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Arc F1.8 | Chapter 10: Hallucinations Don’t Usually Come in Pairs

Vtraní noted as though that weren’t the entire point of Curtisal having pulled up this part of the recordings of his playground—and why was that thing even down there? When had the kid put it there, and why had they never heard about it?As much as Vtraní didn’t Fräthk, they did often end up being their nonconsensual sounding board. So, how had Curtisal creating one of his playgrounds within the 17th’s dungeon escape ever being mentioned?

Anarch laughed, practically throwing herself across Curtisal’s back. The young man but made no move to remove his friend. They were an odd pair, Vtraní had to admit, but they suited each other in a way—Curtisal kept Anarch from floating away into the abyss, while Anarch gave Curtisal something somehow psychotic than their deadly playgrounds and technology to focus on. It wasn’t much of a balancing, but it distracted both enough that they hadn’t blown up the city or turned the entire thing into a labyrinth of pain either, so it was working well enough.

Personally, Vtraní would rather not die in one of Curtisal’s creations, and while Anarch’s abilities would struggle to reach them, they knew from with the girl when she’d been younger— being Anarch’s word for the training her mother and Vtraní had put her through—that some of her abilities could reach them through cause and effect.

Vtraní guessed, turning their gaze to the smushed Curtisal, who was watching the live broadcast of the girl—Emilia, apparently—continue to try working her way out of what seemed to be a dead end but wouldn’t be—Curtisal didn’t create .

Also, why had their been a weird doll hidden there?

Curtisal admitted, shrugging as much as he could under Anarch’s weight and muttering what his friend had said: Fräthk wasn’t smart.

Apparently, it hadn’t even been difficult to convince their so-called boss that Curtisal hadn’t been the one to put the playground there, as though there were a single other person in the city with either his abilities or mind. Once, there had been the young man’s father. Then, the man had killed himself within a haze of drugs. Only child of an only child of an only child, and so on it went. Curtisal was the only one of his kind in the city, the only other person with abilities anything like his own a distant cousin who resided in a different city. Vtraní knew they existed, as did Rayleen, but that woman was strange, and as far as Vtraní knew, the existence of another with Curtisal’s irregular deviation in Lüshan had never reached Fräthk’s ears.

Part of Vtraní wanted to ask why the young man had put the playground down there, but they were short for time—their xpherns had just buzzed, informing them that someone was finally beginning to wonder why Curtisal wasn’t updating anyone on what he could see of the city through the cameras he had access to. Had Anarch said nothing of it, Vtraní would have assumed they were simply distracted watching the silverstrain.

Anarch, however, had never known when to keep her mouth shut, spewing secrets onto the world even when they could ruin both her and Curtisal’s lives—not that Vtraní particularly cared. It weren’t as though they would be sharing the pair’s secrets with anyone, aside perhaps from Sireth. In this case, however, they weren’t sure they would be sharing the girl’s words and Curtisal’s actions with even Anarch’s mother—not until the pair were safe.

It was rare that Vtraní’s calm threatened to snap. In this case, Vtraní found their head tilting towards the ceiling, their mind forcing itself down into their body until all that existed was the rise and fall of their chest as they breathed. In… out. In… out. In… out. Strangling the children would do no good, after all.

Vtraní asked, Curtisal attempting to get up and failing when Anarch refused to move. The young man could move her, if he had to—practically a third of her body was composed of prosthetics created by his abilities, after all. Instead, he simply waved a deep brown arm in the general direction of the xphern in question. Vtraní asked as they plucked up the xphern and began shifting through the chats for the one they were looking for, sending off a simple query of whether anyone was there when they found it.

Anarch said, pushing herself up until she was straddling Curtisal’s thighs, rather than flatting the poor thing to the floor. It had always been unclear if the two were anything more than friends, but if they were lovers, Vtraní was quite sure it would involve Anarch on top, Curtisal blushing and stammering into the bedsheets as she took whatever she wanted from him.

they asked, settling beside the pair and tugging the xphern that controlled the older recordings Curtisal had access to away from him—they were one of the few people who could tolerate Anarch and were often directed to come and retrieve some bit of surveillance for Fräthk or one of their loyal.

Anarch motioned towards the chair they had found her in, smoking hashath of all things. Vtraní knew the girl indulged in drugs—few criminals didn’t—but the hashath had been a surprise and—

Wait.

they said, skipping through screens on the xphern, searching for any cameras of the museum where the Baalphorian man—Olivier, according to various things Curtisal and Anarch had overheard as they watched the two Baalphorians move in and out of the 17th—had been taken by Qoréa.

Luckily, the xphern itself was the key to Curtisal’s access to the various cameras and microphones they’d hacked throughout the years. So, when they inevitably needed to escape this place in a few minutes—and with a bit of a push and a glare, the two young adults were moving through their apartment, gathering up what they needed for their journey—the xphern and all its recordings and access to live feeds would be coming with them. The bigger screen Curtisal had the xphern hooked into was helpful, however, and when Vtraní found the museum’s recordings from several hours earlier, they were able to pull a collection of cameras up to go through.

Qoréa had mentioned using the tunnel access in the museum to move the man——through the city, and while they didn’t know the spire’s access points well, it didn’t take too long for them to find the group of Baalphorians moving through the museum.

There was the girl, with her silver hair left to trail behind her—apparently, she’d pulled it up at some point? They’d have to look to see when she’d done that later—whether it was after reaching Curtisal’s playground or before, the of it a small point of use in figuring out how her mind worked. Did it matter how the silverstrain’s mind worked? Anarch and Curtisal certainly seemed to think her an idiot for attempting the playground, but what Vtraní saw even in simply watching her work through trying to figure out how to get past the faux dead end she’d come to was someone who wasn’t panicking. Was the girl being ridiculous, banging her head against the wall in frustration at times? Yes, but it was a controlled frustration that, based on what Vtraní saw when they rewound the recording a few minutes, indicated her head banging had head to her that strange doll. Plus, given what Curtisal and Anarch had done, the consequences tied up with the Baalphorian group…

No, they couldn’t leave the silverstrain there, especially not when the group chats were now swirling with a plan for some of Fräthk’s people to descend into the 17th to determine exactly who was missing—and how were they only doing so now? How had no one come to demand Curtisal look through the surveillance footage yet?

Everything about this situation felt off—Fräthk’s people were generally rather inept, but this level seemed unreasonable.

On the screen filled with recordings from earlier that day, Vtraní watched the girl, her gaze sliding over the museum in an oddly intense way—in the sort of absentminded and yet entirely too observant way that people sometimes had about them. The world seemed to fall away from her. She stepped into more than a few people’s paths. Someone called her name, but she didn’t even start—didn’t blink or turn towards the voice.

Nothing.

In the background, Olivier——turned, his gaze catching on . His mouth opened, his eyes those stunning orbs of white-blue and green. A hand reached out. His leg moved—one step; a hesitation. Vtraní could practically see the man’s mind working—tossing possibilities around in his mind. It was barely a second, but Vtraní could imagine the pure output of thoughts surging through him before he was moving, giving chase to that wasn’t there.

The angle changed, again and again. Vtraní watched, trying to see of what Qoréa had told them about what had happened. There was nothing—no sign, just as the woman herself had suspected.

the woman had said, her eyes dead as her time within this world ran short, each word from her mouth a word closer to death.

Vtraní had considered that it might have been a stress-induced hallucination on their way there. Now, of course, they had the video of Olivier’s students—some of the audio confirmed what information had been gleaned from listening to the Hyrat clones attempt to get the various wandering Baalphorians back to the embassy: they were here on a class trip of sorts. There was the silverstrain girl, twisting in panic, Wander Fulbrun’s daughter frowning at her—and were they connected by core-energy-powered handcuffs? The girl didn’t seem to be under arrest, so then why—

Anarch said, dropping a bag beside Vtraní and leaning down to watch the silverstrain shatter the handcuffs.

Vtraní asked absently, their eyes glued to the screen where Olivier’s students were, in fact, scattering. Their teacher had vanished, and yet, many were simply taking it as a sign that they should take advantage of the chaos and go have fun.

Idiots—they would be lucky to escape the city at this point.

Behind them, Anarch was rambling about the various things she’d heard the Baalphorian girl——ramble about while both travelling through the 17th and Curtisal’s playground. Vtraní was listening, taking in the insanity of the girl—how did someone have that much confidence in themself and their abilities at such a young age?—but also switching the cameras of the museum about, following both Olivier and Emilia.

It took her so long to realize he was gone—for to notice he was gone—and that was weird. They backtracked, tracing the group through the museum and the city, all the way up the station’s stairs—and why hadn’t they taken the escalators?—to their airship. The girl was upset Officer Intern Fulbrun was her… babysitter? The girl rambled off names of people she’d prefer watch her for the day—dared to ask why Chief Officer Fulbrun couldn’t babysit her? She wanted to go back to the ship, but the clone escorting several of the students back to the ship simply smiled and waved goodbye—and she was close with them, wasn’t she? The way she glared at that clone filled with a familiar affection for the older man.

Constantly, the girl’s eyes found Olivier. Sometimes, it was a glare; usually, some silly, teasing energy existed behind those purple eyes. The girl was also in movement, walking and shifting, her eyes darting about despite how she’d clearly been to the city before and was bored.

There should have been no way that had passed before that girl was noticing her teacher was gone, and yet, that was exactly what had happened.

Curtisal asked, grabbing the xphern from Vtraní’s hands and rewinding the short interaction that had occurred between Olivier and Qoréa before she used her powers on him.

the man said in halting, uneven Lüshanian.

Qoréa looked confused, at the very least—this moment, perhaps, of wondering if she’d missed a silver-haired child bustling past her while she wandered the museum, hoping to find the perfect mark. One had come right up to her, so what did it matter if he’d seen a child that didn’t exist?

Anarch said, leaning in to look at the screen as Curtisal did exactly what Vtraní themself had done: worked back through the museum cameras for a sign that a silverstrain child had actually been there, Olivier rushing off to catch a child who he thought was lost.

What were the chances, indeed.

In their lap, the xphern that Curtisal had used to inadvertently set at least part of this situation in motion buzzed, a single message coming through:

More followed, of course, asking for an update on the situation, but they had to move—all three of their xpherns were buzzing and someone was coming. In no way did they want to be there when they arrived.