“My opinion?” Chris asked, his voice a growl. “You’re lying to yourself. Same as when you said you could fix Hunter. Same as when you said you could fix the politician with an ear taking up half his head. Same as when you failed to fix Victoria, and embarrassed just about every biology-manipulator, doctor, and tinker in the western hemisphere. You’re telling yourself one thing, living in the latest daydream, but the moment you turn around and face reality… you’re going to mess up.”

He was provoking her. Baiting her.

“You set rules for yourself,” he hissed each word. “But your rules exist for nothing… except to be broken.”

She stared him down, still angry. This—this had been just for her. The one time in her life that she’d allowed herself to be selfish.

“The politicians from Shin are going to want to see our handiwork,” she said. “It would be best if you let me get decent.”

He let go, releasing her, and he walked away. A needle plunged into his neck, prompting the start of a change to another form. He’d wanted the prehensile nose, she imagined, to sniff out Victoria’s location.

“Fuck reality,” Amy said, to his back. Chris stopped.

I have no mask, not for the moment.

She fixed her bra strap, being careful to put it where it helped support that small trace of Victoria she kept with her without pinching anything, then began buttoning up her top again. “We’re making interdimensional weapons of war. Let’s put this reality as far behind us as we can.”

Chris rumbled, a sound that could have been a chuckle or a rueful sound.

“Next subject,” he growled out the words. “It’s someone you know.”

Sundown 17.1

We’d known we’d have to face the music at some point. I wished we’d had a chance to talk it over before said music, but… this wasn’t a shock.

Defiant wasn’t in his full armor, much as he hadn’t been when in the Wardens’ new headquarters. But with the boots he wore and the augmentations to back, shoulder, and neck, he was tall enough that the back of his head could have rested against the doorframe behind him. He didn’t have nearly enough winter wear for how shitty the weather looked outside, but I could see the faint shimmer of heat radiating off of him.

Someone less serious than me might have made a remark or even allowed themselves to think about steam coming out of the man’s ears. I didn’t allow it to be anything more than a fleeting thought: he was liable to go ballistic if there was even a hint of good humor on my face.