Chaos was a lie.

It was an excuse invented by those incapable of untangling the complexities of life. Anyone who took the time to isolate the individual threads that formed this tapestry of a world would learn that it ran on a single core principle.

Cause and effect.

The concept was so rudimentary that even children were taught it. She would know, having personally altered the standard curriculum.

"Any minute now," she said to herself, kicking her feet back and forth. They were dangling off the side of a roof, and if she were to lean forward, she'd plummet fifteen stories. "You've waited this long; a little more won't kill you."

It was hard to kill what was already dead. Though not impossible, she knew that well enough.

Beneath her, the city hummed, blissfully unaware of the 'tragedy' that would soon befall it.

Glittering towers like the one she was perched on made up its center. From the building plans, she knew they were all constructed within the last decade, and their uniform style reflected that—concrete and steel beneath false stone facades and glass.

She knew they were meant to come off as sleek, but she only ever thought of them as boring. Their placement exacerbated the issue, standing in formation like good little soldiers.

Tearing her sight away from it didn't improve things. Federation cities were uninspired. Once you saw one, you saw them all. A city center that did double duty as a financial district and administration hub, residential areas nestled between commercial zones, dedicated parks adjacent to waterways, and industrial facilities kept to the fringes.

If she were forced to say something positive, it would be that they were built with purpose and efficiency. And they had better be, with how much practice the Federation had in making them. It was an unexpected benefit from dealing with population booms and periodic invasions.

The city was so forgettable to her that for a moment its name was lost to her. A quick selection of the relevant memory solved that.

Medesto was of average size as far as northern cities went. Official census results had it at two hundred and fifty thousand residents, with about the same number commuting in for work. That made half a million souls toiling beneath her.

"Right, it's past quitting time," she said airily. The hour of the day meant most would be headed home. "The metros must be jam-packed."

That was one more point in their favor. Their public transport was second only to Tubern, and she loved it. The crowds and access to the city opened up so many delicious opportunities.

The mention of jam triggered her stomach rumbling, and she reached to her side, grabbing her tin foil-wrapped burrito. She bit into it, enjoying the way its sour grapes popped in her mouth. Mango jelly dribbled down her chin, and she lazily licked it up.

As always, it was the best thing she'd ever tasted.

There was a vibration from beside her, and she held her meal in her mouth as she reached for her comm unit. It was special, like her, but in ways she couldn't describe.

"I hate these things," she grumbled, her fingers moving smoothly over the keypad despite her complaints. "At least they're not common yet."

They would be if the pink-headed lunatic had anything to say. She was such an inconvenience at times—always changing the equation. Thankfully, her motives were a known quantity.

True danger lay in the unknown.

She knew that better than anyone.

There was a message waiting for her, but it wasn't the one she had been waiting for. Since she already had the accursed device open, she navigated to her contacts and clicked the call button.

It didn't get a single ring off before connecting.

"Where are you?" the speaker demanded, wasting no time on pleasantries. "You missed the last three check-ins."

Only that? Her record was in the double digits.

"Oh, you know me," she laughed in reply. "Busy, busy, doing my duty and all."

The duty she'd decided on all those years ago. If she closed her eyes, she could still see her own face staring back at her, lying in that ditch.

"Your assignment is in Edin," the voice pointed out. "And I don't see a completion marker next to it."

Someone was annoyed~

"Haven't you already adjusted your model for me?" she inquired innocently, knowing damn well the limitations he faced. "Or do you want me to stop by again? Get nice and close for all that juicy input." Her voice shifted, turning scandalous. "But oh, no! What would the missus think?"

Nothing untoward. The concept of infidelity wouldn't even cross that girl's mind, such faith she had in her husband.

Being the seer of all things had that effect on people.

"Signal triangulation has you in Hensberg," he said, listing off a city to the southeast. "That's wrong. You're in Medesto."

And after all that trouble of having Prodigy give up one of her toys…

Still, she wasn't the least bit surprised he'd figured it out.

"Mayor Lawrence is off limits," he said declaratively, piecing together the rest. "He's not implicated by records or testimonies. What's more, he's on the civilian side."

Lack of proof did not prove innocence.

"Civilian is such a funny word. It means so much and yet so little. Don't you agree?"

Her large eyes blinked in a way many would find disarming.

Oracle wouldn't, and even though he couldn't see her, he knew what she was doing. That was the beauty of working with him.

Silence drifted over the line, and she was wondering if she'd accidentally ended the call when he spoke again.

"What did you do with the local containment team?"

Ohhhhhh, he was trying to contact backup. She munched on her burrito, not seeing the need to respond.

"They're halfway to the ocean," he answered for himself, "to fulfill their lifelong dreams of becoming pirates."

One of them would work it out before they hijacked a boat and then snap the others out of it.

Probably.

Either way, Oracle would clean up for her.

"If I go down the list of assets in the city, will any of them be available?"

Her mouth opened, ready to offer the highlights, when he rudely interrupted.

"You're reimbursing the garrison commander. They went on a spending spree after learning they won the lottery."

Some people had no self-control.

"You'd never send the garrison after me anyway," she pointed out, mouth filled with gooey burrito.

"Then you didn't need to rig the jackpot. The same could be said for most of what you've done in the past few hours. Or does staging a custodian's reunion with his ex-bandmates qualify as part of your grand plan?"

Yes, and no.

Her ability to untangle the web of life was second-rate compared to Oracle's. She'd learned that long ago.

And if she couldn't beat him at his own game, then she simply had to make it impossible to play. She was a sore loser like that.

"This is your contrived way of asking for permission, isn't it? You made all that noise to gather my attention, and when I didn't call, you took the initiative."

A heavy pout formed on her face. Framing it like that made her seem desperate.

"Maybe you should retire," she sniped back. "The old you wouldn't need so much spoon-feeding."

Really, he was off his game tonight. Well, he'd been off his game for close to half a year now. She could admit to having been thrown for a loop as well, but adapting was her specialty.

"You crippled the defenses of an entire city."

He said that like it was a bad thing.

"Exactly!" she exclaimed, balling up the tinfoil and throwing it off the roof. "What if someone else did it?"

She'd done a public service. Which made sense given her job.

"You're well aware of how I have to spend my time now," he said testily. "The three of you take me for granted."

She wished she knew how to record with this stupid thing. People would have been astonished to hear such a polite individual sound so mean.

"The Board built the institution they've entrenched themselves in," he continued. "I can't just snap my fingers and fulfill the roach's ludicrous demands."

Ah, her little protégé.

What an unruly creature, keeping things from her of all people.

"Like you weren't already planning something yourself."

Oracle's machinations weren't a mystery to her. It'd be strange if they were, given she was the one responsible for them.

"My proposal," he stressed, as if that detail was relevant. "Would have differed in approach and timescale. It certainly would have gone smoother than the sledgehammer we're currently employing."

Oh, boo hoo. Her own plotting needed drastic revisions, but she wasn't whining about it like the child she was.

"Chin up, sparkle face," she encouraged with a bubbly voice. "Think about all the shortcuts you get to take by pointing at Harbinger 2.0."

What may have been whispered as a morbid joke had become anything but. There had always been a level of caution around the scamp, but that was because of his associations. Now? Suffice it to say opinions had been changed.

"Any time saved is lost in risk assessment meetings he's generated. Meetings you've provided nothing of substance to."

She sat up straighter, a look of indignation building on her face. This was slander. She'd definitely contributed.

"Saying 'dunno' doesn't count."

It totally did.

"Better than what she said," the girl quipped, a giggle coming to her lips. "I wish I was there when it happened. It must have been hilarious!"

The pickled egg on top was that she hadn't even meant it.

If she had said something like, "I can't kill him," that would have been fine. Hells, a few naive fools might have humanized her.

But no.

Instead, she said something bonkers like, "I already tried."

What she would have given to be in the operation room. Sadly, she'd been staring at an empty crater where a research center should be.

Super embarrassing. Especially after she'd spent all that time coming up with the perfect rescue lines.

Alas, she'd made an oopsie, and rather than obediently becoming another piece on her side of the board, he'd nearly broken the entire thing.

Thankfully, she'd connected to the network in time to hear he was pushing back Aegis and that Oracle had recommended evacuating headquarters.

That was a real riot!

"I'm glad you find a national emergency amusing."

Yep, comical.

No ulterior motives here. No siree.

"All this chit-chat means you're stumped, yeah?"

She'd been extremely thorough, but Oracle was good. With or without mistakes on her part, he could unravel the entirety of her being.

"I haven't ruled out a missile strike," he said with a notable lack of humor. "The offices under you are currently vacant."

Last she checked, those rocket thingies weren't exactly accurate. They'd have to level several blocks in the hopes of hitting her. And that was assuming she waited patiently for her demise.

"Do it," she dared, examining her bruised and broken nails. "I want to see what you write that off as in the papers." Her digits were pale and thin, like the rest of her body. She wasn't malnourished; that would have interfered with the study.

"I have one Board member under house arrest, two under surveillance, and the remaining four undergoing audits. In the midst of this, you want to bother me about a mere mayor?"

Using the word 'I' was bold of him. They could question, recommend, and have oversight, but as far as directly participating in the 'restructuring' of the Federation armed forces… that was a big no-no.

It was kind of funny how the civvies were taking all of this. Did they think the military apparatus would willingly give up its autonomy?

Evidently, yes.

But that was Oracle for you. Statecraft was his craft. There was no one better suited to shaping public opinion, and that included herself.

Not that she didn't lend a hand every now and then.

"And incidentals," she added helpfully. "You know how it is. The extras will get in the way, and I'm just so darn clumsy."

That comment would have had him reviewing the histories and futures of everyone working in that building, trying to determine if any of them were her true target.

"What's it going to be, boss man?" she asked, stroking his ego.

Oracle was not her boss. However, they stopped assigning her handlers after she convinced the last that they were a chicken, and he was the only one able to realistically keep tabs on her. It was one of those topics none of them were meant to talk about.

"If I say no, he'll simply die of an allergic reaction tomorrow. Intervention there prolongs his life for two hours before his driver veers into the way of a truck. Every scenario has him marked for death, and if that is the ultimate outcome, the route you've chosen is far from optimal."

It was. Thousands of cleaner options swirled in that head of hers, and yet she would only accept one.

She raised her right hand to her face and traced its contours—the button nose, the soft cheekbones, and the feeble chin.

This was how things were.

"Pretty please, mister?" she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse. "I promise to never ask for anything ever again."

It was the plea of a child, an echo lost to time, and she was perverting it for her own use. She had done worse, and before this farce of a life was extinguished, more would follow.

"You're providing me the illusion of choice."

Yes, but was he one to talk?

"I need one mission you won't get distracted on, and you're dealing with the aftermath."

Distracted!? Her!?

Why, she'd never!

"Done and done," she readily agreed, jumping to her feet. "Give my kisses to the missus. I'm off to break a leg!"

She arched her back, stretching to relieve the discomfort from sitting for so long.

"Whose leg are you—"

The girl hung up on him, tossing the comm unit onto the roof. She'd come back for it later.

She took a single step, and soon the wind was rushing through her short, scraggly hair. It lasted a few seconds, and her impact was signaled by a sickening crunch.

"Whoops," she breathed, resting on a knee. "This body's frailer than I'm used to."

Both legs had fractured, and she detected multiple internal tears and breaks throughout her body. There was no pain to distract her, and her magic flowed into the wounds.

Despite it being night, the street she'd landed in was well lit, with lampposts lining the road. Opposite her, she could see the illuminated facade of her destination. Dozens of shallow but long steps led to an entrance flanked by heavy, rounded columns. It was an aesthetic choice to make the heart of the city's government feel a bit grander than your average building.

Stragglers from the day traveled down. Some alone, some in pairs. Without exception, none paid attention to the injured child lying in the street.

"And fixed," she said, rising to her feet. "I guess that solves the riddle of what that saying means."

She ascended with a spring in her step, passing people completely unaware that their minds had already been compromised. It was a gentle application of her magic. The reality of a girl, no older than ten, wearing a hospital gown and bouncing up to city hall was inconvenient. Nobody expected or wanted to witness that, so they didn't. Reaching the top, a set of glass doors slid open for her. She frowned at them, or the sensor above them.

"No tattling," she warned, wagging a finger toward the electronic doohickey.

How she wished to go back to the days before sensors and cameras. Alas, the only way to accomplish that would be with prodigious amounts of murder. Doable, but time-consuming.

Stepping inside, a blast of cold air made her shiver. She rubbed her arms as her eyes roamed the lobby. There was a clear path toward the row of elevators on the other end of the room. Low sofas in unoffensive beiges were put to the sides, allowing places for people visiting to wait. The only other feature to note was the reception desk. It was tucked against the left wall, designed to be out of the way.

She strolled up to the drab, grey-painted counter. It was a head higher than her, and she hopped on top of it. Surveying what hid behind it, she found a slew of empty chairs—with the exception of two.

A man and a woman sat there, both in their own worlds. One was reading a magazine, and the other was playing a card game. There did seem to be an attempt to conceal their activities, but they weren't trying too hard. She supposed that was the fringe benefit of working the night shift.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Who will it be?" she murmured, inspecting them.

The man was chubby, borderline overweight. His untucked uniform hid it well, being fit to size. He idly placed one card over the other, seeming to have not a care in the world. The woman, on the other hand, was slim, with her hair tied up and bags under her eyes. She was half bent over her reading material, staring at it hard while stifling yawns.

Tiredness was good, but experience whispered to the girl. She honed in on what was off a moment later—the hands. The webbing between her thumb and index finger was calloused, and her palm was similarly rough. They were the telltale signs of someone who spent a long time at the range. Her head angled slightly, spying on what the woman was reading.

"That settles it," she decided, approaching the man.

She stopped before him and plopped down cross-legged. Her magic had already touched him, but it was a light touch. Now, it went deeper, allowing her to peruse his surface thoughts.

"Hello, Eddie, long time no see."

The greeting triggered a change, and time slowed to a crawl for her. Options were presented to her; people the man would expect to say those words. She latched onto a suitable candidate, and time resumed its flow.

"Hey, Henry," he returned her greeting, seeing an older man in overalls standing in her place. "I thought you retired?"

Memories of a retirement party rose.

The human brain was a wonderful, yet confounding, organ. While it was capable of incredible feats, it was also prone to successive blunders. Memories often fell under the latter category. Even without her intervention, they were pliable. If you put five people in a room, showed them a red ball, and then four claimed it was orange, there was a good chance the fifth would begin to believe the same.

She could snuff this memory out, make it so hazy that it would be forgotten like a dream, but instead, she made a small tweak.

"Don't you remember?" she asked in a disapproving tone. "I work part-time in the inspection office now. Sitting around all day would have driven me crazy. "

It was the woes of a handyman who spent decades working with his hands. Whether 'Henry' was the type to have trouble adjusting to his next stage of life was irrelevant. All that mattered was that Eddie could be convinced he might.

"That's right," Eddie responded, clarity entering his eyes. "You said the wife was threatening to kick you out if you started another project at home."

She hadn't added that detail, but another quirk of the brain was its initiative. When presented with a discrepancy, it worked to resolve it, filling in the blanks.

"She's a firecracker," she said with some mirth, tailoring the mental image of Henry to match the mannerisms the man would expect. "Speaking of fire, did you hear about the drill?"

Throughout its time, the Federation had learned many lessons. Perhaps the most important had been resilience. If it couldn't match its opponents, it would outlast them. Grit and incompetent foes could only get them so far; for the rest, they relied on preparation.

That meant drills. Lots and lots of drills. So many that whenever an emergency did happen, people didn't need to think about what to do. They heard the siren, recognized its meaning, and then went almost on autopilot—whether that was hunkering down, evacuating, or reporting to rally stations.

"The drill?" Eddie asked nervously. "Right, the drill. I'm… uh… I got it covered."

'Henry' rolled his eyes, shaking his head in dismay.

"Still scraping by and doing the bare minimum, aren't you, Ed?" she asked rhetorically.

Eddie's eyes strayed down the counter, where his partner for the night was sitting. 'Henry' snapped his fingers in front of the man's face, forcefully regaining his attention.

"Focus," she commanded, her claws pressing into his psyche. "Read your own briefs. Don't rely on your coworkers to know what's going on."

She could feel his magic buried deep within him. It was a lethargic thing, barely rousing at her intrusion.

Contrary to popular belief, magic was not the be-all and end-all when it came to defending against her craft. It was an essential tool, but there was another, often overlooked element.

Temperament.

Was their nature to go with the flow, or were they the sort to dig in their heels? Were they aggressive—rushing into things with reckless disregard? Or was their approach cautious and considered?

Determining that with a glance was part of what made her… well, her. Although in this case, it was less about Eddie and more about his partner.

Aside from showing signs of previous training, she was currently reading Prodigy's Paper. Most of the magazine was dedicated to showing off the latest tech hitting civilian markets, but there were also interviews with leading researchers discussing theory and thought experiments.

It was one of those interviews that the woman was reading, and from her creased forehead, she wasn't getting it. Whether it be a lack of intelligence on her part or the quality of explanations provided, the reason didn't matter.

What mattered was that she was trying to work it out. She wasn't reading and accepting things at face value, and that quality made her a touch more precarious to influence.

"The brief?" Eddie asked in confusion. "I didn't—"

He swallowed his words, staring down. Underneath his playing cards was a printed memo detailing the drill.

'Henry' reached out, swiping the imaginary page and rolling it up before Eddie could see what gibberish it was.

"Oaf," the retired maintenance worker said, swatting Eddie with it. "It's too late to go over it now."

Eddie reached up, rubbing his head where he thought he'd been hit.

"All you need to know," she continued, "is that it's a code blue and starts in two minutes."

Code blue covered multiple emergencies, but the important part was that it called for the full evacuation of the building.

"Code blue, got it," Eddie said, nodding eagerly.

She leaned forward, being inches from his face.

"Good, don't forget."

In two minutes, he'd press the alarm and then promptly forget this entire interaction. There would be no evidence that it occurred, and anyone who looked into it would have to attribute the act to a type of seventh sense on Eddie's part.

"Finally," she said, pulling her magic back and rising from her seated position. "I like it better when I don't have to worry about breaking them."

She could have rammed the compulsion and cleanup protocol into his head, but what was left after might not entirely be Eddie.

Walking down the counter, her step paused at the woman. She tapped her chin in consideration before she shrugged and placed a palm on the girl's head. The effect was immediate, with the woman jolting upright.

"That's the most you're getting," the false child said, retracting her hand. "Hah, I'm losing my edge."

Previous considerations aside, she was so far above these two that she could have chosen either one. Case in point, she'd just nudged the woman's understanding in the right direction.

Her habits had been formed long ago, when she was inexperienced and fighting herselves more than anyone else. Now? She happened to be pretty famous, and it wasn't for her advances in culinary arts. Though that was a close second.

"Be good boys and girls," she said, waving at the pair before hopping down to the cold tile. "Momma's got an appointment upstairs."

She skipped toward the elevator, extending her senses vertically. Pressing the button, she waited for her carriage, rocking back and forth on her heels. The metal doors opened for her, and she gleefully stepped inside. Her finger spun in circles before homing in on the number thirty-five; coincidentally, it was the top floor.

A smooth ride up began, and she finished the last of her preparatory work. It was routine, demanding little attention from her. The elevator ding couldn't come soon enough—but when it did, she was disappointed by the face that greeted her.

"Jeremy, can I call you Jer?" she asked the man who had been walking past the elevator. "So excited for your new job that you're staying late?"

At twenty-two, he was the baby of the office. He hadn't been around long enough to get into any real dirt, so she was doing him a favor here.

She took a few steps out, catching up to the man before he could complete his journey to the bathroom. Tugging on his sleeve, she forced him low. His mouth parted, attempting to shout in alarm, but her palm slammed into his temple, delivering a concentrated burst of her magic.

His legs gave out from under him, and before he could hit the floor, she tossed his now unconscious body into the elevator she'd recently exited.

"Better luck next time," she said, turning on her heel.

Another reception desk faced her. Made of wood and in the shape of a semicircle, it was flanked by two open doorways that led to the office space behind. She would have been able to see directly into it if it weren't for the large pane of frosted glass between them.

Seated at it and wearing a stylish pink blouse was Lisa, the twenty-six-year-old secretary. The young woman wasn't innocent. She facilitated a number of bribes that saw her family's construction company win contracts in the city and pass inspections they shouldn't have.

The mayor himself never saw a dime of it; he was too careful for that. His friends did, though. And if they happened to forgive a few loans issued to him, well… that's just what friends do, right?

"That's not even the fun type of crime," the girl said, parking herself on the desk. She was facing Lisa, seated slightly to the side. Her bruised finger pointed at the keyboard the woman was typing on. "Look here for me?"

Lisa's plucked eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but she leaned forward all the same, not fully aware of why she would do such a thing.

The hand of a child gripped the back of her head, and her pretty face smashed into the board.

"That's probably fine," the girl said, releasing the woman, who slumped forward, nonresponsive. "Don't want to overdo it."

Lisa had mitigating circumstances in her favor, and it wasn't like her family was going to get away with it either.

The groundwork before today had been extensive, and she had dossiers on every person on this floor. Documents and thoughts would find the relevant parties in due time, tying up loose ends.

"That's two," she said to herself, still on the desk. There was movement from beyond the glass, and she could see shadows shift. "Hmmm?"

A man ran through one of the doorways, stopping just past it. The sleeves of his striped dress shirt were rolled up, and his arms were held apart from him while his head swung left and right.

"Looking for someone?" she asked, tilting her head in confusion. "I thought I covered all my bases."

She hoped she was using that saying right, but diving into the rascal's brain was always a balancing act. He was freakishly good at tracking her movements in there, and while she was allowed to play in some areas, others were very much off-limits. Testing boundaries may have been her favorite hobby, but even she had to be careful around that.

After all, she wasn't allowed to die yet.

"Clear," the man said, raising a hand to his ear. "Yes, she's fine. I'll ask."

He turned to the stricken secretary.

"Lisa, did you mess with your vitals monitor?"

Her what?

The answer flowed over to her, and she spied the silver watch on the woman's wrist. The boy from earlier must not have earned his yet.

'Lisa' informed Otis that it had been on too tight, and she had been in the middle of adjusting it. In the time the fictional conversation took place, a second man, Keith, barreled through the other doorway.

There was a greater sense of alarm wafting off him, and she couldn't help but admire her timing as blue lights on the ceiling started to blink. The low drone of a siren followed, and she stored a reminder to buy Eddie a fruit basket.

Keith's hands firmly gripped a pistol, its barrel pointed to the ground. The men shared a look, and Otis dropped down, retrieving his gun from his ankle holster. Their magic started to stir, and she decided it was time to really get things rolling.

"Boo!" she said, causing a reaction in both men.

Otis raised the muzzle of his gun, peppering his fast-moving target with the deceptively silent firearm. Sadly for him, none hit the girl seated leisurely on the desk.

"Seven out of seven!" she congratulated, clapping her hands excitedly. "That would have been great if I was actually there."

He'd tracked a figment of her imagination, and the result was all the elevator panels being blown out.

"Let's see how contestant number two does," she said, watching as Keith aimed his weapon.

There was a dull thud as a round bounced off a shell. A few more followed before there was a crack and then a wet slap. Brain matter splattered the wall behind Otis, and what was left of the man fell back, collapsing in a heap.

"Another perfect set," she said, offering a second round of applause. "And contestant two wins by default!"

Keith's eyes remained focused, unaware he'd gunned down his buddy. Of course, he also wasn't aware that his buddy had gotten away with killing a man during a bar fight. That might have been fine if he hadn't been bragging about it to her over drinks last night. In that very same bar, no less.

Lawrence was always eager to lend an open hand to his type. The office was filled with them, and she knew each of their stories.

"And now for your prize," she said, pushing off her seat and rushing toward the man.

Once in range, she grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward her. As he leaned forward, she leaned back, and when her spine was parallel to the floor, she brought her feet up, tucking them to her chest before kicking into his sternum. It sent him flying, and she completed her backflip by landing in a push-up position.

"Is a few broken bones," she finished, standing up and dusting off her palms. "Kind of a bargain for cheaping out on child support, right?"

The remains of his buddy softened his impact, but unlike dearly departed Otis, Keith didn't have a shell to weather part of the blow. Or he did; he just hadn't used it.

"It's amazing what people can forget," she idly commented, as if having nothing to do with that particular oversight. "That's how many left?"

She started to count on her fingers when a mass of water filled the doorway. It stopped there, blocking her way. The surface of the water rippled, thin spikes forming on it. They separated from the improvised door, launching themselves at her.

A cartwheel put her out of harm's way and in front of the non-blocked doorway. Unless she counted a corpse and moaning Keith.

Moving them wasn't a priority for her, but she couldn't say the same for her opponents, because a sudden gale had both bodies flung her way.

Slightly jumping, she twisted her body, allowing one to pass below and the other above her. She landed with her knuckle to the floor, one leg against her chest, and the other extended sideways.

She could hear and feel movement from deeper within the office. On the way up, she'd infected almost everyone on this floor. They were all fighting her now, flushing their systems with magic.

"You don't think that's enough to stop me, do you?" she asked genuinely, only to have the response be a hail of bullets. "That would be a 'no' then."

The three responsible were holding positions past the doorway. Two of them were firing pistols, with the third preparing another wind manifestation. They were dressed similarly to the others she'd encountered, with one exception. Helmets appeared to have been hastily donned. They covered their entire heads and presented a faceless, matte black visage.

"Just a little off the top, please," she said, angling her head so that heated metal shaved her bangs. "I know, I know, I should have gotten my haircut sooner."

Their fire was formulaic in a way, and she was aware they weren't aiming at her specifically but rather at a predetermined grid designed to counter an assailant with superior augmentation.

Naturally, she ruined it. Itchy fingers fired too soon—their angles the slightest bit off. She could see them notice and correct it, but it caused their movements to be sluggish.

Her advance was fluid, every step purposeful. She weaved through the storm of lead with the grace of a dancer, and before long, she was in their midst.

Pistols clattered to the floor as the two gunmen, or gunman and woman, traded in their weapons.

She twirled into the arms of the man, who'd taken out a knife. With her back pressed against him, her fingers latched onto his forearm. A forced command had his grip fail him, letting the knife fall into her open palm.

"For me? You shouldn't have!"

Her elbow struck back, digging into his groin. The knife in her hand slashed upward, and blood rained down on her.

"No, I mean you really shouldn't have. That was stupid of you."

Brass knuckles in hand, the woman across from her should have struck. At this proximity, initiative was her only chance.

Yet she didn't.

"That's not me," the girl helpfully informed. "Your legs locking up, mouth drying, and that pervasive coldness? All you."

The power of fear was magic in its own right.

Before the woman could regain her wits, a knife was plunged into her abdomen. The job was left half done as the knife wielder was swept back by punishing winds. Her feet left the ground, and she could feel the currents of air wrap around her like a cocoon.

There was a boiling sensation on her skin as the slick blood rapidly evaporated. She tried to speak, only to have the air forcefully expelled from her lungs.

This was the work of Gideon, the air mage who had attacked her earlier. He'd used a manifestation to suspend her in a vacuum.

She would have laughed if she could. Normal people had such strange conceptions around lethality.

With a wild smile on her face, she stared down the man. His brow was wrinkled, hands extended toward her as he tried to keep her contained.

The entirety of his concentration was on her, and so it was almost understandable when he failed to notice his fallen companions rise.

Neither had succumbed to their wounds yet, but each blow had delivered a healthy dose of her brand of magic. Using the last spurts of their life, they charged their former comrade.

The man, Peter, was intercepted, his body being thrown back by an orb of water traveling from across the room. However, the other made it, and while the uncoordinated swings failed to reach Gideon, the manifestation broke.

She kicked off the ground, speeding at him. Appearing behind him, she kicked out his feet. As he fell to his knees, her knife was waiting. She flipped it, banging into his shell with its handle. The sliver of magic she injected did its trick, and he fell face-first, blissfully asleep.

As for the woman spilling her guts? A stroke of the blade had her head cut cleanly off.

"That leaves one," she said, turning to face her last obstacle. "Who can struggle, that is."

The office space was one large rectangle, with five rows of desks parked in the center. They were wide enough to have people work on either side and lined parallel with the reception desk.

Chairs lay scattered, some on their sides. They'd been pushed out of the way while the non-combatants fled. The majority were now in the conference room behind her, obscured by more frosted glass. As for the remainder? They were held up within individual offices located directly opposite to the aforementioned meeting room.

"Why?" a muffled voice questioned.

It was the water mage from before, Mackenzie. Wearing heels, a cream blouse, and a matching pencil skirt and vest, she didn't look ready for a fight.

As she knew, looks could be deceiving.

"That's usually what they say," the girl responded, nodding in understanding. "Other popular last words include: 'Please, gods, no,' 'I have kids,' and 'I'll give you anything you want.'"

Left out was the classic: 'What happened to my guards?' But she thought that one was fairly obvious.

"Our magic, our shells," the woman beyond the mask responded, changing gears to what was probably a more pressing concern. "What are you doing to them?"

She could feel the woman furiously cycling her magic, aware of the fate of her colleagues who had tried the same.

"Who?" she questioned chipperly, before pointing at herself.

'Me?'

The woman's reaction to hearing a voice in her head was reasonable, and the water she'd been discreetly flooding the room with jumped to life. Desks and office supplies filled the air as spears of water sprouted.

With her new knife, the girl carved her way through the barrage. She did it with one hand, using the other to cover an exaggerated yawn.

Fighting normal people could be dull at times.

The attack waned, and she peered behind her, seeing the conference room had been sectioned off by a veil of liquid.

'Cute,' she sent, enjoying the suppressed shiver that went down the woman's spine. 'Oh, found me?'

The woman's magic honed in on hers, intent on rooting it out. Magic met magic, and after a brief struggle, all traces of the intruder's magic vanished.

Despite the face covering, the woman's relief was palpable.

'Hard to tell where you end and I begin, right? Trust me, I get it.'

A person's magic ought to have been special to them. Their signature was their mark, a way of distinguishing them from someone else.

So what did you do when facing someone who could match your identity?

Panic.

The woman threw herself at the girl, blood bursting from her forearm. It formed a curved blade, and she swung the weapon like her life depended on it.

Blades clashed, one of blood, the other steel.

'I think I like you,' the girl teased, parrying an onslaught of swings. 'So I'll answer both of your questions.'

Her forehead met the mask, splintering it on contact. Through its broken form, she could see bloodshot grey eyes. Magic seeped through the connection, and images flashed across her mind.

A room barely bigger than the cot that resided in it. People in lab coats. A seemingly endless varieties of syringes. Tables with restraints. Harsh fluorescent lightbulbs. Clipboards with crossed-out names.

And in the end, a ditch.

The woman collapsed, gasping for air. Water cascaded down as her magic followed her lead, and the expressionless girl above her clicked her tongue.

"Have fun unpacking that," she said to the convulsing woman. "I know I did."

If the woman managed to sort through it, she'd have her why and learn what the girl had been doing to them. It was fairly trivial. Her magic could change tunes at will, and so with a single touch, she could trick a person's shell into deactivating.

Where was she… ah, right.

To her front was the group of offices, to her back the conference room, but to her left? That was where she really wanted to be.

She padded her way to the boss man's office, feet splashing in the water. Stopping at the door, she gave it a thought before knocking politely. Through the blur of the glass, she could see a hand wave her through.

"Hello, Cause," she announced. "Meet effect."

The office was longer than it was wide, though most of the space was unused. Pictures and awards lined the wall, displaying the man's achievements. There was one of him young, shaking hands with a developer.

He'd been a handsome man, but as she looked at him seated behind his desk, those days were long gone.

Wrinkled skin sagged down his face, and there were dark spots on his cheeks. What hair he had left was wiry and thin. Aged but clearly present eyes glanced at her, and he motioned her to one of the available chairs.

She remained on her feet, and he grabbed the napkin tucked into his shirt, dabbing his mouth.

"I've been expecting you, Angela," he greeted her almost amicably. "I hope you don't mind; I was in the middle of my meal."

On top of a ceramic plate lay a half-eaten steak with a side of green beans. Done with his napkin, he picked up his fork and started cutting off another piece.

"You remembered," she said, pouting with her hands on her hips. "I was hoping I'd get to make you."

This was their first encounter, and yet it felt oddly nostalgic. It felt like a meeting between old friends, and she wondered which of them was the mind mage.

"I memorized the names and faces of all the aspirants," he said as a way of explanation, pausing before taking another bite. "After your emergence."

She walked past him, standing before the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. Her hands folded behind her back as she admired it.

"A word of advice," she offered. "If you want to kill your lab rats, use stronger poison."

Project Dawn.

It was a nice name.

"The order to cease operations was abrupt," he said after swallowing. "And the resulting shutdown was sloppier than it should have been. It was also hypocritical, from what I've heard of these past few months."

They had been quick to clean up after getting caught. That meant shuttering sites, reassigning staff, and liquidating the project's assets.

"Henderson is likely to follow you," she said, casually referring to one of the seven most powerful people in the Federation. "If it's any consolation."

The Board member had nothing to do with her creation. That had been the work of a predecessor, long since passed. It was a bitter feeling, knowing he was forever beyond her grasp.

Henderson was a stand-in. He'd volunteered himself for the role, restarting lines of research that were better left untouched.

"Only him?" Lawrence inquired, sounding a touch disappointed.

She pressed her palm onto the glass, curling her fingers against it. There was no danger of scratching it; her nails were broken and worn down. They weren't built to claw at doors.

"Two more are pending," she shared. "You should have tried to escape. One of your people could have broken the window and carried you down a floor or two."

A chase would have ensued. One rigged from the start.

"What reason would I have to run?" he said disparagingly. "I've done my duty to the Federation, and if I must die for it, so be it."

Her finger tapped on the glass, a hairline fracture forming.

"Your duty," she said, her voice lacking inflection. "I've heard this song before."

He was not the first she would track down, and he would not be the last. The blood on her hands was immeasurable. Those less privileged had already been reaped. It was only now, with the cover of wide-sweeping reforms, that she could go after the men and women truly responsible.

The ones who birthed the ideas, secured the financing, and ultimately, birthed her.

"Our mission was to create a weapon to defend our country with," he said remorselessly. "I've lived through wars, real wars. Your existence, the deterrence you represent, has saved countless lives. Children died, and I take no pleasure in that, but you must have an inkling of how many lives were granted because of their sacrifice."

She heard the chair swivel, and through the window's reflection, she glimpsed his decrepit face.

"Butchered," she corrected, using her magic to remain in control. "You butchered them. Us."

Forty-eight. That was the number she was thrown in the ditch with. His math was correct, but such a fact would not spare him.

"Yet here you shine," he said with a nauseating amount of pride. "Our forefathers, those who founded our great nation. They migrated during the Fall, escaping ruin after ruin. Their only constant was the stars above. Comfort, guidance, and hope—that is what the Constellation embodies. That is what you provide, and if that leads us to a better future, one where children no longer need to be sacrificed? Then I have no regrets."

Something dripped down her cheeks, and she watched a drop of moisture fall to the floor. Her face twisted at it, and her fist collided with the window, shattering it.

"Present your heart to me," she commanded, worming her magic into him. Up until now, she'd restrained herself, not wanting to touch the filth longer than she had to. "Do it slow."

She didn't turn but knew that steak knife he had been using gained a new purpose in life. At a glacial pace, it approached his chest.

"You were wrong," she said petulantly, caressing her cheek. "I'm not her."

A larger shard of glass found its way into her hand, and she held it up, staring at a face not her own.

Surprise wafted off of him, and she relished in it.

"Or, not as you would understand. I copied her, imprinted her mind over my own. All of them, actually."

Disparate memories, feelings, and identities—all clashing for supremacy.

"It was unintentional. A child's final gambit to save their friends. The act left me catatonic, presenting like any other corpse for you to bury."

But she, or they, hadn't been dead. They had to watch as the dirt was shoveled over them, and the last thing they saw was a friend's face frozen in terror. That friend was now a part of them. She always would be, but they were not her, and she was not them.

They wanted her to see this, for it to be her hand that extracted a modicum of vengeance, but it had gone on long enough.

"Angela..." they said, tracing their borrowed jawline.

The knife they'd taken earlier was raised, and they pressed it into the pale flesh of their friend. When it met the resistance of bone, they swept it upwards, freeing the face from being attached to their wretched existence.

New skin would grow in its place, but it wouldn't be hers.

"Rest now, leave the rest to me. Leave the rest to Mask."

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