by P. S. Power
Marcia snorted, but had a phone to her ear still. Listening, and actually doing her job. Brian was about to wander away when Sinclair came in, holding a muscular, if not overly tall, man's hand. Doug.
His old friend grinned at him, then came into the office and gave him a hug, pounding him on the back, so it wouldn't look gay. That was another thing they needed to work on, as a society. Fear of people that just enjoyed sex with people that were also consenting adults. As long as they were mentally competent and not children, it wasn't anybody else's business. No one should have to worry about being thought of as less about it though, should they?
"Brian! I heard you were alive. Sinclair told me. This is so great! We haven't even been able to have a funeral for anyone yet. Things have been...Yeah." The man managed to grin at him, but there was sadness in it. The fighting had been bad, after all.
Doug had been out in it too. He wasn't a coward, but Brian knew his friend was kind and gentle as a rule. Killing had to be hurting him inside. It did that to him, and he really should have gone numb to it long ago. For a long time he'd thought he had, but now...
"I know." Blinking he looked down at the hand that Sinclair was holding and shrugged. "I see you two know each other already? Excellent. I won't have to set you up then. That would have been the next move. After a late dinner, I mean. Playing matchmaker being one of my new super powers. Apparently along with peacemaking. I just had three transfers in a row today, without having to even hurt anyone. Three." He sounded a bit too happy about it, but screw it, that was how he felt. It might not last, but it was worth trying to keep the run going, for as long as he could.
Any day without death was a good one, now.
Sinclair moved in to his oldest friend a bit, both of them in tan. They all were now. War outfits, meant to make them look official. If Marcia was in charge that might just be the way things would be from then on.
She really did enjoy being official, after all. Squared away, and ship shape, or whatever the military people said about things like that. Thinking about it, it really did seem a bit more like they were a force to be reckoned with, rather than a group of people to be hidden away and feared.
That had to end. If they were going to get out of the bad things, if everyone was, then they needed to take the IPB public, and stop being a quasi shadow organization. Yes, they still had to do their job, but that didn't mean they had to do it from behind the scenes. Hiding things led to people not understanding who and what they really were. It always did.
Secrets bred conspiracy theories after all.
Blinking, Brian suddenly got that something was wrong with him. Or, more probably, right. He was being himself. Not Proxy. Thinking back, he understood that, at least in part. It had really started when he'd encountered Jake earlier.
"Some kind of emotional influence?" He sounded normal, and both Doug and Sinclair looked at him a bit funny, but it was the pretty girl that reached out and touched his arm. His friend didn't even bat an eyelash at that. He didn't have jealousy anymore, so couldn't.
It was a better way to be than not.
The girl seemed suddenly worried for him, "is... Are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah. I think. I just realized that I met a man earlier that might have influenced my thinking. I'm not sure, but... Well, I feel nicer now. Kinder. I sound it too, don't you think? Less like Nocturne and more like good old Brian Yi." He managed a small grin then. "Which might just get me killed, if the wrong situation comes up. I'll have to be careful with that then."
Doug seemed slightly scared, for a moment, but then shook his head a bit.
"You don't need to be angry to do your job. Proxy... You have to protect people, so you will if it comes up. I know that. Be careful, but I don't think you need to worry about being too nice." There was a broad shouldered shrug. His buddy had been working out for months, and losing a lot of weight. It seemed that going to war hadn't gotten him off track either. It was good to see.
"That seems right. Well, I'll work it out. Now, I don't mean to be a whiner, but we should all go and collect some food, and then find a place to sleep. I tend to go to bed a bit early."
Sinclair removed her hand from his arm, and gestured for him to follow, turning toward the door.
"This way. I'll take you over. Doug has to talk to Director Turner. It's why I was sent to get him."
That sounded different than Brian had thought. They'd been walking hand in hand, after all. His friend nodded though, and clapped him on the shoulder before he could leave.
"Yeah. Meet me here when you get done?"
That seemed like a good enough plan to him. It wasn't like he had anything in particular to do otherwise, was it? Except... Honestly, he knew that things had changed a lot. Too much for him to just keep on being Proxy and letting everyone else do all the hard work for him. That had been happening for too long now.
Oh, it made sense, that wasn't the problem. He'd been forced to go and fight, daily, for so long that learning to fight and training constantly had become part of him. That didn't get to end now, just because he was feeling happy with the world, comparatively.
It was just that people had been doing a lot of work behind the scenes that he hadn't taken part of at all, to keep him working. Paperwork, propping him up psychologically, and even making sure he ate enough. Which he hadn't been doing. That was a thing he needed to just be honest about now. He had an eating disorder. It wasn't showing yet, because Mark had been handing him food all the time, but his weight had been constantly dropping for months.
Inside a flash of fear hit him, over the idea of eating more now. Like he'd go back to his old ways instantly, and get fat again. It wasn't logical, since he did a lot of physical work, but it was real, and there. It made him want to skip eating at all that night, just to make sure it didn't happen. People needed him to be slender, not the Stay-puff man.
Didn't they?
Except, when he thought about it, that wasn't really true. They needed him to be strong and fast. A stick figure wasn't any better than chubby Brian Yi. Not as far as saving lives.
He made a face, which got the girl that was leading him out into the dusty flat area that was their headquarters to seem thoughtful, rather than upset or scared. Of course, he'd been pretty nice and friendly toward her so far, hadn't he? It was amazing the effect that not coming across like a psycho-killer could have on a person that way.
She didn't speak, or ask about what he was thinking, but lying about it, or even hiding the idea seemed... Off. It could be that influence that Jake had on him. Or that the man had just been right? That idea hit him too.
Work together. That meant not keeping secrets now, didn't it?
"I just worked out that I have a pretty severe eating disorder. I used to be kind of fat, and had to lose weight in order to do my job, but... It's too much. I'm almost afraid to eat now. I know, hardly what I would have thought would be coming up today either, but there you have it." He did manage a smile, though it wasn't just pasted on or forced. Not happy either, so at least there was that.
Rather than judge him, the girl reached out and touched his arm again. It wasn't flirting, just her making contact.
"You need to talk to someone that can help you, then. I'll do whatever I can to help, but I'm not a professional, or a counselor. For now, we can get you enough food, and... I don't know, can you make yourself eat it? I don't know what else to do." She was concerned, but it lacked the heat that most of the people he'd been around tended to have when he admitted to any sort of problem.
"I need to, so I will. I agree though. I'll get some help. Keep on me about that? It would be too easy to get busy and use that as an excuse not to handle things correctly." He could feel his brain trying to come up with ways around it already. Not his power though. That part of him didn't really seem to care. It was almost like it was another person. Him, but with a totally different set of concerns.
Which was no doubt the sign of a healthy and well balanced mind. It did
n't make sense though, did it? Shouldn't his ability just be part of him? Working toward the same end goal, at the very least?
The mess area was different than he would have figured on it being. It was a tent, and looked like all the others in the area. A dust covered green, made of canvas, with real wooden poles inside to hold it all up, and yellow rope tie downs on the outside. Surplus and old, but doing its job anyway. Nothing they had looked new or shiny, he realized. There could be a lot of reasons for that, of course. It was probably bigotry, but could be that whoever had set things up didn't need more, or that someone had simply volunteered the gear in a pinch, and it was what they'd had.
It was too easy to just assume they were being cheated all the time, wasn't it? Oh, that was a real thing, he could see that too, so whatever was going on with him hadn't made him stupid or so optimistic that real thought wasn't available, but... Yeah. The world wasn't just out to get him either. Or the Infected. Some people were, but that didn't mean no one saw him as a person, did it?
Inside the tent there was, as had been mentioned earlier, only pre-packaged foods. On the left side of the room there was a row of folding tables set up, with boxes of military rations, Meals Ready to Eat, and some boxes of packaged goodies. His stomach turned at the thought of eating it. Not because it didn't look good to him anymore. It did. That was the problem. A part of him wanted to grab all the food he could and just eat. He started to lock that down, to hide from it, but shook his head.
"Right then. I need to make up a nutritious meal from this stuff, and get enough calories, without going overboard." It wasn't as easy as all that, since he had no real clue what he needed. Other people had been doing the math for him, so he'd never really learned the numbers.
Plus, nothing there except the snack cakes had anything listed.
Shrugging, he took the first MRE he got to, not even looking at what was inside it, hoping that the military would have an idea what a person needed to eat at each meal. It turned out to be ham slices. There was a big container to the side, and some plastic glasses. It just held water, but that was a thing he needed too, so he got one of them, before settling at the white topped folding table where he was clearly supposed to eat. There was a man there already, in tan, but with short hair, which was all white, pure white eyes, and dark tan skin.
For a second he thought it was Crandall, but he was dead. Scott, his son, had killed the man. The difference here was apparent though, because when this man, whoever he was, looked up, he smiled. It was a normal thing, not some big production, but Brian decided to take it as an invitation to sit by him. Sinclair did the same, settling in beside him and smiling herself.
"Hey. I'm Brian." He didn't hold his hand out, because the man was eating. Really, he should have washed his hands first, but he'd live. There was no place around to do that, which was an oversight. Being clean was important, especially in high stress conditions.
"Simpson. Greg." The man took a bite of something that had some passing resemblance to noodles and thick sauce with a white plastic spork. "New here? I haven't seen you around. Part of one of the programs?"
Brian nearly didn't get it, but then it clicked. This man, clearly, was one of the super-soldiers. Like Crandall had been. The look was too distinctive to miss. So the programs would have to do with that. He hadn't known there was more than one, but it made sense. Why put all your eggs into one basket?
"Nope. Infected. Um, Proxy? I take people's places when they're about to die. Kind of like teleportation. I can do that too, but not on purpose yet. I keep meaning to learn how, but so far haven't gotten the chance. My first mode is self-sacrifice. So, you get the picture, I'm too nice for my job."
The man smiled again, but it was a little sardonic, he didn't comment but glanced at Sinclair, who he seemed to recognize.
"Sure... Proxy is well known for his sweetness and light attitude. Aren't you dead?"
Brian could see the doubt there, "No. I managed to get out. Teleportation is cool that way. I was hiding out, but got captured early on a security camera. Braid leaked it to the hate network, so I figured that I'd keep a manhunt from happening, and just come in out of the cold."
Sinclair smiled, and nodded, and sipped at a cup of water.
Simpson however gave him a hard look, then shook his head.
"Damn. That's fucked up. I mean what they did to your people here. All I can say is that to the best of my knowledge it wasn't us. Not that it means anything. We've been gearing up to take you people on for years. The fact is, the brass just figured that we'd lose, and didn't want to throw that many lives away trying. There were too many of you that could have taken us all out. Which I guess you being here shows. If you survived that, and Quartz did, then who else got out? That Stasis guy almost had to, and I heard directly that Level straight up soaked the blast. Injured, but healing." It was probing, but Brian decided not to lie about everything.
"Well, Penny Cooper, Cellophane? She's here. Working in the head office. She just wasn't around at the time. As for the rest... I hope that's true. They're all good people. Mostly. No group of people is perfect, but they aren't monsters."
He was ready to argue the point, but Simpson just took a bite of food, and nodded.
"Good to know. So, do you have any plans here? You don't have any powers, right? I mean that thing you do, but... That won't help a lot in a straight up fight." The man looked uneasy suddenly, as if he were being insulting, and knew it, which made Brian feel happy.
Crandall might have been similar to this man, on the outside, but they weren't the same kind of person at all.
"No doubt. I was thinking I'd get my butt over to the front office and hit the paperwork. Man the phones or whatever is needed. That and make sure I keep in training. Who's in charge of that here? Workouts and fighting practice?"
"No one, really. We should be doing that. Enough of us are sitting around each day. This isn't a military organization, but a lot of the people here are going to get lazy if no one steps up and get's them moving."
It was something to do, he realized.
"Great plan. Get everyone that wants to come with us outside the main trailer at seven tomorrow. We'll go on a run, do some exercises, then work on hand to hand and armed techniques for those that need them. If I'm not here, then you take over and make sure everyone does what they can." He was being bossy, but the man had suggested it, so it was clearly his job now, too.
"I'll set that up." He started to get up then, his food half finished.
Brian nearly told him to go ahead and eat first, but odds were the man was able to make that kind of decision for himself. Moving quickly the table in front of him was cleared off, and the remains of his meal dumped in the big black trashcan over to the side. All of it, including the things that were still good, and packaged up. It was a big waste.
Sinclair sipped her water, and was suddenly not looking directly at him. After a second, he cleared his throat, and glanced over.
"What? Do I have something on my face? Or God, coming out of my nose?" He crossed his eyes and made a goofy face, trying to look at it, but couldn't see anything, of course.
It got a giggle from the girl.
"No. I just... I know I should run and stuff, and learn to fight, but I can't keep up with you people. Impulse said I should get trained up. You know, like you? In case I had to take your place, but I can't do that. Not really."
Brian moved back in his seat and took a good look at the woman. She was tall, and not fat, but had that soft look that most people had. There were no calluses on her fingers or palms to indicate exercise, or any kind of martial skill. That didn't mean it couldn't be there, but was a sign that went with her words pretty well.
"Show up anyway? If Bridget said you should do it, then you probably should. She's what, the third in command of the IPB now?" He knew that one, and felt a surge of pride for the girl. She'd come a long way in a very short time. In fact, the only reason they had the IPB still was because of her. When things
had gone down a few weeks before, it had been her that held it all together.
Then she'd held the country together. By herself, or very nearly. A lot of people had died to do it, Infected and not, but she'd pulled their butts out of the fire.
A thing that wasn't lost on the blonde girl next to him, he hoped.
She nodded, and finished her drink.
"I'll try. Should I get everyone else out too? I mean if they want to come? Misery loves company, I hear. Besides, if Gravity comes too, he can make me all light while I run. That's fun. I got to try that out about a week ago. He's really nice, isn't he?"
That one got a nod, even as he made himself eat the salty pork slice in front of him. When he finished it, a minute of silence later, he winked at her.
"Not just that. He's great. I wasn't joking earlier about the matchmaking, if you aren't already seeing him. He might not get the handholding thing as being a sign you like him though." Brian made a big gesture with his own plastic eating utensil. "Or the other way around. He wouldn't have been doing that if he didn't like you. I don't know how good you are at picking up subtle clues like that. Then, I tend to miss things like that myself, and may be projecting that on you two. I can tell you that he's one of the best people I know though. We've been friends for years."
The girl seemed interested enough, so he sold Doug pretty hard for a while until they both ended up laughing about it. Then, when he was done with the whole meal, which wasn't all that good, he grabbed another at random, to go.
"For Penny. I'm pissed at her right now, but she still needs to eat." That got him to stop and get a few more of the things, since as far as he knew no one in the front office had gotten to come out at all, after the political and social firestorm he'd created earlier.
Sinclair followed along with him, her face serene enough. She even helped carry things, clearly being useful that way. The brown and green packages weren't heavy, but they were too smooth and slid easily, so having the extra hands didn't hurt his feelings.
