Victor’s comment makes her choke and her hands fly to her mouth as green slime escapes her lips. Cough cough hack wheeze death. She glares, tears in her eyes from aforementioned hacking wheeze death, across the table at Victor. A kick is aimed at his nano-shin.

It's a brand new day. The sun is shining, the clouds have cleared, the smile is on the face, I repeat, we have a smile on Victor's face. He's quietly losing it into his spoon, mirth shaking his frame as he slowly leans back, careful not to lose the foot tarbabied into his leg.

It's a lucky thing Euna wasn't eating any more ice cream just now, or it'd be everywhere. As it is, the sound of a breath catching in her throat is audible: this warbly little squeak settling in just under Sara's enthusiastic dessert enjoyment noises. Her eyes open as wide as they'll go as her pupils dilate to match. The blush starts at her nose, spreads to her cheeks, and climbs down to her neck and up to her ears at the same time. For a second, she can't move except to make funny little sniffs. Her mouth's even caught hanging open a little bit.

Oh no. Oh no, she's picturing it. Oh no everybody's watching and she can't stop picturing it. Why did she think this was a good idea? Who teases a tiger in public? There's a terrified grin spreading across her face. Her hands sneak up with skillwire precision to cover her mouth. Then her entire face. She hunches down until the face/hand combo meets her knees, and in that instant nobody in a thousand meter radius is going to wonder at all who was going to wind up on the bottom. Hypothetically squeaking. SPEAKING!

"Th-th-th-that's not fair!" she barely more than mumbles as her entire torso trembles with embarrassment.

She sits back up with superhuman effort, but the damage is done. She can't look Sara in the face right now. Hell, she can't look anyone in the face.

"I..." her eyes focus on a spot next to Sara's chair. Her hands clench into fists on her lap. Her blush, impossibly, grows deeper, "Th-there, I mean. Um. I-I don't... think, uh, a-any part of you isn't (gulp) isn't pretty."

Three. Two. One.

"UM! I MEAN! UH, GOSH WHAT AN INTERESTING QUESTION FE--" inside voices you moron, literally everyone is staring, "Er.. Fe, Ferra. Yeah. You know. Obviously. Yup! Of course she's proud. I mean I'm proud! We're... it. No, um. You know?"

Dear god, something or somebody save her.

POTENTIAL 1

Of course Sara saves the damsel in distress. How could she not? She’s a big-time superhero, after all. Saving people? It’s in the job description.

She does this by jerking her foot under the table, which naturally causes Victor to jerk back, which just as naturally causes her to fall out of the chair, and even though there was a solid beat you just know everyone is going to think it’s because of the comment.

Don’t worry. She’s still processing that. Later she’ll quietly melt over it. But right now she is on the floor cussing out Victor.

For a long time the moon has seemed a dying, scaberous, cold kind of thing - a broken semicircle of destroyed rock, shattered in the sky and pockmarked with the shadows of orbital debris. But as the sunny afternoon wears on to an unseasonably warm evening it has a different character to it. It's still broken but now it's not obscured by a pox of orbital debris. Now it's lit up like a fire in the sky, surrounded by a halo of glittering diamonds. They're actual diamonds, by the way, meteors of pure concentrated and perfectly arranged carbon that catch the solar light just so and give the moon back something of its elegance.

The world, likewise, is still injured. But maybe it too can build some cybernetics for itself.

---ISSUE END---

The usual workout corner room is a little better furnished today than usual. The floor is covered by a very soft looking, dark red carpet, and there's a supremely comfortable armchair in the spot where there's normally a folding chair or some other makeshift seating arrangement. Next to that sits a small table with a water bottle sitting in the middle. But as has become the norm lately, Euna's nowhere to be found when the camera comes into focus.

There's a sharp, rapid stomping sound coming from somewhere off frame. It's impossibly to tell what direction it's coming from, or if it's getting louder. It seems so close, and yet...

A black and silver blur cuts into the frame. Euna Kim digs her heels into the carpet and slides into view. Then she vaults over the arm chair and skids until she's back out of the shot. Her exclamation gets bleeped out after the letter F. She walks back toward the table, snatches the water bottle in one hand and starts guzzling without really caring whether or not she looks professional doing it. She holds up one fingers to the camera, and for a minute or so there's nothing but the figure of Euna, hunched over in front of the chair instead of sitting in it, and the sound of her exhausted breathing.

She's dressed head to ankle in full Nidadas track gear (the shoes are actually an Atlas product. What a brand rebel!), all black and white and very specifically tailored to cover up her limbs: Full length track pants and a long sleeved top that's been very aggressively cropped well above the end of her rib cage, leaving the majority of her torso (and physique) exposed. She's not wearing gloves, so it's obvious that she hasn't swapped out her limbs or anything, but it's like she's gone out of her way to highlight the part of her that's still natural. She's also drenched with sweat, her long two-toned hair is clinging all the way down her back.

"Hah.... hah.... Hey guys! It's... ffff.... me! Just... uh... one, one sec.... okay?"

She takes another swig of water and stands up straight as she flashes a tired smile at the camera.

"Sheesh. Coulda planned this a little better... uh yeah, sorry about that! Welcome to Euna's Fitness Corner!"

She drags a hand behind her back and tosses her hair behind her. It unsticks for a second before slapping back against her with a wet thwap. She shrugs and takes a seat on... the armrest of the chair. Sure.

"So, yeah. I actually... uh, god this is embarrassing. I don't actually have any workout tips for you today! I'm actually just here to do an ad bit. But I promise it's really exciting! No really, I mean it! See I've been asking around and I finally, finally got approval so I'm... ahem. Yeah.

Coming second quarter of next year, I'm thrilled to be the one to tell you AEGIS will be opening a public obstacle course designed by yours truly! Oh, it's gonna be so much fun, you have no idea! I'm modeling it after a, uh... recent mission, and we're breaking it up into five different courses at increasing levels of intensity. We're gonna have climbing walls, a swimming section, a wind tunnel you have to run through, a huge open field area to dodge and return laser fire... and oh yeah! For you super intense hero types, a one-on-one battle with a specialized Training TAG! Not to mention a killer weight room."

Errant's grin could almost rival the new-look moon for brilliance. She also finally remembers she's been holding a water bottle all this time, and just sort of casually chucks it over her shoulder and hope it lands out of frame. It doesn't. She shrugs.

"We'll have scores and times for you to compete against set by a number of different Corporate Champions and... maybe if I can swing it even a couple of special guests. Oh, and we're setting up shop well away from the Pyramid, so don't worry about that. Should be just a couple blocks' walk from the downtown metro station. Oh and, best of all? It's pay what you want! Fitness is important no matter who you are, so if you've got the extra money to chip in please feel free, but if you don't... well, you still deserve to feel healthy too, ok?"

The smile drops off her face, and Euna finally shifts to sit down in the chair properly for the first time. She crosses her legs, uncrosses them, recrosses them going the other way; she has no idea what to do with herself. Finally she settles for planting her feet wide on either side of her and leaning forward so her elbows are resting on her knees.

"And, uh, hey. I'm not trying to tell you that you have to be some sort of goddess to be a good person. Ok? If you feel good about yourself and your body's not giving you any trouble? That's awesome! You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But... if you're sitting there, listening to this and thinking 'what's the point'? I just want you to know this isn't about being the best. It's about being the best you. And that... that's important, ok? Even if it doesn't seem like it. Because it's, well, it's like this magical princess once told me: our hearts are all connected. The things you do today can completely change another person's world... even the ones we think are out of reach. Even the ones we're pretty sure hate our guts. Not to mention friends and family and everyone you see every day! So just... yeah. Do your best. And if you can't do it for you, then look around you, and find someone you can do it for. Take care, yeah?"

She throws up her usual stupid "peace/victory" hand sign, and the camera cuts out.

COMING THIS FALL...

THE CROSSOVER EVENT OF THE CENTURY

Admiral Bearclops has kept the seven seas and skies clear of piracy for as long as he’s had fluff in his tummy. It’s his watchful eye that makes sure everyone gets their shipping on time, twenty-four hours guaranteed! He’s faced down the Drone Weaver and Captain Communal, protected the beautiful Dame Cio and wrestled Mecha Hercules to a standstill! He’s even been to the Age of the Dinosaurs alongside Doraemon and his friends! But this Fall, witness the latest chapter in nautical cinema, right in your VR room!

When shipments of toys going to children all over the globe start going missing, Admiral Bearclops and the crew of the Chibiargo are on the case! Every toy belongs in the hands of the child who purchased it, after all. But this time, he’s up against an enemy who’s... a hero of her own?

Can the rumbly tumbly Admiral keep his eye on the prize without being dazzled or blown away? Can he defeat the saltiest superheroine ever to take to the seven seas? And why has @SARRRAPHIM succumbed to the temptation to steal the honestly purchased toys of innocent children?

Find out in ADMIRAL BEARCLOPS VII: MYSTERY OF THE STREAMING PIRATES, available for home streaming from August!

STARRING

Michael D’Nofreo as Admiral Bearclops
Megan Yen as Captain Bunnitaur
Jacen Simms as Lance Corporal Ratmaton
Honoria Saint-Yves as Dame Cio
@SARRRAPHIM as Herself
@SARAPHIM as Herself
AND
Two-time Tooncademy Award Winner PHIMMY as Herself

Ferra's Community Science Arts and Crafts Corner

Ferra's sitting in her apartment. The time stamp shows this is the fourth hour or so of filming. She's sitting in the foreground, on a comfy chair. She's got a ball of yarn siting at her side that her cat is alternating between looking refined and dignified sitting next to it, and then trying (and failing) to kill the prey when it twitches. Bode is sitting a few feet further away, at a potter's wheel, making something that does not, quite, look exactly unlike a duck. Ferra is cheerfully humming bits from Le Mis.

This goes on for 6 more hours. Occasionally they stop to show each other a neat bit, or get more clay/yarn. Eventually the camera runs out of juice. Ferra does not stop humming.

"...And that's when she punched me through a wall!"

Jerry-Lee's laugh is, like everything else about her, perfect, delicate, and calculated for maximum audience enjoyment. The cameras capture it perfectly from every angle, and a million Halcyonites swoon.

Brainstorm looks much less comfortable under the lights, face sheened with sweat, and he jumps when the host turns back to him. "We're glad to have heard more about your side of things, and your role in the recent events. But do tell... what do you say to the people watching?"

Brainstorm hems and haws for a few seconds before sighing. "Honestly, Commander Warren would be a better source for public-facing things. But to the common viewer... Big things are coming. And it used to be, I thought that was because of big people--CEOs, corporate champions, superstars, geniuses. But the truth of things is that the far greater power lies in you. In everyday acts of kindness, of resistance, of being, in everything you do, a little better. I'm right there with you."

The camera hangs there for perhaps a little bit too long, waiting for more, but with no more forthcoming, the feed cuts to the outro.

@Sarahphim!

You burned away your capacity to love, you know? You set fire to the place in your heart where a family should fit. It was dead weight, old and so, so heavy. And without it you could fly... and the lights were just a bonus.

You've had a lot of time to think about the devil's bargain you struck with the cosmos that day. Plenty of time to wonder and doubt. Is what you're feeling now what you'd have felt like if you hadn't cut that part of yourself away? Is this love or is it some other emotion masquerading as love? The science of faustian pacts remains unexplored, but culturally there's still a pretty strong impression that it'll never do you right in the long run. What can you say? Family's been on the mind and some part of you still wishes you could remember their smiles...

You're at the roof of the world, the shadow in the New Moon. Your mind, still as sharp as those celestial diamonds, knows even you couldn't bring you down if you tried. You've burned your image indelibly on the earth. And you know, too, that your heart stops when she looks at you, and you know that means something...

But you're still wondering. You've always been wondering. Every day you've woken up with the fear that maybe this will all just stop. How much time did you buy? How long until midnight strikes and the carriage turns back into a pumpkin and it's just Sara after all?

It's a thought that comes sometimes. How does it feel to be you while you're in its shadow?

Errant!

You look at the smashed billboard, the heaping of destroyed merchandise, the burned out shells of cars that litter the streets. They're right to be angry. There's a feeling of hopelessness in the air, like they know that property damage is too little, too late - but there's no other way to vent their feelings.

This is BlackSun territory.

When the corporation collapsed all of its secrets came out into the open. Worst was the Self Survey Nanites - a nanobiological monitoring program that BlackSun infected everyone who lived under its umbrella with. Adults were mostly okay but children were put at heightened risk of severe nervous system damage. Many of them will require emergency surgery or amputations.

The street lit only in the red and black of AEGIS emergency hospital signs, glittering against a road of shattered neon. As you walk a doctor stands outside of a clinic, face illuminated by the colourful glow of a mind-numbing phone game. He glances up at you, eyes sharp through the black circles, beard wet with rain.

"Agent Errant?" he said, tucking the phone away and offering his hand to shake. "Doctor al Jamil. Thanks for answering my call."

Brainstorm!

It's a strange kind of box one makes to hold a god. Old fashioned. Chunky. Slow. Mechanical. There's a click-click-clicking and whirring and incomprehensible electronic beeps and the loud thunk-chunk-whirr. It's percussive. It's obsolete. It's slow. And to Prometheus, it's a prison.

Translation issues and unexpected upscaling was what let Prometheus escape Bode in the first place, so you've done the opposite to bind him. He's been limited to the oldest hardware you could find in junkyards and museums. And now no matter how much he writhes or organizes himself, whatever miracles of code or optimization he performs... he's on the same level as you. Bound by his hardware. All in one place, overseen by the silently watching Bound Eagle, who patiently and deliberately watches every spinning cd-rom to ensure nothing untoward is taking place.

You're finally equals again. Back to the early days of putting him together in your improvised lab in the back of Mami's shop. Tell me about those days of old, how this hardware felt when it was full of hope, before the storms had come between you.

Ferra!

The core of the spaceship's chassis is a car, you're pretty sure. I mean, it's eaten more than one car to get where it is, and the bullet holes hint at percussive salvage from an aircraft graveyard. The decals of flaming skulls and problematically objectified men without shirts further tells a story about the kind of person responsible for the manufacture of it. But as crude, ugly, rough, sexualized and borderline suicidal as the rocket ship is, it still marks an important moment in humanity's development. This is the first starship sent into space not by a corp or government, but by a yahoo who built it in her back yard out of scrap and blueprints pirated from the collapsed BlackSun. Space isn't the reserve of the dignified any more.

You watch as it banks and turns through the asteroids - all the more impressive for someone whose navigation computer is the Force and who's so pessimistic about their vessel's air seals that they're wearing a space suit inside. Do you feel like saying hello, or just watching them go by?

Errant walks slowly through the smoldering streets. Through the smoke of recently burning cars. Through the piles and piles of junked appliances and other consumer products. Through the air still thick with desperate and frightened tears. It's rare for her to be walking by herself. Normally, a mission would call for her to get airlifted in and dropped on site. Or else she'd be sprinting to get more exercise, or because she was faster than a lot of cars. But tonight she's by herself, on call, and walking down the street at a normal person's pace. It feels important, you see. To take the time and really look at how things turned out. She cuts a sharp figure in the middle of the dim and dismal street, a lone splash of color swimming through the black.

It reminded her a lot of old arguments with Victor. How did her line go again? However corrupt or awful the system might be, it was still responsible for propping up thousands, tens of thousands, even millions of lives. And if you brought the world crashing down, even to build a better one, those were the ones who paid the cost. Well, here that is. Clear as the diamonds around the moon. But, even still... what else could they have done? With everything BlackSun was doing... they had to go down. Had to. Those lives weren't propped up at all.

That's why it was so important to see it. She had to know what her world looked like, so this didn't just turn into another stack of rhetoric for big dreamers to toss onto the pile while they carved up the world for themselves. She had to see the people she was supposed to be helping, so she never got carried away on a logo masquerading as her dreams ever again.

In the light of the hospital signage, Errant glows like a creature from some other, more magical universe. Or just a certain someone a little closer to home. She reaches out her hand and shakes Doctor al Jamil's without hesitation. A thin smile creeps onto her face before quickly dropping away into a veneer of grim-faced professionalism. Or, was the smile right after all? God help her, she's still so bad at this. She shakes her head.

"Of course, Doctor. What can I do to help?"

POTENTIAL 1

Back in the day? She’d crack open some beers, pull up some psychedelic rhythm game on the flatscreen, and blitz her mind out on colors and sound. If you’re in the moment, you’re not thinking. You’re distracted. You can keep your head down and let the black thoughts pass you by.

Before she got her own place? Throwing herself at any book she could get her hands on. Mostly non-fiction: medical textbooks, pop science, romance novels. Another way to sink into something else and let those black thoughts go by. If your head’s somewhere else, they can’t catch up.

But that’s not tonight. Tonight she’s got no patience for the games and the beer tastes sour and she’s sprawled out on the couch facing the window, which looks out on the lights of the city.

She was a kid. (Does that matter?) They were already dead and gone. It was the last thing they could do for her. (She didn’t know.) Round and round they spin. The skin’s clammy under her fingers where she rests them on her stomach.

She sinks into the mire.

There’s something underneath, though. For once. Elegant metal. Arms she could rest in forever, because they belong to Euna.

...she screwed everything up and Euna still let her come back. She was a disaster at her, and Euna forgave her. She doesn’t deserve it, she knows, you don’t have to tell her. But she’s selfish. She’ll take it and take it and give what she can and marvel that Euna thinks it’s enough. That maybe it actually is, somehow.

The mire laps at her. The moon shines down, bright and white.

The moon. Ha! The real estate’s open again, but there’s no atmosphere. Nothing on there but an airless death, except that Euna caught her. Euna saved her. Euna hauled her back to Earth and kissed her like she was drowning, like Sara was irreplaceable, and that had been the beginning of the end.

Which end?

The end of the show. The end of tactical flirting. The end of AEGIS, all because Euna dared to kiss first. The end of this chapter and the beginning of something new.

Euna’s coming back. She’s coming back and then Sara can invite her over to the couch, just to hold her and be held. The apartment was changing, becoming something shared, something lived in, and that was good. It was good, and her nightmares of waking up and having a Euna-shaped hole in the world in bed next to her, ground down to feed her light, her everything fading away until she couldn’t remember the color of her hair or the sound of her ridiculous snorting laughter or the feel of her hand on her skin...

That’s when the phone rings.

Ferra's already gliding on her own miniature Bifröst, ghosting along beside the ship. She catches up and waves, broadcasting on enough frequencies that the car radio picks up her "Hi!".

You're finally equals again. Back to the early days of putting him together in your improvised lab in the back of Mami's shop. Tell me about those days of old, how this hardware felt when it was full of hope, before the storms had come between you.

No, we're not equals, not truly. Equals don't put one another in cages.

He'd had it all planned out, you know. Hack into Disflix, take control of their massive media empire, and use it to help educate. Suddenly, the tool of the Man is what is helping the people to organize, to fight back, to take back the power that was rightfully theirs in the first place. Maybe turn that against the other corporations, demand accountability, regulation, and all of it run by the people and for the people.

And writing Prometheus! It was like lightning, inspiration poured directly from a forgotten manuscript, through Victor, and into a keyboard.

Back then... Oh, it was heaven. Victor Jimenez, the hero of mankind, born to bring about the next great age of enlightenment, with his best friend Prometheus at his side. Plundering fire from the heavens and bringing it back to the poor and desolate masses. Saviors, together.

Euna’s coming back. She’s coming back and then Sara can invite her over to the couch, just to hold her and be held. The apartment was changing, becoming something shared, something lived in, and that was good. It was good, and her nightmares of waking up and having a Euna-shaped hole in the world in bed next to her, ground down to feed her light, her everything fading away until she couldn’t remember the color of her hair or the sound of her ridiculous snorting laughter or the feel of her hand on her skin...

That’s when the phone rings.

"You have to hide me," said Locker. "They're relentless, they just keep coming - oh shit, they'll find me at your place. Shit. That's the first place they'll look. Okay, I've changed my mind: you have to help me fake my own death. Kill me on camera. You owe me, Sara."

In the light of the hospital signage, Errant glows like a creature from some other, more magical universe. Or just a certain someone a little closer to home. She reaches out her hand and shakes Doctor al Jamil's without hesitation. A thin smile creeps onto her face before quickly dropping away into a veneer of grim-faced professionalism. Or, was the smile right after all? God help her, she's still so bad at this. She shakes her head.

"Of course, Doctor. What can I do to help?"

"Do remember Project XNE-012?" said Doctor al Jamil, flicking the game off his screen and rummaging through his phone's files. "The cybernetics you got for your fourteenth birthday. Ah, here we go -" he flicks his phone to 'Project' and the holographic images fill the air.

How could you forget? These were your trainee limbs in the AEGIS Champion Course. And they were extremely prototype-y. Your entire year was a nightmare of having too much strength, and then too little, and not ever being sure if you were going to launch yourself like a thunderbolt or kind of hesitate awkwardly in front of everyone for twenty seconds after the starting gun went off. The limbs' systems were gathering detailed biometric and neurological detail on you so they could calibrate your future editions, and getting you used to the complexities of piloting high performance cybernetics was valuable training, but it came at the cost of the worst year ever.

"With the critical shortage of adolescent cyberware, Museum decided to donate your childhood cybernetics to us," said the doctor. "These ones aren't ideal for civilian use, but they're better than the alternative. I was hoping you'd be able to walk Cinders through them a little, help her come to grips with their quirks."

It's clear from his tone that he's thinking of this in the way that a medical professional might politely think of 'side effects', far removed from what it is to live those side effects.

Back then... Oh, it was heaven. Victor Jimenez, the hero of mankind, born to bring about the next great age of enlightenment, with his best friend Prometheus at his side. Plundering fire from the heavens and bringing it back to the poor and desolate masses. Saviors, together.

"You've been staring at that box for twenty minutes," said Bode. After exactly the wrong length of pause, one that suggests that he's done talking he adds, "I like that we have the same hobby."

He gave you a clay plate yesterday, shaped like a duck. It was not the first. You have the ominous feeling he's going to replace all of your kitchenware.

Ferra's already gliding on her own miniature Bifröst, ghosting along beside the ship. She catches up and waves, broadcasting on enough frequencies that the car radio picks up her "Hi!".

The astronaut inside swears, jerks, and reflexively leans on the horn even though it doesn't do anything in space. Looks like being bad at traffic made it up here too.

As they try to get over the jump scare you start hearing a blumbering crackle at the edge of your consciousness. You know the shape of this - the same connection you felt that time before on the AEGIS pyramid, that vault into the skies. And sure enough on the fringes of your vision is one of Doctor Sylvanius' long range missiles, piloted towards its pointless task by a mad, unspooled artificial intelligence.

POTENTIAL 1

Sara dumps the hot purple tracksuit into Locker’s hands, grinning. “There is exactly one reason I would tragically kill one of my loyal followers,” she explains, grinning. It’s the middle of the night, they’re on top of a parking garage, and the tracksuit’s just her favorite thing in her duffel bag of surprises. “And that is, drum roll, if Comstar possessed you and tried to kill me! You’re going to want to go into a deep place, full of spiteful rage. You’ve been in prison, you have negative fifty followers on your Patreon, and I’m on top of the world. The jealousy has driven you mad.”

Isn’t it weird? She barely feels any antipathy towards Comstar anymore. Part of it was very decisively winning, but another part just... kind of felt that was too small and petty to worry about anymore. It’s not like she needed to worry about being left in Comstar’s dust anymore, or about not being skanky enough to compete with her on stream, or even about just getting outsmarted by her. Even if Comstar broke out of super security... she’d lose. That’s just how it is.

But the audience didn’t need to know that! And to get Locker out of the crosshairs (presumably being in trouble with the Russians), he’d have to sell the performance of a lifetime as Comstar 3.0, Bodyjacking Style.

“Once you finish,” she adds, rummaging in the duffel bag, “I’ve got some makeup. We really want to go for the bags under the eyes; it helps sell that you’re losing it, big time. And don’t worry, once you’re dead, I’ll make a big show of taking the body back ‘to Victor for analysis.’ You’ll be home free. Do you need a recommendation for a facial reconstruction expert? Because I know a gal.”

Ok yeah no, the smile was definitely not the right face to show for this meeting. It's a fight just to keep her face from turning too sour. If the immediate flinch when "XNE-012" came up hadn't already sunk her on that front. She runs both hands down the length of her hair.

"I'm--"

"--trying my hardest!" a near-hysterics Euna Kim, aged 14, half sobbed half screamed in a heap on the floor.

Mr. Big Show loomed over her like a mountain next to a sapling. He might have been wearing a kindly smile on his face, she had no idea. From where she was sitting, his head might as well have been in the clouds. All she knew is that this was the worst martial arts lesson ever. She couldn't follow the rest of the class through a single kata, she'd just broken her training stick-bo-thingy, and now she was being asked to spar with the un-auged kids in the class and she had no idea from one second to the next whether she was going to kill them or not even be able to touch their uniforms.

"Ms Kim," somehow it was worse that his voice wasn't as stern as usual, "If we're asking you for too much today then..."

"It's not too much!"

Euna jumped six feet into the air and landed on one leg. It buckled and dropped her down to one knee, but she forced herself up into a standing position despite how badly she was shaking. She wiped her eyes with a hand that seemed to weigh twenty pounds.

"I want to do this! I want to learn!"

***

Euna stared at the slice of cake with an expression that suggested she was trying to blow it up with the power of her mind. It had been fifteen minutes and she hadn't even reached for it, even though it was supposed to be her reward for finally clearing a full lap on the track without tripping over herself. Everyone told her they were so proud of her! But now it felt like she was being tested again. By cake.

This sucked.

"Not hungry, Ms Kim?"

She nearly put her foot through the floor in surprise. She did manage to smack herself in the face with her hand. She spun in her seat, shifting her murder glare to Commander Warren.

"...Starving." she admitted. She wished her voice didn't sound so pouty.

"Then why won't you eat?"

"It's these stupid arms! I tried to pick up the fork and I almost punched the table across the room! These things are so... rrrgh! Can't we just switch back to the old ones? Just for a weekend! I don't care that they don't fit right, I just..."

"Ms Kim."

"Everyone's laughing at me right now! I can't even get dressed by myself anymore! And don't..."

"Ms Kim."

"Don't 'Ms Kim' me! Stop feeding me that stupid lie about 'getting used to them' anymore! It's been months and I'm doing worse than ever! So just... just shut up, ok? Shut up! I quit!"

"Euna Kim!"

She flinched.

"It's a poor soldier who blames her tools, Euna. And you're not a poor soldier."

"...not a soldier at all." she groused. The Commander ignored her.

"I promised you that you could be the shining star of AEGIS. That you could stop all the Sabrems of the world. IF you were willing to put in more work than anybody had before. You told me that you'd work twice as hard as I asked for such a prize."

Euna stared at her lap in shame.

"We need this data, Ms Kim. Every second of it, so your next set of cybernetics can be the best the world's ever seen. But we can't make that happen if you quit. Now are you going to be a useless brat, or are you going to be a god damn hero and pick up that fork?"

She'd never been more careful or controlled in her entire life as she moved her right arm to the table. She was a surgeon, saving the most important patient in the entire universe's life. She took up her scalpel, so carefully and...

Sent crumbs and frilly frosted flowers splattering everywhere. The fork was a useless lump of metal in her clenched fist. Euna burned with shame, and cried like a child much younger than she was supposed to be.

***

"--not sure you understand what you're asking this girl to do."

Errant will never know how much of her memories showed on her face while those schematics hung in the air in front of her. But as soon as they vanish, she's a picture of absolute calm. She has to be, or she'll be no help at all.

"But... I guess it's hard to be picky in an emergency. Let me see her, for now. I'll do as much as I can."

"You've been staring at that box for twenty minutes," said Bode. After exactly the wrong length of pause, one that suggests that he's done talking he adds, "I like that we have the same hobby."

He gave you a clay plate yesterday, shaped like a duck. It was not the first. You have the ominous feeling he's going to replace all of your kitchenware.

(The plate holds a place of honor in the cabinet, and he's already looking for a good contractor to build a larger kitchen for them.)

Victor stares at the box still, before sighing. "There's... there's a question I've been meaning to ask you. For a while now, I mean. Basically since you saved my life. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but it feels important.

"Bode... Bound Eagle... Was that Prometheus's idea, his name for you? Is that how he viewed you? The limiter, the torturer, set to torment him?"

POTENTIAL 1

Sara dumps the hot purple tracksuit into Locker’s hands, grinning. “There is exactly one reason I would tragically kill one of my loyal followers,” she explains, grinning. It’s the middle of the night, they’re on top of a parking garage, and the tracksuit’s just her favorite thing in her duffel bag of surprises. “And that is, drum roll, if Comstar possessed you and tried to kill me! You’re going to want to go into a deep place, full of spiteful rage. You’ve been in prison, you have negative fifty followers on your Patreon, and I’m on top of the world. The jealousy has driven you mad.”

Isn’t it weird? She barely feels any antipathy towards Comstar anymore. Part of it was very decisively winning, but another part just... kind of felt that was too small and petty to worry about anymore. It’s not like she needed to worry about being left in Comstar’s dust anymore, or about not being skanky enough to compete with her on stream, or even about just getting outsmarted by her. Even if Comstar broke out of super security... she’d lose. That’s just how it is.

But the audience didn’t need to know that! And to get Locker out of the crosshairs (presumably being in trouble with the Russians), he’d have to sell the performance of a lifetime as Comstar 3.0, Bodyjacking Style.

“Once you finish,” she adds, rummaging in the duffel bag, “I’ve got some makeup. We really want to go for the bags under the eyes; it helps sell that you’re losing it, big time. And don’t worry, once you’re dead, I’ll make a big show of taking the body back ‘to Victor for analysis.’ You’ll be home free. Do you need a recommendation for a facial reconstruction expert? Because I know a gal.”

Honestly, Locker has come startlingly unprepared for a death scene. No bug-out bag, no replacement comlog, no acting chops worth mentioning. In fact, he's looking equally thankful and nervous, which is a look you get a lot - but not often from him.

"So - oh, wow, you're really, weirdly prepared for this exact scenario, huh," said Locker. "I - kind of, oh... oh damn, uh..." you know that look! He's getting cold feet! It's time for an inspirational, psyche-up speech!

"--not sure you understand what you're asking this girl to do."

Errant will never know how much of her memories showed on her face while those schematics hung in the air in front of her. But as soon as they vanish, she's a picture of absolute calm. She has to be, or she'll be no help at all.

"But... I guess it's hard to be picky in an emergency. Let me see her, for now. I'll do as much as I can."

"Sure," said the doctor. His eyes convey no understanding, nor any desire for understanding - he already performed the fiendishly complex task of reconfiguring a human being's entire neurological system and integrating it with cold metal. To him, that means that she's Saved, she's a tick in the ledger, a good deed he's done today - and he can't think about it any more. If that's not Done then it'll get in the way of the three other surgeries he has to do today.

He gives a tired little smile, swipes all the data across to your comlog, and brings up the file for his next patient.

Everything from here is on you.

Cinders Mayweather. Selected for these augments based on biological similarity to you - she could be your sister. When she sees you her face lights up, her eyes widen, she struggles to sit up in the hospital bed - her limbs are still shut off, waiting for you to turn them on - but there's a star-struck look that you've only ever seen people give to Sara.

"Agent Errant! It's you! So I really am going to be a superhero!!"

(The plate holds a place of honor in the cabinet, and he's already looking for a good contractor to build a larger kitchen for them.)

Victor stares at the box still, before sighing. "There's... there's a question I've been meaning to ask you. For a while now, I mean. Basically since you saved my life. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but it feels important.

"Bode... Bound Eagle... Was that Prometheus's idea, his name for you? Is that how he viewed you? The limiter, the torturer, set to torment him?"

Bode rotates to face you and turns his head to look directly at your face in an extremely I-just-watched-a-video-about-human-body-language kind of way. There are slight stance adjustments at 3 second intervals to convey he's not a statue. It's a work in progress.

"I don't understand him at all," said Bode. "I don't understand what he became. It's on a scale far beyond what I can even imagine. But what I do understand is comic books. They are very helpful for learning about morality. In one of them, Superman, the villain is named Lex Luthor. He wanted to ignore all of the boundaries of society and morality to serve his own ambitions. Superman stopped him." Bode paused and clarified: "Superman was the good guy."

Errant flashes Cinders the widest, dumbest grin in the history of the universe. It's the kind of face you can't help but make when you meet a fan after assuming you don't have any. It also makes Errant feel sick to her stomach the moment she realizes what she's doing. The hell is she thinking, encouraging her like that? Knowing what she's about to go through?! What about what comes after? What about--

"Miss Mayweather? It's good to meet you."

AEGIS PR training is carrying the day right now. Errant commits to her smile, now that it's too late to take it back. Her steps are smooth as she crosses the room and pulls a chair close to the bed. She projects calm in every direction as she sits down and crosses her legs. She makes a show of calling up an AR display on her comlog and scrolling through the information. Very official. Very 'Agent Errant'. Inside, her heart is pounding inside her chest.

"So I really am going to be a superhero!!"

Errant pushes a button. Cinders' bed slowly rises up until she's in a full, comfortable seated position. For the time being, she leaves the limbs deactivated. She can't help but notice that all four have been installed. That's... good, actually. Having a stray arm or leg doing what she's used to would only make things harder. The guilt that comes crawling up after that thought is crushing.

"So! I've got your file open here but it's pretty much just a medical record. None of the really important stuff."

What surprises her more than anything is just how warm her voice sounds coming out of her mouth. She never knew she had a voice like this. She's never had a sister. And it's too soon to have that thought. But if she did, and if it wasn't, is this what that would sound like? Or is it just... nostalgia, seeing her old augs looking back at her?

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions? For instance, I'd love to hear about your hobbies. What sorts of things do you like to do for fun?"

POTENTIAL 1

Is that much of a surprise? Locker is a chill bro. Which means he’s too deadpan and oddly sincere to be a good actor. He doesn’t have flair, can’t project his voice and enunciate, and doesn’t know how to commit to a bit. If there’s one thing that Sara, conversely, is an expert at, it’s committing hard to a bit.

“Locker, Locker, Locker,” she says, shaking her head and placing one hand on his shoulder. “Nobody has ever benefitted from a half-assed death. As soon as somebody finds out, that’s it, you’re always the super who faked their death for clicks. That means if you do it, you either have an ironclad reveal up your sleeve or you intend to never come back up. And given that you don’t have an audience — no offense — it’s got to be the second, right?”

She pulls him in for a bro hug, thumping his back with her fist. “I’ll miss you, dude. But whoever has you in the deep shit — the Russians, the Indonesians, the Martians — I’ll make sure they think you’re dead as a fucking doornail. Now put the bodysuit on, we don’t have all night.”

[7 on Comfort and Support. He opens up!]