A lot of fucky, not-quite-right power stuff surrounded dreams. Like powers didn’t quite know how to handle them, making the rules a little less firm.

Anelace wanted to handle Ratcatcher before everything goes even more to shit than it currently is, and here I am, with a spark of inspiration and motivation to dig into something, with no opportunity to do so.

The fucking world is going to end again, and I’ll die wishing for the chance to read my notes.

Hands, no powers, I reminded myself, as I got to the situation room door.

Too many unfamiliar faces. I did see Larue and Eric, sitting at the same table as Armstrong, who was back.

I took a seat at the table, two chairs down from Armstrong, so I wouldn’t be bothering him.

One half-screen for the Nursery giantess, wreathed by a pile of her creations, the men giving birth to the flesh trees from anus and urethra, the women mostly doing so with the more conventional route. Fluids pooled and drooled around the mass, with the flesh trees bowing as their ‘fruits’ grew by the second, getting heavier. From baby to adult in a matter of minutes.

The other half of the split screen showed further down the procession line. Naked, slender figures shambling across the cold landscape, almost in single file, except for the ones who seemed to get along well enough to move in groups.

One screen showed the Machine Army. The Nursery-borne giants used raw strength, digging with fingers and stolen material, including the wreckage of robots, to till the earth and overturn its contents, to stomp at rocks and fallen trees and pulverize them. Complete and utter ruin in a widening half-circle around the camp.

One screen for Dauntless, who once again had the Simurgh perched on him, resting on the top edge of the shield he carried.

“Cleared your head?” Eric asked, looking over the top of his laptop.

“Yeah. Kind of.”

“Next time you disappear, do us both a favor and let me know where you are?”

“Does it matter? I’m benched. Your job was to report on me. You’ve done your job.”

“My job was to watch over you.”

Fuck, I shouldn’t have come back.

Where the hell was I supposed to go if I didn’t come back?

I didn’t want to dignify his statement with an answer, and Armstrong was watching us instead of working, so I asked Armstrong, “Any word on Sveta?”

“We have her on camera. I wouldn’t have paired her with Weld, but she wanted to help. They’re trying to get access to Lab Rat’s lab so they can assess what’s going on.”

“Access covertly, or access—”

He turned his own laptop to an angle where I could see it. He hit the key to rotate through the windows, and the one he came to a rest at was a video feed.