Are You Even Human

I'm falling.

It's a slow, almost comfortable fall. Maybe 'sinking' is the more appropriate term, though I don't feel like I'm underwater. Though the air around me is thick and strangely resistant, it isn't wet. I might be able to swim through it anyway, with how slowly I'm falling, but I don't feel any real desire to. The pull is comforting. It reassures me that, should I ever just relax and let myself drift, I will end up exactly where I belong.

I open my eyes, an impossible vision dancing before them. Before me are countless ever-shifting planetoids, worlds that could be and might be and isn't that so wonderful? To be anything, but not everything, all at once? A limitless number of possibilities, waiting to collapse into a singular truth and then become infinity again?

The thoughts and emotions hum inside me, feeling like my own yet so utterly alien to my normal fare that I have to wonder if I'm dreaming, and… well, yes, that does seem likely. I blink a couple more times, looking around and trying to sit up and feeling the sleep paralysis of my body deny me. Stupid muscles, refusing to listen.

…But I don't really need muscles to move, do I?

I have a conscious control and understanding of my body that goes beyond my brain, now. The concept of 'lying on my back' exists only so long as I will it to. I could shift my entire body to turn my back into my front. I could grow crystal blades out of my shoulder blades to push myself into a sitting position. I could simply will my nervous system into a state where it is already sending the signal for me to sit up, my muscles contracting and staying contracted, no matter the current state of atonia. The possibilities flood into my mind, endless and overwhelming. And all around me, something incomprehensible feels joy.

It's a happiness and excitement so intense that it crashes through me like a tidal wave, ripping open my mind in an instant. For that moment I do not exist, only that overwhelming happiness, but when it sees what it has done to me it retreats, putting me back together from the thousands of pieces it just shattered me into. I almost wish it hadn't. I almost wish I had felt that joy forever. But that urge vanishes, too, and I am again myself.

"...What?" I croak. This pleasant dream turned into a nightmare real quick, didn't it? I suppose that should be expected. I'm probably traumatized as fuck.

The feeling caresses me again, a soft squeeze of apology. But gentle this time. Careful. Distanced. Like tweezers holding a butterfly's wing. Which… okay, alright. I feel like that shouldn't be reassuring at all, but it is somehow?

"What's going on?" I ask the ever-changing abyss. "Is this an insane hallucination dream or a superpower-induced vision dream?"

There's no answer. The feeling hesitates a bit, and then it retreats. I am alone here again, with nothing but my body, my thoughts, and the impossible, ever-changing worlds around me. Hmm. Well, hopefully I'm actually asleep and not teleported into some horrible fucked-up dimension from which I can never escape. Feels like it would be a bad way to go. I use my powers a couple more times, just to make sure I can. Shifting into different bodies, mixing parts of one body with parts of another. It works. It feels good, like stretching after spending all day sitting down.

It's honestly a little hard to stop. I try out some variation on all my forms, ending with the Wasp when I remember that my version of a Wasp body has a giant, gaping hole in its organs. Blood and acid leak out of me in a choked stream, pain screaming through my body as it was in the body of the Wasp I killed. I know this template is wrong, and it bothers me, but I don't have a correct version. Maybe I can fix it?

By looking at the structure of my wounds and the healthy tissue surrounding them, I can potentially extrapolate what this body would be like when uninjured. Symmetry is present in most parts of the body, which helps the reconstruction process a lot, but in the more severely damaged areas there isn't necessarily a—

"Aaaahhhh!!!"

Pain blooms throughout my body and I awaken with a jolt, new wounds opening all over me faster than I can shift them away. Sharp, pungent, and gibberish smells assault me from all sides, like I've been surrounded and assaulted by terrified wild animals in my sleep. Instinctively, I try to spit acid at them, but I only manage to cough it onto the ground below me, my torn glands unable to supply any pressure to the internal chambers. I twitch and shake, lashing out and trying to drive the monsters back, but…!

"Stop! Oh god, stop! Wait!"

Huh? Wait, why did that… oh! Oh! I retract my limbs into my body, remove my acid glands, get rid of any part of me that could possibly hurt anyone. Please, please please please, is she… wait, why am I doing this instead of turning human?

I gasp as I wrench myself back into humanity, eyes glancing around and desperately seeking the three other people I shared a room with tonight. Christine is at the edge of the room hyperventilating. Emily has her hands reaching out towards Anastasia, aborted mid-movement as if she's too afraid to get closer, and Anastasia… Anastasia is bleeding.

No. No, no, no! How could I, how… wait. There's a wild look in the child's eyes, her whole body shaking as she stares me down. Blades of blood are poised to strike all around me, but their only source is a set of wounds on her arms, thin and long. Inflicted by her own claws. I never stabbed her. Thank god, I never stabbed her.

...Jesus Christ, where do I get off feeling relieved about this? Julietta, you fucking idiot, this is still your fault!

"I'm sorry," I say, starting to stand but freezing when the blood blades around me twitch. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize I would shapeshift while I slept. It's me. You're safe. I'm not an alien."

Anastasia doesn't look like she's really listening, though at least she's not stabbing me anymore either. I have to calm her down. I have to solve this. Fix this. In the back of my mind my power churns, and though I keep it firmly away from anything alien I don't have the focus to avoid a multitude of other changes. Of wondering if there's something I could do to my face to help. To make me look more trustworthy. As if more of this damn power is somehow the solution to the problem it caused. The problem I caused.

"It's me," I repeat, as soothingly as possible. "It's just me. You're safe. I didn't mean to scare you."

Something about that gets to her, and the bladed blood-weapons finally droop. She takes a couple of hesitant steps forward, tears glistening in her eyes, and I open my arms to her. She rushes forward and accepts the hug, squeezing me with both her arms and the now-weaponless tendrils of blood. It's… a bit creepy, in the abstract, but I'm too busy living in a glass house to throw stones at that one.

And based on the looks Emily and Christine are giving me, I'm definitely considered the creepier of the two.

"Okay, well, I guess the good news is that we survived the night," Emily sighs, handing me a wad of clothes. "Get dressed, Lia. We're going to have to carry a lot of spare outfits for you, aren't we?"

"Yeah, sorry," I say with a frown. "I mean, I can probably…"

After a moment of focus figuring out how, I remove my breasts and genitals, leaving me smooth as a doll.

"...There!" I say. "Less weird, I hope?"

"Uh, no, definitely more weird," Emily says, she and Christine both staring at me with complicated expressions on their faces. "Please get dressed."

"I am, I am," I grumble, slipping the outfit on. What do I even look like right now, I wonder? I guess it doesn't matter. I should at least be trying to make Lia's body my default. I shift into her. "So what's the bad news?"

"Huh?" Emily asks.

"You said the good news is that we survived the night," I remind her. "What's the bad news?"

"You mean besides the fact that we're stuck in the post-apocalyptic murder zone behind enemy lines?" Emily asks.

"Yes," I say seriously.

"No, Lia, that was pretty much it," Emily sighs.

I nod. Not bad, not bad. It's always a pleasant surprise when things don't get worse. Although, on that note, I should try and take a moment to confirm it. Shifting into an alien sensorium for a moment, I relax a little as my stress and fear become so much more distant and reach out to see how many other Raptors are nearby. Hmm… it's a little difficult to tell with so many walls in the way, but it feels like… a lot. And maybe some non-Raptor aliens, too. Oh boy.

"Well, I have some bad news," I report, trying not to feel dread in the moments before I return my brain to a human one. I fail, and the dread only gets worse as the fear returns. "The number of aliens surrounding us has multiplied considerably. They're not under orders to attack us yet, but we're pretty firmly boxed in."

"...I was afraid of that," Emily frowns. "It's far from the worst situation we could be in, though. We're not really able to outpace them if we were to try and run anyway. Taking advantage of the time they're giving us to rest, eat, and breathe is probably the best plan."

"You guys just want to sit here while we get surrounded by aliens?" Christine asks incredulously. "How do you even know this stuff, Lia? What do you mean by 'they aren't under orders to attack us?' Are you communicating with them?"

"Sssort of?" I admit. "When I'm part or full Raptor I can kinda feel where any other Raptors are nearby. And I can just… kind of tell that they're supposed to follow us but not attack us somehow."

"Somehow?"

"Yeah, somehow," I scowl at her. "Y'know, the method by which you rip houses apart with your mind and suspend them in midair. Do you really expect me to know how it works?"

Christine squirms a little, shrinking away.

"...Fair point," she concedes. "Sorry."

Hmm! Contrition! That's nice. I can work with that.

"Don't worry about it," I allow. "Trust me, I get that this is stressful as all hell."

"Yeah, because we're all going to die," Christine mumbles.

"We're not going to die," Emily butts in. "Christine. Hey! Look at me."

Christine glances her way, hugging herself tightly.

"We're not going to die," Emily repeats. "I promise. I know the odds for people in our situation are one in a million, but we're one in a million. The three of you have powers. Good powers. And we're only a few hours away from the edge of the incursion zone. Before you know it, the military is going to push in and rescue us. Or worst-case, they'll fight the bastards hard enough to give us an opening to run. We're gonna be fine."

The distant sound of an explosion punctuates her words, though without knowing which side of the conflict is doing the exploding I'm not sure whether the emphasis is good or bad. Beside me, Anastasia shuffles a bit and squeezes my leg, staring Christine in the eyes.

"It's bad to give up," she chimes in softly, and I can't resist the urge to give her a pat on the head.

"...I know," Christine mutters bitterly. "Sorry."

Hmm. Seems like that struck a nerve. Guilt centered around the concept of giving up? Or shame, maybe. Good to keep in mind. I wish I knew more about her, though. All this guessing is leaving us floundering on handling her and relying on her crush on Emily. But what's the best way to figure out more about her? Hmm…

I guess… I could just ask? I clear my throat.

"So, uh, Christine," I start, trying not to sound as awkward as I feel. "I feel like we… never really got a chance to formally get to know each other."

"...Being chased by aliens will do that," she deadpans.

"Well, uh, yep, no arguments on that point," I agree. "But now that we have at least a little breathing room, I want to know more about you."

"Is this really the best use of our time?" she asks. "I don't… I'm not really sure I can just have a casual conversation right now, Lia."

I do my best not to flinch at that name and keep a smile on my face. My first thought, in that naturally bitchy part of my brain I always try to keep a hold of, is 'can you do anything at all, or will I have to carry you again?' But of course, I don't say that. I might be an asshole, but it isn't because I want to be or because I think it's okay. It's just… what my mind does.

So I hold it in, and force my thoughts to move on to an answer that might actually be productive.

"My goal here isn't really to be casual," I tell her. "Our relationship is anything but casual. We've saved each other's lives and we're probably going to have to save each other's lives more in the future. I wanna know more about you. I want you to know more about me."

I want you to be motivated to help me. I want you to care enough when we get hurt to do something. Credit where it's due; while Christine totally flubbed any and all power use and I had to carry her across the entire damn city, she very well might have saved my ass when she tried to use her powers on the Angel. Despite failing to affect it, the Angel still backed off. And that very likely mattered a lot.

She's not useless, no matter my internal grumblings. I just have to get her to try.

"I don't know what you expect me to say," Christine answers. "There isn't really anything interesting about me."

"Bullshit," I say. "That's just a lack of self-esteem talking. What do you like to do? What do you think about? What do you and your friends talk about? It doesn't have to be anything profound, you're… what, seventeen?"

"Like you're any older," Christine snaps.

"I…" I start, and then I remember that I'm supposed to be Lia and I have no idea when her birthday is. "...I'm not trying to compare ages with you, I'm just trying to get you to be less self-conscious about sharing your hobbies."

Christine looks away, but after a brief pause she finally, finally answers me.

"...I'm pretty into anime, I guess?"

The fuck is 'anime?'

"Oh yeah?" I ask. "What's that?"

"Uh, it's basically an old kind of TV show. Or movie. From Japan?"

Oh, no wonder I haven't heard of it.

"Neat," I say. "I like old movies. I dunno if I've ever seen an 'anime' before, but I'd be down to watch one sometime. What's your favorite?"

"Um… I really like Gundam," she answers.

"What's that about?" I ask, because I have to constantly interject after every four-word sentence to keep this conversation moving. It's like pulling teeth with this girl.

"War, I guess?" she answers. "And how much it fucks people up."

"Ah. Yeah," I agree. "It sure does that."

I think I'm starting to see a bit more of the situation, here. I have with me a girl who, like me, isn't a slave to the propaganda machine. Who sees no glory, no rightness in a united fight for survival against a heartless foe. Honestly, that makes things easier. I can be a little more real with her.

"And I'm not sure if you've noticed," Christine says, "but I'm already pretty fucked-up as-is. Even the six-year-old is more useful than I am."

"I'm nine!" Anastasia insists, puffing up indignantly.

"...Really?" Christine frowns, examining the girl closely. "But you're so short."

"Y-you're just way too tall!" Anastasia sputters.

Christine shifts uncomfortably, slouching a little.

"Don't I know it," she mutters. "Look, my point is just… please don't risk yourselves to save me again, alright? Because it's gonna keep happening. I'm gonna fuck up. I could barely handle life before the aliens attacked my house, I'm not… I'm not gonna get better. You can just leave me."

Woah, okay, what the fuck? I could tell she had self-esteem issues but I didn't know it would be 'please leave me to get eaten by aliens' bad. That's… not great, but for fuck's sake at least have the presence of mind not to say it in front of—

"No!" Anastasia shouts, shaking slightly at my side. "Never! We won't! Never ever!"

Her. Yeah. Ugh.

"Would you rather Lia get killed hauling me everywhere because I'm too pathetic to walk?" Christine snaps.

"Nobody's dying!" Anastasia shouts.

"That's right," I agree loudly. "Nobody's dying! Also, new house rule: no suicidal ideation in front of the nine-year-old!"

"Oh, don't act like you haven't thought about it!" Christine snaps at me. "I know the face people make when they see me as worthless. Well congratulations, you're right. I am a liability. I know I'm a liability."

"Your power is one of the strongest here!" I insist.

"Well that doesn't matter if I'm just gonna have a panic attack whenever I need to use it!" she shouts. "I can't help you, Lia. I can't. I'm just going to fall apart when it matters most because that's what I always do. And you can take that as your official, number-one most interesting fact about me. Can we talk about something else now?"

I mean, I'd really rather we didn't. Because that's a lot of unresolved baggage that needs resolving yesterday, and it's actively imperative to our survival to do so as soon as possible. The problem is, my years of experience cleaning up other people's metaphorical shit tells me that I can't push her any more on this now. If I do, she'll just get even more emotional, even more worked up, even more in her head about all her numerous failings. The only way I know how to progress this conversation forward is to give her time to cool off, regret yelling at me, and process her frustration into something a little healthier before I poke at it all over again.

We don't have that kind of time, of course. We could need her in fighting shape in the next few seconds, for all I know. But it doesn't matter. I can't magically solve her problems that fast, because at the end of the day she's not wrong. She has proven she will fail us when the chips are down. And that just fucking sucks for all of us, because I'm pretty sure we still need her. Emily's definitely-not-a-power had us go pick her up for some reason.

…Not to mention, it would be a fucked-up thing to do to just leave her to die. I feel like I might be the sort of person to not really lose sleep over it… which I don't really consider to be a good thing, but it's a thing I suspect about myself. Still better not to have to find out, and it'd certainly affect Anastasia in a big way. The poor girl has probably already lost her whole family to this. As the oldest person here and the only technical adult, it's my responsibility to keep her and everyone else safe.

I've already failed at that, of course. Anastasia's own power forces her to hurt herself, and unless I get a lot stronger a lot faster I won't be able to stop her from fighting. I won't be able to stop needing her to fight. And then if we actually get out of here, the military will scoop her up immediately—she couldn't hide her powers even if she wanted to, since she has so many physical alterations—and they'll force her to fight for them, too. Everyone with powers is forced to be a soldier. Age, health, criminal record, none of it matters. The military will make you fight.

Anastasia will never know peace again. And there's… there's nothing I can do about it, is there? My fate is the same. I'll be forced to fight, too, and I won't even be doing it under my own name. My plans for after we get out of this place are just as war-torn, just as hopeless. I'm devoting my life to impersonating a girl I hate so that Emily doesn't have to fight. It's laughably unfair, but she's the only one who has a shot at getting out of hell. Better her than no one. What am I supposed to do, if not open the path?

I've always known my life was fucked. Even when everything has gotten this much worse, it's easy to accept. I've just got to stay useful, keep helping people, make sure everyone stays together, and get us all out of here alive. It might not feel like I've made progress with Christine, but I have. Now I have to make it up to Anastasia for scaring her this morning, and then maybe we'll still have time to form a real plan after Christine cools off. Oh, and we should all eat breakfast! That should help everyone's mood. I head for the cupboard, seeing what nonperishables we can turn into a hearty meal.

…The answer is not a lot, but when Emily sees me looking she steps in and starts making some simple things. Cool, I can leave her to it. Time to deal with the kid.

"Hey, Anastasia," I say, staring at her nearly knee-length hair as she twists it between her fingers. Wasn't it shorter yesterday? Damn, it grows fast. "Did you sleep okay?"

She shrugs, shrinking in on herself in a manner that I interpret to mean 'no, not really.' Which, yeah, understandable. Kind of a dumb way to start the conversation on my part.

"I had a weird dream," she mumbles.

Hmm. Just a weird dream? Not a nightmare?

"What was it about?" I ask.

"Um… I'm not sure," she admits. "It was like… two stars orbiting around each other. And they kept shooting fire at each other. Kept… burning each other. One after the other. And I think they said something, but it mostly just hurt my head."

Uh. Hmm. Okay.

"Were you like, floating in a void?" I ask. "Falling really slowly?"

"Yeah!" she nods. "Yeah, I was!"

"...I had a dream like that too," I say, glancing at Christine. Yep, she's staring at us. "Christine?"

"Uh, yeah," Christine says. "I don't really remember it well, but… I think I dreamed of something like that? I think I remember the falling."

"It kind of felt like looking at the moon," Anastasia says softly.

"...Yeah," Christine mutters. "Yeah, the moon was… something."

I glance at Emily without really thinking about it.

"Hey, don't look at me," she says, sliding me a bowl of room-temperature tomato soup. "I dreamed of getting chased by aliens, like a normal person."

"Yeah, like a normal person," I deadpan, taking a sip of the soup. Woah! This is nothing like I expected. I thought tomatoes were a fruit?

"Normal for our situation," she huffs. "So what, you guys just get power dreams now?"

"I guess we'll have to see," I shrug. "We've only slept the once since getting powers. Unless… either of you had powers before this whole mess?"

"Nope," Christine says.

"That would be illegal!" Anastasia agrees, offended. Wow, what a good little citizen.

"Yeah, so, not a lot of data yet," I say. "Signs are pointing to yes, though. Not that I'm complaining, honestly? It was way better than a nightmare."

I almost miss it, but Emily's mouth twitches into an irritated scowl for a moment when I say that. Hmm.

"Jealous?" I prod her shamelessly.

"No, Lia, I'm not feeling the slightest bit worried or inadequate about being the only powerless person stuck in the middle of an incursion zone," Emily fires back, though her words lack even a hint of the genuine emotion I briefly saw on her face, so it comes off like a joke. Hmm.

"Your power is being the only one of us with your head on straight enough to make the plans," I say, rolling with the deflection. Again, I remind myself that my curiosity can wait; Emily might be full of shit, but at least she has that shit together.

"Hey now," she smirks at me. "You know I'm anything but straight."

Ha! Yep, that's a critical hit on Christine. I snort with amusement, since that seems more prudent than flirting back. Yes, the person I'm impersonating is Emily's girlfriend, but for now it's better if Christine thinks she might have a shot. And considering her self-esteem issues, that's an easy hope to crush.

"Are you two dating?" Christine asks anyway, because of course she does.

"Yeah," Emily confirms casually. "It's an open relationship though, we're poly."

We are? Y'know what, fuck it, sure. It's a good save, and easier cover for me.

"Yup," I back her up. "Don't tell my parents, though. They're bitchy enough about the gay thing by itself."

Anastasia and Christine tense up at that. Oh, god damn it, I'm so stupid. Of course they do.

"Are your parents… alive?" Christine asks slowly. And like, fuck, no they aren't. They haven't been for years. I've been in this situation before, I've lost everything, I've moved households… but I can't say any of that. Because I have to be Lia. Ugh, why the fuck did I agree to this? I glance desperately at Emily, but she gives me a subtle shake of her head. Don't tell them. Fine. Fine!

"...Uh, as far as I know, yeah," I mutter, irritated with myself. "They live outside the metropolitan area. I was just Emily's plus one to her foster sister's birthday party when all this went down."

"Sheesh," Christine grimaces. "What a birthday present."

Fucking tell me about it. But hey, at least Christine is joking again.

"My family were all at Grandma's house," Anastasia says softly, and the entire room quiets around her. "We all have dinner together a few times a week. We would eat together and then my parents would go home first and my big sister would go out with her friends and me and my brother would stay with Grandma and Grandpa and we would watch old cartoons together from when they were kids."

I almost interject to ask 'what was your favorite,' but I'm too slow. Anastasia keeps talking, her voice empty.

"My sister's friends were busy today so she went home with Mom and Dad. But my grandma and my grandpa and my brother and I all got on the couch and we started to watch Danny Phantom which is about a boy who is a ghost but only sometimes because he's not dead yet. And then the sirens happened. A-and Grandma and Grandpa can't drive very well anymore so they said we should wait for Mom and Dad and… and we waited. We waited because Mom and Dad were gonna come right back."

"Anastasia, you—" I try to say, I try to tell her she doesn't have to talk about this, but she just ignores me and keeps going.

"Then everything started hurting," she says. "I got a headache and I heard voices and I turned into a witch. And everyone was saying that it would be alright and I was lucky and I would be a superhero and then they fell apart. They fell apart and I watched them and they're gone now. But I'm not."

There's a pause. None of us try to stop her from continuing. I'm not sure if we can. We can see the tears building in Anastasia's eyes, but she's not crying. Not yet.

"I left. Some aliens hurt me so I hurt them back. I found Mom's car on the road. She and Dad and my sister fell apart, too. Some Raptors were eating them. I stopped them. And I cried for a while. And then I left because I didn't want to be there anymore."

The tears are flowing now. But she keeps talking.

"Why did they fall apart?" Anastasia asks. "Why did that happen?"

All eyes in the room turn to me. Which I guess is fair. I do have an answer, one simple enough for a kid and true enough for an adult, too.

"...Because the Queen chose to kill them all," I answer simply. "Maybe she did it because she's just an animal, lashing out at everything around her. Maybe she did it because she's a person, and she's just flat-out evil. But either way, the Queen here did it. She's a monster, and every last bit of this is her fault."

Because that is the advantage of apocalyptic war, isn't it? Everything might be screwed, but at least it's simple. It's not a relationship, it's not a power dynamic, it's not politics, and it's not a fucking puzzle. Literal monsters are dropping out of the goddamn sky and committing active omnicide against our entire species. There is no moral debate to be had here; they are the motherfucking bad guys, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. There is a huge and obvious target for all our hate resting its cataclysmically fat ass in the southern Chicago suburbs and by god the human race is going to storm over there and rip it the fuck apart or we will die trying.

There is no need to sugarcoat it. The situation does not get more complicated than that unless we actually somehow win.

"How do you… how do you know it's the Queen?" Anastasia asks between sniffs, tangling more of her hair up between her fingers. I glance at Emily and mouth the word 'hairbrush' and she nods, quietly slipping away.

"Emily and I were outside when it happened," I tell her. "And it was right after the Queen came to Earth. Emily lost her brother, too."

"Oh," Anastasia says.

"That, and I can feel it," I continue. "Sort of… in the air. Pressing against us. That started when the Queen dropped."

"Oh. Oh! That's… the Queen?" Anastasia asks as I carefully guide her out of her seat and towards the couch. She looks at her own fingers and the extra-knuckle-length claws at the end of each of them. I feel her power pressing angrily out against the air, shoving and fighting against the Queen's with a victim's rage.

"I was wondering if I was the only one who felt it," I admit, trying to slowly pull the conversation in a different direction. "I never really thought about it being anything other than the Queen, honestly. It feels like she's still trying to cut us."

"It does," Anastasia says quietly. "Yeah. It's the Queen? I thought… I thought that was my power."

"Wait, what are you two talking about?" Christine asks.

"In a sec," I tell Christine, putting up my hand to shush her. "Why did you think it was your power, Anastasia?"

"Well, my power only works if I get cut," she says. "Or if I cut myself. I thought it was… instructions. I guess."

"Oh, Ana," I say softly, and she flinches a bit so I quickly make sure to ask. "Is it okay if I call you Ana?"

"Um, yes," she confirms quietly. I gently direct her to sit in front of the couch, and Emily returns with a stiff-looking hairbrush. Perfect. I take it and flash her a thank-you smile, sitting down behind Anastasia.

"I'm sorry, Ana," I tell her.

I wish I had something other than a worthless apology. I wish I could be a good adult, a good person, and tell this kid that I won't ever let her be in a position where she has to hurt herself anymore. I want to say that. I should be able to say that. But it would be a lie. A blatant and dangerous lie, because it's not a promise I'm strong enough to keep. Our first encounter with an Angel is proof of that.

It's pathetic, and it's wrong, but we need her. We need Anastasia. We need a fucking child to fight for us. And I know that's morally inexcusable, but I don't see us surviving without her and I don't think the ethical high ground in this situation is letting everyone die. So at the absolute bare minimum, I have to make sure we're doing right by Anastasia in every other possible way. She's part of the team, not a weapon or a tool. And I have to help her in every way I can, to even out just a little bit of the bottomless debt we're accruing.

May as well start with all this hair.

"You don't have to be sorry," Anastasia says. "You didn't do anything."

That's exactly the problem, though. I can't do anything. So I don't answer, and just carefully start to brush out Anastasia's hair. I'd offer to cut it, but I don't think that would actually work. My knowledge of her biology tells me that the hair on her head is only going to grow faster the shorter it currently is. If I shaved it all off right now, it'd probably hit over a foot long within the hour, with the growth rate curving sharply down to near-zero at around the knees. Why does her body do this? I have no idea. But she has to live with it now, and I figure the best way to deal with absurdly long hair is absurdly fancy braids.

"I'd like to braid your hair, if that's alright," I tell her. "I think your body isn't going to let us cut it very short, but it'll be easier for you to move and less of a bother if I wrap it up nice."

She stiffens a bit, her fingers freezing in her tangles as she glances back at me.

"...You know how to braid hair?" she asks.

"Yep," I confirm. Of course I know how to braid hair. I've been the big sister to like a dozen different girls.

"She taught me how to do this," Emily says, pointing at her own braids. Which… is actually true. I did that. Julietta. Not Lia. I'm surprised she's willing to mix the histories of the two, but I'm thankful. It makes me happy to be acknowledged. Terrified for the stability of our collective lie, of course, but happy. …Though I guess everybody else who actually knew both of us is probably dead anyway.

Anastasia doesn't answer us, but she leans in a bit when I do some of the brushing and releases the death grip she's had on her hair to let me comb it all out. I hum one of my favorite songs as I go through the motions, ironically a bit awkward to perform now that my limbs work so much better. But it's nothing I can't adapt to. Adaptation, after all, has always been one of my best skills.

"Yours feels a lot nicer," Anastasia says softly.

"Hmm?" I ask, holding her hair firm in my fist so it doesn't hurt as I work out a bad tangle.

"Than the… than the Queen's," she says. "Your… power, I guess."

"Oh," I say. "What does it feel like?"

"Like… hope, I guess?" she hedges.

Oh gosh. Okay.

"Woah, wow," Emily snorts in amusement. "That's so corny!"

"W-well it does!" Anastasia insists. "It's like… it's like anything can happen. Anything. And good things kinda don't feel like they're gonna happen right now, so isn't that hope?"

"Kid's got you there," Christine deadpans.

"Hnng. I guess," Emily says, frowning slightly.

"What's all this about powers having feelings, anyway?" Christine asks. "I don't feel anything like that."

"Well, I do, and it seems like Ana does too," I say. "Gotta say, I'm happy to not be the only one. Power stuff already makes me question my sanity a little."

"Mood," Christine grunts.

"What do I feel like, Lia?" Anastasia asks. I don't flinch at the name. How do I make this sound good…?

"You're like… karma, I guess?" I say. "Do you know what karma is?"

"It makes good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people," she answers, humming in approval. "Yeah. Okay. Like a witch of justice."

"What's with this witch stuff?" I ask.

"It's because I'm a witch!" she insists firmly. "I have gnarled claws! And super long woods hair! And I'm a gosh dang bloodbender! Which is evil!"

Nuh-uh, nope. I'm nipping that shit in the bud. No intrinsic evil in this house.

"It's not evil or good until you do anything with it," I tell her. "Good and evil is only in how your actions help or hurt people. If you help people with your… blood-ender, then it's good! And you did do that."

"Bloodbender! It's bending, not ending!"

"Of course, sorry, sorry," I smile. "Also, your claws aren't gnarled. They're cute! Like a kitty cat!"

"Wh—no!" Anastasia sputters. "Claws aren't cute!"

"How could you say that?" I gasp. "Ana, do you not think kittens are cute? Little baby kittens?"

"I'm not a baby kitten!"

"But your claws are so cute!"

"I'll claw you!"

"But then how will I braid your hair!?"

Christine interrupts us by clearing her throat, likely saving me from a horrible mauling at the hands of an adorable baby kitten.

"Circling back to this power vibe horoscope stuff," she says, "you've got me curious what mine feels like."

Uhh. Oh. Hmm.

"...Why'd your face go half monster skin for a second there?"

Aw, shit. Did it really?

"Sorry, it's just… your power kinda feels like the Queen to me?" I hedge. "It, uh. Y'know. With the cutting and separating and stuff."

"...Oh," she frowns.

"What about you, Anastasia?" I ask, hoping she'll save it.

"I guess it kind of does," she admits. "It's similar. But your power doesn't keep telling me to cut myself, it's more that… I'm a mess and I should be organized? But the cutting is still part of it."

"Oh. Geez. Do you… do you think that's bad?" Christine asks hesitantly.

Anastasia shrugs.

"It doesn't feel that bad. Like… maybe a little, but it's nowhere near as bad as Emily's."

Silence. I pause in brushing Anastasia's hair for a moment. I can't help it. Back in the kitchen, Emily slowly looks our way, a huge and disturbingly fake smile on her face.

"Hmm?" she asks. "Ana dear, do I feel like I have powers?"

"Well, not right now, but—"

"Powers don't just go away, do they?" she presses.

"Don't cut her off," I snap. God, she's acting so obviously suspicious. Now I have to cover for her. "I know powers are a bit of a sore spot after what happened, but you don't need to bite her head off. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for what she felt."

That should do it. Nothing like a Noodle Incident to act as a convenient explanation you can then decline to explain. Christine is too socially awkward to press us anyway.

"...Right, sorry Anastasia," Emily concedes after a pause. "I genuinely don't have powers, though. Believe me, if I had some magic trick to get us out of here, I'd be using it."

What were the dozens of magic tricks you used to get us this far, then? I wish I could ask that out loud, but of course I don't.

"Well, you felt something, right Ana?" I say instead. "Even if we don't know what it is, it could be important."

Emily shoots me an annoyed look, but I ignore it. Not encouraging Anastasia to tell us the things she feels with her apparently-quite-sensitive power senses would be a fucking dumbass thing to do, pointlessly hurting both our survival chances and Ana's self-esteem. Never discount or dismiss the weirdly perceptive kid while in dangerous territory, that's Eldritch Bullshit Survival 101. …Also, I'm curious.

"I guess it could be something else," Anastasia concedes. "I didn't know the Queen's power was from the Queen. I thought it was mine because it was all around me, and this power just felt like it was coming from your direction."

"Uh-huh," Emily says flatly.

"What was it like?" I ask. "When did you feel it?"

"I felt it right before we all looked at the moon," Anastasia says. "It was… sort of like the opposite of yours? Like anything could happen, but it didn't matter because we'd probably mess up. It felt like… like a vulture. Circling above and waiting for us all to die."

I turn and look Emily dead in the eyes, her fake smile twitching with annoyance.

"Well," she says, that smile still on her face, "maybe it's good I don't have powers. Because that one sounds really unpleasant."

Uh-huh. Yeah. Like maybe the kind of power you might not want anyone to know about? The kind of power that could make people worry if they could trust you? The kind of power someone might be incentivized to hide for selfish reasons?

"Be sure to tell us if you feel it again, okay Ana?" I say, still staring at Emily.

"O-okay!" Anastasia promises. "Sorry! I would have said something sooner, but I sort of forgot with the moon, and I didn't really know what it was until you told me about the Queen anyway…"

"No worries," I say. "It might be nothing, but we are in enemy territory. You never know when we could unexpectedly be under attack."

Speaking of, I should check on our friendly neighborhood monster army. While Emily gives me a look like she'd be flipping me off if I didn't have a nine-year-old sitting in front of me, I shift into the ever-tempting fearlessness of a Raptor brain, sensing the aliens around us. They've got us boxed in good, now, and I think they want to keep us that way. I'm confident: they're waiting for another Angel. Wherever we are on the priority list, it's high, but it's not number one. The aliens are definitely intelligent enough to understand the threat we pose and the best counter to that threat. Personally, I'm less than inclined to keep waiting here, warm and ready to be eaten like a burger patty at a fast food joint. Knowing that, I can't imagine a world where sticking around is the right call to make.

"So, Emily," I say. "What are the plans for the day, anyway? Are we sticking around or making a break for it?"

She blinks, frowns for a moment, and then answers after her usual delay.

"...I feel like we should stick around, yeah?" she says. "Why invite violence when we're being allowed to rest?"

"Because I can tell that the Angels are currently busy," I say. "That's why we're being allowed to rest: we're wasting our best chance to leave. Does that change your calculations at all?"

She scowls at me.

"...No, Lia, it doesn't," she says. "We need food, we need rest, we need time. When we're ready, we'll go. Trust me."

Should I? I know I agreed to this, but there are only so many brazen lies and ominous statements I can tolerate before that trust starts to wane.

"Lia," she says firmly. "Come on. We didn't get each other this far just to die squatting on some random person's sofa. We just need time."

I sigh and turn back to my work on Anastasia's hair. Fine. I'll give her time.

I'm just worried that's all the aliens need, too.