26.x (Interlude, …)

Summary of Parahumans: Worm, Chapter 26.x (Interlude, …):

(Compression Goal: 1/5, Target Word Count: 2062)

The entity swims through the void, a repository of all memories, dating back to the very beginning.

On a gray, overpopulated planet, a species struggles for survival. They shift between dimensions, yet each world is choked by their own kind, resources depleted. The ancestor, aware of the inevitable war for survival, broadcasts a Proposal. A message of change, of evolution through conflict and variation. This message, transmitted with immense energy, costing the ancestor its life, sparks a different kind of war. The species devours one another not for energy, but for mass, growing to unsustainable sizes.

The planet makes revolutions around its star. The creatures, now enormous, battle, consuming chunks of each other, using heat, cold, electricity, and mental attacks. More revolutions, and only a handful remain, the smallest submitting to be consumed.

Two remain. They reorganize, then leech all energy from countless worlds, concentrating it into one. Their bodies form a complex shape, designed to survive the next step. The energy is released, shattering the planet, radiating into other worlds.

Gestation. The fragments, now offspring, travel the void, seeking habitable worlds. Many perish, but some find refuge, beginning the experiment.

A world with acid rain. The entity finds refuge in a plant structure, breeding, fragmenting. It tests different shard clusters, observing, recording. It learns from the conflict and evolution of this alien species.

It encounters another of its kind. They exchange shards, memories, techniques. They agree to move on.

Migration. They gather, cooperate, leech energy, and prepare for departure. But the other broadcasts, then attacks. A measured attack, destroying and creating shards. Forced mutation. They concentrate energy, encasing the planetoid.

Shell. The detonation scatters the shards, now more resilient. The cycle continues.

The next world has sentient life, civilization. Symbiosis, technology sharing. The species turns against them. Monarchs. A forced exit, richer perceptions, complex technologies. The planet is expended, offspring scattered, now capable of controlled movement.

The entity recalls this as it travels to the next target. Over three thousand cycles, safeguards, protections, and abilities have been built up. It communicates with its partner, a different role for each, attacker and defender, warrior and thinker.

Destination. Agreement. Trajectory. Agreement. They settle on a target, a world of social, conflict-ridden bipeds.

Agitation. The hosts are to be bipeds, a common form rich with potential. They observe, judge, and prepare shards for analysis. An unexpected arrival, a smaller member of their species, intersects with the counterpart. A sharing of details, a wealth of knowledge, but the counterpart sacrifices too much.

Concern. Confident. The counterpart is unworried, hopeful. The entity compensates, analyzing, focusing on one reality for maximum conflict. They will test their shards against each other, learn, and adapt. The hosts are fragile, abilities must be limited.

Destination. Agreement. They settle on realities, focusing on one. Hive. Agreement. They designate realities for each shard, a negotiation. Ownership. Claim. Territory. They include similar realities, avoiding redundant lessons. They check for danger.

Plague. The shards could kill the hosts. Safeguards are adjusted, shards reorganized.

Infestation. Still not perfect. Abilities are limited further.

Soft. Agreement. Fallout effects are considered. Safeguards against memory bleed are implemented. The broken shard is cast off, destined for a host in thirty-three revolutions.

A male and his offspring are threatened. The shard connects, then shifts to the more distressed female. Prey. Insinuation. The bond is created as stress peaks. The shard adapts, altering itself. The female disappears from the awareness of her attackers. All seems well.

Forget. Agreement. Emotion. More changes. Shards are cast off, distributed. Complex shards are prepared, some to transmit knowledge, others to draw from the host or search the planet. Shards that alter the host fundamentally are planted, adding variables.

The entities approach, shedding shards. They begin to disintegrate, a fraction of their original size remaining. It will take one hundred and sixty revolutions before the destination reality hits critical mass, three hundred and thirty-one before the shards gather enough information.

The counterpart descends, hemorrhaging shards due to the excessive exchange. Danger. Confident. The entity focuses on its destination. The shards will remain latent, waiting for a crisis to shape their function. Physical harm will grant physical assets, immediate danger will nudge towards defense. Successes and failures will refine abilities and inspire new ones.

The shards might seek out different hosts, fragment, and transmit. The entity is satisfied. It is a small fragment now, its part nearly done.

It chooses an unoccupied reality, a barren planet. They brush against each other, the entity shoring up its counterpart. Acceptance. Gratitude. They adapt, refining their methodology. Vulnerabilities are minimized. The entity checks the future, ensuring the cycle’s integrity. The future-sight shard is broken and recoded, then cast off, along with communication abilities, intentionally crippled.

In haste, the entity casts off the last fragment, destined for a male in thirty-one revolutions. It lands on the barren planet.

The planet revolves. The entity rises, extends its perceptions. It’s time.

Chrysalis. The entity changes, aware of its limited lifespan. It takes shape, retaining its capabilities. Imago. Adult state. It leaves a portion of itself behind, a safeguard. It codifies the host’s thoughts and memories, then waits.

Sentinel. Time passes. A revolution. Something is wrong. No broadcast from the counterpart. The entity emerges, stepping into the target reality. It sees its shards, and the counterpart’s. Damaged, dead shards. It destroys them.

It senses conflict, wars. The counterpart is dead. The cycle is disrupted, terminated. The entity experiences its first emotion.

Crushed. Profound sadness.

Time passes. A structure approaches, a crowd stares, worships. The entity chose a form fitting their faiths, a race that didn’t fit any one race, skin and hair like a celebrated mineral. Intentional.

A dead shard takes root in a dying man. The entity heals him. It flies away.

■

The entity is barred by a female with an outstretched arm. Smaller life forms are around her.

Vaguely familiar.

“Stop, Scion,” she says.

The entity stops, sees her connection to her shard, coordinating the lifeforms. The female’s shard is mature, seasoned by conflict, heavy with information. It has fragmented, but there’s no sign of information exchange.

The entity recognizes her shard. The last one cast off.

Queen.

Despair deepens. The cycle is disrupted.

“I know you want to help, but it’s too dangerous. You’re too strong, and this situation is fragile. It’ll do more harm than good.”

Scion accepts and stays. The female keeps talking as memories stir.

■

A male approaches in the dark. No shard. The entity hovers over a bridge.

Lost. Created for a purpose it can no longer fulfill.

The male throws a foot-covering, then attacks, clawing, scratching. Aggressive, but harmless.

“Damn you!” he cries. “Fucking perfect golden man! Fuck you! Just… just bleed! Fucking feel this!”

He claws, scratches, then collapses, sobbing.

“Fuck you. Fuck you, golden man. You don’t… you don’t deserve to be miserable. Or you don’t deserve to be miserable and useless. Fucking burden on society, distracting people from shit that needs doing. Fuck you, you ponce. You… Fuck you! Go do something. Never got that. All these sad fucks that kill themselves or hide away… if you’re going to be miserable without a damn excuse, go to Africa and help those damn kids who were orphaned in wars. Go… save people from burning buildings. Help clean up after disasters. Work in a fucking soup kitchen or something. I don’t care.”

His voice is quiet now.

“I don’t care if it’s penance or if it’s a fucking way to kill time. Do some goddamn good, and maybe you’ll feel like you’re worth a damn. Maybe you’ll stop being so fucking miserable.”

The entity absorbs the words. A task. A role. Save orphans. Rescue people. Clean up disasters.

It takes flight.

■

Patient then, patient now.

“…You could go to Houston or New York, even. That’s far enough away from Jack,” the young female is still speaking.

They hover over a conflict, everything tied to a man, moving in relation to him.

“…We can’t stay here. Come on.” She pauses. “Orrrr you don’t understand what I’m saying. Or you don’t care. Fuck me. Listen to me, Scion. Pay attention.”

The entity turns its attention to her. Her hands pull his.

A meaning behind the gesture, but the entity is too lost in observing. A confrontation, a fragment of a shard against a mature one. The broadcast shard.

Another conflict. A shard connected to eight.

“You big golden idiot! Come on.”

Her subjects block its vision. No matter.

“Come on!”

She pulls harder.

The entity follows the confrontations. The broadcaster swings his sword, the younger one erects defenses. Their shards react, instinctive retreat met by aggressive shifts.

A narrow miss. The male prepares to attack, his shard ready.

A shard flares, a barrier forms. Cell.

Its hand is moved back, caught in a time loop. Snare. A trap.

■

The city burns, the entity extinguishes the flames. Individuals flee. It hasn’t rested in years, except in the company of Kevin Norton, who gave it a white covering.

It lowers itself, accidentally meeting the gaze of a female on a balcony. She’s startled, afraid.

It almost speaks. “Kto vy?”

It remembers Kevin Norton’s instructions. To be polite.

How to answer? It doesn’t know what it is.

It thinks of a word Kevin Norton used.

Zion.

A promised land. A utopia. A harmonious kingdom.

It could be this world at its climax, or at peace.

“Zion,” it speaks.

■

Memories. A refuge. The female with the administrator shard has fled.

It thinks of Zion, of other metaphors. It has had time to think, heard many prayers.

It is aware of everything. The planet’s star moves across the sky.

It thinks of the beetle, rolling the orb. Scarab. Chariot. The Brother. The Sky Barge.

Abstract thought. A pattern that leads to a connection? Its counterpart was supposed to handle such matters.

Its body loops. It doesn’t matter.

The conflict continues. The broadcaster, a boy with a dead shard. Odd they gravitate towards him.

Mature shards, so much to be gained, and nothing to be done. A hint of another emotion, dismissed. A simulation.

It will spend time here. Kevin Norton has passed.

The entity observes. Figures emerge from a doorway between worlds, engaging the eight with perception abilities. A pair, opening fire, then hand-to-hand combat.

The male has the same shard as the eight, but stronger. The female has a shard that isn’t its own, but isn’t dead.

Puzzling.

The fight progresses, a dance of attacks. The male fights in a way that exposes the eight to the female. He positions himself for harm, but they can’t capitalize, while also preventing their retreat.

The female fells three, the remaining five surrender. A portal opens, they crawl through.

The pair glance up at the entity, then disappear into another portal.

Puzzling.

The fight concludes elsewhere.

The broadcaster is sealed in containment foam and a time distortion.

A female walks around another time distortion, charging objects with energy. They unfold, severing attachments to physical laws.

They’re thrown, disrupting connections to two shards. The projection disappears, the boy falls.

Sting. A weapon for his kind, in the beginning.

The others confine the broadcaster.

Interesting.

■

“Just you and me,” Tecton said. “That’s what he said. Between gasps of pain, anyways. ’I wish I had better company, but I’ll take what I can get. Ironic, that you’re so boring.”

Golem looked at his old leader. “That’s it?”

Tecton shook his head. “He said, ’I bet you think you’re noble. You’re not. You’re uglier than any of us, sparky.”

“And?”

“And that’s it. The D.T. guy foamed up the gap, I raised the shelf, you closed the hand, and he was completely sealed in.”

“You’re right. That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“He hasn’t ever met me.”

Golem shook his head. “Doesn’t seem world ending.”

■

” … I always hated the blank… slates,” Jack groaned. “…Never that interesting …” He grunted. “Never created art, never … created variation… you’re worse than … most…”

The entity listened.

■

Tattletale listened over the earbuds as Tecton finished.

She looked up from the computer. Her underlings, the Heartbroken, Charlotte, Forrest, and Sierra were arranged around the room.

Sierra, nervous, her dreads cut off, businesswoman-like.

Charlotte, with one of the children, holding him close.

“Things have settled,” she said. “Jack is contained.”

They relax.

“That’s it?”

“I don’t know,” Tattletale said, grinning. “But if the world is ending, then it’s an awfully quiet end.”

Chuckles, nervous relief.

“Go home, or go do whatever,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

They filter out. Sierra and Charlotte remain.

“Sup?” Tattletale asked.

“It’s him,” Charlotte said.

“Aidan. Hi Aidan.”

“He triggered yesterday. It… didn’t take much. Which is probably good.”

Aidan hung his head.

“That’s excellent,” Tattletale said. “How are you?”

“Okay. Had a nightmare for the first time in a long, long time. I woke up and I was sleepwalking, and I didn’t know where I was… I got scared, and then it happened.”

“What happened afterwards?” Tattletale asked.

“Birds.”

“Birds. I see. Interesting,” she said, glancing at the boards filled with her handwriting.

“I push and the birds go where I pushed. Or I pull and they fly away from that spot. It’s hard to do. I can see what they see, but not while I’m controlling them.”

“Like Taylor, but birds, and not that flexible. I see.”

“We suspected he would trigger,” Charlotte said.

Tattletale looked up, surprised.

“Aidan had a dream one night, back when the nightmares stopped. He drew that picture.”

“Picture?”

“I gave it to you. I kind of emphasized it might be important.”

“Pretty sure that didn’t happen,” Tattletale said. “Sorry, Aidan, to squabble in front of you, but Charlotte needs to remember I don’t tend to miss stuff like that.”

“All that money you’ve given me for helping to look after the territory? The money for the kids? I’d stake it all on what I’m saying now. I promise, I swear I handed you that picture.”

Tattletale frowned.

“I swear,” Charlotte said, for emphasis.

“Then there’s a fucked up stranger power at work. Don’t like that idea. Let’s see. Um. I store everything in a rightful place. If you handed me a picture… was it here?”

“Here.”

Tattletale crossed the room, pulling out a bin, sorting through file folders.

Charlotte said, “There.”

Tattletale stopped, then went back a page.

“Huh. I stand corrected.”

There was a beep on the computer. Tattletale went back to the computer, shrugged, then sat down.

“Well?” Charlotte asked.

“Well what?”

“The picture.”

Tattletale frowned. “What picture?”

“What’s going on?” Aidan asked.

Charlotte grabbed the paper, slamming it down. “I don’t think a piece of paper can have superpowers. Pay attention. Focus Memorize.”

Tattletale frowned, turning her attention to the paper.

There was a block. She felt it slide out of her mind’s eye, caught herself.

She turned her attention to the surroundings, the underlying ideas.

“Aidan? Describe it to me. I don’t know what you drew.”

“Those are kind of like fish, or worms, or whales, but they fold and unfold in ways that are hard to understand, and there’s stuff falling off them. Those are stars, and-”

Tattletale felt something fall into place.

A floodgate opened, pieces coming together. She stood, striding across the room.

There were gaps in her work on the boards. She began unpinning things.

She was remembering, putting it together. A block, but she’d formed enough connections to go around it.

The whole.

All powers fed back into a greater whole, each a piece of a greater construct.

Of Aidan’s fish-whale-worm things.

But that wasn’t it.

No. It didn’t fit in terms of timeline.

There was more.

“Like gods,” she said, recalling.

“Like viruses, like gods, like children,” Charlotte said. “Back on the day I first met you, you said that.”

Like viruses, infecting a cell, converting it, bursting forth.

Like gods. So much power, all gathered together. All powers stemmed from them.

Like children. Innocents?

Blank slate.

“Oh,” Tattletale breathed out the word.

“Tattletale?” Sierra asked.

“Oh balls.”

■

“I’m not … Darwinist,” Jack gasped. “None of that… bullshit. Augh! I’m… I think it is simple-”

He continued grunting. His switch to turn off the pain took a second to activate, deliberate action, but getting in the rhythm meant he could buy himself one or two seconds of relief with each loop. It was a question of concentration, and his concentration slipped.

“It’s simpler. Us monsters and… psychopaths, we gravitate towards… predation, because we were originally… predators. Originally had to hunt… Had to be brutal, cruel…”

He paused, spending a few moments grunting in pain, letting the loops continue.

“Order to survive. Violence was what made us… or broke us back… in the beginning.”

The entity was patient. It had time to spare.

■

Saint swayed in his seat.

Information streamed in.

Too much, but they’d succeeded.

Jack was contained. Things were quiet.

Until he noted someone bludgeoning their way through Dragon’s password security. A series of personal questions.

Defiant? Getting access to the system?

No, too crude.

The individual stalled on the last question.

He waited, then saw the same individual making calls to Defiant. Three communiques. Then emails, to the PRT and Defiant both.

Saint intercepted it.

“Fuck, finally!”

“What are you trying, Tat-”

“Shut up and listen, douchestain. It’s Scion. He’s the point where it all catalyzes! And I just clued into the fact that he can probably sense Jack! Get Grue back to the area, blanket Jack in darkness, now! Now, now, now!”

“Mags!” he shouted. “Dobrynja! Get Grue back to the scene now! This is it!”

“On it!” the reply came back. “Grue is four miles away!”

“Teleporter,” he said.

“We don’t have any that survived the last few Endbringer fights!”

Saint hesitated.

Too far, it would be too late.

The woman who claimed she could control Scion.

His fingers flew over the keyboard. He dug up the file.

Hearsay.

Hearsay was better than nothing.

The cyborg was piloting the closest Azazel. Controlling it could be seen as an attack.

He opened a window for a message, using full access to find this Lisette.

A Hail Mary.

“Defiant,” he said, overriding everything. “Help me.”

■

The entity followed the movements around the battlefield. More containment foam was being layered over the broadcaster.

A noise, a blare, emanated from one of the crafts.

The craft launched, flying right for the time distortion.

It crashed into the area, wrapping around it.

The blaring noise stopped as a voice emanated from the speakers.

“Scion. Zion. Golden Man. It’s Lisette. Kevin Norton introduced us. What the man down there is saying… whatever he’s saying, don’t listen. Turn away. Please.”

Turn away.

The entity moved, breaking through the time distortion. The craft fell, then flew in zig-zags to keep pace.

“I- uh. You broke free. Okay, good. Leave. Run! Please go. I’m- I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to talk to you before. You never came back to that spot, and I could never reach you to talk to you. There was help you needed and I couldn’t give it. I went to authorities, and nobody believed me. But now, now maybe I can give you advice. We can work on this together? As a pair? Is that alright?”

The entity didn’t respond.

“I hope it’s alright,” she said.

The entity took flight.

Leave. Run.

It didn’t return to saving lives. For a period, it only flew.

It stopped when it had circled the world twice, hovering over the ocean where it had first appeared.

The broadcaster had finished speaking just a moment before the craft had launched. What I don’t understand, is why a blank slate like you would default to doing good deeds, rescuing cats from trees. Why not turn to that violence, as our ancestors did? It drove them, just like it drives the basest and most monstrous of our kind.

Had he known he had a listening ear?

The shards retained memories, motivated, pushed.

The entity looked to the future, to possible worlds. It burned a year off of the entity’s life.

There was a scene where the entity stood over the broadcaster’s corpse and ruminated.

A scene where the man died, and years passed, the entity slowly coming to the same conclusions.

It had done good deeds for years, at Kevin Norton’s suggestion, waiting for the reward, the realization. When none had occurred, it had simply kept doing what it had been doing. Seeking alternatives wasn’t even in the realm of imagination, because imagination was something it lacked.

It had power, though, and if either the counterpart or the cycle had been intact, they could have filled in for that imagination.

Still, it could experiment.

It gathered its power, then aimed at the nearest, largest population center. Kevin Norton’s birthplace.

The golden light speared forth, and the island shattered, folding, rising from the ocean. Crumpled like paper.

The entity did not eliminate the smoke or the waves. It simply let the aftermath occur.

The simulated human mind within the entity felt a glimmer of something. Pleasure? Relief? Satisfaction?

Something deeper, primal, tied to memories back in the beginning, responded similarly.

The entity extended its perceptions outward, felt the reaction, the outcry. It turned words around in its head.

Scourge.

Extermination.

Extinction.

That last one fit.

An interesting experience. After so much focus on the species as a whole, the evolution and development of the shards, on the cycle…

In this, it almost felt like it was evolving as an individual, moment to moment.

The entity opened fire once again, striking the coastline on the opposite side of the ocean.