But I know you, I’ve fought alongside a number of you. The badges you wear are signs of that.”
Ciara glanced around. Like her, many of the capes wore a simple symbol on their upper arms, a golden circle with a golden dot in the middle. For some, it was a loop of cloth, for others, it was engraved on armor.
A simple symbol testifying that they’d been there.
“There’s no more oversight, for better or for worse. That means it’s our job to keep our eyes open, to watch each other’s backs, and to watch each other. I can tell you right now it’s not going to be perfect. Maybe I’m a living reminder of the fact that we can’t trust anyone. For those of you who were paying attention, the circumstances of Alexandria’s demise in Brockton Bay are a testament to what happens when the corruption runs too deep. Nobody benefits.”
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