The Phenomena of Fireflies and Star... - Chapter 33: Chapter 33

Waiting Room
Rehabilitation Center
The Underground Facilities
Division Headquarters
6:41 PM
'I can't believe he's still alive. This whole time.'
'I hope he realizes how badly we mourned him. That was no joke.'
'I don't think I've ever cried that much for anybody. It's like losing a family member.'
'He's so different now. Maybe because he's in love. I don't think he's felt that way for anybody all the years we've worked together.'
Ames could swear that one of these days he'd mistake these thoughts he was picking up from other people for actual speech and talk back to them. He already knew how to segregate the foreign thoughts he was getting from his own thoughts, but he was purposely eavesdropping at the moment.
So far, people had been truthful, and consistently so. That was a good thing.
He sat on a comfy bench, Battle Cry sitting next to him on his left. Alpha on his right. They'd been incredibly polite. Easygoing, even. Their behavior greatly contrasted the elevated demeanor they normally appeared in on television. They'd been very casual, albeit still professional. They gave off ate and kuya vibes, actually, especially in how they had interacted with him and with each other.
Ames set his mental eavesdropping aside, picturing a box in his mind wherein he dumped all of the thoughts he was getting. Compartmentalizing his cognition had been incredibly helpful. It was as if there were boxes in his mind, each one containing a specific category of thoughts. Organizing his mental processes even felt almost automatic, performing smoothly without the need for conscious control.
Right now, he wanted to speak.
"I won't lie to any of you," he said, looking into the laboratory through the large window on the wall opposite the bench. Researchers and doctors inside the laboratory looked deeply preoccupied with their respective duties. "I'm not a fan of superhumans."
"I kind of detected that earlier," Battle Cry replied. "But I can see why. Somehow."
"Not everybody is, anyway," Alpha added. "We've always been kind of a mixed bag."
"I lost my ex-boyfriend to a superhuman," Ames confessed. "He was going to be my fiancé. I was two milestones away from being a husband."
"Malign killed him?" Battle Cry inquired.
"Yup," Ames replied. "Fried my ex's brain in front of me 'round half a year ago. Superhuman Criminal Justice system fucked up the verdict. Fucking loopholes."
"I'm sorry," Battle Cry said. "I didn't know it was like that. Now, I understand."
"It's alright," Ames said, giving her a friendly acknowledging glance. "It's just so ironic that I'm now one of you, after all this time of swearing I'd rather not have anything to do with any of you."
Ames's words had come out rather sharp, something that he hadn't really intended. Still, he had truly needed to get them off his chest. There were still so many questions and so many points in his mind to raise. He couldn't exactly ask himself what he had yet to know, and simply reading somebody else's mind for answers could be unsatisfying. Anticlimactic, even.
"Gabriel changed things, didn't he?" Alpha inquired. "He tends to be quite a positive change-maker."
Ames smiled at the memory of their first meeting. That night had been rather eventful: rainy, busy, and exhausting.
"He brought with him all kinds of trouble," Ames answered, looking back at Alpha. It was quite odd to see someone else don the superhero suit, and that Division had been able to replicate it so quickly, but Max wasn't Alpha anymore. That was no longer a concern. If not for some billboards and advertising materials that could use an update, Ames would've already completely forgotten how Max had once looked in his own Alpha suit, which they'd already gotten rid of together shortly after they had started sharing one roof. "And so did I. But he fell in love with me through the darkness I was in, and I fell in love with him through the chaos that surrounded him."
"If you could turn back time, Ames," Alpha said, his gaze polite but curious. "Considering everything that has happened, would you do it all over again? Find him? Love him?"
Ames knew the answer very intimately.
But he had to admit that getting to such a confident point of answering such a question the way he knew he would had been a journey traveled under the most insane circumstances. The love he now shared with Max, they had forged in fire together.
"Every step of the way," Ames answered the question, looking toward the window before him again. He could see his reflection faintly at the bottom of it. His eyes hadn't lost their pink color. It was starting to get annoying. The others could control their eye coloring so well. He couldn't. No matter how hard he'd been trying, he hadn't been successful. There was no cognitive-compartmentalizing the colors of his eyes to normal. The sight of them was a reminder of how he had ended up. "Loving him, I found out, is a reward in itself."
"That's beautiful," Battle Cry commented, her voice contemplative. Ames looked at her, seeing a curiously human vulnerability in her normally striking eyes, which were charmingly rounded and yet also almost feline in shape and intensity. The vulnerability in them greatly contrasted the sharpness of her appearance. "I miss being human, too. I just can't go back. This, um, Enforcement career has become a life purpose. I give it up, and I have nothing left."
"You have a chance," Ames said. "Both of you."
"I don't know about that, but...," Battle Cry hesitated for a while. "I won't judge why Gabriel did what he did. I don't necessarily agree with it. It's not for me. That doesn't mean that I don't envy it."
"I second that, actually," Alpha added.
Ames couldn't help but break out into a chuckle at what he was hearing. It surely felt like it had been a while since something had prompted that reaction out of him. Things had been very heavy recently.
"You sure none of you want to join me in there?" he asked, prompting his armored companions to laugh at the words that had come out of their mouths. It wasn't a jovial laugh. It was rather ironic, but Ames understood. As for himself, he was getting fixed. Current was no longer a problem. Neither was Malign nor The Legion.
All that was left to do was make sure he could actually live the tomorrows he and Max had promised each other. No matter how long it took.
"That's your destiny calling to you, Ames," Alpha's words were strangely interesting. Interestingly fitting, too. "I don't think you're the type to mix destiny with fate. So don't."
"Thank you," Ames replied, giving Alpha an appreciative gaze.
"Don't mention it," Alpha replied, looking down at the device on his wrist as it beeped in Morse. "I have a meeting to get to. Battle Cry, you good here?"
"Good here," Battle Cry confirmed.
"Thanks," Alpha sighed, standing up from his position. "Wang Industries officers and Board members. Dammit."
'Wait, what?' Ames stiffened at what he'd heard, his eyes widening a bit in the realization that followed. 'Wang Industries? Does that mean Eliza's here, too?'
"All of them?" Battle Cry inquired, curiosity in her voice.
'Same, girl,' Ames thought, eyes on Alpha's concerned face. 'Same.'
"Yep," Alpha replied, nodding at each of them before turning on his heel and walking away. "See you later."
'Wang Industries is here,' Ames thought to himself. 'That means Eliza is here, too. She has to be.'
'I hope she won't see me this way.'
'Then again, at this point, what hasn't been seen yet?'
A puff of air on the doorway before him a little to his left made him look toward it. The metal door leading into the laboratory slid aside and a beautiful dark-skinned woman in a white Division lab coat peered from the open doorway. Her long, curly black hair was tied in a bun.
"Professor Andrade?" she called out, looking right at him.
Ames stood up slowly from his seat, nodding at her.
"It's time," she said, disappearing behind the doorway again.
"You ready for this?" Battle Cry's question drifted up from his periphery. "It will hurt, Ames. If you'll push through, do it for Gabriel. For Max."
"Another battle for this war," Ames commented, taking a deep breath as he stared at the open doorway.
"This is one battle you cannot afford to lose," Battle Cry said, her voice serious and penetrating. "If you want to win this war."
When Ames looked down at Battle Cry, his eyes connected with hers. The longer he looked into them, the more he understood that she'd been through something similar. He didn't have to use his telepathy to read the undertone of pain in her voice and the genuine encouragement that flared from her eyes.
"No turning back," Ames replied, nodding to her respectfully as he made his way toward the door. "Thank you, Battle Cry."
The white tunic he had changed into had quite a wide geometric neckline, and the matching white pants had a good enough grip around his waist to handle the loose and airy pant legs. Fortunately, white rubber sandals had been provided for him, too. The floor was rather cold.
Ames looked at himself in the tall mirror of the changing room one last time. The light above the mirror was the only light in the room, but it was sufficient. He was just about to leave anyway. He just wanted to check himself out for a bit one last time.
His reflection in the mirror disappointed him. It looked like some stranger who looked exactly like him, except only for the color of his eyes, was staring back at him and mimicking even the slightest of his movements.
He still looked like himself, like how he had always looked. He was looking at his own face, his own hair, and his own body.
But the otherworldly pink color of his eyes glared at him, inspiring a hard question that Ames knew he had to ask himself now.
"I look like me," Ames whispered to himself as he stared at his reflection. "But who am I now?"
He took a deep breath as he tightened his grip on his identity.
"I am Ames Andrade. I still am. And I will remain to be. For Max. For me."
He leaned in close to the mirror, staring at the reflection of his eyes. There seemed to be fine irregularities in their color. The irregularities were almost imperceptible due to their faintness, but he had seen them before. He had conjured them before.
Deep inside his mind, he put one box forward and opened it. He could feel his systems adjusting to the force flowing through the nerves in his body.
'Show,' he commanded, holding his breath as he observed the following spectacle of the irregularities becoming sharper and more visible. The patterns surfaced, glowing a shade lighter than the rest of his irises. This time, his eyes looked like sigils.
He took a step back from the mirror, holding his hands out before him.
'Conjure.'
Neon pink energy flickered before him, sizzling out as quickly as it appeared.
'Conjure,' he commanded more authoritatively.
Like a camera flash, the energy reappeared. This time, it stayed. The patterns, too, and they formed a sigil of wheels studded with symbols. The sigil was more refined this time. Steadier and virtually more solid. It cast an alien magenta glow onto the dimmed room and emitted a strange hum.
'Turn.'
The wheels of the sigil began to move, each one to the opposite side. The figures in them were inconsistent in pattern. Some of them, Ames recognized as Baybayin characters. Some were runic symbols, and some were alphabetical letters. There were occult symbols, too. There were some symbols, however, that he did not understand. They were very familiar, though. He had to know them somehow. Somewhere deep inside his mind, he knew that he knew of them. He just didn't know where to locate them yet. He would.
'Rearrange.'
Just like that, the wheels paused. The symbols in them fizzled out before reappearing somewhere else in the system of wheels.
'Expand.'
The sigil stretched out evenly, becoming large enough to fit the width of the mirror before him.
'Forward.'
The sigil floated forward, its colors scanning the surrounding area as it moved. For some reason, Ames acted on the urge of making a nudging motion with his hands, accelerating the sigil's movement until it touched the mirror.
The mirror wasn't strong enough.
The soft cracks that broke through the energy hum were satisfying to hear. The cracks in the mirror followed the shape of the wheels and the figures in them. Almost accurately, actually, save for some stray cracks.
A thought crossed Ames's mind almost intrusively, triggering a pulse of heat inside him that flowed through his nerves. It was a different heat, he knew. It was strong.
It was almost involuntary, but he just had to do it now. He wanted to do it now.
'Mine.'
The sigil and its intricate patterns began to shoot off flares, like tongues of flame whipping out from the wheels and the symbols. Every time they flashed, more cracks formed. The glass fragments glistened in strange colors after each flare. They looked very enchanting. Fascinating.
"Mine...," he whispered, his eyes feasting on the marvel before him. The flaring didn't falter this time. This time, it didn't sizzle out. The cracks in the mirror began to glow in pink. The irregular shapes to them started to move, following the pink grid stretching out from the wheels. The glass fragments stuck to the mirror's board began to reshape into proper squares. As the pink grid stretched out over the glass, more glass squares reformed and cracked into shape.
"Professor Andrade," a voice from behind him cut through his focus, snapping him back into full awareness like the impact of a falling dream. He gasped at the sudden mental reformat.
'Reverse,' he thought instinctively, blinking in surprise at the sight of what he'd been doing. At the sight of what the sigil had been doing to the mirror. The grid began to slither back to its source, the squared out mirror fragments reconstituting with each other. 'Everything. Reverse everything.'
"Professor Andrade," the voice called out again. "Are you okay in there?"
Ames looked back at the translucent glass door behind him, finding a familiar silhouette behind it just about to knock on its surface. He hurried toward the door and pulled it open.
The female scientist with the lab coat from earlier paused mid-knock. The look of surprise on her face was immediately covered by that of thick professionalism.
"Is everything okay in there, Professor?" she inquired, gently lowering her arm.
"Yeah," Ames answered, discreetly biting his lower lip from inside his mouth. "Everything is okay. It's all good here. See?"
He stepped aside and gestured toward the mirror at the opposite end of the room with his hand. The scientist followed his hand. Ames did, too, sneaking a quiet sigh of relief at the sight of the mirror now back to normal. Furthermore, the energy sigil was nowhere to be found.
'What the hell was that?' he thought anxiously, remembering the shift of control within himself from earlier. 'Why the hell did that slip out of me?'
'I normally have control over everything...'
The scanning room wasn't like any MRI or mental health clinic he had ever been in. It was different. The equipment used looked much more advanced. He had never seen the most of them.
"Rest back on the recliner," the scientist spoke through the speaker.
Ames looked around him, starting with the observation windows that surrounded the octagonal scanning room. He could see workers behind them. Different workers. He could tell that they came from different fields of study and were observing him through various lenses. There were also armed personnel. Their weaponry, however, looked advanced.
'Bullpup rifles,' Ames deduced as he checked the armed personnel's primary firearm. 'Slightly reminiscent of Volt CBP-57s, but heavily modified. Something like that. Definitely unavailable for civilian purchase. Never seen these rifles before.'
Ames spotted the door leading in and out of the scanning room on his left. Glass sliding door. Most likely bulletproof. With a metal frame. Accessible via keypads.
'Real high-tech stuff here,' Ames noted. 'It's impressive. Division's really something.'
"Rest back and relax."
Ames did as he was instructed, positioning himself well on the recliner. Above him was a large white machine that had a glowing circle at the center of its underbelly. It resembled an arc reactor. A strange machine began extending from inside the circle. The machine was like a robotic arm, the end of which was a clear orb. The arm stopped moving downward and folded at a bit of an angle, suspending the orb at the end of it just about a meter away from Ames's face. From underneath the recliner, he could hear mechanical creaking, but it paused into silence shortly after.
"This is for us to know exactly how we're going to help you, Professor. It'll monitor your brain activity. All of it. Every synapse. Our system will be able to generate an accurate interpretation of the gathered data and translate them into visual constructs in our analytical programs."
All around him, Ames could see a faint blue glow rising upward. It was like a screen rolling up around him, connecting with the circumference of the machine above him and sealing him in.
"Force field," he deduced.
"Don't worry, Professor. That's just for your protection. Our protection, too, actually."
"I'm not going to hurt anybody," Ames replied, sincerely hoping he could sound more reassuring. Especially to himself.
"Of course, Professor. However, we have confirmation of your telekinetic abilities. Psionic abilities tend to behave erratically when put under complex neuropsychological procedures or anything of the sort. Especially when machinery is involved."
'Confirmation of my telekinetic abilities,' Ames repeated in his mind. 'I haven't told anybody about my telepathy yet.'
'I can't let them know.'
'Not just yet.'
'I need answers.'
The mechanical creaking underneath the recliner returned. Ames began to notice another robotic arm rising from just beyond the top of his head, from under the recliner. It broke off to three metal tentacles: one approaching his forehead, the others slithering to his temples.
"It may be a bit uncomfortable, Professor."
Ames took a deep breath, opening another one of his mental boxes: the telekinetic one. In a second, he allowed the telekinetic energy to take over his body, making sure that it was most evident in his head area. He could feel his heart rate quicken at a speed that was beyond normal but also consistent in its elevated state.
There was an electric whirring around his head coming from the tentacle tips.
Their eventual connection to his head didn't feel like anything at first, but it warmed up in almost no time.
"Whew," Ames breathed out, tempering the warmth on his head. It didn't hurt. It was just annoying. It didn't take long for the warmth to interact with the energy that was already flowing through his veins.
"That's a strong read, Dr. Young."
"Scan shows hyperactivity of psionic energy. It's not just in his brain. It's everywhere."
'It's working,' Ames realized, making the faintest smirk he'd ever made. There were two active voices in the speaker right now: the female scientist from earlier and a male voice. Another scientist, Ames figured. Probably an analyst.
"Telekinesis?"
"Telekinesis, definitely."
Ames stared at the orb suspended above him. The light that was now radiating from it had a lulling sensation to it. Somewhere in Ames's mind, he figured a holographic spectacle would have to be coming next. The movements of the lights that danced above him called Max to mind.
'They're going to try to get answers from me,' Ames knew. 'But first, I need answers from them.'
'Time for that little box at the back of my mind.'
He put his focus onto it, keeping the coating of telekinetic energy active as he opened the new box. It was the telepathy box, and from within that box, he pulled out another box.
He had thought to give it a try. He'd been noticing it for a while now, knowing fully well what it was. He hadn't played around with it yet. Right now was a good time to try.
Ames kept his eyes open, staying attentive to the things happening around him and inside of him as he opened the new box. When its energy spilled out and mixed with the telekinetic camouflage, Ames could feel his body entering a sudden equilibrium of sparking consciousness and a counteracting need for meditation.
'Gosh...,' he thought, taking a while to get a good grip on the new experience. It was a real trip. It was definitely worse than getting drunk. 'Astral projection is a bitch.'
He couldn't fully access the new box. The telekinesis box was still wide open. Half and half didn't feel sufficient either. He had to close the first box a bit more.
'I just have to make sure that I don't dull the camouflage too much. I need it at the forefront and a few more layers inward.'
With a bit of a cognitive push, he adjusted his telekinesis box down to approximately thirty percent activation. Thankfully, it was still a glaring enough distraction. He opened the astral projection box a bit wider, at a good sixty percent. With his focus more heavily aimed at projecting, his telepathy box was now only at ten percent activation. He'd never really thought of quantifying his access of his boxes. It was something he'd decided to do just now, but somehow, his mind was already adjusting to it. He could feel it in his body.
'Sixty percent, it is,' he thought to himself, taking a deep breath as he felt himself beginning to disconnect. He could feel himself slowly and delicately drifting away. It was as if a part of him from deep within the tightest cracks of his being was seeping out, taking his shape. He could feel its increasing isolation. The sensations in his nerves were starting to dull out to him, followed by his thoughts, followed by the telekinetic energy that concealed what he was doing. He was drifting away more and more by the second, wafting away from the walls that wrapped around him and solidified him.
Leaving behind the bliss of experience.
Just like that, Ames was free. He found himself upright, levitating in his etheric form just outside the blue force field and floating in front of his physical body, which continued to lay with eyes open on the recliner.
Ames looked around him, glad about the confirmation that nobody had noticed. Everybody was still preoccupied with observing his physical body.
They couldn't see him in this form, as it appeared. This translucent, incorporeal, undetected form seemed to be visible only to himself. A perceived form, perhaps, Ames thought.
He moved closer toward the nearby observation window, proceeding to glide past the rest of the perimeter's windows and watch people carrying on with whatever they were doing in the physical realm. Flying in his current form as opposed to his physical form felt different. Movement felt much more fluid, less methodical. It was much like normal flying, but without physical effort. It was almost as if he was willing himself from one place to another.
It felt like a lucid dream, but more immersive and more decisively navigated. The observers remained unaware that he was already gliding around the place, keeping in mind their faces and their work.
"It's definitely telekinesis," the male voice continued speaking. Ames turned toward the speaking scientist, proceeding to float toward the window before which the man was positioned. "But with finer control. The professor's telekinetic energy grows stronger with every synapse. From simply moving things with his mind, the professor has taken it to an extent where it's an extension of his willpower. His imagination. With atomic precision. Enforcers reported he erased the dome and almost erased our NAIs. He's almost a Midnight Sambac two-point-oh. Doctor Manawi, it won't take long before he surpasses her level of power."
'I wonder how she handled it,' Ames thought, placing his hand on the window. He gasped a bit as his hand phased through the surface of the glass, feeling no more than nothing. Not even a scratch of atoms. He retracted his hand, lowering it unsurely.
"A power that's a direct extension of one's force is already a problem," the female scientist, Dr. Manawi, replied in a tone ready for discussion. "Imagine a power that allows you to manipulate matter, the elements. That's either a blueprint for accelerated societal progress or a weapon of mass destruction."
"Then we should be thankful he hasn't decided to go for finer particles, Doctor. If so, we'll be lining up the church confessionals. Sponsoring mass funerals, too. My goodness. He might."
Ames found it interesting how the statement made Dr. Manawi turn off the microphone before them. Wanting to know more, Ames floated right through the windowed wall, through the desk pushed against it on the other side, to a space good enough for him to hear the conversation and check out the computers with which the scientists were analyzing his brain activity.
The two professionals were deep in their scrutiny of the images flashing in one of the monitors before them. The other scientists were split. Some were listening to the two main discussers while the others feasted their eyes on the technological marvel before them.
"What are you getting at?"
"Quantum particles, Doctor Manawi. Right now, he can terraform a city or the entire Luzon with his psionic ability to move and manipulate matter at an atomic level. He erased the Diameter. Even absorbed the variant shards. It's a good thing we still have a few ripe ones here in HQ in cold storage. Imagine if he starts playing with quantum particles."
"You mean to say..."
"Reality manipulation, Doctor."
Ames scanned Dr. Manawi's face, noting her expression of her inner conflict between suspension of disbelief and skepticism.
"That's a stretch, Doctor Young. I know we're supposed to be open-minded, but that feels like a stretch to me."
"Hey, I'm just saying. Besides, we live in a world of superhumans, Doc. We literally have the Creaton. You can't be a skeptic now."
"What's next, Doctor Young?" a resistant chuckle broke out of Dr. Manawi's mouth at the tail-end of her question. "A multiverse?"
Ames found Dr. Young's silence incredibly fascinating. It was a doubtful yes, but a yes, nonetheless. The puzzled look on Dr. Manawi's face was suspended in its understandable but comical state for a while.
"That's crossing the line," Dr. Manawi broke her confused silence. "Yeah, we've had an atom manipulator before, but we've never reached the point that we had reality manipulators. I don't think any subject could acquire such a high level of power."
"It's all theoretical," Dr. Young pointed out. "But we're not talking about Midnight Sambac. We're talking about the Omega Phenomenon."
The scientists looked toward Ames's body.
"He...," Dr. Young continued. "He is the reason why we value arithmetic, high-tier safety protocols, limitations, et cetera. He was never supposed to happen. But there he is. Worst-case scenario. Unforeseen."
Ames noticed the expression of discomfort on Dr. Manawi's face as she looked toward Dr. Young again.
"Careful with your word choice, Doctor Young," she said sternly. "He's still a person."
"I don't mean to objectify him as this weapon or this cataclysm waiting to happen," Dr. Young replied defensively, looking back at Dr. Manawi. "I understand he did it out of good intention, and I truly, truly respect that. But now, we have a problem that we have no assurance of fixing permanently. It's like COVID-19 all over again. You know how poorly that was handled."
'Permanently,' Ames couldn't look at the scientists as he repeated the word in his head. It intruded his mind like an ominous rumble of thunder. There was a long list of things that he had to do, and that included making sure that he wouldn't turn out to be a cataclysm. If that were to happen, he wouldn't have much of a life to spend with Max.
Ames knew that if such a thing were to happen, he would become a high-level threat. That was something he judged the superhumans for, and they weren't even Omega Phenomena. He was.
'I want to get fixed. I'll hold whatever dangerous thing it is inside me back. I want to be with Max. I want to spend my days with him. Love him every day. I can't let my situation be permanent. I'll do whatever it takes.'
'When all this is done, I'm going home to our secret world. To the fireflies and the starlight that have never failed us.'
'I hope they do manage to fix me,' Ames thought to himself, floating away a bit. 'I'll be complicit. I just need to find some things out.'
"The past weeks have been wild, huh?" Dr. Manawi sighed before speaking again. "We lose the Alpha Phenomenon; we activate the New Age Initiative. We bring down the Severance Seven and no longer have to worry about The Legion; we get the Omega Phenomenon."
"If only a one-year leave was a thing," Dr. Young replied sarcastically.
Something to the left caught Ames's attention. He looked toward it.
It was a large shelf containing thick folders and envelopes. The labels on them were eye-catching.
One folder, in particular, was a standout.
'The Dr. Elmer Perez Case,' Ames read, recalling in a flash who that person was. 'Malign'.
He made his way toward the shelf, reaching out for the folder and frowning at the sight of his hand phasing through the object.
'No,' he thought, looking around for something he could use. Or someone. 'Definitely, someone.'
On the opposite wall was a server cabinet, a random bookshelf the width of a person, and an organizational chart.
'Gotcha'.'
Ames floated toward the organizational chart.
'I should be able to possess one of these dudes. Someone with a good enough reason to be reading a document like that.'
The chart was rather informative, displaying not only the personnel's photographs, names, and their designated roles but also the divisions to which the roles belonged. As for the rehabilitation crew, there were only two people representing the Psionics department: Dr. Warren Young and Dr. Corey Prado.
Dr. Warren Young was currently busy discussing quantum theory with Dr. Manawi.
As for Dr. Corey Prado, he was keeping a watchful eye on the ongoing brain scan.
'Right...,' Ames thought, quickly devising a plan to get himself a good view of the folder's contents. 'This better work.'
'Let me just redo my strategy real quick.'
Using a conduit was hard. Ames had to make sure that he was suggesting and not pushing. Strongly suggesting, however. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to get things done smoothly. His senses were now linked with Dr. Prado's, and he had decided to up his telepathy a little bit. All the scientist would hear would be the little voice at the back of his mind. Much like a conscience but actually a possession.
Ames would make sure to wipe the scientist's memory of this little sidestep clear the moment the possession fulfilled its purpose.
Dr. Prado now stood before the shelf, and with Ames's light nudge, the scientist took out the folder and put it down a nearby empty work desk.
'A little scan won't hurt,' Ames suggested. 'Come on. It'll make you more involved in this whole thing.'
As intended, Dr. Prado opened the folder.
'Come on, Doctor Prado,' Ames nudged a little more. 'Read on.'
He didn't have to get every single word. He just needed a thorough enough scan of each page. Whatever popped out, he would consume for his own benefit.
Dr. Prado started flipping carefully through the pages, eventually making it to the executive summary.
'That's a good place to start,' Ames decided.
'Doctor Elmer Perez, being a clinical psychiatrist, functioned as a primary consultant for the program,' Ames started reading the executive summary through Dr. Prado's eyes, attracted to the highlighted phrases and sentences. 'He was a doctorate graduate of Gonzales University of Arts and Sciences. He was proactive in his work, hands-on, and wrote article after article in his study of superhuman mental health and psychology. These articles were written solely for Division's access and benefit. His more common reader-friendly articles were no less impressive.'
'At his so-called "academic behest", subjects who failed to manifest powers after surviving the second exposure were removed from the program,' he continued reading. Keeping Dr. Prado encouraged to read through was an added chore. The scientist was more than excited to get back to watching the brain scan.
'Patience, Doc,' Ames urged. 'Keep reading. Make yourself useful.'
'These "failed subjects" went through unpredictable episodes of cognitive dissonance, catatonia-like states, severe decline and irregular escalations of communication skills and tendencies,' the reading continued. 'These were unusual for second-exposure survivors, considering that the augmentation of cognitive functions is a constant effect of the first exposure, among others. However, these irregularities were consistent among those who were deemed failures.'
Ames found that to be a curious point.
'Cognitive dissonance? Irregular communication? Catatonia-like states?
'Very interesting. Familiar. Somehow.'
'They were unable to communicate and function properly, and they often found themselves at the center of commotion,' the reading was becoming more intriguing by the sentence. 'Doctor Perez suggested rehabilitation before sending them off via the Contract.'
'Why does that sound so convenient?' Ames wondered. 'What's the takeaway here?'
Ames nudged Dr. Prado to flip the page, the possessed scientist doing as suggested.
'Doctor Perez also often found these failed subjects silently convening in the most unexpected places, virtually doing nothing before dispersing,' Ames found that to be another interesting detail. It seemed to him that these failed subjects collectively developed unique socializing behaviors.
'They couldn't have been just standing around, right?'
'Doctor Perez began to take a darker turn in his career, showing increased aggression in how he carried out his work. He frequently got into heated disagreements with colleagues, often warning them about the dangers of the failed subjects. When reports of relieved failed subjects dying increased at an alarming rate, investigations were made, leading to little to no evidence of culpability that was indicative of anyone, even Doctor Perez. The investigations lasted for almost two decades before the psychiatrist was eventually discovered to be the one responsible, with necessary evidence to confirm his crimes. During that time period, the victim type branched out from failed subjects to seemingly random victims.'
Ames had an inkling. A disturbing inkling. He was starting to connect the dots faster than he had expected, and the speed of his understanding was uncomfortable.
'The psychiatrist was eventually captured by Division for his crimes. However, his capture was short-lived due to his unexpected escape, followed by his reported self-exposure to the Creaton.'
"Doctor Prado...," a voice called out from the right. When Ames turned toward the voice, so did Dr. Prado. It was Dr. Young, and he was looking at Dr. Prado curiously. The other scientists were starting to do the same. Ames felt an unexpected detachment from his hold on his conduit. Dr. Prado's sudden snap into fully autonomous consciousness was about to display in full blast. Ames rushed to regain control, syncing immediately with the scientist's consciousness. "You're reading the Malign case files?"
'Yes. Just out of curiosity.'
"Yes," Dr. Prado replied. "Just out of curiosity."
"Curiosity about what, Doc?" Dr. Young asked.
Ames had a question in mind. Questions, actually.
'Just trying to remember if we've had other psionic superhumans before.'
"Just trying to remember if we've had other psionic superhumans before," Dr. Prado said.
"Why, yes," Dr. Young replied, glancing at Dr. Manawi emphatically. "We had two with telekinetic abilities. Both currently deceased, if you remember. Basic telekinesis only. Nothing like this."
'Oh,' Ames thought. Clearly, psionic types were a rarity.
'What about telepaths?'
"Oh," Dr. Prado said. "What about telepaths?"
"About that...," Dr. Young paused for a while to think. "Only Malign came out as a telepath. His little "last hurrah" before he fled to pursue a life of chaos. He's become our biggest headache ever. Literally. Had the Research and Development folks busy with developing those psionic scrambler helmets our agents and our superhumans now wear for protection against his telepathy. Malign was that headache. Until recently, anyway. No other telepaths thus far. Just like how the previous Alpha's the only empath we've had all this time."
The inkling in Ames's mind buzzed like an intrusive alarm. The realization that followed not even a second after took his breath for a moment.
'Son of a bitch,' Ames thought, trying not to show his agitation.
"Son of a bitch," Dr. Prado uttered obediently, much to the surprise of the others. Ames realized that he was still connected to the scientist's consciousness. "That Malign..."
"That was intense," Dr. Young commented, chuckling unsurely at the remark. "But yeah. Malign was quite one of a kind."
'One of a kind,' Ames repeated. It was as sarcastic as it could be.
"One of a kind..."
Ames was able to put two and two together.
Somehow, all of the failed subjects had displayed strange communication and socializing behaviors despite the increased intelligence and the occasional company of each other. They'd been found numerous times in the middle of commotions, either on their own or in groups. While speech hadn't been a problem for them, they'd been observed to, strangely, prefer silence and had even had catatonia-like episodes. These unusual observations had required their rehabilitation prior to getting kicked out of the program.
Dr. Perez had turned out to be responsible for their eventual deaths and that of unrelated others. He had vocally considered them dangerous despite having seen them as unreliable. Conveniently, Dr. Perez had since become the most dangerous superhuman criminal and terrorist with telepathic abilities.
In addition to everything Max had said before, the new pieces of information were pushing forward a strong hypothesis that left Ames in an inner gloom: Malign had killed telepaths.
Malign hadn't just been killing for no reason and without pattern.
He had locked in on a specific target: telepaths.
Their descendants included. Heredity was a thing even for the evolved.
Which meant two more important things: Benedicto Montenegro had died a telepath. Harvey, on the other hand, had died as a consequence of inheriting the telepathic gene. Something he probably hadn't even known.
As for Malign? He now held the twisted title of being the only confirmed telepath.
He'd been the only one left alive to make the most out of the power.
To maximize and master its lethal potential.
A truly cunning man. A dangerously greedy and twisted man.
Considering what the mad psychiatrist had become before his death, the darkest and most power-hungry agent of chaos and leader of the Severance Seven, Ames found himself speechless in shock at the malicious genius of Dr. Elmer Perez's grand design.
"One of a kind."
"He's being scanned right now," a familiar elderly voice floated in from somewhere, snapping Ames out of his eureka moment. "We can only stay here a while. Make this count, Max."
Ames wanted to locate the voice immediately. He wanted to head right to where Max was. He knew that voice had to be Lazaro's.
Ames wrapped up his possession of Dr. Prado's mind with his last instructions.
'I'm going to leave your mind now, Doctor Prado. You will forget and never remember that I controlled you. Your actions leading up to this point were all motivated by your intellectual curiosity. Nothing more. Now, get back to your spot by the glass.'
With that, Ames detached from the scientist's body and traced where Lazaro's voice had drifted in from, quickly proceeding to float through the space—and phase through the obstacles in it—to where Max and Lazaro would be. Ames found them standing near the entrance of the laboratory.
The look on Max's face came to Ames like a punch to the gut. He didn't have to be an empath to recognize the pain and the exhaustion on his man's face. He didn't need his telepathy to see the desperation so persistently dominant in his man's mind.
They'd had to adjust so much to allow Max to return to a semblance of normalcy and humanity, from the name changes to everything else.
This was the first time Ames had ever truly seen Max in his most human: tired, a bit run-down, barely hanging on. The way Max looked reminded Ames of the night they had first met, except that this time around, he looked more burdened and less regal.
But persevering.
Ames floated toward Max, knowing fully well that his man couldn't see him.
'Perhaps,' Ames considered. 'He might be able to feel me in this form. This, um, ether form. Somehow. Maybe.'
'He's so handsome. So beautiful.'
'So exhausted and hurt.'
Ames reached up to caress Max's face, but just like with any other solid matter, his hand merely phased through his man's face.
Except there was something in there that his hand could feel, and it was reacting to even the slightest movements of his hand.
It was slightly abrasive as it interacted with his hand, but it eventually adjusted, smoothing out to the touch. So to speak. It felt very similar to his own ether.
Ames could see that Max was feeling it, too.
Max lifted his hand and touched his own cheek. A slow register of sorrow manifested discreetly on his face.
It was a hauntingly human look on a superhuman's face, like a god having a human experience.
The most painful, most human experience: love.
'I love you so much,' Ames thought, retracting his hand. He could feel the energy from inside Max reaching out to his retracting hand in small sparks before parting from the connection inevitably. When his hand was back down to his side, he could still feel the sparking sensations on them. They were comforting as they lingered.
"I had a thought in my head, Max," Lazaro said. "When we found out you're alive."
"What is it?" Max asked hoarsely. Ames gazed into Max's exhausted eyes. Ames wanted to give his man the tightest, longest embrace, but he couldn't. Couldn't kiss him, either.
"I wondered what it could've been about being human that had made you so desperate to escape," Lazaro clarified. "I wondered why anybody would want to go back to being vulnerable if they could stay above and beyond. I found the answer later on."
"Which is?" Max urged him to go on, eyes on Ames's physical body.
"Vulnerability," Lazaro said, making Max look at him. "The vulnerability to love. The vulnerability to time. The vulnerability to life."
"Vulnerability..."
"When we know we can't do everything, when we know we can't live forever, we learn to value every day and every night. Every simple thing. Every small victory. Every soul. We learn to love. Love hard and true. Because an eternity is a privilege the vulnerable can't have and an excess they'll find out soon enough that they never needed."
"Sounds like you're coming from a personal place, Lazaro," Max commented. Ames could see it in Lazaro's face. It was a personal statement. It was a philosophy that had come from something painful, but it was now overshadowed by a professional exterior.
"I'm old just like you, Max," Lazaro reminded him. "Not older than you, but I am more vulnerable. Always been. I've had my lowest of lows. Now, you're learning to be vulnerable, too."
Ames observed as Max slowly looked toward the scanning room again.
"I love him so much," Max said, an expression of deep-seated longing on his face. "I can't wait to spend my days with him."
The words gripped Ames with a longing of his own. He'd been fighting so hard for their future together to survive. It had already been quite the journey, and they had barely even begun to celebrate the love they now both admitted they had for each other.
"It could be a long time before you could have him back, Max," Lazaro replied. "Very long, even."
'Very long time?' Ames stared at Lazaro in concern. 'Well, shit. I guess that makes sense. Fuck.'
Ames knew that rehabilitating from this mess would take time, but a very long time? He wasn't sure how he would survive something so indefinitely long and lonely. Still, he knew he would be doing his best to be better, and he knew that he would be fighting as hard as Division needed him to, even if he had never been, and most likely would never be, a fan of it. There were rules to play by now, and he needed to abide by them for a while.
'When this chapter is over,' Ames thought. 'We're both gone.'
"I'll wait," Max said, not even glancing back at Lazaro. The longing in Max's eyes radiated a deep pain that Ames knew too well. "No matter how long."
'And I'll do my best.'
"You know your end of the agreement," Lazaro added. "I hope you hang on to it. The suppression will make sure you stay hidden. After today, you are no longer a superhero."
'Wait, what?' Ames thought, tensing in alarm at the words. 'Suppression? Power suppression?'
'Agreement?'
Ames wanted to go back to his body immediately to ask questions more vocally, but there was so much to learn from here in this state, too. He didn't like the sound of that "agreement". Surely, Max was doing it out of love, whatever it was. Ames just hoped that Max hadn't been too desperate in his decision-making. He had to look after himself, too. In addition to that, Ames had never known Division to be the most trustworthy entity to make agreements with. There was more to this. There had to be.
Ames noticed the laboratory entrance door sliding open. He looked toward it, finding a face he'd been missing for a while now. For a moment, he wanted to run to her and hug her, remembering shortly after that he was absent to human senses. She looked surprised upon seeing and recognizing Max and Lazaro's backs and retreated back out of sight. Max and Lazaro looked back too late, finding only a closed door.
It was probably for the best.
'Eliza, you crazy witch. I miss you.'