Mother

Eleonora Thatcher never wanted to be a hero.

She'd never wanted to be anything, really. In her youth, Eleonora only ever scheduled her life based on what she wanted to do - which was whatever the hell she felt like at the moment, thank you very much. Wanting to be something meant acting with that goal in mind at all times, acting against her own wishes and towards a greater goal. And heroism, of all things, demanded more compomises than most identities. Heroism was more than reputation, more than collecting respect. It was action.

As she grew older, Eleanora found that despite her best efforts she'd become someone after all. She'd become a counselor, a mother, a person that others respected, and then her life had become a matter of playing these parts she'd unwittingly collected.

Clearly, she thinks to herself, that was a mistake. Anything that could lead her in the middle of a jungle despite her express wishes to the contrary must have been be a step in the wrong direction. But there's no turning back now, not with all the eyes on SHADR and all the heroes around her who are showing no sign of regret whatsoever. The Thatcher family shirked its duty once before. That's what led her where she is now. Eleanora has no plans of repeating her son's mistakes.

They're all so young. Every hero around her must be half her age at best, something that makes her grimace. Even at their age, Eleanora hadn't liked people in their twenties, and that certainly hasn't changed in the thirty years that separates them. They're too giddy, too eager, too foolishly wide-eyed in the face of what must be a dangerous mission. If it wasn't, SHADR wouldn't have sent them.

A mosquito buzzes around her ear. Eleanora frowns and swats at it, but it dodges her and begins to fly circles before her eyes, taunting her with its godawful buzzing. Victor had suggested a trip into the Amazon rainforest for their honeymoon, but Eleanora had refused. The jungle had no appeal to her whatsoever. She resented its flies, its humidity, its horrid sweltering heat. After another failed swat, she brings her hand to her forehead and mops away some sweat. With the amount of shade the gum trees are casting down on her, it should be cooler, but no. That would be too easy. Instead, the dimness through which she wanders seems to hold onto the heat. She may as well be wandering through a greenhouse.

The buzzing stops. Eleonora looks just in time to see the air tighten around the mosquito, choking it before letting it fall to the ground. A quick glance behind her reveals a young woman with short brown hair and a bright smile on her face. Eleanora chuckles. Apparently, some powers have all sorts of uses. Who would have guessed that wind magic would make such a great flyswatter?

"You're welcome," says Wind Sage. The ghost of a laugh rings on her lips, though it doesn't move from there. Eleanora noticed a while back that the young woman's smile never quite reaches her eyes, and a brief mental probe confirmed it's because the smile is never quite genuine, though she didn't bother to find out why. The woman isn't her patient; Eleanora isn't here to help her through whatever's preoccupying her.

"I appreciate it," she replies. "The jungle is even worse than I expected. Bugs everywhere – and it's so damnhot."

"Tell me about it. An expedition in South America isn't half as fun as I thought it would be. Need a breeze?"

"Yes please."

The wind rises out of nowhere, fanning the two women at the back of the group until the heat and humidity is all but chased out of Eleanora's bones. The migraine at the back of her head lessens and she starts to think clearer. In the distance, what looks like an ancient tomb comes closer to her. Stones are piled in a tall, haphazard way that's beautiful in its own grim way. At any point, it could fall apart – but it doesn't. It's a stubborn old construction, and Eleanora can't suppress a begrudging respect for it. Anything that can last in this weather deserves commending.

"The energy signature is coming from the tomb," calls Nightbolt from the front of the group, his voice filled with spectacle and bravado. Eleonora rolls her eyes. He's too young, too perfect, too much everything that Jamie tried to be – and the fact that it's all a façade just makes it worse. She didn't even need to read his mind to read the insecurities and doubts resting at its surface. She can see them on his face, in the vibrato of his voice, in his insistence upon doing the right thing at any given time. It's exhausting.

Get over it, kid, she thinks to herself. Your face is on half a dozen products and everyone loves you – you've got it good.

For a moment, she debates projecting the thought into his mind, but he's not her problem. Nightbolt isn't her son. He isn't Jamie – Jamie, who's out there somewhere still, ignoring her every attempt at communication, who's hiding away from the storm of humiliation he summoned when he ran away. Eleanora doesn't need to get involved with fixing her teammates. She's got plenty of her own problems to take care of.

She's so caught up in her train of thought that it takes a few seconds for the scream to register. Rising from the tomb is some hideous beast, with the body of a gargantuan hummingbird and a spear-like beak that means business. A screech like nails on rusted metal escapes its mouth along with what looks like the skeleton of a human foot. Eleonora doesn't bother asking herself where the rest of the skeleton might be. The less she thinks of it, the better.

"Oh, no," she mutters to herself. "Fuck this."

As Nightbolt leads a few of the more combative heroes against the beast, Eleonora creeps behind a tree, moving as slow as she can to avoid catching its attention. Each tedious step makes her want to break into a sprint, but she forces herself to stay calm as she presses herself against the rough bark and stills her breath. She's an intel agent, damn it. Nowhere does her contract say she has to take on giant creatures capable of digesting the human skeleton.

This is Mother calling Reason, she broadcasts. I repeat, this is Mother calling Reason. We're running an emergency situation 9244. There's a powered hostile where the source should be. Species undetermined.

It takes a moment for Reason to form together some groggy thoughts, but eventually they're concrete enough for Eleanora to read.

Damn it, Thatcher. I hate when you do that. I can practically feel you rifling around my brain.

That's because I am. You'll have to tell me about this Billie sometime.

Eleanora can feel the eyeroll from over a thousand miles away. You called in a 9244. What's the hostile, Eleanora?

Some kind of hummingbird. Massive. Deadly. Still annoyingly pretty. My grandmother would've wanted it in her garden.

A string of cursing erupts in the distance as Hourglass goes flying through the air, landing in the shrubbery next to her. It's going to leave some cuts and bruises, but the shrubbery should soften his landing. The hummingbird slams into Nightbolt and sends him reeling back – it only takes a few moments to get him back in the action. Not bad, Eleonora admits, however grudgingly.

This thing is vicious, she notes. Taking out some of our best fighters.

Not you?

Eleonora pauses. You need someone to relay intel, don't you?

The cursing turns to cheers as the air pushes the hummingbird down to the ground. A panicked look fills its eyes and it begins to flail uncontrollably, knocking into several heroes trying to attack it, but eventually a young woman with golden-brown skin and what seems to be the powers of a goddess takes it down. The cheering and celebration intensify.

We're sending in a hovercraft to pick you up. Swarm wants to have a look at the hostile.

Roger that.

Eleonora walks out of the trees and towards the celebrating heroes. Their energy is infectious and she finds herself smiling for a sliver of a moment – thankfully, nobody sees.

"Alright, team," she calls out. "Intel is sending in a hovercraft. Looks like R&D wants a look at this thing. Mission accomplished, everyone."

More cheering follows suit, along with high fives and the occasional loud whoop. She can't blame them; it's a start. They're moving towards their goal, and she's moving towards hers. Kevin and his team will have a look at the creature, and Eleanora and her son will bring back some dignity to the Thatcher name.

Now, to get out of that jungle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shift

There was a thick humidity that hung in the air, clinging to those that followed the narrow dirt road between the trees. It was uncomfortably tight, even for how thin Miguel was. He sat squeezed between the wooden end of a cart and another agent of SHADR, their thighs pressed together tightly. Each bump in the road caused Miguel's hand to grip the edge of the wood harder to secure his spot, although it was unlikely he could fall out even if he wanted to. His eyes weren't focused on the driver ahead of them, though, or the road at all for that matter. He only felt the shift of the wheels before they hit a rough patch of ground, letting his other senses guard him as his mind drifted off.

A picture of two boys was clutched tight in his fingers, his eyes scanning over the faded ink and creased forms. The taller of the two was squatted down in their backyard, his arm thrown around Miguel tightly, apparently strangling him by the pained grin Miguel had once worn. He didn't remember the picture being taken, or the day at all, but he knew his brother was the one standing beside him. Santiago wore a white line right through the center of his eyes where the paper had been folded one too many times, and the ink had smudged in the corner near Miguel's feet. Still, the boy's eyes skipped over the imperfections, looking for something else. If anyone else had asked what, he wouldn't have known. All he knew was that he felt incredibly close to finding it. He always did.

A tap on his shoulder brought Miguel's attention away, however. His head turned up, only long enough to catch the man beside him watching him. Bile danced at the back of the boy's throat as he hurriedly crumpled the picture once more and shoved it deep into the pocket of his jeans. His eyebrow raised at the man as he did, seeking an escape from his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

An almost apologetic smile spilled onto Phantom's lips as he pointed up to the driver in front of them. "Could you...?" He trailed off, leaving the question unfinished as Miguel tried to piece it together. He turned around, spine straining in the tight spot he sat to see the temple that sat behind them now. Dark, worn stone sat in a shape much like Miguel had seen from pyramids before, the step walls were built with thing steps, though, missing the smooth stone walls he expected. Beside the temple and altars spread across the field were a few of the other SHADR members that worked there. Miguel knew little to nothing about any of them, but there were a few familiar faces he could pinpoint from the plane ride out that gave him the reassurance to lean up and out of his seat to address the driver.

"Aquí, por favor." He waited as the reins were pulled and the wheels stopped turning before risking the jump out and over the side of the wagon. It was more clumsy than graceful, but Miguel still stayed on his feet as a cloud of dirt took up and swirled around him. He waited for Phantom to pay the driver before throwing in a warm, "Gracias," to the man as he pocketed his coin and gave a brief goodbye before turning the cart around back to the nearest city.

As Miguel stepped off of the dirt road and onto the grass, he was met with a surprising hand on his shoulder from the Intel agent following him. "Thanks," Phantom praised, his smile more sincere than the boy was used to as they crossed down the hill toward the tent that had been set up.

Resisting the urge to shake the hand off, the boy merely nodded, his eyes tracing the ruins below in an attempt to give the man a hint. He was more or less in charge of making sure that Miguel didn't fuck up his first off base mission, but they couldn't have been more different. Phantom was too soft around the edges, sweet to an extent but too involved for Miguel's tastes. There was nothing Miguel needed more than clear directions and a goal at the end so he didn't screw up. He wasn't looking for a mentor or a friend or anything else these people thought they could provide, simply because he looked young. They were a means to an end until he found what he was looking for, and he expected a corporation like SHADR to see him as the same.

The hand fell from his shoulder, prompting Miguel to shoot a glance at Phantom as they reached the edge of the clearing and began to receive looks from the other metahumans already present. "Now, Shift—"

"It's Miguel," he corrected, quick to jump in even as his thick accent followed behind the words. There was no need to call him anything besides who he was. He didn't wear a mask or a costume, the ratty t-shirt and green coat pulled tight around his shoulders was the closest thing he considered to an official outfit. The others could prance around all they wished, but Miguel planned to have none of it.

"Alright, Miguel," an easy smile still held Phantom's face as he corrected himself and continued, "All you have to do today is stay out of the way, watch what they're all doing. Try to learn something. There are a few monitors set up in a tent." He took a second to point to the white canvas strung up in protect of the sun, half hidden in shade by the trees that loomed on all sides around the temple. "If you want, you can keep an eye on those for me."

A thick layer of bitterness rose on Miguel's tongue as he rattled off. The words continued as Miguel turned his attention away, looking for someone among the crowd. There were a few others that were working on setting up communications, a few snapping pictures. A fairly tall, sandy-haired man sat leaning against the side of the temple steps. Miguel vaguely remembered him as a Cain. A walkie talkie was pressed close to his mouth, his eyes wandering the ground as Miguel caught a snippet of the conversation. "It's been about fifteen minutes. How long do we give them? Over."

Someone's voice answered back at a strained volume. "I'll go in. You wait for Nyelia to arrive for backup. Over."

There was a pause and a crackle, but the boy missed out on Cain's response as he was forced to dutifully follow Phantom through the courtyard and to a number of computers littered across a plastic, fold-up table. His face was less relaxed than before, his eyes darting over to the man at the steps. It was clear he too heard the message, teeth working against each other as painful squeaks came from the grinding. Miguel glanced at the camera station, catching a figure standing at the top of the temple. He stood with a radio held to his own mouth, giving away that he was who the other man had been talking about. Sunglasses obscured a portion of his face, but even so Miguel had no problem identifying the metahuman above. An idea began to itch in the back of his skull, buzzing through his body as he turned hurriedly to Phantom.

"Can I stay here for a while? Watch the setup?" Miguel asked, feigning curiosity as he plopped down into the nearest metal chair.

Surprise lit up the Intel agent's face for only a moment before he nodded. "Sure, sure. That sounds like a good plan." Relief flooded his eyes, all too obvious to read as he reached for the mouse and swapped one of the cameras so the boy could no longer see the man standing at the top of the temple. "I'm just going to take a quick loop." He pointed over his shoulder, barely waiting for Miguel to nod before taking off toward Cain.

The boy waited half as long to enact his own plan. As soon as the man's back was turned to him, he reached for a flashlight sitting beside the monitors and sprung back up from his seat. His eyes were focused on the top of the temple, and he snuck out the back side of the open tent where the others weren't watching to follow up the steps. The guy that had been at the top only a moment before had already disappeared into the open maw, and Miguel sped up his speed to try and catch up. His skin rippled in his own vision, invisibility cloaking his movements from those below. Clearly, something was going on, and he wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him to snoop by getting caught.

Halfway up the steps, Miguel glanced behind him a final time and phased through the wall of the temple. The stairs melted away beneath him as he stepped into a colder room with a flat, dry bed of stone to stand upon. The darkness hit him next, enveloping him completely and blinding him to his surroundings. He let his body manifest back first, free of the wall closing him in and free to be seen by the ghosts that lived inside. His hands patted down the wall behind him, and then he began to creep inside, relying on everything but his sight. He planned to catch up to those that had delved inside, but not getting caught required no light or sound, a tricky feat that forced him to navigate in the dark as he followed the long wall as far as it went, hand brushing over each stone brick he passed.

The smell of mildew and rot flooded his senses as he continued, vaguely aware he was walking downward. The floor was sloped, but it was hard to notice in his disoriented state. Bumps began to meet his hands as he turned a corner, fingertips brushing against the carved out bits of stone. They felt much like the altars outside had looked, deep wells chiseled from the stone to depict drawings, endless lines connecting as Miguel continued down the hall. Something hit his foot as he stepped deeper, skittering away with a hollow cluck. It was followed by the crunch of several other objects, all stacked up before Miguel had disturbed them.

A shiver ran down the boy's spine. He swallowed the lump in his throat and flicked on the light of the flashlight held within his clammy hand. White, broken shards of bones starred back. Something between a yelp and a gasp left Miguel's lips. He stumbled back, light pining the pile of bones were he should as regret began to creep up into his spine. His back his what he expected to be the other wall, but it was softer than that. His free hand felt behind him, running against a warm, soft texture. The boy's already tight windpipe shut tight as he spun again, this time illuminating the creature he had brushed against.

What met the beam of light was a large black disk. The pupil shrunk down, revealing a piercing yellow as it began to move and twitch until it found a source to focus on. The eye narrowed at Miguel, pupil locking onto its target as the boy stumbled back. "Mierda," Miguel whispered, the hushed curse coming loose from his lips as he stumbled back, desperately searching for the wall behind him, never taking his eyes off of the monster that rose from its resting place. Red wings unfurled from their rest, beating a wicked wind that knocked the boy onto his ass. A beak turned to him, a screech echoing out against the brick and covering his face in what Miguel could only assume was spit as a terrible smell reached his nose. Sticky saliva dripped off of him, a beak full of teeth releasing the terrible noise again as he scrambled, half-crawling half-sliding until he reached the wall and phased back through, landing outside again.

Sun burned his eyes, painfully forcing a wince from him as he struggled to find his footing on the steps and crashed down several. All eyes were brought up at the temple, which he first thought was at him until he heard the fierce cry. Broken bricks scattered down around him, ash and stone dust filtering through the humid air as red rose above it. Huge wings, bigger than Miguel would have believed if he had not just seen them stretched above the sky, blocking out the sun. The bird cried again and then swooped down, straight for Miguel.

Heart hammering, body all but frozen, the boy rolled away at the last moment. He lost his breath chest and ribs and face coming in contact with the stone stairs as he fell down several more before catching himself and hiding his form from sight. A gaping hole sat where he had been only a moment before, the bird perched above it in confusion and rage. Red poured from between its teeth, a gash opened up in its beak that had been caused by the dive bomb, hitting the temple at full force. A wounded gurgle came out instead of the war cry.

Miguel gained his footing, shaking with every step as he ran down to the camp. He was passed the other way by a large woman carrying a spear, not bothering to stop in his haste. He barely dodged her and the floor itself as he reached the ground again, collapsing in the grass. Warm dirt pressed against his fingertips as his chest heaved as he caught sight of the creature's final moments, too close for comfort. The stone beneath its feet began to melt and meld, holding it in place despite the furious flapping of its wings that sent the canvas tent far across the field in a mess of wires and tarps. A final echo of its call came from it as a spear was buried in its chest, and blood ran down the steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ladybird

The first time they strike the birdlike creature with the glistening point of a blade made by the hands of man, it lets loose an agonized caw, nothing but hostile agony. The first time the bird feels pain, Ladybird feels it twisting in her own molten skin and cries out in similar fashion. It is ruthless pain; it is merciless pain; it is needless pain. It is vocal pain. "Stop!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pierre Tesar

"And then I told the waitress 'cold stuff' and she looked at me like 'are you retarded' and honestly, same."

Pierre tried to keep his demeanor a neutral one. The kid, Epoch, he had quite the mouth. He kept going and going, sputtering rambles from anything from childhood to something as insignificant as the moldy cheese he found in the fridge that morning. He was nice enough but he wouldn't shut up, not for a minute.

"Yes," said Pierre. His voice came out low, thick with a German accent that he hated. He didn't know a single German that liked their accent when speaking English. "That is very funny."

Please don't tell that story again, he thought. Epoch flashed an award-winning smile, satisfied with his answer and there was a short pause of rest between them as Pierre smacked his neck, feeling something land on it. Whatever it was, it stung his skin and the burning sensation travelled like liquid fire down his shoulder. He let out a hissing noise and glanced at the bite before adjusting the collar of his shirt to try to cover it. A redness. He'd have to inspect it after the mission was over. Whenever that was.

"Yeah, so," Epoch started again, "I was watching a YouTube video and I heard Germans take smoking breaks before dinner. Do you guys actually do that or is it like a stereotype?"

"We do sometime," he said.

"I once knew a guy who smoked a lot in college," Epoch continued. "He had some fucked up teeth but he was okay. I'm pretty sure he was a stoner because he smelled like weed but he was chill so we were like chill with each other."

Nodding his head, Pierre made a mhming sound from the back of his throat. He had half a mind to tell Epoch to shut the fuck up (but politely) and he couldn't decide which was more annoying: the bugs or the kid. The lavender oil his son insisted on him using as an insect repellent wasn't working as well as promised and every few minutes something wanted to sting him. "Trust me, dad, my science teacher says lavender oil is the best bug spray for the jungle and he's been on expeditions before so I'm pretty sure he knows what he's talking about" Noah had told him. Only the science teacher was full of shit and the fabric of his shirt kept scratching his neck which was driving him crazy. The temperature was humid, miserable, and like being on the inside of a sauna. Beads of sweat were forming at his hairline and his clothes stuck to him, damp and heavy. The tomb was quiet, or at least it would've been if not for Epoch's mindless rambling.

"You know, there was this one time," said Epoch.

And then it went quiet. Pierre glanced up from the screen of his camera for a microsecond to see that Epoch was gone and he was standing by himself. Oh thank god, he thought. Epoch was a strange metahuman who had the power of falling into different dimensions randomly during the day and then returning whenever. He did a lot of that and Pierre had to fight the urge not to smile at his sudden stroke of luck at the timing. Now, he could focus. Well, as much as he could with the current conditions.

Returning his gaze back to the screen, he continued taking pictures of the images on the walls. They made no sense. There was writing beneath ancient drawings that featured humanoid figures in an epic battle with a giant bird-like figure with half-faded language that was hard to decipher as some of it was in the process of being eroded little by little, bit by bit. Earlier, Dr. Manco had said it was Olmec origin and she was probably right. She was the only one qualified to judge and it was weird, the four of them there. Half of them couldn't tell the difference from fossilization and petrification—Pierre being one of them as he ended up taking pictures to try to make himself useful. It was like an Indiana Jones movie, except not everyone knew what they were doing and the tomb promised death just as much as it promised answers.

The tomb was dark and the small beams of daylight weren't enough to illuminate anything enough to properly see. They had lighting equipment, Rover was adjusting the key light as Dr. Manco examined the painting on the walls, pacing back and forth, her eyes narrowed and trying to read the ancient language. Epoch was supposed to generate computer images but instead, his laptop sat on the floor next to his equipment bag stuffed full of textbooks. The room felt empty without him around and it was just the three of them.

There were superheroes down the hall, deeper into the heart of the tomb and taking the lead on the research expedition. They were the classic action hero sort, metahumans who could slay beasts like Hercules and fly like Superman. Their main objective was to standby if something went haywire and Pierre could hear their voices travelling through the chamber as they wandered further and further from the entrance. It wasn't long before they eventually faded behind the thick walls and a tension filled its place, the atmosphere shifting. No one said anything and the only sound came from the steady footsteps of his colleagues and the clicking of his camera. Khat-kaht-khat the camera fired several shots in rapid succession and he pulled them up on the screen to view them when he thought he heard something. A faint shriek.. His ear twitched and he threw a glance over his shoulder but no one else seemed to have heard anything. Nothing.

At the next click of the shutter, he heard Dr. Manco begin to speak.

"This is incredible," she said. Her voice was soft and British. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Perhaps that is a good thing," he replied.

He shot a sidelong glance at Dr. Manco whose face was lit like a Christmas tree. In her hands she was holding a compass and there was a slight smile playing around her lips as she kept her eyes glued to the needle.

"The Bermuda Triangle has similar readings but none quite like this," she continued. "Amazing."

"What do you see?"

"Come look."

For a second he stood there, feeling an odd sensation at that he was being watched but that just wasn't possible. Not in there. The tomb was enclosed and besides his two colleagues, no one was around. Shaking his head, he strode over to Dr. Manco, peering over her shoulder as she held out the compass out in front of her. The needle was jerking back and forth between north and northwest, refusing to point in a distinct direction. A malfunction.

"Well, that is interesting," he said.

"It's not interesting, it's more than that," Dr. Manco corrected. There was a flicker of excitement in her eyes when he met her gaze and she was grinning now. "A compass that's direction is altered by ten degrees, that's a strange phenomenon but this..." she trailed off.

"Incredible?" he finished for her.

"Yes!"

He returned the smile and started to reply when the backlight came crashing to the floor, the LCD shattering, and the sound of breaking glass piercing his ear. It became darker, the lighting dimmed and when he turned around, Rover was standing in the shadows, her face ashen white. She looked like a deer in headlights.

"You guys," she started. "You guys feel that, right?"

At first he didn't know what she was talking about and then he felt it. The ground was vibrating, barely enough to feel anything but it was there. Slowly shaking. Something was happening. There was no yelling from the Rescue or Combat teams in the other chamber, just silence. Quiet.

Pierre was uneasy now and he felt his adrenaline begin to spike. He hesitated for a moment before checking his watch to read the time. It was afternoon, four minutes past three o'clock. He turned to Rover. Veda, the name was branded in his tongue. He'd been forcing her out of his mind all day but now it came rushing back in a sickening wave. A microsecond and he considered telling her.

But the words hadn't formed and a loud shriek tore him from his thoughts. It was nearby. Earsplitting and his ears began to ring. Out from the shadows came a blur of motion. A giant birdlike figure came charging and their direction, its eyes glowing and its feathers velvet from dried blood. It was humanoid, the body of a harpy yet with the wings of an eagle and when it flew toward them, another light crashed to the floor, shattering and making Pierre flinch. It was almost completely dark except for the key light hanging above Rover, illuminating faintly as the bird monster hid in the darkness.

They were all frozen in place. A short, quiet, high-pitched sound echoed off the tomb walls but it didn't carry far. The bird could've been anywhere, and he couldn't even make out so much as an outline of the creature as it moved in the dark. He heard a whimper escape Rover and not long after that, the monster showed itself under the dim lighting, its eyes beady and golden, a crazed look that had Pierre holding his breath. His chest hurt and as the creature crept toward Rover, he saw movement from his side. Dr. Manco. She looked ready to do something stupid, recklessly courageous and he grabbed her arm.

"Don't," he said, his tone hushed.

She stilled and glanced down at his hand, his fingers grasping her arm. He released her immediately and he heard her hiss.

"We have to help her."

"You can't."

She wanted to argue, he could see it in her eyes but there was no time. There was a scream and his jaw tightened as the bird monster let out a powerful shrill that shook the tomb like an earthquake. Rover stood there, paralyzed as the beast stared at her, their gazes locked for an intense minute that felt too short. She gulped and in the next second, it attacked.

A portal appeared beside the creature and the cavalry arrived, guns blazing. There was some yelling and they charged forward, a chaotic milling riot as the bird creature let out a war cry before extending its wings prepared to fight. The battle was epic, a blur of motion as the creature lashed out at whoever was nearest to it. It was bloody but almost too dark to see. It wasn't clear and screams echoed off the wall as the last light got knocked out. Darkness. A flicker of light. Nyelia casted a holy light, so bright it was almost blinding and the way things were going, it looked like they were going to win.

But Pierre saw Dr. Manco and when she caught him staring, there was no mistaking the venom. She didn't say anything but he knew she'd wanted to.

You can't, he'd said.

We have to try, her expression read. We have to try. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rilla Manco

Incredible. Dr. Manco stood with her hands pressed to the back of her skull, holding her arms above her head to allow better breathing. Her chest heaved, and she blew steadily out of her nose and in through her mouth like gym close so many years ago had taught her to. She'd never understood why that worked better, and still didn't believe it, but whatever could get her lungs to steady was worth an attempt.

Humidity clung to Rilla both inside and out as she allowed her arms to drop. There was sweat running down her back, her armpits, and soaking through her bra as she pulled the sticky fabric of her tank top away from her chest to try and gain more airflow. The dress shirt she had initially thrown on for the plane ride was now tied snuggly at her waist, the blue sleeves dangling to her knees and lower as she bent over to lean on them for support. Maybe I should have waited for the others. Rilla cast a glance over her shoulder to the sunlight that spilled into the cavern, but no other faces emerged from it. She'd been so eager to see the inside that she had darted ahead several strides and was now paying for it physically.

The inside was gorgeous, though. Dark, rough walls stared back at her, carved and built of stone perfectly. They had worn some, but that did little to deter Rilla's enthusiasm as she reached a hand out to brush it over the wall. Cold prickled her skin, the heat having remained outside of the temple. Delicately, the woman took her chance to lean against the cold stone, pressing her flushed face against it. A soft moan escaped her lips at the cooling touch, and she slumped against it, eyes fluttering closed for a brief minute to savor the feeling compared to the hot, sticky jungle they had trudged through for the past few hours.

"Do you need me to give you a moment alone with the rocks?"

Nyelia's voice made Rilla jump, her body stumbling away from the wall as the torch slipped from her fingers. With a deep sigh and a knitted brow, the doctor bent down to retrieve her lightsource as she turned to face the other woman standing behind her. "No," she corrected hurriedly, dusting off the light and wielding it firmly again as she crossed over to her companion. "You do not. I want to get started."

Tossing black hair over her shoulder that remained perfectly straight despite the muggy air, Nyelia gazed at the walls around them with disgust. "This will be quick?"

I wasn't planning on it, the woman thought bitterly. A forced sigh left her lips as she held her tongue and spun on her heels, beginning to walk farther into the temple, down the path that was lined with excavation lights. "I told you you could have stayed at basecamp," she reminded, tucking a loose strand of her own frizzy hair behind her ear. The floors made no echo as she took to walking the slow descent laid out before her.

"I could not have." Nyelia sounded on edge, even from behind her. It wasn't something that Rilla was used to, although she tried to be as unfamiliar with the goddess as possible. Still, it grated against her nerves as they trudged down the hallway. You're hot and you're irritable, pace yourself. A second sigh, softer this time left Rilla as she glanced behind her at Nyelia.

The goddess was walking with both hands at her sides, but they were stiff in the movement, curled into tight fists as her eyes bounced from one side to the other like a pinball caught between the levers. The words to ask what was wrong hung on the edge of the woman's tongue, but she refused to let them spill over. For all she knew it would be another insane ramble on the fact that she should get married, or that there wasn't enough to eat on the plane, or that "goddesses" should not have to walk. None of those were things that the doctor felt could be made time for, so instead she swallowed the question and simply agreed, "It'll be quick."

Cold air from inside the temple continued to drop degrees the lower they went. The walls began to change slightly as they did, moss peeking out from corners in the rock and Rilla could feel they were beginning to enter the part where the upper level met the underground. Where lights had been strung up in the sides of the halls, they now began to peter out as the chains ran out of chords. Darkness snuggled in close, exhilarating Rilla as he breath sharpened and her eyes widened. They were almost there. She could feel it.

Dr. Manco turned the next corner, her eyes finally finding what they had been hoping for. Carved stone, built into the temple wall stared back. There were all sorts of depictions. She rushed forward, bending down on a knee and taking her torch to the walls. The stone was uncomfortable to kneel on, pressed painfully against her as she ignored the uncomfortable angle she was squatted at. Her hands pressed against the ruins, despite knowing better. "These are gorgeous." They danced over a depiction of a bird like creature, feathers extended above its head. There was writing along another wall to match it, and Rilla focused her light on it for a moment, instead, trying to decipher the words.

Since the day that Nyelia had appeared, the doctor had gained the ability to translate old scriptures and carvings that had come from the goddess's time. It was one of the few things she considered a blessing, but disappointment struck her heart as the words refused to translate in her head, nothing more than scribbles and faint outlines of what she assumed to be letters. "Could you help me a little here?" Dr. Manco asked, turning her head to raise an eyebrow at the goddess behind her.

Nyelia was standing a few feet back, clearly uncomfortable with her arms crossed over her chest and her gaze pointed decisively away. When the request came, Nyelia bothered with a brief glance down at the woman on her knees. She narrowed her eyes only slightly before a huff escaped her lips and she crossed closer to hold the torch that Rilla had extended out to her. "What is the point of this again?" she asked as the doctor fiddled with the flashlight in her hand to try and help her point it in the right direction.

"I want pictures for later, since I can't translate it here." There was hidden huffines hidden behind the comment, a bite that Nyelia in no way shied away from as the woman below her pulled out her phone.

"Do not blame me for that, I can not speak a language I was not alive for," she reminded, shifting her feet in impatience.

Oh, right. Rilla swallowed uncomfortably, regretting what she had said for a brief second before she began to snap photos of the walls, catching the essence of it and then kneeling closer to get a few lines in each shot clearly. The last picture she took was that of the bird, before tucking her phone away. "Alright, hand me that back would you." She held her hand aloft to Nyelia behind her, eyes still lingering on the carving.

When the weight did not settle comfortably in her grip, Rilla turned to look back up at the goddess behind her. There was a rumble above them, soft dust sifting through the stone above and spilling down onto the ground below them. Nyelia was staring directly at the tunnel to their right, the one that led farther down into the temple where there were no lights strung up. The torch barely reached far enough to brush the darkness surrounding them before it petered out and was swallowed whole by the endless stone walls beyond their eyesight.

"Nyelia, the torch," the doctor repeated, more carefully this time as she looked back at the goddess again. One foot was shifted behind the other, completely ignoring Rilla. Before the woman could reach for the light source, however, it was yanked from her grip. Not by Nyelia, but by a far bigger source. Something soft brushed Rilla's face, tickled her nose at a blinding fast pace, but with it came an ear deafening shriek that knocked Rilla onto her ass.

The torch hit the ground with a shatter, the glass breaking out from it and leaving the bulb flickering. Nyelia was gone too, forcing the woman to scramble up off of her knees in order to follow whatever-the-fuck had just grabbed ahold of her companion. She ran=ced up the steep incline after it, the lamps that lined the way before all having been knocked to the ground and most shattered in the wake of the monstrous thing that had flown through the narrow halls, too big to fit.

Rilla burst through the top entrance against into the sweltering heat, breathless and panting as she gazed out over the field below them and then, not seeing Nyelia, above. Overtop of the temple, circled a humongous bird. It's head was covered in scaled but its feathers were as red as blood. It swept through the air, skimming the trees and leaving Rilla breathless. Her lungs caught as she tried to yell, to think of something, but there wasn't a need.

A second later the beast went crashing into the ground. It's face was covered with dirt, nadon shaky feet, the doctor tried to take the skinny steps as fast as she could without falling. When she reached the ground, she stopped to stare at the beast. Its eyes were wide open, the left one staring right through her with blood dripping out. Nyelia held a golden dagger clutched in her first, her arm cover in blood as she crawled off on the monster's back and jumped onto the ground in time to see Rilla collapse at the feet of the temple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epoch

Let me get something completely clear before recounting what exactly happened to Hayes and I in Quiche, Guatemala this afternoon. I have no control over what happens in Hayes' life; I have no control over his decisions, values, or aspirations. I have no control whatsoever, not even an inkling of leverage. I see what he sees, I hear what he hears, I smell, taste, and feel the same as he. The unfortunate truth is that I'm just a passenger within a host, and like any parasite, there's an effect on the carrier. Sometimes, my presence causes him to fall out of this dimension, and sometimes, he doesn't land on his feet.

We're both quite uncoordinated in that respect, really. It's not my fault. It's not anyone's fault. If anything, it ought to be SHADR's fault for not coming up with some fancy gadget to prevent the little mishaps he's had throughout the years, and I know he shares the same sentiment every time he comes crashing back to Mother Earth in the most inconvenient ways possible. I know he's thinking of it now as he hacks lazily through the jungle, feeling the familiar tingle of another world tempting him through the threshold.

Then again, to him, that may also just be sweat and heat prickling at his back. It's hard to tell the difference. I, on the other hand, know exactly what it means, but what use is that? I'm silenced.

It's a lonely existence.

"Tell me again why we couldn't just climb down a fancy little ladder from a helicopter and be there already?" he pants, back held at a slouch as he fumbles for a water bottle strapped to his pack. "We're a busy crowd, yeah? My idea could've saved us at least two hours of hiking. And a lot of wat-" He cuts himself off, waterfalling the liquid, now lukewarm, into the back of his throat. Some of it misses and dribbles down his chin, but he hardly cares anymore. To hell with decency and resourcefulness. He works in research, not archaeology. He works in development, not the "let's see who can take the most heat the longest" department. Combat wins, hands down. God. If it weren't for the health insurance, hoo, they'd be hearing it-

Someone quite attractive glances at him through the corner of his eye, and he gives him his full attention as the man opens his mouth. Alright, keep your rubber dick in your pants, Host. "We couldn't risk interfering with the energy signature. Better safe than sorry, Hayes."

"At this point, I'd rather be sorry." Is that humor? A hint of sexual tension? Whatever it's supposed to be, it's lost in breathy muttering. Thank goodness for that. Best to stomp this where it stands, Host.

The other man shakes his head and picks up the pace, leaving Hayes behind with the other drained slowpokes. A particular disappointment flushes through his chest and he casts his eyes down to the vague dirt path that the others've trampled into existence, distracting himself with where to step. He should be distracted. There's plenty here to overwhelm him, and the more he absorbs, the more I absorb, and while that doesn't really help anyone, I like knowing where we are.

On either side of us thrives overgrowth and canopies of emerald, ferns and leaves reaching out to wipe the sweat from his exposed skin, to tickle his ankles. He knows they're just leaves, too, and yet he continues to actively flinch away from their touch, as if they mean to hurt him. In another world, maybe, but here? This dimension is built for fragile children. Throw them into an alternate reality and see how they fare, that's my pitch.

Still, the lot of us carry on. Hayes has lifted his chin by now, caught in the wonders of afternoon light playing through the leaves and catching on the colorful feathers of birds shooting between them. There's movement and noise everywhere, and the combat team up ahead takes no expense in diverging from the path if need be. Hayes drinks it in like sweet nectar through his parted lips, and-

-and there's a taste of something else in the air. A sparse and distinct burning. It settles on his wet tongue.

He furrows his brows and moves forward, about to tap good 'ole Pierre on the shoulder to let him know of this discovery (as he typically does with any news, be it significant or not - "I once held a snake, y'know, didn't even flinch," said once over reading through data on solar flares). However, there's a parting in the path up ahead, and as the jungle or whatever it is parts away to what could be a semi-clearing, he catches sight of sandy rock, too tall, too squared off despite being dulled by age, to just be a regular old boulder. The light catches on whatever this is, too, and throws its rays onto a conglomeration of dust floating off the surface of whatever this thing is.

The combat team takes the lead, and upon checking that everything is clear, the rest are gestured forward, filling the small clearing to the point of overflow. Hayes is one of the unlucky few to have his ankles caught in the underbrush, much to his discontent. Something's crawling on me, he thinks. Oh, fuck. Get it. Get it. This is followed by some unceremonious swatting of his ankle, and it earns some stares, but it's not like he's entirely dumb for it. A place like this, there ought to be a great many poisonous things that might have him dying on his back in an instant.

"Well," Rilla says, her British accent floating up above the silent mass of individuals, "our devices say this is where the energy signature is the strongest. This is where our trek stops and our investigation begins."

A tumble of excitement and confusion bubbles up in Hayes' chest, and he lets it loose as soon as it rises to his throat. "What is it, though?"

"Make a few simple observations, Emory," she says absentmindedly. Through the blur of people in front of him, Hayes can make out her figure pacing close to the wall of the structure, absentminded grace in her legs and awestruck focus in her fingertips as she runs them along the inscriptions Hayes isn't close enough to make out. "It follows the same design as many Olmec tombs, so I'd take a guess that it's an Olmec tomb. These inscriptions clearly share the same tongue, as well."

Yeah, well, sorry I don't have the brain of some centuries-old whatever stuck in me that lets me cheat at life, he thinks to himself. He's always been bitter at criticism. A jealous boy, too.

Oh, if only he knew. If I could laugh, I would be laughing.

"Can you make out what it says?" someone from rescue asks, impatient and flustered.

"It's quite a bit of reading, but yes. There's a recurring theme here. See-" she steps aside to show her finger hovering above an image larger than the others. "-Two humanoid figures battling a strange birdlike creature...And it's on the other side, too, equidistant from the entrance of the tomb. You checked the inside, yes, Combat?" When she receives no response, she swallows heavily, and looks longingly at the centuries-old hag Hayes has been referring to since she arrived ("Dermatologists hate her!" he says every chance he gets). "Nyelia?"

The woman merely shrugs. Her tone is laced thick with indifference. "I picked up no indication of other life in this location. I saw no purpose in it."

But there is an indication, and I see it now, where Hayes is looking. Sprouting from the top of the tomb is a line of smoke, thin and faint, but present, wafting up through the trees. He parts his mouth to mention it, but doesn't want to interrupt. It's important though, isn't it? Seems to be. Upon making this decision, he tries to shove his way forward through the crowd to share his discovery-

-but then an unholy screech emerges through the tomb's opening, so strong it sends the smoke shooting up in copious amounts through the roof, through the entrance, through a mouth.

The mouth of a being of eight feet tall, who has to duck to peer out at them. The mouth of a being with beady little eyes, and the tilt of a feathered neck atop a sculpted, barren body. Talons flare out from the thing's feet, and wings span out from its arms, black and wide and stiff with the strength and luster of steel. It has the body of a man and the head of a bird, and when it spots Hayes and I, it opens its wide beak and releases a blood curdling, rage-infused caw.

It's something Hayes would find in another dimension. Not here; not in the plane he's rooted in. Not in the plane he has to come back to; not the plane in which he can die.

Perhaps that's why the tingle returns, fast and sudden, to the entirety of his body. Perhaps that's why, in that very moment, he simply...falls out of the situation.

For the briefest of split-seconds, the air leaves his body completely, clenching him into something compact and then nonexistent. It's a dull pain at this point, but it wrenches me apart from him and I scream with the loss of myself, something he'll register as a distinct ringing but nothing more. In seconds, we're back together, and he's pressed up against a moist rock, head leaning up against it as he tries to gasp all the oxygen back into him, as he tries to inhale his entire being. "Fuck," he whispers, swallowing.

He closes his eyes briefly, but only briefly: he can't afford to keep them that way. He opens them back up again and tries to suck in all the details he can about this world in particular. It's a habit he's forced himself into since joining the research department, since they want him to report back on the realms and dimensions he visits. This one is shrouded in darkness, but not completely; it is only night, and a moon or three sit in the sky, close and inflated.

A quiet groan leaves Hayes and he rubs his palms over his face, rubbing away the sweat still present from his time in Guatemala. One thing's certain: he's not in Quiche anymore. This place is something altogether different. There are willow trees over there, drooping towards the sky instead of the ground, and over there, there's a spatter of blue glow, creeping through the grass like a warden's spotlight over a courtyard. Overall, it seems rather calm. It's strange that he winds up in peaceful places. It seems that wherever we go, there's no such thing as true peace.

He lets out a final breath, eased by the environment.

That is, until a growl rumbles on the other side of the rock.

His breath hitches and I can feel the rapid thrumming of his heart in his chest, a violent hammering that may very well kill him before we can even fall back into his primary dimension. Realistically, at this point he ought to know that whatever exists in these places he falls into can't actually hurt him; he can't interact with the world beyond the most basic of things, and the world can't interact with him. The most it can do is see him, hear him, sense him. This is what the towering, slimy beast crawling around the rock to him does. It sidles up next to him and hisses through a bifurcated tongue.

Hayes squeezes his eyes shut. "If there is a god, he, she, or they will get me outta here. I swear I sin as little as possible. C'mon, man. C'mon."

Not a god, Hayes. Simply an extension of me.

The creature hisses again, and its warm spittle lands on Hayes' shirt, forcing out a whimper. This time, however, words accompany the hostility, and the thing licks around my host's ear as it repeats itself:

"He would like to sssee you sssometime, Hayesss. He wantsss to have a conversssation. That'sss all. Don't let your Eye ssstop you. They are not kind to thossse who only want to protect and provide. Know who your true friendsss are. Friendsss do not infessst."

Another lick, slimy and hot; the creature sneezes against him, and the tingle returns, running through us both like fire. I'm too jarred to feel our separation this time, though. The thing, whatever it was, was undoubtedly using a manipulation tactic against me, against the whole lot of us. Well, so be it; Hayes is just as clueless as he ought to be as to my existence or the existence of any of us in our hosts. Ignorance is bliss, and out of the goodness of my absent heart, I hope he remains as ignorant as the Ravens will allow.

The world we're both familiar with by now comes crashing back to us, and I can feel Hayes trying to take a breath of fresh air before he's even finished materializing. This is probably why he has as many mishaps as he does, and I ought to find a way to wrap my being around his neck so he can't do it until the process is finished, but it turns out that I don't have to this time because he starts to choke all on his own.

The moment his body is full, I know something is wrong. It doesn't feel like his. It feels like we're sitting in molten lava, firm but melting from the inside out. His flesh and blood is still trying to adapt, and it should've already done so. It never takes this long, never. Now that I think about it, we're rather high up, aren't we? He towers above the rest of his team members now. It's also odd that he faces them. Very odd. I'm not quite sure what's...

Oh. I'm not alone in here.

The moment I make this realization, Hayes makes one of his own, and the panic announces itself in the form of an unholy screech through the jungle. It seems he's accidentally phased into the bird monster. Now, being at odds with birds and such, this is quite inconvenient for me. The bird brain turns its focus on my presence,

Evil! Evil! Evil! Evil! Now, can't we be civilized? Mazel tov and all the rest, oh, die and burn and burn and die, evil! You want a clash well then we collide! Evil, evil, evil! Scratch and bite and wrap around I'll strangle the beast, shoot him dead, I can't breathe but choke him out by the feathers, ay! Pecking is a dirty trick, you dirty trickster; the world is bursting in an explosion of flesh and popped vessels-

A shock runs through Hayes and the birdlike creature alike, a collision of pain and suffering running through their shared skull. The pain is unbearable, and it triggers something in Hayes, a fuckfuckfuckmakeitstop! response. He dematerializes in the same way he's been doing for years now, and the pain stops at the same time.

When he rematerializes, he does so at the back of the crowd, which has now scattered and taken to the winds, powers flung this way, powers flung that way, but Hayes, oh, he lays there amongst the dirt and grass, panting for breath and reprieve. He can catch bits and pieces there; someone's yelling now, "It's stunned! Get it while it's distracted!"

Undoubtedly, that was our doing. I can't worry about that, now. There's something wrong with Hayes. His chest is rising too rapidly, and he's taking in too much air with the breaths he's taking; he ought to stop, but I don't know how to stop it. How can I help? I can't. Ah, nothing like this has ever happened before, least of all into something like that! I'm woozy and maybe I can't breathe either; maybe this is both of our doing, and is Hayes going to die now? Our blood is still boiling, but the temperature is running down; will it stabilize in enough time? Humans are so fragile. What's to happen to Hayes now?

A scream, that of one of the heroes, echoes through the jungle, but Hayes experiences the feeling of two hands on his head, trying to pry his heavy eyes open. It's someone from rescue, that's all he makes out. They touch him in various places, checking his vitals, thank goodness for us both. Is he okay, though? Will my host be okay? Oh, no. They're saying something but it only comes through as a cottony murmur.

"Oh," Hayes whispers, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head, "oh, you're nice. It's too, I'm, it's shaking. It's cold."

"You're burning up. You shouldn't be cold." Whoever speaks finally breaks through, and their tone is laced with concern. "What the hell just happened to you?"

"It licked me," is all he can manage to say in response. I imagine it doesn't help much, but, to be fair, the saliva's still drying on his ear.

Another screech, another caw. Then silence. A pause. The rescue member and Hayes both strain to look up, which I suppose is good, since he's regained sense of his muscles again. He sees whatever the birdlike creature is restrained. "Oh!" he says, a bit slurred. "That's our netting and ropes, the lab stuff, like, the stuff made in the lab so that it doesn't break under extreme- extreme force and-"

"I'm not sure whether to tell you to stop talking to preserve your energy or to keep talking to stay awake," the rescue aid says, but ultimately, they seem to come to a decision. "You're gonna have to study that, I presume."

The statement, at this time, with a physically overwhelmed Hayes at their knees, is so absurd and ill-timed and frustrating that I can't help myself from thinking it: Yeah, have fun getting close enough without it trying to snap your skull in two to get to me.

Hayes gasps and tries to scramble to a sit, but the person forces him to remain on his back. Still, he raises his palms to his temples and presses in, deep. "It's coming from my head," he whispers, wild-eyed and panting heavily again. "Oh, shit. God help me."

His last sentence trails off before the strain on his body finally wins over, and he collapses back against the aid's lap, leaving me to sit alone and wonder what he means.

I think it's fairly simple. But let me get something completely clear, here: this is not my fault. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rover

DESTROYED BY THE PEBBLE DANCE