7. Oh That Sweet And Beautiful Violence (Patreon)

A/N: Hey everyone! Apologies to those of you who read Bioshifter (which is almost all of you) for missing the chapter last week. Bioshifter, to put things succinctly, is just kind of being a bitch. Writer's block is hitting me hard, but AYEH and the other things I write for fun aren't similarly affected like they were when I was burning out, so I think we're just nearing that time where chapters will take longer. I'll try not to fall into the one-chapter-every-two-months bullshit that plagued the final couple of Vigor Mortis chapters, but occasional delays as my brain drags out the last couple of arcs should probably be expected. As for AYEH, content warning for this chapter: significant injury/harm to (and from) a child.  Yep, those of you who read the pre-rewrite know who's coming. Enjoy!

"It's getting dark," I point out. "We should probably find a place to sleep soon."

"We need to go a little further," Emily huffs.

I frown. The sun has almost completely set, and power is down in the entire metropolitan area. It's not just going to be dark outside, it's going to likely be darker outside than we've ever seen before in our lives. And since my alien eyes are even worse than my human eyes…

"None of us are going to be able to see, Emily," I insist.

"We'll manage," she snaps. "We need more distance. Pick up the pace if you're so worried about it."

I let out a long breath, adjusting Christine's weight in my arms. We've been walking for hours now, and I haven't told Emily that we're being tracked yet—not because I don't think she should know, but because Christine's barely hanging onto her sanity by a thread. No matter how far away we go, the aliens are already covering our position. Making distance is pointless. But I'll only feel comfortable letting Emily know when we're alone.

It doesn't matter how far we run away. That's what I want to tell her. But that comment on picking up the pace sticks with me. Maybe she's not running away from something. Maybe she has a specific destination in mind. So I stay quiet and continue to let her lead.

…Of course, that doesn't stop me from being right. Night descends quickly, and though the stars above are vibrant and beautiful, the moon isn't back out yet and finding my footing is difficult. I feel like I could probably do a lot better in an alien body, since they rely on sight a lot less, but I have to carry Christine and I've noticed that mixing alien and human parts tends to create a body that isn't very good at moving instinctively. In this situation, that would defeat the entire point.

"Where are we going, Emily?" I press her.

"I'll know it when I see it," she insists.

"Emily, we can't see shit."

"Then maybe I'll know it when I hear it!" she snaps. "Just trust me!"

I sigh and drop the subject. Being out in the dark like this makes me nervous. I guess it makes most people nervous, but I always did my best to avoid it at all costs because of how screwed I used to be if I ever tripped. I'm incredibly self-conscious about my footing, and while I've done a good job at ignoring that habit ever since I learned how to run (because ignoring how I run is currently a very important step to performing it successfully) the darkness is bringing that nervousness out in full force.

But still, I let that all slide as best I can, because it only takes one look at Emily to know she's not exactly doing this for fun. She's absolutely exhausted, her body finally demanding that she pay the bills after surviving a car crash, multiple fights with aliens, and running halfway across the city without dinner. By all rights, I should feel the same, but I guess my power protests the concept of physical exhaustion on principle. Rather than get worn out, I seem to slowly chip away at my power's energy reserves as I run, my body shapeshifting away any exhausted muscle and replacing it with fresher versions of the same thing unless I specifically focus on not letting it do that.

It's odd to think about. This means it's likely impossible for me to naturally build muscle anymore, right? I suppose that's fitting, since none of my bodies are really 'mine' in any meaningful way. All the physical therapy I've been through to get myself mobile and keep myself that way is down the drain now. Completely wasted effort. I'll never have to do that again, because I'll never even be able to.

Christine flinches a little as I start gripping her a lot harder than I meant to, so I relax and whisper a quick apology. I need to think about something else. Wait, shit, is she crying?

…No. No, I hear crying, but not from any of the three of us.

"Emily," I say.

"What?"

"I think I'm knowing it when I hear it. Follow me?"

Her eyebrows raise and she turns to me, her eyes glancing around at nothing like I've noticed several times before.

"I… yeah," she agrees. "Lead the way. But… be careful."

Hmm. I don't like the sound of that, but what can you do? I nod and head towards the sound, clutching Christine closer to my chest and keeping low to the ground. Moving in an awkward position won't make my muscles burn anymore, it'll only consume energy faster, and if there's one thing we're not running out of anytime soon it's energy bars. The aliens don't seem super interested in raiding houses for supplies, so as long as Emily can keep finding us homes that actually had occupants in them before this disaster struck, we should have a nearly limitless supply of nonperishable food and can openers to access them. Maybe they're just saving the houses for later, though; they have bigger things to deal with right now.

…As do we. The crying suddenly tapers off and turns into a scream, the sound sending a cold terror through my bones. Holy fucking shit, that sounded like a child! What did… oh damn it, they must have run into the Raptor pack that's been keeping ahead of us!

"Take Christine!" I shout at Emily, dropping her into the other girl's arms and breaking into an immediate sprint.

"Wait! I said to be careful!" she shouts after me.

"I know!" I call back. "Sorry!"

It's not like I didn't think of that, it's just that if this is a trap then I'm fucking springing it. If there's a kid alive right now, I'm not going to let them get eaten by aliens. I'm not. It's the only thing on my mind as I accelerate, clothing falling off my body as I shift into my far-faster Raptor form. Definitely not the friendliest body I could meet a child in, but my first priority is making sure I meet them at all, and for that it's perfect.

Everything snaps into place as soon as the change hits. I have my task. I feel where the other Raptors are all around me. I know exactly where the fight is breaking out and how to get there, my steps quick and sure in the pitch-darkness. The pack is converging on an unexpected threat, confusion and surprise forcing them into an engagement that endangers the primary task. Threat assessment is assumed low, reassessed higher, then reassessed higher again and again as I rush closer, waves of increasing danger flowing into my senses and still not evoking a single spark of fear. If I die, I die; all that matters is the task.

I rush down an alleyway between two buildings, jumping up against the wall and pushing off right at the end to redirect my momentum down the street. It's a straight shot from here to my target, and through the darkness and my blurry vision I barely make out the rapidly moving shapes of combat. My fellow Raptors converge on the target from all sides, corpses of the first responders leaking the stench of death and warning around it. Seven more Raptors need to die before the threat of fighting is a greater risk to the primary task than the threat of allowing the threat to live, so the task is clear: take the target down.

Except, of course, that's wrong. My task is to protect it.

The moment I assert that, a burst of confusion rings out among the Raptors and another one dies as the collective hesitates. The fight continues immediately afterwards, but now I'm part of it, leaping onto the back of the nearest assailant and digging my claws into its back. It staggers, trying to reach up and bite me with its tail, but I force it to the ground and bite its tail with my own, cutting it open and leaving it to bleed out as I jump towards the next Raptor.

The pack's prior confusion seems to vanish at that, immediately understanding me as an additional threat to be culled. The screams of a child are right next to me now, so close yet so impossible for me to clearly make out with my eyes. But to my ears, they no longer sound like screams of fear. They sound like screams of anger, the sort of sound you hear from a kid tired of being kicked to the ground by bullies and completely ready to bite their tormentor's face off with sheer, animal rage.

The kind a child makes when they are out of options, out of friends, and out of adults in their life they can turn to. The kind a child makes when they have been abandoned by the entire world and they have nothing left to keep them going, so why not just make their tormentors hurt and damn the consequences?

Something bursts out from the direction of the screaming, and I feel the motion before I see it, a shapeless mass whipping around and cutting through Raptors with wild abandon. I tear a chunk of meat out of my current victim as I try to jump away, but it twists mid-swing to stab me anyway. It hurts, but more than anything I find myself surprised by how warm it is. Not hot, not burning, just warm. It's a strangely pleasant temperature for a stabbing implement, but my surprise doesn't last long before it suddenly goes limp inside my wound, falling apart from a spiderweb-thin curved blade into an inanimate mess of liquid the moment it pierces my skin.

I feel the power controlling it in that moment, surrounding and shaping the weapons the child is using to attack. To my surprise, though, it feels nothing like the Queen's at all. Unlike Christine, unlike the Angel, this power presses into me with an experience utterly devoid from the concept of cutting, dividing, and grouping. Touching it is like hearing a genre of music for the first time, utter confusion followed by judgment followed by understanding its unique beauty.

And judgment, perhaps, is a good word to use, as it's central to the experience of this power. The force before me does not desire any one static thing; it is not an actor, but a reactor, the pure essence of accepting, considering, and responding in kind. Debts will be paid. Karma will be weighed. And goodness shall be met with goodness, while evil shall be met with evil.

And violence, oh that sweet and beautiful violence, will be met with yet more of its kind, too.

A mass of additional liquid converges on my position, all shaped into blades, as the screaming redoubles. My presence seems to be making the kid even more upset, but I leap away from their attack and let it carve open one of the other Raptors instead. My task is making sure my target is safe; I can deal with calming them down and getting them to stop trying to kill me later.

Ducking under another strike, I tackle a Raptor to the ground and tear into its chest with my foreclaws, biting the front of the torso off another Raptor trying to flank me from behind. It's obvious the more I fight that the best way to approach Raptors is from the side—we have powerful natural weapons from the front and behind, but very little ability to attack targets next to us without turning ninety degrees to face towards or away from them. And the other Raptors are smart enough to understand this too, because the next time I dodge I end up getting boxed in from the left and right.

…But I'm not only a Raptor. My body bursts into a different configuration, standing up straighter as a blade rapidly grows from each of my now-humanoid arms, using the momentum from each of the Raptors leaping my way to impale them through the chest. It doesn't kill them fast enough to stop them from biting into me and ripping into my flesh, but I'm already shapeshifting and it's just a twist of will to regrow the parts of me I've lost, though the ache of my power's hunger grows ever-more prominent the more I use it.

Not to mention, the shift in body and brain hits me like a bucket of ice water to the head. Pain, panic, and adrenaline flood into my veins between blinks of my now-clearer vision. Now, in what little light is left in the night, I can make out the form of the girl in front of me. She looks like she can't be more than nine years old, with pitch-black hair long enough to touch the small of her back. We stare each other in the eyes for a timeless moment, my terror for both of our well-beings overwhelmed by the intensity of her despairing hatred. Silhouetted against the light of the Milky Way, long, curved claws tip each of her fingers in place of nails, dripping with blood.

Her own blood.

It pours from every wound on her body, from bite marks on her torso that leak dark crimson to gouges in her wrists that look like they could have been slashed open by her own claws. The blood pools out of her, floating in the air and forming the weapons she cuts open the Raptors with, reaping them like chaff. In the time it took me to disable a few she's completely eviscerated ten of them. They're retreating now, and she looks torn between chasing after them and continuing to attack me.

The crimson blade she jabs towards my stomach is enough to understand what decision she chooses.

"Stop! Wait!" I call out, but she ignores me and slams the blade of blood into my belly, which once again destabilizes and reverts to unshaped liquid while inside me. The other… I mean, the Raptors didn't look like they had any such defense, their wounds appearing more like they were impaled and then ravaged further from the inside, if not outright cut in half. I feel her power thrum against mine, fighting for control and losing. Which seems great for my ability to survive this, but terrible for the girl's mental state: the anger and fear in her expression are only growing as she tries and fails to murder me.

It's a horrifying sight to see. Tears and snot mix with the alien guts on her face, a bladed hydra of blood pouring out of her wounds and thrashing around her like a wounded animal. She's hyperventilating, well past despair and teetering on the edge of madness. It's easy to imagine what happened to her. How a child that young must have been with her family when this all went down. How she got powers, but the rest of her family must not have. What that must have felt like when monsters began falling from the sky and claws began growing on her fingers. What that must have been like for her when the Queen dropped, and everyone she loved was turned from person into meat.

Is that who I would have become if I had gotten powers the first time around? Just a raging mess of terror and hatred, killing everything I can before the monsters finally got me like they did everyone else? She has nothing now. No one. Just like I did.

"Stop, it's okay!" I call out again, turning my blades back into normal arms as she stabs me again. "It's okay, I'm here to help!"

"Liar!" she shouts, and god her voice is so raw. So small. "Monster!"

"I'm human!" I insist. "I promise I'm human! I have powers, like you!"

"Lia!" Emily shouts, finally catching up with Christine in tow, the shivering woman once again running on her own two legs. "Watch out!"

For what, the deadly blood blades directly in front of me? I see them, Emily, and I don't care. I step a little closer to the girl and she cuts my arm clean off at the shoulder before my resistance destabilizes it, but I just flinch a little and keep walking. Christine screams, but I don't care. I can just grow another one, but I seal the wound and leave the arm gone for now, to save on power.

"Please calm down," I beg the girl softly. "We're going to get you out of here. We're going to help you."

"No! No, no, no!" she wails. "Everyone is dead!"

"I'm sorry," I whisper, leaning down a little as I continue to slowly approach. "I'm sorry. So many people are dead. It isn't fair."

Her blood curls around me and stabs me from behind. I flinch again, coughing as it destabilizes and leaks into my lungs.

"Lia!"

"Hurt me if you need to," I tell the girl. "But I'm here to help you. I'm not going away."

"Shut up!" she shouts. "Liar!"

"I understand why you feel that way," I tell her, "but I mean it. I'm not going away. Please. Let me help."

I'm not leaving a fucking child alone in this place. I don't care how many times she stabs me. I'm not going to attack her. I'm not going to defend myself. I'm not going to let some kid who just lost everything be alone. And she needs to know that. Everything on my mind right now is finding a way to show her. I squat down and hold my one remaining arm out to her, an offer to take my hand. She stares at it, terrified and confused, but when she stabs me yet again I'm ready for it, and I do not flinch. I just reach a little farther forward, and grab her hand myself.

"Please," I repeat.

The moment our fingers touch my power pushes hers aside like a curtain, diving into her biology with rabid interest. And it is interesting, I'll give it that. The way a child's body differs from an adult's is an interesting enough subject of study by itself, but this child's body is far more than that. She isn't in danger of dying from the many wounds on her body, to start with… and what the fuck else do I need to know, right now? I wrench control of my mind back from that obsessive distraction, clamping down on the shifts and changes my power has already started making to my body, and I focus on her.

There's only a brief pause before her already-crying face erupts into sobs, completely breaking down in front of me. The suddenness of it surprises me, but the thrashing blood around us collapses to the ground as the child wails up at the sky, the fight kicked out of her from a single human touch.

"That's it," I say quietly, squeezing her hand. "It's okay. You made it."

She steps into me and pulls me into a crushing hug, bawling into my collarbone. I regrow my other arm, wincing at the protest and exhaustion from my power before wrapping it around her back and returning the embrace.

"You made it," I repeat. "You're so strong. It's going to be okay."

It might not be okay right now, but it's going to be. Fucking hell, there was a kid out here. I take back every doubt I had about where Emily was taking us.

"...Lia?" Emily says again, she and Christine approaching us slowly. I turn my head just enough to spot her and give her my best smile, though I doubt she can see much in the dark.

"Can you find us somewhere to hole up for the night?" I ask her.

"...Sure," she answers. "I'll do my best."

"These are my friends," I tell the girl, her tears still flowing, though she was too exhausted to stay screaming for long. "Emily and Christine. And I'm…"

I glance at Emily. Ah, damn it.

"...Lia," I lie. "Can you tell me your name?"

The sniffs and sniffles are not immediately forthcoming, but I can tell the kid is trying to gather herself and don't rush her. It takes a while, but eventually she answers.

"...My name is Anastasia," she mumbles.

"That's a pretty name," I tell her. "It's good to meet you, Anastasia."

"Are you sure you aren't a monster?" she asks.

"I'm not," I promise. "I'm sorry I looked so scary when I first arrived."

"S'okay," she sniffs, staring at her bloody claws. "I look scary too."

Now that I'm so close (and so aware of everything about her body) I can make out a lot more detail on the poor girl. The contrast of her long, dark hair and deathly pale skin likely wasn't so prominent before she got her powers; while she looks almost entirely human but for her claws and slightly off coloration, her changes are far more comprehensive underneath the skin. It seems that since her power focuses on telekinetically moving her own blood, her body has adapted to a dramatically increased need for blood, with a massively accelerated metabolism and dramatically faster development of all rapidly-developing cells. That includes blood, of course, but it also includes her hair, her skin, and countless other little things that are going to affect her for the rest of her life.

But she heals fast, at least. Very fast. Every wound on her body is already scabbed over, and I wouldn't be surprised to find it fully healed a few hours from now. And considering how she carved through those Raptors, it's hardly a surprise that she's managed to survive alone out here for so long. She's dangerous. Possibly more dangerous than the rest of us combined.

I wonder if Emily brought us here to save her, or if she brought us here to have the kid save us. She'd better not have, but… I guess I can't really ask until we're alone. Still, she's crazy if she thinks I'm going to be okay with letting Anastasia fight anymore.

I'm the adult here, if only just barely. It's my responsibility to keep everyone safe.

"...Alright, we have a bit farther to go," Emily announces. "Lia, get your clothes back on and we'll head out."

Huh? Oh.

"Right, yeah," I agree, taking my clothes from her and tossing them on as quickly as I can. I'm gonna need to figure out an outfit-friendly way to use my powers soon. Still, I take the time I spend changing to quickly grow myself some alien sensory organs again, flipping my brain to the inhuman one and getting an update on where the Raptors following us are. Hmm… well, there's less of them now, obviously, but they've just spread out a bit more and are back to maintaining the circle around us. I'd really like to go help them establish the perimeter now that they're below designated pack size, but I already have a different task so I don't.

I scowl as I quickly swap back to a completely human mind. Those sort of thoughts sure do happen a lot when I have a Raptor brain, don't they? They haven't been problematic so far, because I'm still… me, somehow? I don't get it, but even when my whole brain changes I'm still me in the ephemeral way that allows me to maintain my goals, priorities, wants, and dreams even in the face of instinctive desires to do otherwise. Those desires are concerning, though. The encounter with the Angel proved they can definitely affect me in a significant way, and if they ever take over completely, well… it could be bad. And since I've had these powers for barely a few hours, I have no reason to assume my good luck will continue.

…Which is unfortunate, because the ability to keep track of what our enemies are doing and where they are out of sight is a bit too useful to just ignore.

"Alright, I'm ready to go," I announce, the distant sound of an explosion to the east causing Christine and Anastasia to flinch. "Lead the way, Em."

She nods and we head out, guiding our path while I make sure everyone sticks together, grasping Anastasia's hand reassuringly in my own. Now that I have a few different samples, I understand a bit more about how the human eye handles low-light vision, so I start making tweaks to improve my sight. It's a slow process, but after a few blocks I'm no longer feeling like every step I take could result in an unexpected faceplant and my ability to guide the others improves a lot accordingly.

It's barely twenty minutes of walking before Christine starts to visibly tire, but fortunately I don't need to find a way to subtly poke Emily about it. She finds us a place shortly after, nabbing the key out from underneath a nearby flowerpot and unlocking the door. We could probably just break into the house without any consequences, since it's not like having an intact lock is going to do much to stop the aliens, but there's something that just feels safer about being behind a locked door so I'm weirdly glad that Emily does it this way.

We shuffle inside, flicking the light switches and being entirely unsurprised when absolutely nothing happens. No power, no running water, nothing. It's impressive how quickly everything stops working, but we have no way to know if it's intentional sabotage by the aliens, the natural consequence of the massive earthquake dropping the Queen caused, or just municipal companies cutting their losses and being assholes.

"Okay," I announce. "Let's scrounge for food. Are we planning to be here all night, Emily?"

She thinks for a moment and then nods.

"Yes, I think so," she confirms. "You make sure to eat everything you can, Lia. I'm right about your power being fueled by food, aren't I?"

"Definitely," I sigh. "I'm almost burned out already. Anastasia, Christine, let's all make sure to eat."

I think Anastasia is malnourished. Analysis of her body indicates to me that she has a lot of poorly repairing tissue and a noteworthy iron deficiency. Not long-term damage. A recent issue, caused by constantly being injured and having to heal during the incursion.

"Sh-should we be taking the food here?" Anastasia says quietly, speaking for the first time since she stopped crying. "Stealing is wrong."

"Normally, you're right," I agree, kneeling down in front of her and giving her a soft smile. "But right now it's an emergency. The people who live here would want us to make good use of their food, since they won't be coming back."

Because they are probably dead. But I'm not going to emphasize that point; if Anastasia thinks of it on her own, so be it. But right now, I need to make sure she eats. The brave girl nods at me, seemingly satisfied by the logic that emergencies change the rules, and I turn my focus to the kitchen cupboard. Enough time has passed since the likely cause of the power outage that stuff in the fridge might not be safe to eat anymore, but anything that doesn't need to be refrigerated should be completely fine, and… oh! An unopened jar of peanut butter! Score!

"Grab a mix of things you want to eat and things that are hearty meals," I instruct. "Anastasia, I want you eating as much as you can. Your body will need a lot more food because of your power. Look for beans, jerky, or dried fruit. Christine, I don't know what you need. I haven't scanned you yet because your power blocks mine out. I think I could, though, if you want me to. It helps me know if you're injured or in need of certain nutrients or whatever."

Christine flinches. She hasn't even started to look for food yet, so I needed to address it directly to push her.

"I… would that tell you about other parts of my body?" she asks. "Would that let you shapeshift into me?"

"Yes," I confirm.

"Then don't do that," she says. "Ever."

"Okay," I nod, hiding my frustration. I understand my power is incredibly invasive, and I'm the last person looking to violate someone's bodily autonomy. So I'll respect Christine's decision there, no questions asked and no pressure given. But still… really? This is the one thing she shows some spine over? This? She's putting her foot down over something that could materially help both of us after I risked my life to save her over and over and barely got any help in return?

Whatever. Doesn't matter. She's made her choice and pressing her further would be morally wrong and liable to further damage her likely already-shaky opinion of me. I have to suck it up and be the nice one.

"You want to go through some of the canned meals, then?" I ask. "We don't have any way to heat them, though."

I doubt it'll be a problem. She absolutely seems like a cold Chef Boyardee sort of person.

"Yeah, that's fine," she nods.

Called it. I toss her some canned ravioli, which she fumbles for a bit and ultimately drops on the ground. It doesn't burst though, so whatever.

"Any luck finding a can opener?" I ask Emily, who is rummaging through the other cupboards.

"No, but I found the bowls," she announces, sliding one along the counter towards Christine. "Maybe she can just open the can with her power?"

Oh shit, smart thinking Emily! We need to get her competent, and that means we need her to practice.

"I… I don't know how to use my power," Christine stammers. "I don't even really know what it is! I don't know how you two do it."

"Do what?" Emily asks. "I don't have powers."

"Yeah, she's just a badass," I lie for her. "Do you feel anything different now than you did before? I only learned to use my power because it tries to use itself pretty much any time I touch something alive."

"I-I don't know. Kind of? It's weird."

"Christine, I turned into like three different aliens today," I reassure her. "Ate some of them, too. I'm well past weird."

"It's just… whenever I look at something I can feel what it's made out of," she mutters. "What the assembled parts are."

"Including the ravioli can?" I ask.

"Well… yeah," she mutters, glancing down at where she clutches it with both hands. "It's a little hard to grasp. There's a bunch of different ways it can have different parts. Like, the can itself is… maybe it's three parts: lid, label, and body. Maybe the bottom of the can is a fourth part. Maybe each ravioli is a separate element. Maybe all the things inside each ravioli are also separate elements. Maybe the sauce is one thing, or maybe it's everything that composes the sauce, and I just… whenever I think about it it's just overwhelming. It can always be more, more, more, more different parts, but it can also not be. It can also all just be one thing. I can barely even think anymore. Whenever I look at anything, I just…"

She swallows.

"I start thinking about how to take it apart like a puzzle. And I can't stop."

I share a glance with Emily, briefly reaching over to help Anastasia open up a packet of beef jerky.

"...Does that happen when you look at aliens?" I ask.

"I… it doesn't happen to you," she mutters. "Your powers block mine."

"That's not what I asked," I say. Could she have just ripped the aliens into chunks this entire time? Her power does feel like the Queen's. At first I thought maybe that was just what powers felt like, but Anastasia's is incomparably different.

"That's not important, Lia," Emily butts in, knowing full well that it absolutely fucking is. "If your power is making you think about all the possible different ways to take apart that can of ravioli, have you tried just… choosing one?"

Christine looks at her intensely, seeming desperate for a way out of the conversation I tried to start.

"What do you mean?" she asks, as if what Emily said was in any way unclear. Come on, Christine, get a hold of your brain for a second.

"Choose one of the configurations," Emily says, almost like a command. "Determine the can's division. It doesn't matter which one, just choose."

Christine hesitates, glancing back and forth between Emily and the can a couple times before staring intensely at it for a few seconds. Her expression gets progressively more and more vacant until suddenly, the can explodes… and then freezes in midair, its pieces as still as a photograph.

The can is in four parts: cylinder, lid, bottom, and label, the latter unfurled and grouped with the others. The content of the can is separated into intact ravioli and a clump of red sauce. It all waits in the air in front of her, immaculately organized.

"Put the can back together," Emily orders, and it happens. Each individual part reassembles itself, the lid resealing and the label re-gluing like it was never opened in the first place. The can's explosion reverses itself in slow motion, but the food that was inside still floats in the air. The can is empty now, and once it has been put back together it clatters to the ground.

"Put the food in the bowl," Emily says. This doesn't come as naturally to Christine. She can't seem to figure out how to just make it happen, but after a bit of confusion she just grabs the bowl, lifts it underneath the sauce, and simply lets the sauce drop inside. Then, by hand, she does the same to each of the ravioli, grabbing them and pulling them out of her power like she's picking berries off a tree before dropping them into the bowl.

"Looks like you've got a handle on it," Emily declares, giving Christine a winning smile and passing her a spoon. The poor girl nods quickly and takes the utensil with a blush. God damn, Emily. Well done. I give her a silent smile and a nod. She nods back, then motions her head towards Anastasia. The message is clear: she'll handle Christine, so I should handle the kid. Can do.

I walk back over to where Anastasia is glumly chomping down on beef jerky without complaint. She doesn't look like she's enjoying it, but she's hungry and she's devouring it for now. I'll see if I can find some food that's a bit more of a complete meal on the upper shelves in a bit. For now, I open my jar of peanut butter, grab a spoon, and sit down next to the girl to eat with her. She's a complete mess, her clothing ripped in a dozen places and her whole body covered in dirt and grime. Bathing is going to be a problem for all of us, I think.

Hmm. Well, she doesn't object to my presence, so that's good. It's always a danger with kids that they're just going to randomly decide they don't like you at first sight, but Anastasia is understandably pretty subdued. Still, I need more than that. I've got to start a conversation. Establish some rapport. It's a bit of a delicate situation, though. Start with a compliment?

"You're a really brave kid," I tell her.

"Sorry," she whispers back.

Huh? That's not what I expected.

"What about?" I ask.

"I hurt you," she says.

Oh, right. That.

"Eh, I'm fine," I assure her. "Not even a scratch on me. Don't worry about it."

"I still hurt you," she mumbles. "That's wrong. Powers aren't for hurting people."

I nod slowly. I can respect that answer. Hmm… I want to reinforce that answer but also reassure her.

"That's true," I agree. "You're exactly right. If I didn't have powers myself, I could have really gotten hurt. But I do have powers, Anastasia. So I forgive you. It's okay."

"I cut your arm off," she says quietly. "It was scary."

"I was definitely scared, but not about that," I tell her. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I'm glad you are."

She starts to shake a little, pausing between bites. Tears begin to fall down her face again. Shit. Did I screw up? I'm not sure, so I reach out slowly to grab her again, and to my relief she takes it, squeezing hard as tears fall down her face some more.

"I'm a witch," she whispers. "I'm a bad witch."

"No," I tell her.

"I am."

"Anastasia…"

She pulls herself closer and hugs me again, breaking out into sobs. I freeze up for only a second before returning the hug, idly running my fingers across her scalp and untangling her hair. Poor kid. The reality of her being here with us, orphaned and trapped in alien territory, fills me with a cold dread that's equal parts fury and despair. We've been busy putting one foot in front of the other so far, finding endless things to do to maximize our chances of staying alive and minimize our chances of having a complete mental breakdown. But here in the dark of night, as exhaustion catches up to us, our thoughts start to catch up with us, too. There's nowhere to run from them anymore.

Barely half a day ago, I was celebrating my birthday for fuck's sake. It may not exactly have been the happiest moment of my life, but I never would have imagined any of the things that just happened to me these past few hours as something that could actually occur. The sky split in half. An insane set of superpowers crawled into my head and tore my body away from me. Nearly my entire foster family died. Emily's awful girlfriend died, and I've somehow been convinced to pretend to be her for the foreseeable future.

It's incredible how Emily can be so optimistic about our chances of survival that she's already planning for what we do after we get out of this hellscape. It's insane. The rumble of distant artillery shells tickles my eardrums as I push down the urge to laugh at how pathetically nonexistent our chances are. The aliens know we're here, we're just such a non-threat to them that they can't even be bothered to deal with us yet. Eventually, the battle at the front lines will stabilize into a position that's too costly for either side to press further on, and the Angels will come to clean us up. We're on a hard time limit and we don't even have any way to know what the limit is.

And yet the world isn't done being cruel. It has to give me a child to hold in my arms. It has to remind me that if I die, if we fail, she dies too. The poor, innocent kid breaking down from grief and survivor's guilt right in front of me. She'll fight with us too, won't she? If aliens come after us, I won't be able to stop her from fighting them. I couldn't protect her from them even if I wanted to.

That might be the worst part, I think. Knowing that this child is fated to be a weapon. Because after all, if we do make it out, the military will take her. They take everyone with powers, no matter the age. Because we're needed. Because the rest of the world doesn't care about sacrificing children to keep themselves safe.

I don't know what to do about it. I just don't know. More than anything, I want to cry too. To break down and sob and wail and just let all the hopelessness out. But I can't. I can't do that to her.

"...We should keep eating, if we can," I whisper to her once the tears start to slow again.

"Don't want more jerky," she mumbles.

"That's okay, I'll eat it," I tell her. "Do you like chili?"

We do what we can and eventually stuff everyone full of food. …Except for me. I eat a lot, more than everyone else combined, even. But I still don't feel full. My power is aching for more food, but we need to make sure there's still enough for breakfast tomorrow and I've already cleared out nearly everything I've found palatable to actually eat. We start raiding the house for clothing next: fresh clothes, warm clothes, hot-weather clothes, backpacks for Christine and Anastasia, not to mention flashlights, batteries, pocket knives, and everything else we think we might need.

"How are we doing sleep?" I ask Emily while Christine and Anastasia are both changing. "We setting up a watch rotation?"

"...I'm not sure it'd be a good idea to have Christine be on watch," Emily admits.

"Definitely not," I agree, and not having Anastasia in the rotation goes without saying. "Just between you and I, though?"

"It would be prudent," Emily agrees. "Do you think your powers will help you stay awake at all?"

"Hmm. Maybe," I admit. "They prevent my muscles from getting tired, but I'm not really sure how to do the same for mental exhaustion."

Even though I've swapped it out a couple times, my brain remains quite tired. I'm not really sure how that sort of exhaustion works, but I could look into it. …But I don't say any of that. I don't intend to go into detail because that would start a conversation about the whole 'completely destroying and reshaping my entire brain' thing and I don't want to have that conversation. Ever.

"Well, we should keep everybody awake a little longer, though," Emily says. "Let's try to keep them busy."

"Uh. Why?" I ask.

She just gives me a look and I sigh. Right. Just trust her. It is, admittedly, not too difficult keeping everyone busy and awake; there's plenty to do in order to prepare, and the war going on nearby doesn't make for the calmest sleeping environment in the world. But I start to worry that everyone is just going to pass out from sheer exhaustion on the floor before we actually make it to whatever Emily is trying to keep people awake for.

"Oh hey," Emily says suddenly, staring out a nearby window. "The moon is back out. Would've been nice earlier."

Hmm. I don't disagree; the extra light would have been nice. But I'm not really sure if it's worth bringing attention to…

To…

I'm vaguely aware of my jaw starting to hang open, my body going slack as I stare at the sight above me. Above us all. The moon. It's always a beautiful and terrifying sight, but something about it enraptures me now even more than it ever did before, digging into my attention like a cat's claws. Looking at it, I almost feel lighter, like it's trying to pull me up into the sky. It's a bit of a terrifying thought considering the context, but in the back of my head I know, intellectually, that we don't have to worry.

After all, the Queen in the moon is dead.

Its corpse still hangs in the sky, enormous tentacles trailing behind the shattered, lifeless rock like a comet's trail. It was thirty years ago that this war started, and it was thirty years ago that, completely without warning, those massive tendrils burst out of the inside of the moon in a screaming flash of power and light. There are hundreds of recordings of it, from telescopes to phone cameras to satellites, and they all depict a horrific beast suddenly emerging from inside, thrashing violently enough to break the moon apart, and then dying barely an hour later. It still hangs up there, half-emerged from the shell of rock that our scientists are absolutely certain was not ever hollow, drifting along surrounded by all the floating fragments of what was once a pockmarked sphere.

Those shards often break out of orbit and fall to Earth, most of them burning up in the atmosphere. It's a special kind of meteor shower we call a moonfall. They're always beautiful, but even more notable is how much likelier it is for people to get powers if they live underneath one.

It's like a bad movie. Superpowers come from the moon. Except for when they don't, of course. Sometimes people just get powers, completely out of nowhere. It's the rarest way for it to happen, but it happens, at least so far as anyone knows. I'm sure there are other ways I don't know about, too. But the moonfall is reliable enough that the military always tries to launch a jet full of special forces operatives underneath where it falls, high up above where most aliens can get them, to maximize the chances of the people they most want to have powers getting powers. And oftentimes, this works. Exploiting moonfalls has been one of the big things humanity has started to do to slow down the rate we're losing ground.

…Or so they say, anyway. I've always privately wondered if it's propaganda or a bad rumor overblowing their importance. After all, astronauts had been to the moon plenty of times before it exploded and they certainly didn't get any powers. Staring up at the moon now, though, I can't help but believe it. I would be a fool not to. I can feel the moon now. In fact, I've been feeling the moon this entire time, ever since I got powers, without ever knowing it. Something tells me I'll always be able to point to exactly where it is, even if it's not visible in the sky at all. It almost feels like I should be falling towards it instead of Earth, calmly floating up into space like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It's mesmerizing.

"Um, guys?" Emily says, a tinge of worry in her voice. "What's gotten into you?"

I don't answer her. I'm dimly aware that none of us do. We all turned to look, and we no longer want to look away.

"Guys!" Emily shouts, snapping her fingers in front of my face. That breaks the spell, and suddenly I'm myself again, fully anchored to Earth and trying not to gasp for breath like I nearly just drowned. The others are brought back to themselves just as easily, a simple touch or noise or shake being all that's needed to end the hypnotic effect.

"Okay, uh, new rule everybody," Emily says. "Nobody with superpowers is allowed to look at the moon."

That… that was it, wasn't it? That was what she was waiting for. We needed to know looking at the moon would do that to us, so we don't get caught off-guard later.

"A-agreed," I say. "Let's… close the blinds before we sleep, yeah?"

No one objects. We all agree to sleep in the same room together on a collection of pilfered mattresses and pillows, and I volunteer to take the first watch. The others all curl up together and swiftly fall asleep.

In the darkness, I take a deep breath, open my senses, and let my fear fall away. The other Raptors surrounding us have replenished their numbers and then some, with upwards of thirty aliens surrounding our chosen house. It's a bit difficult to tell their exact positions with the walls between them and myself, but the important thing is that they aren't gearing up to attack us. That's not their task. Not yet.

But when it is, I'll be ready. Because my new task is getting everyone out of this alive.