Oh how one's luck can sway. To and fro as the wind and waves can take you. A reminiscent feeling, nostalgic for one who has seen it at every angle of its pendulous swing. Towers and lairs falling and crumbling. Loose groups and tightknit comradery obliterated or betrayed. It's always something that comes around. Both for good and ill… Eh.

'Too sentimental. Just trying to forget the indignity.'

Still reeking of fish after field stripping a remora in the dark and underwater. So you can have gills and fins and not drown only an hour off the coast. How those damn capes found out about the shipment bringing enough of an aneurysm on.

'Do not need more brain grafts. Still taste purple on occasion.'

So much good stock lost though. So much potential, so much worthwhile endeavor. Handpicked and willing even. Paying. The fools. They think their precious League will care. That the 'opportunity' was just awaiting them.

'No, you're just more fodder. Like this poor sod.'

Male, middle age, defined musculature but of poor build. Several broken bones and lacerations, though most are recent. Must tell those damn collection teams to be somewhat more careful, but the internals are all still there.

'So they're listening at least.'

First step of stage one, remove the vocal cords. And seal the lips. Least you go deaf. Only so much complaining one can take before it gets just so annoying.

"My oRgAns. My precious OrGaNs. Don't worry, they'll be put to better use."

*ggluurrrKKpp*

"Mmmmuu! Mhuuuuu!"

Next, the skin along the torso. One clean vertical slice just shy of the abdominal membrane. Ensuring not to nick bone or the latter or else the squirming gets too obtrusive.

"You're so lucky you know. I used to be so clumsy with nerve endings that all my subjects died of shock before I even got anywhere."

"mhhhh!"

Next, delicately cut and pull back the membrane. Better to leave it intact for the most part. He may live after all. Though next comes the sternum. Most don't take it very well.

"MMhhuuuu!"

Out like a puzzle piece. The ribs are easier spread than excised anyway. But now that all the obstruction are out of the way, the real work can start.

"What was you power again?"

Ah, getting blood on the page. Whoops. But it seems he was rather well gifted. And cursed. Bodily gravitational nullification, with no control of buoyancy or attitude. Clearly ascertained by the extensive scare tissue on the bones of his arms and knees. He can float, but will just tumble about when he does it.

"They just don't send their best, do they?"

But it has to come from somewhere, it usually does. Be it as small as a pea or as big as a benign tumor, so many powers have a source. And it will be found.

"Do you want to know where mine resides? Wait, no, you can't hear my thoughts. The last girl could. Sorry."

Stage two, step one, chest cavity observations. No outward maladies, though maybe a bit of a lumpy heart. Veins on veins. Extra capillary and lymphatic spread. A nice road to go down. Leading deeper into the thoracic, behind the stomach. No, even deeper than that. Time to scoop out some rolls.

"MHHHHuuuhuhu!"

"Oh like you haven't had your bowel run at your age. I mean look at this. You're hiding so much behind it all."

Large purple, ugh, metallic mass about 10 centimeters in length. Seems to have required a large amount of bodily minerals to create. Will need to make note of that for transplant. Can't have its new owner keel over before testing. Will need better placement though, center mass leaves too much up to the brain to compensate. Hence his inability to stay level.

"Sorry, but you were just too ignorant to fly. So I must clip your wings."

*gkligkligkli*

*HYuggggmgumgumgumgu*

Oop, forgot the nerves again. He's seizing. Living with it was just too integral. How cliché. He'd have been better off without it. Less broken.

"Oh well, be like that. Where was that lorazepam? Ah. There. Now you'll be just… Well you would have. If I was a good doctor."

Learning by doing is just too exciting. Mistakes happen. At least you didn't die of blood loss. Or suffocation. Or a broken heart. So fragile those things. Speaking of.

"Scoop!"

Can't say the gravity manipulation will be truly useful, but a good heart is always worth it. Makes a man strong. Though, now things feel rather… bereft.

"Two for storage! And tell me when those lazy stooges get back! Everything left is just so boring and ephemeral! I'm trying to create immortality here! I want something exiting!!"

*POP*

Seth's shot back up, frantic exacerbation facing toward the window. And the gunshot still echoing around down the neighborhood outside. It wasn't close, but it was still too much to ignore.

The poor sleep was getting too him. Last night worn as he almost hadn't shut his eyes the whole time. They'd been waiting for him. And were staring even still as he crept out of bed and toward his reality making itself known.

Leaning on the sill, pressing close to the inoperable window, he scanned the side street that crossed into the main a few buildings up. The direction clear but bereft of sightlines. But his tension soon turned downward, slowly left by the wayside as life just continued on uninterrupted outside.

No turned heads, no cowering forms, not even a scream. Just another common occurrence that you had to live with here. A fact of everyday life. Gangs ruled the outer streets, never seeming to fight over where the bulk of the people lived. Like a peaceful façade against the outside world trying to pry. Burned in apathy, trained disregard, whatever the reason no one ever pried into others' business. Even if it meant ignoring a murder right in front of you.

An ambulance siren finally cut through the glazing, contagious, apathetic trance eating away at him. One of the few services that still worked full time in Eagleville. Its own echo running counter from the center of the district, from that solid fixture of white and red he saw earlier. He rubbed away his callusing empathy. Just as the victim was getting pulled out from a side street onto the main road.

The poor guy on the ground was dead already, blood trailing along the sidewalk as some good- No. As the killer in question dragged him out of the territory he unfortunately crossed into. Seth just stood at his window and watched as nothing changed, no one even stopping to gawk. Just walking and driving by to their own mourning barely altered. The body packed up and hauled off, the killing never even acknowledged as such, and the blood just left to dry and stain and wash away on its own.

'I fucking hate this place.'

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Stumbling back, he collapsed on his spotty couch. Unable to stop hating everything having to do with it. Everything that it stood for, the pain that it caused, the hypocrisy that it brought to light, and the fact that all of it was simply ignored by everyone. He couldn't help remember his promise in the spiral. His only damn goal in life.

He wanted… Needed to be a hero! To help people, to use this… this abhorrent power to do more than just destroy! To heal the scars it caused getting to him!

But just as soon as he thought of it, he couldn't stop feeling that amnestic guilt eating away at him, telling him he'd done unspeakable things without ever speaking them aloud. Causing a scar all his own. And pain all its own.

He wanted so badly to burst through that window, tear across the street, and slam into the person who no doubt murdered the man whose blood was still soaking into the sidewalk. But every time… every time he couldn't even bring himself to look back at the window.

That murder happening hours ago, time disappearing and falling away into the pit of despair Seth had tossed himself into. All without ever leaving the couch. A depressive cloud keeping him weighed down. Not even hunger gripping him. But the quiet din of the false peace outside made its way in. Helpful in leaving him to himself, letting him pull away from his downtrodden trance and feel something other than pain. An uneasy peace even for his aching heart. But more than enough to feel hungry.

And get ready to try and leave this shithole for a time. To try and visit the Garkah's city again. Even if it held little hope for him.

The ache in his chest subsiding as he boiled up a can of chicken noodle. Eating it straight from the can for lack of immediate dishware. He needed to do more shopping. Later. It was warm at least, self-cooked too. Nostalgic. An easy road meal to calm the nerves. Even if it reminded him of the crisis. A little salty, but electrolytes are just candy at this point. Wishing the meat looked less boiled, but at least it all held together. And soothed the soul.

Gave him what he needed to lay back on that ratty couch and he slipped back into his own head, shift the perspective of his conscious mind deeper and deeper. A waiting body of solidified electrons left on a sitting stone in the city's center. Only able to be here where the infrastructure existed, in medium. Still way too complex to understand how a simulation like this powered itself as well, but the effects were better savored than scrutinized.

The cold simulated environment forcing a shiver despite his lack of real nerve endings. The Garkah's home planet was cold and their bodies ran hot so this was comfortable to them for some reason. Though the heat he'd felt in the suit certainly helped explain that much.

A longing look up and around showed him what he already knew though. He'd searched several buildings, and his time here was limited by his real body's willingness to ache unexpectedly. So he had to get to work. Looking for… anything.

The high rise yurts they called buildings were more like tall bunkers, windows sparse and their construction using lots of stone and metal. Or at least their electric equivalent. Few outward doors as well, preferring to use shuttering panels that folded up and down in alien sensibility. Something about stooping low being a sign of respect, so a door you had to lift was purposeful.

Once inside the interior was segmented by the prevailing outer wall, a central room opening to each segment like an apartment hallway squashed into a smaller octagon. Entrances and exits were opposite each other, stair ways crisscrossing up to each level. This building was home to a fair few scientists, personal rooms made up the bottom floors and work rooms the upper levels.

Seth went to reach down to pull up a shutter but remembered they were also power dependent, a bit of class restriction as well. The weaker the power the lower the stoop. An upward wave of a focused hand and the shutter clacked up like wood slats. The room itself even more alien. By human standards.

Seat backs being the more obvious omission. Sitting with a reptilian tail required a good bit of room so it at least wasn't that alien a concept. Most of the work spaces were fairly wide as well, stone or metal formed into smooth high tables. Chairs usually matched the material aesthetics, but their seats were all of a soft smooth stone like the roads. And always cold.

Notably absent were hand tools, though some rooms had writing implements in the shape of bars made of iron shavings. In fact a lot of things were made of ferrite. Screens, what looked like clocks, a few beds were even stuffed full of them. They really like metal. Or… liked it.

The room Seth entered wasn't that sparse though, various experiments placed on as many stone tables as the room could hold. He chuckled glumly at the fact he'd stopped seeing the dense simulated environment as such. His mind adapting a little too well to the crafted surroundings. He palmed a few of the tables, iron shaving screens reacting and displaying information on the respective experiments… And reaffirming that he couldn't read their writing. The Garkah learned to speak English from him, but they neglected to teach him… Garkish?

'I really should have visited more often.'

Seth had gotten so used to speaking to them as a collective part of himself that he never even needed to learn their language. Though the collection of stylized scratch marks that made up their writing would have proved a difficult subject to learn. And he doubted the process they used would work in reverse.

He checked the other tables nonetheless, a threadbare hope that at the very least…

'Uh.'

Seth stopped and stepped out of the room, checking the name on the door. One was illegible to him, but another below read… Matterist! In English.

'Why am I not surprised you live like this Matter?'

A theoretical physicist by human standards, Matterist's specialty was of course matter. Applications, strengths, conceptual realities. With a penchant for going over and above what was called for. And taking things personally, both criticism and whatever task was at hand. There were so many other similar scientists that it was hard to keep track of them, but he always spent his off time in the control room looking for validation on what he had helped Seth create.

He went back to checking tables before the nostalgia gave him its own brand of heart ache. Scanning over readouts still in…

'Fuck it! I'm calling it Garhkian! You can't stop me!'

The screens showed mostly graphs and charts with variables in Garhkian, with adjacent paragraphs more than likely detailing what was meant by them. Seth sighed, still nothing legible. A cursory glance back around at the various things being tested or displayed or pushed into the corners only cemented his disappointment. He couldn't even tell what they were made of, let alone what they did. He walked out, another bust to add to the list.

But… he turned back as he left. The name plate had a symbol on it next to Matterist's name, one he'd seen on the smaller scale charts. It was a number, meaning this was just one of Matterist's rooms. His real work room was still on the upper floor probably, so this was storage. And sure enough the next room was his with another number, but in between was small plaque. That had symbols for him to… still barely understand. But also a diagram oddly enough, so at least he knew what floor to go to for the rest of Matter's stuff. And he had little else to do than hope it had an answer. He wouldn't put it past him to have cooked up something.

Climbing up three flights of stairs and manhandling a locked shutter, and he was there. Waving up the door slats to a name he at least recognized by now. But what met him was completely different to the last room.

There was only one device, a large tunnel like structure with a considerable apparatus built up around it. A good bit of it looked unfinished, the outer simulation not fully formed into uncanny matter. But despite its incomplete state, it was on. And humming away. Seth rounded it trying to get a good look, a ferro screen still active on one side. The text was illegible but there were depictions. Pictograms. A figure that looked not too dissimilar to a human stood on a platform on the right, a symbol flashing above it in a blue hue. Another image next to it looked like a hollow lightning bolt pointed toward it, followed by an empty platform like the one the human figure was on. The flash over the first image repeating every few seconds, and a button in the corner flashing a similar blue. An oddly familiar one.

Seth threw caution to the wind and pressed the button, iron shavings giving common resistance and clicking rather nicely. Suddenly, the machine died down its hum, the tunnel in its center realizing its true surface as it slowed down. Moving so fast it looked like a solid piece, in reality it was a maw of spikes, a few discharging between each other with what was ostensibly electricity. If on a much smaller scale. The machine turned off, hissing a burst of simulated coolant from its apparatus. It had been running for a while.

Except now its screen had changed.

A red hue surrounded another human figure and a matching button rose underneath, flashing for attention. Seth pressed the new button and screen locked up, shavings a uniform surface. Fear he'd lost his only clue killed his focus, see through hands grabbing at the screen in desperate fashion, all an invitation for the ache to return. But, slowly, text started to form onto the solid screen… English text.

we are sorry seth

you didn't deserve to die

please forgive us

this was the only way

The ache in his chest rose, the city fading out as he couldn't maintain his focus. Seth found himself back on the couch, depressive hollow memories refusing him peace as he gripped his chest in his hourly dose of concentrated torment. The symbols, the message, all of it just pointing to one single thing.

'They're alive.'

That machine, he'd seen it before. Just didn't know it worked It was a teleporter, simulated but fully functional. They used it to save him, to toss him away, to give him a chance to heal…

So they could take the bullet for him.

It must have been too limited to take them with, only able to transport one being, body and all. But that still ment-

'They're still out there, maybe still in the suit… just waiting for…'

The depression drove his elation around, churned it to something else. The invisible scar over his chest demanding restitution.

'ghrrr…! 'I can't get them back like this.'

Seth looked out the window, a seething breath trying to kill the pain, resolve fighting the weight of his soul. The sun was down, night in Eagleville worse than what the depressive atmosphere of the day could cause.

'I… Grrhh! I need…'

A need, a want, a promise made.

'I need to be a hero. I promised I would be.'

He pulled himself up, ache in his chest screaming at him.

'I won't let this power waste away like this!'

A shaky breath steadied him, the ache being forced down by resolve and need for action. Even hardcoded guilt couldn't fight him forever. He pulled around and eyed his stolen disguise, coat, cap, and scarf draped on a kitchen chair. He was going to do something about this injustice, be the hero he knew he had to be.

So they didn't have to suffer anymore. So no one would have to because of him.

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