She pulled away enough that she was disconnected from the cells and cubicles. She moved through the vents, collecting dust as she went.

Home. The vast majority of it was back to its old glory. Gleaming white walls, everything in working order, a complex that could host the population of a small town. A complex that was on its way to doing just that.

The Overseer passed through a hallway undergoing renovations. Building materials were moved, slapped against the wall, then set into place. Fine wires, nails, and interlocking tiles she had worked on in past visits.

This area was being modified to be a prison. It was already occupied by people in the cells she had finished. There weren’t many rooms, and thus the people in those rooms were a select list.

The Overseer swept into the room with the first occupant. She pushed hair from forehead, and reached beneath clothes to wick away sweat and keep those clothes from sticking to skin.

She had a great fondness for the building. Her hearth and home. Her contribution. It was old and her identity was rooted in it.

Not so much a fondness for Fortuna, the woman in the first cell. She did feel a duty, however. Responsibility.

Their Fortuna, their Contessa, had wanted to try her hand at a normal life, without trusting in her power to know the exact route to take to achieve what she wanted. She had dedicated her life to the task of trying to save the world and she had failed, her burden was lifted, and nine weeks after the world ended, she had taken off her shoes, walked along a beach of white sand, stood in the water far from any civilization, and let her guard down for the first time in three decades.

That was all it took. After two days of that, with no questions to predict potential attacks, subterfuge, or other tricks, she had been captured.

Fortuna had reached for a means of defending herself, and she had found it. A loop of thought and willful paralysis that rendered her useless and deaf to the world. Even from oversight’s influence.

Fortuna hadn’t wanted this. A rushed thought, in conjunction with her being off balance, two days out of practice in using her power.

“I like your face,” the Overseer said. “I don’t love you, I don’t hate you, but your face is a home to me, Fortuna. It’s too familiar.”

Her movements around Fortuna would be felt as the slightest of breezes.

“A little under two weeks and I will see your face more regularly. They’re certain we’ll break you then. They know the date, down to the hour. Then you’ll be his.”

There was no response.