Interlude

 

“Elaborate.”

 

“I don’t know. It just makes me feel gross. Like it’s not mine.”

 

“I mean, that makes sense, it’s just a memory of mine that you-”

 

“No, it’s not like that. It’s like… I don’t know why, but that name gives me a visceral “No” feeling.”

 

“Hoo boy. V, a little help?”

 

“This is all you, babe, in more ways than one.”

 

Maxine chewed her tongue. She sat in a chair in their apartment. The Vampire sat across from her. It was still hard to look at them. The hair was shorter than hers, the jawline too hard, the 5 o’clock shadow a sharp and now unfamiliar shape on her own face. 

 

Victoria was in the kitchen writing a paper on new research she and Billy had been working on. 

 

“Do you remember anything about who you used to be? Before the whole…” she mimicked flapping giant bat wings.

 

Faux-Max subconsciously imitated her, making similar chewing motions as she thought.

 

“I don’t think so. The name you told me I had before doesn’t make sense. The one I remember feels wrong. I’m… very confused.”

 

“Apparently you were a biologist? Staying in Paris? None of that ringing any bells?”

 

They shook their head.

 

“I’m assuming… no bookshop?”

 

“No, the bookshop is mine.”

 

“You have a bookshop?!” Their mouth fell open incredulously.

 

Maxine laughed. “No, I’m afraid not. No, I mean, the memory of working the bookshop is mine.” She looked at the file on her knees. “Nothing about a bookshop in here.”

 

The “vampire” - that term was hardly appropriate anymore but Maxine found it hard not to associate it with them - leaned on their hands. 

 

“I think the “old me” might be dead. You said you had to replace a chunk of my brain, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“How much?”

 

Maxine sighed.

 

“Over half. Maybe three quarters.”

 

“Jesus fuck.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I think I might be dead…”

 

“I mean… you’re very definitely not.”

 

“No but…” they looked at the name on the file again. “‘Gérard Leclerc’ certainly seems to be.”

 

“Who are you then?”

 

Maxine waited patiently, taking deep breaths. She wanted to try and treat this person the way she wished she’d been treated, but it was… weird. Difficult. Her egg had cracked and she’d hatched by the time she looked like… the person in front of her. She just hadn’t had access to the resources required transition. 

 

“I don’t… I’m not sure…”

 

“Let’s start small, then. Is there a name you like?”

 

“I… quite like Max.”

 

“That’s what we’re not finna do. Nope. Drawing a line.” She found herself seeing the humour in the situation. “Max is me. I’m her.” She frowned for a second, trying to bring back old memories. There had been other names, right?

 

“Okay, different question for now.”

 

“Alright, hit me.”

 

“Do you… How do you feel when you look at me?”

 

“Like, what do you mean? Do I find you attractive?”

 

Maxine scrunched her nose.

 

“Ew, no. You’re like… my sibling. Or something. Or my clone. I don’t… hum… No, I mean like… does it make you feel a kind of way about yourself?”

 

“I mean… You’re very pretty. In a way I could never be. Something like that?”

 

Max rubbed her eyes. “Yeah. Something like that.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You know I used to look like you, right?”

 

“I.. hmm… I mean, I thought you just made me look as much like you as possible, but… with a male template?”

 

Victoria tried really hard not to follow along from behind her screen. Max was simultaneously very amused and not amused at all.

 

“No… I’m trans. I used to look exactly like that.”

 

“Wait… so it wasn’t… That’s why you…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wait so that means…”

 

“Here we go.”

 

“... what does it mean?”

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

 

“What?”

 

Victoria bit her tongue to keep from making A Noise.

 

“Okay, let’s try this again… If I told you you could… look something more like this,” she pointed at herself, “how would that make you feel?”

 

They blinked.

 

“I mean… I wouldn’t be opposed… But that’s normal. You’re hot, who wouldn’t want to look like you?”

 

“Men, mostly.”

 

“You’re saying...”

 

“Come on.”

 

“I can look like you?”

 

“If you want to. Do you want to?”

 

“I… I think… Maybe? Can I? Could I? I mean… How would that even…”

 

“That’s for later. The answer is yes. You can. You can be a girl. She/her pronouns. All that jazz. You can have little gender. As a treat.”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Wait wait wait but…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Oh my GOD.”

 

“Yah.”

 

“So that’s why that name feels so…”

 

“Yuup.”

 

“And that’s why you... “

 

“Yarp.”

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, love.”

 

“Is that why your- our memories are so… why they hurt so much?”

 

“Oof. yes. Yes, it is.”

 

“I need a name.”

 

“You do. Do you remember what names you were playing around with?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Do you know which one you like, so far?”

 

“I… quite like Sam.”

 

“Hello, Sam. Welcome to the family.”

 

“Aa.”

 

---

 

Victoria looked back and forth between Sam and Max. It was a surreal experience to say the least. They both moved largely the same, for one. Maxine was like the Snapchat-filter version of Sam, a softer face, a higher voice, slightly smaller, longer hair. But the similarities were unmistakable. She didn’t so much laugh, as she exhaled air through her nose in the international symbol for “I found this humorous but not that humorous”. They both looked up a the same time.

 

“What?”

 

“What?”

 

Victoria shook her head. 

 

“Nothing. Just… it’s going to take some getting used to this.”

 

“Don’t worry, Victoria, I’m going to find my own place soon enough.”

 

“That’s not what I mean, Sam, but thank you. No, I mean… You two are very different but still…”

 

Maxine looked a little pained. The implication that she looked like a masculine version of herself was a painful one.

 

“Your mannerisms are similar. Like you two were twins separated a few years ago, and now together again.”

 

They looked at each other. Then at her. Then at each other again. The synchronicity didn’t escape even them. They laughed and then looked at her again sheepishly. Maxine especially seemed a little more relaxed.

 

“All right, fair enough,” Maxine said with a smile, then she turned to Sam.

 

“When can you see your therapist?”

 

“Two months, I think. I got fast tracked for some reason.”

 

Victoria looked at Maxine, who avoided her gaze with exaggerated innocence. 

 

“Weird how that happened.”

 

“Right?”

 

“Are you excited?”

 

“God, yeah. I can’t wait. I’ve been looking up the effects of oestrogen and it just… I love the idea of it so much. All of it. The hair, the hips, the tiddy… I really can’t wait.”

 

Maxine patted her on the head. It felt a little awkward to do so, but Sam seemed to genuinely enjoy the attention, being treated as precious. Headpats were like catnip to her.

 

---

 

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey! I’m here, I’m right here.” Maxine rushed over to Sam, who sat on the floor of the bathroom, crying. There was a knife next to her and Maxine immediately feared the worst, but she saw no blood. She wrapped her arms around the bawling trans woman. Her hair was still wet from the half-shower she’d attempted to take. 

 

“Hey, hey…” She cooed as she gently stroked the woman’s hair, her clothing soaking through as Sam held her. The white-hot pain in her chest… Maxine knew it. It was obvious when it roared, she could see it on the woman’s face from a mile away because she recognised it. But she could feel it when it flickered, because she knew it never left. Sam tried to clutch at her own chest but Max gently held her by the wrist, knowing that the coarse hair her hand would find there would only make things worse. 

 

She kissed Sam’s scalp where she knew she’d have been scratching herself. She gently shushed her when she cried, cried silently until her throat was raw, trying to shed her wretched skin. Max knew what had happened. The single swipe across the mirror… the unexpected reflection, fresh out of the shower. The face she’d seen there…

 

Max whispered to her. “That face isn’t you. It’s not what’s underneath. Deep breaths.” She knew it wouldn’t work. Not fully. But she felt Sam relax her breathing, deliberately. She wasn’t alone. Max knew Sam felt that, too. Sam would know that Max had been there too. She felt her freeze up, and Maxine deliberately slowed down her own breathing. “Breathe with me. You can do that. Slow breaths.” It worked, a little. She noticed the red streaks on her arms, where she’d been scratching at herself, tried to get to the real herself underneath, let her out, and gently put a cold hand on them.

 

“You can cry, Sam. It’s okay. Your voice will change too.”

 

She held the woman as she cried, tears streaking down her face onto Maxine’s shirt where her wet hair clung to it. Softly, she heard Sam muttering. Begging. Demanding. Pleading that to Maxine and anyone else, to please end this, take this away. She wasn’t strong enough, she said, over and over again, and Maxine interrupted her. “You are strong enough. You are good enough,” she whispered. “If I made it, you can too.” Sam took some solace in that, and clung to Maxine. “You’re strong enough. You’re good enough.” She knew that, inside, Sam was still wishing for an end, but lying there, in silence and pain, she wasn’t alone. 

 

“I’m here, baby girl. Your sister is here. You’re strong enough. I’m going to be here when you think you’re not. You’re good enough. Because you are my family and damn it, we fight for each other when you think you’re alone and not strong enough. Because you are strong enough. And you sure as fuck are not alone.”

 

--- 

 

Maxine came home. Victoria sat on the couch, Sam curled up in the crook of her arm, asleep. Her face was red from crying. It was the fifth time this week. But she’d stopped attempting to self-harm, at least. The delay of her endocrinologist’s appointment had hit her hard. Maxine sat down on the opposite side of her. Sam woke up, and came to realize where she was.

 

“Hey Max. I’m sorry… It’s been a rough day…”

 

“I know, Sam. It’s okay. You have nothing to apologize for. Did you eat anything yet?”

 

“Not… really…”

 

Maxine looked up at V, who made a “:|”-face. 

 

“Want to order Pizza?”

 

“Oooh, yeah, it’s been a while,” Sam perked up, and then deflated.

 

“I’m not sure I can afford it.”

 

She’d been working at the bookstore Max used to. The owners were a lovely elderly couple and they barely noticed the fact that she hadn’t seemed to have grown any older in the past five years, and it was good for Sam to have a bit of rhythm and regularity in her life, even if it was just part-time. The pay wasn’t spectacular, and she didn’t have the disability aid to rely on that Max had. Of course, Maxine and Victoria had offered to help her financially. Lit Inc was doing freelance construction work around town and was saving money for bigger plans, which meant that they could afford to give Sam a thriving basic income. But Sam had wanted to stand on her own two feet, which Victoria had thought was silly for someone with just a few months of memories and no legal identity, but Maxine had really understood. She’d even insisted on paying rent for staying with them.

 

“Just this once, Sam. We want to have an evening with you. Let us get this one.”

 

“Fine.” Sam smiled and settled in the sofa again. Max sighed and gently squeezed her baby sister’s hand. Victoria stroked her hair as they watched Star Trek together.

 

---

 

“You said you needed to talk?” Maxine sat down at the dinner table. Perhaps there was a universe out there where “we need to talk” is a phrase people don’t dread hearing, but it sure as hell wasn’t this one. But she was of course more than willing to hear Sam out. She’d finally gotten on T-blockers and E, and she was taking to it wonderfully. It had been a delight to see her come into her own. What was especially interesting is that Sam developed differently than Maxine had, and they slowly looked… well, they still looked like sisters but it was… different, now. Sam was taller, obviously, but also little stronger, had slightly more defined muscles. Maxine was short, almost petite, and had an adorableness to her. She was pretty. But everyone who met her and saw her transformation knew that Sam was going to be powerful. She already exuded a lesbian energy few people could match, even at 5’11.

 

Sam sat down opposite her.

 

“I think I’m in love with Victoria.”

 

Max’s were wide open. She didn’t quite know what to say. 

 

“I just… I feel for her what you do. I think I see in her what you see…”

 

Max tried to navigate her way through the minefield in her head.

 

“Y- yeah… I mean… she’s amazing but… well…”

 

Sam rolled her eyes.

 

“Max. You absolute dumbass. I’m not going to do anything about this, except move on. But I did want you to know. I’m not going to keep secrets from you. You’re my big sister.”

 

Max relaxed a little. 

 

“This had better not make things weird. You better not.”

 

“Scout’s honour.”

 

“We were never in the scouts.”

 

“I’m pretty sure we learned about turns of phrase, though.”

 

Maxine got a little more serious again. “Do you want to… take some distance?”

 

Sam nodded. “I think that’s best. I think it’s going to get worse if I keep living with you two.”

“I agree. Distance is usually best. But do you have anywhere to stay?”

 

“I was thinking… maybe I could stay on board Big Bird for a while? I think I want to join Lit Inc and this way I can interact with the others more, you know? Find out what my powers are and stuff. Train with Rue, you know what I mean?”

 

Max considered this for a second. “I’ll have to talk to Victoria, but I don’t think it’s the worst idea. V isn’t much on Big Bird while we’re grounded, so we’ll be easy to reach without you seeing her every breakfast and dinner.”

 

“Thanks, Max.”

 

“Just try not fall in love with Rue.”

 

“I deserved that.”

 

“Yeah you do, you fucking dork. If you try to steal my wife I’ll have to feed you to… oh…”

 

It was Maxine’s turn to suddenly grow very quiet. Sam knew what had happened and wrapped her arms around Maxine who cried silently.

 

“They’ll be back, sis. They’ll be back before you know it. I can’t wait to meet them.”

 

When V got home, Max was asleep on the sofa and Sam sat next to her, hand gently on her shoulder, while watching a documentary with headphones on. Victoria pointed at Max with a proverbial question mark on her face. “Penumbra”, Sam mouthed, and Victoria got sullen too, but she joined them on the couch. They ordered pizza again. 

 

---

 

“Hey sis, what’s up?”

 

Maxine hoisted herself into the small crew quarters on her way to the cockpit, Victoria right behind her. 

 

“Looking for you. We’re wheels up in a couple hours, so V is doing some pre-flight checks.”

 

“Where are we go- Oh. Oh! Is it happening?!”

Maxine had a frantic look on her face and Victoria practically danced past them.

 

“Yes! Yes it is! We managed to get through to the PM and the President.”

 

“Wait, the President?!”

 

“Of Iceland. Not the Potus.”

 

“Oh that makes more sense, yeah.”

 

“Put on something presentable, you slob. Ceecee and Billy are coming and we’re picking up Remy and Rue on the way.”

 

“Yes! It’s been months!” 

 

“Well, git, you’ve got one hour to get ready, then I want you standing by!”

 

“Yes’m!”

 

“You are such a dumbass.”

 

“I got it from you.”

 

“Fuck, you got me there.”

 

“Hehehehe.”

 

“Is this what it’s like,” Maxine shook her head as she moved to join Victoria in the cockpit. “Am I really that annoying?”

 

“More annoying, actually,” Sam yelled after her, biting down on an apple. “You’ff had fife more yearf of egfperienfe.”

 

“Kindly fuck off, Sam!” Max yelled back with a laugh.

 

“Not going anywhere, Max!”

 

“Yeet yourself out of the cargo bay when we’re airborne or I’ll do it for you!”

 

“I love you too!”

 

“Uuuuugh. I love you too! Now! Off the fuck, you go!”

 

Chapter 1: Metamorphosis

 

A year passed. 

 

Maxine stood by the giant table. The hangar bay of the plane had received a massive overhaul - big thank you to Rue and her flying monkeys for that one - and it looked… vaguely militaristic, perhaps? This was largely due to the table in the middle of the room, a giant touch-screen currently showing a map of the local sea-bed. The giant screens around the room didn’t help much either. Big Bird was currently parked just off the coast Reykjavík. It could float now. That was a thing. The plane barely resembled itself from when they’d bought it. That even the plane had transitioned was, Maxine thought, completely fitting. 

 

The salty smell of the seawind hung in the hangar bay. It might be summer, but it didn’t exactly get warm here. Dressed in a Parka she didn’t realize looked really good on her, she pulled up a temperature display, which gave her a clean 10C/50F. Not warm, but not freezing. She was grateful for the fresh air, though. The plane’s cabin air could get stale after a while and she loved the seabreeze. 

 

She stood by the table, going over plans. There was a degree of activity in the hangar, but it still felt too quiet, wherever she went. Penumbra had been gone for a year but Maxine hadn’t felt whole since. However, she knew, deep inside, that Penny would return to her. They wouldn’t, couldn’t be separated. Not indefinitely. 

 

Victoria walked up to her, clearing her throat slightly, and Max turned to her with a smile. Without Penumbra, her senses were duller than they used to be. Her powers were greatly reduced. She was grateful for V’s head’s up as she approached. Part of it was comfort in normalcy, a little ritual between the two of them. Another was the fact that she simply preferred to be approached by people she knew were coming. Being blindsided, something that hadn’t happened in years, was still taking getting used to.

 

“So, how are things going?”

 

“Sam is down there. She’s really proving herself.”

 

Victoria stepped behind Maxine and wrapped her arms around her wife, looking over her shoulder at the map. 

 

“Do you think this is it?”

 

Maxine nodded, concentration sharpening her face. In the past year, without Penumbra’s guidance, Maxine hadn’t so much lost control of her ability to shift her shape, as it had become a more instinctual thing. She couldn’t do the big changes with ease anymore. Wings were out of the question. But she instinctively changed, now. She grew bigger and stronger when she stood up for Victoria. Small and weak when she was upset. And in moments like this, her eyes grew big, catlike, her cheekbones sharp, as she was trying to observe everything, careful not to miss a single detail. They’d been working toward this for a year. This is what LIT Inc was building towards. It would take years to really get off the ground but… 

 

“I think this is it, babe.”

 

Victoria kissed her neck.

 

“Let’s tell Rue. And tell Sam she can come up. She’s gonna catch her death down there.”

 

“She got hit by a train like, two months ago. She’ll be fine. But yeah, I’ll get on that.”

 

Sam had turned out to have been more like Maxine than they’d ever suspected. And not just Maxine. It wasn’t just memories and appearance. Sam had more than a little Spite in her. She couldn’t transform like Max could, but she was as durable as a tank and could heal from anything. So she had become their de-facto Extreme Environment expert. Which is why she was currently walking around at 1,000 feet deep, scanning the local seafloor. 

 

Maxine turned around and kissed Victoria softly. 

 

“It’s happening, V.”

 

Victoria pulled her girlfriend in closer for another kiss.

 

“Thank you, Max. For pushing for this.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me, babe. This was your idea.”

 

“Yeah, but without you I would have never… Something of this scale…”

 

“We did this, Victoria. You and me. Lit Inc. The Lilypads. The Transatlantic.”

 

Victoria nuzzled her softly.

 

“How do you feel?”

 

“I still miss them, V.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“But this helps. Doing good. On a scale much bigger than we used to when I relied on them. I think they’d be proud. Wherever they are, I hope they come home soon. It’s too… It’s too quiet.”

 

“They will. They’re my partner, too.”

 

“I know, love. I didn’t mean to diminish it for you.”

 

“You didn’t.” Victoria kissed her nose. “You’re fine. We’re good.”

 

Maxine and Victoria walked towards the ramp. In the distance, they saw Iceland. The seas were calm. The weather was nice. The giant, floating structure between them and the land mass was slowly taking shape as hundreds of translucent, blue, flying creatures hauled tons of concrete, steel, glass, plexiglass and several materials that had only been theoretical months before, due to the rarity of the components or the difficulty of recreating their molecular structure. Ceecee’s copying ability had been put to use copying carbon nanotubing and hyperconductive materials, and it had allowed for the building of their floating island. 

 

Nicknamed Lilypads, this was the first of its kind, based on the design of a belgian architect, the island would be able to withstand stormy oceans, be fully self-sustainable and, most importantly, it would function as a home-away-from-home when it was complete. It would become the base from which they’d build the Transatlantic. But one thing at a time. The Lilypad should be done in a matter of days. The Icelandic government was ecstatic, and had funded a small crew to help them. The whole endeavour was a matter of national secrecy, and everyone involved would have to keep their mouths shut about the crew of superpowered individuals building a floating island off the coast of Reykjavík. 

 

But not too long. 

 

Maxine wrapped an arm around Victoria’s waist.

 

They were just about ready to go public. Lit Inc was about to become an international phenomenon. 

 

---

 

It crashed in the hills. It hungered. It found a rabbit. The rabbit did not satisfy. It found a deer. The deer did not satisfy. It saw lights in the distance, and slowly, and surely, it moved towards the moving lights of San Francisco. 

 

It came to a road, looked up at the cars. These cars were not alive, it felt. But inside them was potential. So much potential, flying back and forth in boxes it couldn’t hope to penetrate. But then, it sensed, not far, not far at all, one of the cars stopped by the road, it’s hood bellowing smoke. 

 

It moved, moved towards the car, towards the person stepping out. A woman, with blonde hair and a skirt too lovely and an evening ruined because of a fault in the cooling system. It moved towards her as the woman named Melanie paced back and forth, calling someone to come pick her - and her car - up. She didn’t see it coming, because it was small. It hunted. 

 

“I know I’m not going to make it to the party on time, David, but I’m asking you to find it in your heart to come and pick me up so I can at least make it, you know? I just want you t-”

 

The voice on the phone was small and tinny as it clattered on the ground, David wondering where his conversation partner had gone as she, too, hit the floor. But in seconds, she was on all fours, her eyes a milky white. She had satisfied.

 

Internally, Melanie screamed. “What are you? What’s happening? Where am I?” It considered her questions for a moment, then answered with a voice like nails on chalkboard. 

 

Hello, Melanie. My name is Malice. You are my new host. Congratulations.

 

It fed on her memories as she screamed. It learned a great many things about the species on this planet, who had ceased to evolve and had resigned themselves to advancing their tools instead. They were, it found, fantastic hosts. If only they didn’t scream so much. Inside her, it found the parts of her that housed her consciousness. 

 

Casually, like one might close a window because of a noisy dog outside, it turned her off. She was unconscious, and wouldn’t be awake again for a long time. It scurried off the freeway and back into the treeline, climbing up. Her body was a good place to start, but it might need some work. A few extra limbs. That was easily done. Additional eyes. These human bodies were malleable. Ideal hosts. Slowly, her body was covered in a dark, oily green substance. A jawful of teeth, dripping black slime, as it looked out into the city, and it considered its next move. 

 

--- 

 

Marcus looked out of his bedroom. The bad feelings were there again. He rubbed his chest with the palm of his hand, pressing his sternum slightly. The pressure helped a bit. It had been a fun night with friends and he had come out feeling miserable, somehow. He didn’t belong, he felt. He felt like a visitor to his group of friends, who all seemed to be closer to each other than he felt he ever would. Not to mention that they’d all dated each other at some point, something he’d never participated in, though not for lack of wanting. They all assured him they considered him just as much a part of the group, but it just… didn’t feel that way. No matter how much fun they had, how many shots they took, how funny he was. 

 

His closest friend, and roommate, had urged him to seek help, that this kind of feeling of otherness might be the cause of something else, something underlying, but he honestly didn’t have the money to see a therapist and he felt like people with bigger problems than “weh, I think my friends don’t like me” needed access to those resources than he did. His friend had argued that, if it made him miserable, then he needed access to those resources too. He deserved them just as much.

 

But he wasn’t going to take a space that wasn’t his. That was an important part of his philosophy. He supported gay people, even though he liked women, and did his best to elevate their voices and listened when they took the time to educate. He was a champion for human rights, sex worker’s rights, trans rights, despite being only the first of those three. But he stayed in his lane. Even in his philosophy, he felt like an outsider. He felt he was an outsider while belonging to the second largest demographic in his country, the cishet man. But the rest of his demographic were… Not his people.

 

His friend had agreed with that. That his refusal to take spaces that weren’t his were proof of his character, his nature. Being told he was a good person on a regular basis had been wonderful for his self-esteem, but it didn’t take away the bad feelings. The feeling of not belonging. The feeling of missing something inside, the feeling of missing out. The loneliness. He found himself pushing back tears on days where they got really bad. He let himself cry, because he’d be damned if he let toxic masculinity have a say in his emotional well-being, but it often gave him a headache, and the bad days made the salty tears running into his beard feel disturbing, disgusting, and he’d have to take hour-long showers in the dark. His friend often left a towel in front of the heater on those days. 

 

He looked out the window and felt a pang of pain again. 

 

“It’s hard, you know? Being alone like this? I feel like I genuinely don’t know anyone who really knows me. Not really, you know?”

 

There was silence in the room. His friend often preferred to let him talk, work through his issues himself, only interjecting to ask a question that often cut to his core. But most of the time it was simply a patient waiting. Most of the time, Marcus reached the right conclusion himself soon enough. 

 

“I just feel like… no matter how much of me I put out there, I don’t get through. I just… I can’t tell if it’s them or me, you know? I used to think it was them, when I was young and a dickhead. That I was this super smart genius who others simply didn’t understand. But the older I get, the more it’s obvious that that’s not the thing. Assuming you’re smarter than everyone because you did well in grade school, to begin with, is nonsense. But then like… even if I was… Connecting to other people isn’t a matter of them not living up to your standards of intelligence, it’s like… The common denominator is just me, right? Occam’s razor. I don’t know how to connect to people and like… I don’t know how to get people to see me.”

 

Another moment of silence as he pushed down on his sternum. Behind him, his friend stirred, maybe to remind him that he wasn’t alone. 

 

“I think… Do you think it’s possible that I don’t know how to get people to really see me… because I’m not putting the real me out there? I’m afraid I don’t know who I am, you know? Not really. And like, how can I expect people to see the real me if I can’t even do it myself, you know? I don’t know, am I just… rambling nonsense? I… I can’t really tell. Do you think I need to do some soul searching? I feel like maybe I’m not… this. Like I took a wrong turn into a person that’s not me and now I need to find my way back before I can go forward, you know?”

 

He turned around.

 

The black bird, eyes white, sat perched with a self-satisfied look on its beak on the back of the sofa. 

 

“If you think that would help,” Penumbra said. 

 

---

 

They made great hosts, Malice concluded. Melanie had stayed subdued, and it had shaped the body in different directions just to see if it could. It could. 

 

At first, it had started small. Becoming small. A couple of extra arms, ending in chitinous spikes. Short, powerful legs. It had hunted several unsuspecting deer, some birds, and had devoured them with gusto. Slowly, animals in the forest had learned not to go into its territory. It liked that. It made forest quiet. Slowly, it infected the trees with its venom, and they began to rot from the inside out, hardening on the outside, so they’d stop growing new branches, stop crashing fruit down onto the forest floor. 

 

Most animals were smart, it had learned, but they wouldn’t escape its web. But humans... Humans were incredibly stupid for being the smartest animal on the planet. 

 

It sat atop a tree where it had spun a web of near-invisible silk. It had eaten enough of the local wildlife to grow, and grow large, segmenting its body, and now it hunted humans. Not for its plans just yet. Simply to… see what it was like. For “sport”, as it had learned the phrase was like. For fun. Humans were a lot of fun, so long as they didn’t scream. And they never screamed for long.

 

And its web grew larger. Entire acres of the forest had microfibre strands between the trees. Some wrapped themselves around a limb that touched it, catching the unsuspecting human who would be bewildered by their arm or leg or, in truly delicious circumstances, its neck, suddenly being constricted. The more they pulled, the tighter the web would pull. Some were razor sharp, and the human would cry, bleeding on the floor, clutching its missing limb. In both cases, their hands and feet quickly became the least of their worries as they heard a scurrying of feet, like muffled hooves, but far too many for a single creature, running across the forest floor as too many sets of eyes too wide glistened in the moonlight, as too many teeth approached them with a speed too fast to scream. 

 

Malice sat atop its tree and looked at the moon, and its mandibles clicked against its teeth. This would make for a good world. A great world. It would find a seedling, and then it would put its plan into motion. And what a beautiful plan it was. Before long, many screams would be cut short, and it would have an army to conquer entire galaxies with. Its web would cover the universe, and it would be quiet. 

 

---

 

Marcus sat at his small table, eyeing his phone nervously. 

 

“I’m not sure this is a great idea.”

 

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, Marcus.”

 

“Yeah, but like… you’re a talking bird. I’m pretty sure you’re a figment of my imagination.”

 

“If I was a figment of your imagination, Marcus,” Penumbra squawked, “I don’t think I’d be urging you on to see a therapist.”

 

They let that sink in for a moment.

 

“And if I was, it sounds pretty benign.”

 

“Maybe you’re manipulating me… Maybe this is part of a larger self-harm design.”

 

“Just call your therapist, Marcus. You’ll feel better. You don’t have to make an appointment.”

 

“But what if I’m bothering them?! I can’t just…”

 

“What day is today?”

 

“It’s Tuesday…”

 

“What happens on Tuesday?”

 

“It’s her no-appointment afternoon.”

 

“And what did she tell you about no-appointment afternoon?”

 

“That I could always call…”

 

“That you could always call. Atta boy.”

 

Marcus cringed. Penumbra bowed their head.

 

“I’m sorry Marcus. I don’t mean to berate you. I’m just trying to help you get help.”

 

“I know. It’s just…”

 

“And. And I’m sorry for talking down to you. I know you don’t like to be called boy. I’m not belittling you. It’s just a turn of phrase. I’ll avoid it.”

 

“Thank you, Penny.”

 

“No problem, Marcus. I just want you to be okay. Now call your therapist, you’re talking to a bird, for Pete’s sake.”