This Is Where The Magic Happens

The world was asleep while I was awake. 

There was time to kill before my watch shift, so I took Xolotl out for a fly. I love watching the sunrise from high up in the sky. It almost feels like I get to help defend the sun with the lightning god himself. All is calm right now as we soar across the horizon. 

As the morning arrives, the sun is red. 

And the air has become opaque with a smoky haze. 

An omen of spilled blood and snuffed out life.  

Something cold crawls down my back. I give Xolotl’s scruff a tug, signaling for him to turn around. 

“What is that?”

While we get closer to home, I spot what must be ships on the shore, but they look completely wrong. They are huge, shiny like obsidian with smoke curling up and out of them. I snap my fingers by my ears, sending just enough of a spark to regain my hearing for a moment. War cries and crying screams are coming from the city clearly even from this distance. 

“Looks like it's time to live up to mom’s vision. Come on!”

I will make sure whatever this threat is can't escape. Xolotl is given his sign: a sharp whistle and a click. He growls, snarls, and in an instant, all of his fur stands on end. Lightning flashes where it arches between the tips of his wings. I stand on his back and take aim. Snap-crack! Simultaneously, we launch our lightning down at the ships— mine jumping from my finger tips and Xolotl’s shoots from his maw. It takes only a few bolts until all those ships are sinking into the water.

We land further up the path. I jump off Xolotl as he rams and sinks his teeth into a mounted komodo rhino. He is given another sign: a short, clipped ululation. Go hunt. 

I dodge a fire thrown at me and strike at the first enemy I catch in my line of sight. It's only as they try to attack back do I realize that these people we are fighting are other, rage fueled fire benders! 

Questions flash through my mind. Who are they? Why have they come here and what do they want? None of this matters in the heat of battle. 

I fight my way towards the heart of the city, hoping to find a familiar face or the chief. The enemies take notice of my abilities. One with peculiar head gear points at me and gives commands to those nearby. 

Good. Bring it. Focus your attention on me. 

The first two fall effortlessly before me. While the next three get blasted away. Another trio took too long to defeat for my liking. I go to throw a bolt only for my arm to be grabbed by a cold, braided rope. It pulls me away from a clear hit on my target and bites into my skin. 

It's unlike any weapon I've ever seen. 

In a moment, my curiosity is my undoing as an enemy runs over on my opposing side, pinning my arm behind my back. I hiss and feel the energy gathering deep in my stomach quickly rise up into my throat. A light is beginning to form in the back of my mouth. The enemy is smarter than they look. Before I can fire my shot, they drag me over to a rain barrel, and dunk my head under the water. I'm forced to stop lest I hurt myself in the process. 

All I can do is hold my breath. If I try to fight them off now, all I do is waste what air I already have in my lungs. 

I never would have thought until now that drowning happens so quickly. Only a few seconds and my chest is burning in a way that has nothing to do with fire bending. My hold falters for just the briefest of seconds. During that slightest moment, water floods my mouth. The limited light I have in this barrel begins to dim along with my vision. The hearth fire in my chest is being extinguished. The heart beat in my ears is gaining speed yet dulling too. All is turning cold.

Is this what fear feels like? 

It must be. 

I'm dying. 

The pressure on my back and arms are lifted. The liquid tomb is receding away. The hits to my back forces the water out. 

I'm on my knees gasping for air. Once my vision stops being spotty, I notice the dead enemy face up in front of me, and I look up to the person who saved me. 

Shono.

My younger sister. 

My eyes briefly flit down to the dead man. Yes, that's her pole arm. She is my hero and she's trying to tell me something. 

All I can focus on though is how I almost drowned. 

How quickly I was disarmed and taken down. How quickly that could have been her or mom or dad or Uncle Cozo. How quickly a person can die.

Shono is trying to pull me to my feet. 

Behind her, my eyes catch the flames of battle streaking through the air. 

Xolotl is in the distance flying this way. 

The maize farmer, Elotl, his cart is burning down. The weaver, Ocoxochi, her shop is burning down. The statue of Coatlicue is burning down. 

My world is burning down around me. 

I must protect my sister. 

I must protect my family. 

I must protect my people. 

Everything around me was like a dream. I was asleep while the world was awake. 

1998, Late Summer/Early Fall. 

ACME’s main compound in what used to be Seattle, Washington, USA. 

Roughly four years after the apocalypse started. 

Carlotta pinched her eyes shut, trying to force away the wave of dizziness that hit after she moved the microscope slide over too fast. 

The knock on the door to the lab made her stand up straight, breathing through the nausea as her friend stepped inside. 

Agent Tamara Fraser, a field agent, though she was well on her way to moving up the ranks of ACME. 

“How long have you been cooped up in here today?” 

Carlotta went back to the slide, searching for any evidence the virus was being targeted by antibodies. “What time is it?” 

“Nearly six.” 

She paused, doing the math, realizing that she’d been there far longer than she probably should have been. 

“Carlotta.” 

“Almost thirteen hours,” she finally answered, giving her friend a sheepish look over her shoulder.

Tamara was unimpressed. “Please at least tell me you’ve eaten.” 

“Uh,” Carlotta racked her brain, then snapped her fingers. “Ay, Sí! Yes.” 

It hadn’t been much, but in her defense her appetite had been rather bipolar for the last couple of weeks. 

“When?” Tamara pried. 

Mierda, she had her there. 

“Mmm, no sé.” 

“Carlotta!” 

“What? I’m busy. ‘A salvar el mundo’, ¿Sabes?” 

“You can’t make a cure to the Virus if you pass out from hunger.” 

Carlotta opened her mouth, ready to correct terminology, but—

“I know—” Tamara held her hands up in defense. “Can’t ‘cure’ a virus, it’s a vaccine. You know what I meant.” 

She did, but she also kind of wanted to pick a fight about it. 

“I’m fine,” she decided to say instead. 

“You are not. Just in the last few weeks you’ve been locking yourself in this lab for hours on end. You’re exhausted. I’ve hardly seen you eating. You’re working yourself to the bone over this!” 

“Because I know I’ve almost found something! I can’t stop now.” 

“Then at least take a break! By all means, you’ve earned it at this point.” 

Carlotta was starting to get frustrated. “I’ll take a break when the outside world isn’t crawling with monsters anymore.” 

“You’re running yourself into the ground for something that probably shouldn’t even be done.” 

“What?” Now that caught her off guard. “Why not?!” 

“Just-think about it! You really don’t think a vaccine getting made won’t make everything worse?”

“Last I checked, the whole point of all this,” Carlotta gestured to the lab and herself, “Is to fix the world.” 

“Right, but what happens if VILE gets their hands on it? What happens when they steal the vaccines and use them as bargaining chips?” 

“Or, what if it actually saves the world? Once there’s no more Infected, VILE can be handled easier.” 

“It could become a tool to control people, dangling salvation over their heads. That’d be a good way to do it,” Tamara argued, though her expression shifted to something else at the last sentence. 

Something in Tamara’s words and the way she’d said it gave Carlotta a sinking feeling. 

What’s stopping ACME from doing the same? 

The vaccine needed to be made; humanity depended on it. 

But Tamara also had a point. 

It could be used as a way to control people, but not by VILE. 

The times she’d been allowed out of the compound for supply runs she’d seen firsthand how ACME slowly took over the towns they ‘saved’. Sure, some of them had been a bit more…lawless, than others, but many of them were simply just settlements of people trying to survive. 

Offering more consistent food, medicine, and better defenses against the Infected was worth it in exchange for a bit less freedom. ACME gets a new base of operations and trade routes out of the deal, and in many cases, new recruits. 

Teens were so easily convinced, desperate to get out of their small towns and see the world, to help…

Carlotta’s mind drifted to the cause of her earlier dizziness. Though, it was still probably almost microscopic at this point, let alone eligible for ACME recruiting. She pushed the thought away. 

So maybe she has an ulterior motive for wanting a vaccine made, sue her. 

Tamara sighed, “At least come eat a decent meal? They’re doing breakfast stuff for dinner in the mess hall. Eggs, turkey bacon—” She stopped her sentence, noticing the former vet go pale. “Carlotta? You okay?” 

Normally, she’d already be halfway down the hallway at the mention of breakfast for dinner, but just the thought of the smells alone made Carlotta’s stomach flip, and she lost the battle with nausea.

She lunged for the nearby trash can, losing whatever was left of her meager meal from…lunch? She was pretty sure it was around lunchtime when she’d eaten. 

Once she was sure her stomach had actually settled, she unceremoniously slid to sit on the floor. Wordlessly, Tamara offered a water bottle from the fridge marked “HUMAN FOOD ONLY - NO BIOHAZARDS”, and she took it gratefully. 

After a few seconds, Tamara broke the silence. “Carlotta?” 

“I’m—” 

“Don’t say you’re fine. What’s going on?” 

She hesitated for a moment before responding. “It’s just a stomach bug or something. It’ll resolve itself eventually.” 

It wasn’t a completely untrue sentence. 

Tamara looked unsure, but before she could argue further Carlotta had already gotten to her feet, leaning on the counter. 

“On second thought, maybe lying down for a little while wouldn’t be so bad.”

In possibly record time, she cleaned up and put away equipment, glancing one last time at the slide. 

Nothing had happened. 

She glared at it, as if that would make something change. 

It didn’t. 

She relented for the night, disposing of the biohazardous slide. She switched the lights off and locked up the lab, promising her friend she’d eat something before she went to bed. 

She needed to tell Dexter soon; they needed to come up with a plan. 

Some choices were easier made than others. Candidates where flash clones would not even need to be used, and, although Catherine did not delude herself with ideas of moral high ground, it would be beneficial to remove the children from their current surroundings.

Candidate 019, Celik, Serin. Homewold: Cascade. Neglected by a drug addict mother and surviving on the charity of a school teacher.

Candidate 092, Cable, Jerome. Homeworld: Minister. The entire settlement was under the thumb of a local warlord, and the boy was already involved in organized crime. He was thriving, in a manner, but his abilities could be put to better purpose.

Candidate 006, No Surname, Jai. Homewold: Bhuj. Orphan. No known family. Already a thrill seeker according to the scouting report. It would hardly be an effort to take him. His adoption paperwork could simply be forged and no one would question where Jai with no surname had gone.

Candidate 065, Lee, Shelia. Homeworld: Luna. Current status as runaway unreported by family members, but monitored by a project agent. Evidence of abuse leading to living unhoused. The resilience she showed, along with her resourcefulness, would serve her well.

Candidate 066, Abrahamsen, Soren. Homeworld: Dwarka. Orphaned. She was on the fence, as the saying went, about this one. The report by the scout wasn't thorough enough for her standards. She intended to visit Soren Abrahamsen direct.

Others were more difficult, both in the choice to acquire them and the need to leave a flash clone behind. The clones would be costly to make, and to ready. And the attentive families might question differences with more intensity.

Perhaps it was as cruel to the family to leave a clone to degrade and mysteriously perish as simply having the candidate vanish. A child's death versus a child's disappearance. Catherine could not fathom which was worse, and she didn't allow herself to try.

Candidate 104, Ellsworth, Frederic. Homewold: Ballast. Single mother devoted to raising him, working multiple jobs to send him to a school for the gifted.

Candidate 087, Shaddock, Kelly. Homeworld: Imber. Two parent household, preparing for her upcoming birthday.

Candidate 058, Pravdin, Linda. Homeworld: Verent. Being raised by two mothers. Halsey's first choice of candidate, but briefly removed from consideration due to her grandfather's standing in Earth/Colony politics. However, once flash cloning was put forward as a way to cover up the recruitment, Linda was allowed to be added again.

Candidate 010, Sentzke, Naomi. Homewold: Sansar. Dedicated parents. There was some history of mental illness on her mother's side, but the no sign Naomi had inherited it. Her father was a military man, but also a conspiracy theorist.

Candidate 051. Trevelyan, Kurt. Homeworld: Circumstance. Living with Grandparents while both parents serve in the military.

Candidate 042, Rutland, Douglas. Homewold: Asphodel. Second child of the Rutland family, owners of Rutland Industry, who primarily manufactured Yachts to those who could afford them. It would be quite an adjustment for Douglas.

Candidate 034, Westergaard, Samuel. Homeworld: Harvest. Part of the Westergaard clan, a family who had been part of Harvest's original founding and farmed a large portion along the equatorial region on the southern continent. Close knit ties between kin. Samuel was a focal point of his family as eldest child of the newest generation, and a charmer, according to the reports.

Candidate 130, Treske, Alice. Homewold: Passage. Large close knit family. She was already showing an impressive propensity for engineering.

Candidate 117...

Catherine put down her cold cup and attempted to find one where the coffee was still lukewarm.

John from Eridanus II.

He was one of the candidates she scouted herself. The first. The boy was perfect according to her prerequisites. And innocent. That was what she saw in him first, watching him viciously defend his place as 'king of the hill.' No malice or intent to harm, simply a drive to be the best. He actually made her smile when she spoke to him and he declared chess boring because he always won and it was no challenge.

The boy was determined. Determined to win. And lucky. Catherine could have rationalized out why he called the coin flip correctly so many times, but sometimes it was best to admit a person had luck. They would need that.

"Dr. Halsey?" Deja said, and Catherine realized she lingered on 117's data overly long.

She took off her glasses and tossed them on the desk, rubbing her eyes.

In a perfect world, none of this would be done. But it was far from a perfect world, and if she let personal feelings start to get involved, the Spartan II Program was doomed. She had already given that pep talk to all her people, the scouts, CPO Mendez and his incoming staff.

Dear Faculty and Administration of Frost-ridge University 

I hope this letter finds you miserable. 

Recently I was expelled from Frostridge University based on these grounds: 

"Necromancy based magic has no place on campus.... your thesis violates the guidelines here at Frostridge University and will have to be rejected.... because of this you will be expelled from the program. (shortened for brevity, the full email is attached below) " 

How DARE you!  Do you know how much time and research went into this? How many nights I spent pouring blood, sweat, and tears into my project? Not only do you reject it, but you EXPELL me? 

If this wasn't such blatant disrespect I would laugh in the face of all you spineless cowards. As I explained in my thesis, what I did was not 'Necromancry' , it was a derivative of healing magic. 

You can look at the runes I used for the spells, none of them have the basis of Necromancy. The rulebook prohibits that, not what I did! I resurrected that flower through approved magics, in no way should I be punished for figuring out a way to bring a living thing back to life in this way!

All because of what? Some childish fear of zombies? Of undead armies? Of loss of funds for the local mortician. Please.

 The amount of mana it would take to resurrect just one person would be unfeasible. 

 No one would ever use my spell for such a task, as it is inefficient. If they were gonna do something as illegal as bringing someone to life, they would do so using the forbidden necromancy spells that could be found with enough work and research. 

In fact in our---well I guess not 'ours' any more since I was expelled---very halls there are books that map out the different methods that can be used to do so. Should the board, the administration be fired for daring to have it in our libraries?

You're all hypocrites. 

“It shouldn't be done.” 

You know what else shouldn't be done? 

Our university president , President Jackson, using unauthorized university funds to go on a vacation. According to treasury reports there is an unaccounted for 10k every semester for the past 20 years. About the same time there President Jackson goes on a luxurious trip to another country. 

 I've attached the photos and analysis of the data below. 

Regardless, I know my work will find the correct audience. Especially since I have sent this letter, my thesis, and my very interesting findings on our president's monetary habits to every major and local news station I could. It is also posted on my various social media pages. 

Let's see what the rest of the world thinks of what should and shouldn't be done, shall we?

Sincerely,

You know who the fuck this is

Attached

> Email of thesis rejection and expulsion of Imani Perkins.png (will send email to anyone who asks for original) 

> Treasury records.docx

"You misheard me," Nico says. He's standing on the beach, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Every time Percy nudges the waves a little closer he takes another step back. "I said me entering your father's domain was a bad idea that shouldn't be done, not that it couldn't."

"No, I heard you," Percy assures him. "I just don't agree. Our dads are not fighting, and even if they were, I still wouldn't let you drown. Don't you believe me?"

Nico sighs. "I believe that you would try to save me. But even you aren't as strong as an Olympian, Percy."

"No," Percy says slowly. "However, I'd die trying, and I doubt Dad would take it that far."

Nico shakes his head. "Even gods have limits, Percy. Even for their favorite child." He looks sad, and Percy's not sure what sister he's thinking of.

He splashes water at Nico to snap him out of. Today is supposed to be fun, no brooding on the past or future allowed. That was the pact they'd made. "I've seen you go into pools and lakes, Nico."

"The lake at camp, Percy. And while I'm sure your father has sway over the swimming pool at the Y, I doubt it's as strong as his sway over the literal ocean."

"Okay, but..." Percy struggles to come up with a response. He wouldn't normally insist, but Nico seems to like the water. Percy didn't drag him to the Y pool, he literally bumped into him while taking Estelle to her swim lessons.

Something flies out of the water then, distracting Percy from his thoughts. Nico yelps and jumps back, but the large, flat object lands in the shallows closer to Percy.

He fishes it out of the water and can't help but grin at the words carved into the smooth stone tablet.

"What is it?" Nico asks suspiciously.

"It's a note from Dad," Percy says. "He promises not to drown you."

At least, that's what he thinks it says. The low contrast of the carved letters in the stone isn't doing his dyslexia any favors.

Nico scoffs. "Yeah, right. Give it here."

"Nuh-uh."

Nico takes several steps back, a determined gleam in his eyes. Percy doesn't understand what's happening until after Nico's taken a flying leap, and while he could still dodge, he doesn't think he should. Letting Nico land on his ass in the shallows won't convince him the ocean's not out to get him, after all.

So Nico crashes into Percy instead, and Percy's too busy calming the water and not falling over to protest when Nico takes the stone tablet.

"'Percy, I promise not to drown your boyfriend,'" Nico reads, sputtering after the word boyfriend.

"Oh, I have no doubt. Still - he was a real asshole, laying into you like that."

They had a project meeting with Nathaniel earlier - an all too common occurrence. Unfortunately, their dear boss got a little louder when Helena dared to disagree with him.

Helena waves her off. "It's not like I mind the yelling. I know how he gets sometimes; I'm used to those little outbursts. I don't take it personally."

"Then why the sour face?"

She sighs, fidgeting with her coffee cup, before quietly explaining, "He has modified that damn trial protocol five different times now because he doesn't like the data. Five times. With the explicit goal of manipulating every possible variable to finally get the results he wants in the end."

"Why does that bug you so much?" Adelaide asks, confused. "You're barely involved in that project."

"Because that's not how it's done! That's not how it should be done," Helena replies, putting her cup down a bit too emphatically. "You form a hypothesis, you derive a way to test for that hypothesis, and then you prove or disprove it. And he is doing the opposite of that - having his mind set on an exact result, and working toward reaching it, no matter what." She shakes her head, sighing again. "It's… it's unscientific."

A little amused, Adelaide raises an eyebrow. "And that's the part you take personally?"

"Apparently, I do," Helena chuckles.

Adelaide studies her for a moment. "You're disappointed in him," she states.

Helena has the urge to protest, because 'disappointment' makes it all sound so strangely intimate - he's her boss, not a close friend. He doesn't owe her anything, so what right does she have to be disappointed? Then she ponders it for a second before finally admitting, "I think so, yes. I have looked up to that man for years. All through university, he was that shining beacon, that paragon of scientific progress. Someone who wouldn't let things like moralities or ethics stop him from pursuing his ultimate quest for knowledge. For the truth. And then to betray that ideal, just because his ego can't handle being wrong, or whatever the reason for this charade is…"

"Well, I have a theory about that, actually," Adelaide grimaces. Helena looks at her questioningly, so she continues. "Money. He's been in talks with some pharmaceutical companies, and I suspect it's about that project." So, of course, he'd need some positive results. That definitely sounds like motivation to fudge the data accordingly.

"You know, I'm not even sure if that is worse than just ego," Helena sighs. "So, you're right - I am disappointed in him." They are both quiet for a moment, then she shrugs. "Well, I voiced my concerns. He decided to dismiss them, which is his prerogative. I will get over it. And maybe I will have learned a lesson from that experience."

"Never meet your heroes?" Adelaide suggests.

"Never start working for your heroes," Helena counters, making them both laugh.

---

***

“Have some more broccoli, John,” my mother urges him.

He swallows thickly and looks at the almost grey bits of broccoli he is offered. I decide to rescue my poor boyfriend.

“I will have some,” I say, grip the porcelain bowl with the atrocities, and feign loosening my grip. With a spectacular crack, the bowl hits the tiled floor, spreading the disgusting vegetables far and wide, while the bowl only gets slightly chapped.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” 

“Apologies,” I mutter and sweep up the gooey mass with some thick kitchen roll.

I catch John’s eye when I seat myself again, and I must look away quickly lest I fall into a fit of giggles. He is obviously aware that it was all a ploy to save him and his dignity.

***

“Thank you for that, love,” John whispers when we’re tucked up in bed later.

“I did contemplate to let you suffer through it, but I want you in her good graces. She already adores you for putting up with me, but I have no idea how she will react if she gets wind of your true opinions about her cooking.”

John shudders by the mere thought; Mummy can be quite intimidating.

“I guess this explains your aversion to eat properly,” he muses. “If your childhood was filled with overcooked – “

“It was, John. Only Mycroft and Father’s cunning ways kept me from starving. I didn’t have broccoli for ages until Angelo persuaded me to taste his after I had told him about my abominable experience with it. He was outright scandalised when I told him Mummy boiled them for twenty minutes.”

“It shouldn’t be done like that!”

John laughs when I imitate Angelo’s voice and accent, and he ends up gasping for air when I continue.

“She thinks the vegetables are alive and need to be annihilated?”

“Oh my God,” John wheezes, “he didn’t know how funny that was, did he?”

“Of course not, John. Food is a very serious business for Angelo. I thought you knew that.”

John sobers a bit and clears his voice awkwardly.

“Well, yeah, I do. Remember when I told him how my mum used to make Carbonara?”

It is my time to start laughing.

“Cream, onions, and garlic, John. What was she thinking?”

“Dunno, but I’ve never been more grateful for my mum’s passing than I was then. He was very gracious about it afterwards.”

“Obviously. Family is also extremely important to the Italians. You can dine there for free on your own now, you know. He felt awful when you told him your mother had been dead for more than a decade.”

“And why would I go to Angelo’s without you, my darling? To quote our Italian friend: “It shouldn’t be done!”

“Quite right,” I agree.

***

The next morning, John rises early to beat Mummy to the kitchen. 

“Heaven knows what she is capable of doing to the scrambled eggs, not to mention the bacon,” he whispers when I complain about him leaving the bed - and more importantly me - in favour of cooking.

All that aside, the breakfast is a great success if my mother’s gushing is any indicator.

“How do you manage to get the eggs so fluffy but not runny, dear?”

“It’s fairly easy. You just finish them when they’re still a bit wet. The temperature in the eggs will ensure that the mass keeps cooking for a few more moments after they’re taken out of the pan. And then they’re perfect.”

“I will try to remember that. Or perhaps you can remind me, darling?” Mummy addresses Father, who makes just as perfectly scrambled eggs as John does.

My Father agrees vigorously, but his expression is somewhat sceptical. Mummy’s ability to forget domestic chores in a heartbeat is after all legendary.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

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