“Name and birthdate,” she asked in a bored voice.
“Jim Roark, July 24th, 2018.”
The woman tapped on some keys, then wrinkled her nose. She tapped more keys, hitting them harder, then turned to Gus.
“I’m showing that he was admitted a couple months ago, but I have no information on where he is located or his visitor status. Are you sure he didn’t get discharged?”
“I don’t think so? I mean, I have a squad mate who told me he was here before he got… deployed again, but I didn’t get to talk to him before he left.”
“Uh-huh…” she said distractedly as she hit the keys a bit more. “I don’t know what to tell you. This system was outdated ten years ago. It’s possible that someone didn’t process his paperwork correctly, or that he was moved somewhere and they didn’t enter that information correctly. As you can see, we are very busy today.” She grabbed a business card and slid it over to Gus. “I recommend you contact this number; they could possibly help you better. I’m very sorry I can’t do more, sir… next!” She waved at the next person in line and Gus distractedly looked at the card.
Patient Relations
Sarah Turner
He absently slid the card into his pocket. Walking out, the doors slid open silently and he left. He stood there with his hands on his hips, staring at the fountain in front of the hospital. This homecoming was nothing like he had envisioned. All of his friends were gone. The Crew was going to be occupied in the Faction for who knew how long.
Rather than taking a ride back to his apartment, Gus just began walking. He didn’t even need to put any thought into it, as his display showed him a pale blue path needed to get back home without even needing to ask.
Passing a pawn shop along the way, Gus stepped in and checked out the guitars. He lost himself in playing and trying out the different ones, and settled on an amp and guitar. At first, he was worried he would get exhausted carrying it. By the time he rounded the corner of his apartment, his muscles weren’t even cramping or tired. He practiced until dark, losing track of time and escaping into his music. At least this felt like home.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Alone
Tempest contacted Gus early in the morning. Gus set down his guitar and noted it was already past two in the morning.
“Hey Gus, I didn’t think I’d catch you awake.”
“I don’t sleep well these days.”
“Well, your mom isn’t doing well, and I’m going to be staying here for a while. I hate to impose, but Aurora’s champing at the bit to get the tracker linked with the manor. It’s dropped off her tracking a couple of times and fortunately the network caught the signal. We have an unsettled score, so I agree that we need to keep tabs on that monster. I can send a courier to deliver it to you, and then give you a ride to the portal station. I hate to rush you, but—”
“You can send it now, if you want,” Gus broke in.
“Really? I thought that would be a harder sell.”
“There’s not much left for me here anymore. My friends are gone, and I want to get Mengele as bad as you. Is Mom really bad? Be straight with me, do you think she’ll recover?”
“She’s stable for now.”
“That’s not what I asked. Will she ever be the same? Like we remembered?”
There was a long silence. Gus checked his display to see if they were still connected.
At last Tempest replied, “I honestly don’t know. But I’m going to do everything I can to get her what she needs. She’s a fighter, Gus. If there’s a way, we’ll all find it together.”
“Yeah, I know. Send the courier, you know my address?”
“Of course.”
“Can I see her one more time before I leave?” Gus asked.
“I’ll send you some of my feeds. The Faction won’t let outsiders come in, especially unvetted supers. I’m sorry, Gus.”
“I get it. Well, whenever you’re ready.”
“Should be there in about an hour.”
Gus stepped through the portal and made his way to the control center on autopilot. He just felt numb as he connected the tracker, referring to the notes Aurora had left. As promised, Mengele’s ship populated the display. After making some adjustments, the computers extrapolated Mengele’s likely destination, somewhere in South Africa if he didn’t change direction. Now it was a waiting game, sitting here being useless until everyone could come back. Gus leaned back in his chair, the silence he had missed when the Crew was ever-present now felt unwelcome. Isolating and alone. But perhaps that was how things should be.
How did everything get so screwed up? This was not how things were supposed to work out. Jumping through all of these hoops only to find that it could be for nothing?
Then screwing things up with BoJack, who had been nothing but helpful. What is wrong with you, Gus?
He was surprised how his mind sought out someone else to blame. Like a dirt trail with deep ruts he was disturbed how, even after recognizing this, his brain tried to come up with even more justifications on why the blame wasn’t totally his. How Basileus was partially to blame because if he hadn’t messed with the Mandrite core, Gus wouldn’t be having the headaches. Or if he could just level like normal, or sleep, or any number of things then things would have turned out better.
Once he had seen it though, he couldn’t unsee it. This was his fault, and he couldn’t shift any of the blame. Or at least he was tired of hiding behind those excuses. Tired of always having things act upon him and him just scrambling to react. Most of all, he was tired of waiting until everything was perfect before he felt comfortable doing anything.
It was time to grow up. It was long past, actually. A super shouldn’t always be using others as a crutch. That must be what the Oracle wanted him to figure out from Prime and BoJack. They both looked at the world differently than he did. And they didn’t let all the crap hold them back or stop them from acting. As much as they seemed to have it all together, they still struggled.
He had always entertained the notion that eventually there would be a time of transition, just like in a video game. When you’ve finally got everything upgraded, and collected enough resources or have them generating passively that you don’t have to manage them constantly.
Life would never be like that. There would always be something. What had BoJack said? Life levels up in difficulty with your skills? The idea felt foreign, different from what he had always fantasized about his future. That someday things would be ideal. That day would never come.
A chime startled Gus out of his musings. He skimmed past some other battle stats and XP drops from different steps on their trip to the hospital and battle with Kenway and the three strangers.
You have leveled up the skill: True Sight to Level 2!
XP awarded: 500.
FP awarded: 1000.
1440 XP to level 21.
You have leveled up the skill: True Sight to Level 3!
XP awarded: 750.
FP awarded: 1500.
690 XP to level 21.
Well crap. There it was. No room for argument. After the level up, the foreign-ness of the idea seemed less intangible and easier to accept. As if he had believed that way for a long time. With the clarity, other things became much more evident and his naivete made him burn with shame.
He buried his face in his hands, rubbing hard as he thought. Why can’t I get my act together? Am I ever going to have a place where I actually deserve to fit in? Or should I just accept my lot as a screw up and keep walking my lonely road? Am I unable to rely on others because deep down I know that I am unreliable and I’m subconsciously sabotaging myself?
If there was an opposite of the Midas touch, I think that would be my true ability. My first powers are all centered around the word “wreck,” and that can’t be a coincidence. Perhaps I’m just geared to take things down and ruin them, and I’m just causing myself a lot of frustration and pain by trying to swim upstream against my nature. All this struggle
with nothing to show for it. If I’m destined to just ruin things for myself and others, I should distance myself and not drag anyone down with me.
I’m not sure what the Oracle wanted me to see, but for the most part, I just see how small I really am. That the problems I’ve built up in my mind are really insignificant in comparison to the real tragedies that people are going through on a daily basis. You would never know those struggles because they keep them to themselves and don’t wear it on their sleeves, yearning for sympathy and support. They deal with it stoically and don’t make it everyone else’s problem.
Supposedly I’m an adult, but I can’t stop relying on people for every little thing. Then selfishly grabbing any advantage for my own benefit, and somehow, I convinced myself it was so that I would have the ability to help others at some point. Trying to numb the realization that I may not be wired to be a super. That I lack that kernel of goodness deep down in my core that will make my motivations pure and selfless.
All my life I’ve been searching to fit in, to finally find my place. I’ve changed how I acted to be a part of the group. And even that was a selfish motive. I convinced myself that if the Crew thought I was part of the team, then all of these doubts that constantly resurface could finally be dismissed once and for all.
Gus sucked in a breath as a sudden spasm of pain started at the base of his skull and began creeping up his head.
“Oh damn, not again,” he groaned. He dug his index fingers into the area but the pain refused to subside. Perhaps Karma is real. And this is some kind of consequence for my past.
As if in reply, his father’s expression at the hospital haunted him, vividly remembered behind his closed eyes as he tried to dissipate the effects of the sudden headache. He had seen how his father had been almost broken when they found his mother in the state she was in. And that look.
His chest tightened as the wraith of guilt clenched around his heart. That look bored into Gus’ heart as he remembered it. You did this. She’s like this because of you. Though nothing was stated, Gus knew this was true without any words being spoken.
The brightness of the sunlight pouring in the room was intensifying his headache, so he staggered to the hallway. He leaned back against the wall and slid down to the ground. At some point the pain began to ebb and he opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, which shimmered with the reflected afternoon light.
He saw it play across the faint texturizing they had done on the ceilings, and it looked like waves. No, more like the swirling mists of Hinansho, but with fog so thick it swallowed those who ventured in, never to be found again.
A lost soul in a city of lost souls. The dismal miasma mirrored how he felt on the inside perfectly. Roiling darkness of equal parts rage at himself for his weakness, contaminated with depression for poisoning everything he seemed to touch.
They competed for dominance within him, one urging him to give up and go far away where he wouldn’t hurt anyone else. The other to get vengeance, to burn himself up in the attempt and rid the world of the taint of his negative influence. Perhaps he could do both and do the world a favor, and make things right again—at least for everyone else.
As he grabbed a hold of this thread, his resolve firmed, and the despair gave way to decision. This felt right; he could make up for all the damage he had caused. As long as he succeeded, it wouldn’t matter what happened to him afterward. The price seemed acceptable, and he wasn’t going to drag anyone else into his fights anymore.
The Crew only came here because they felt like they owed his father a debt, but he had done nothing to expect them to help him. They had retrieved his mother. The job was done. Everything left was up to him. They said they would eventually return, but what if Mengele disappeared while Gus waited and did nothing?
The void he felt inside worried him. Was something fundamentally wrong with him? He knew he should feel gratitude for all that the others had sacrificed, staying with him and his father as they risked their lives on the ridiculous adventure. He should feel gratitude, but there was nothing there.
He had always felt different than his peers, but the sensation of this lack of emotion seemed something that would align more with a sociopath than a super. Could it be that his path led him to a darker destination? If it did, why waste time fighting against it if he was going to be equally miserable either way?
Congratulations! You have chosen your second Guiding Principle.
Guiding principles offer many benefits as long as you hold them in solemn regard and do not break them, offering stat boosts and enhancements as long as you remain true to the tenets of the principle.
You have chosen: Sacrifice.
When you are working in a team aligned with your values and views, you receive a +5 increase in all basic stats and a 10% increase to XP gain while the status is maintained. Be true to yourself, and you will continue to grow and develop!
Access to a unique team ability based on team dynamics available:
Conditions: You must have worked with a team a minimum of three months for this perk to become effective.
The prompt stood there for a minute until Gus finally dismissed it. For whatever reason, this appeared to be his destiny. It was nothing like he had hoped that it would be. He compared his options: what he had dreamed in blissful ignorance, and what would do the best good.
All those times he had imagined what he would do differently if only he was a super. How he would show everyone the things he could do, if he only had the chance. It had just magnified his own selfish scrabbling to prove himself to others. That he had some worth that they just didn’t see. That the whole thing was just a misunderstanding, and now that they could see the real Gus, everything would be clear and everyone would be happy.
But he had failed. Again. For the millionth time, and he didn’t know how long he could keep fooling himself. The universe kept batting him down as he tried to rise past his station into something else that was incompatible with his nature. It would be better to burn up in a blaze of glory than to allow himself to go down the dark path that beckoned. Or die of a brain aneurysm or something with these headaches. He had to do something. Now.
Gus clicked accept on his second Guiding Principle.
There were some preparations to make first.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Stutter
Aurora burst into the motor pool and saw Rory lying down. He was reading on the worn couch in the corner, his feet up on the opposite armrest.
“Rory!”
The large man looked up in startled surprise, and tossed his book to the couch as he jumped up to embrace Aurora, swinging her around and squeezing her tight.
“I knew you were going to be alright! You’ve always been a smart one.” His bristly beard tickled her neck and she pulled away to take a look at her old mentor.
“I’ve missed you so much! So how have you been?”
A dark shadow passed over Rory’s face before he could turn away. “I can’t really talk about it.” He started to fidget with his fingers in a way she had never seen him do.
“Rory, what’s wrong?” Aurora pressed.
“S-Something is rotten in the s-s-state of D-D-Denmark,” he managed to stammer.
“What?”
“S-S-Strange things are afoot at the C-C-Circle-K,” Rory, was turning red, trying to get the words out, as if he had a lifelong severe stutter.
“What is wrong with you?”
Rory braced himself on his knees, panting. Little by little, he pulled in ragged breaths as his airways began to open again.
“Are you okay?”
“That’s a negative, Ghost Rider,” Rory said with a little less struggle.
“Okay, weird. But I’ll play along.
“I write the songs that make the young girls cry…” Rory sang, the stuttering becoming less pronounced.
“What?” Aurora looked at Rory in confusion as the burly man began to twitch his head like he was listening to a Haddaway song. His h
ead bob was towards a messy desk. Invoices with oil stains on the edges littered the top of the desk.
Rifling through the papers, she saw no rhyme or reason. A small shelf with chipped blue paint drew her attention. Paperback books with the spines cracked from multiple read-throughs were lined up there. Only one book was hardcover. A thin one, practically pristine, with a leather cover.
Sliding it out, she quickly found that it was a journal. As she opened it, Rory let out a relieved sigh, tension draining out of him like a deflating hot air balloon as he sagged back into his sofa.
She thought it odd that he wouldn’t be concerned with someone reading his most private thoughts, but she skimmed to the last entry:
Things aren’t right here. And it isn’t just here. I was talking this morning with some of my buddies in my old squad. One is in Eurasia, and another in Australia. It’s the same story there. Something is wrong with the leadership. What happened to Tempest has been happening all over the place. And we’ve all been too divided and distracted to do anything about it. Someone is behind the scenes, moving us all like pieces on a game board. Those who didn’t step down voluntarily like Tempest have met with mysterious ‘accidents,’ if you get my drift.
We’ve been led to have this constant rivalry with Orange and Green Factions as if they were our real enemies. Bickering back and forth, while we ignored who is pulling the strings just off stage. I fear it may be too late. They are making everyone go through some reassessment. Mine is tomorrow. I don’t know what kind of brainwashing is going on, but things are getting weird. Even the most vocal in their criticisms have suddenly turned taciturn and distant. It’s so out of character.
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