Object found in family home

"You know where the stone is?"  Vermillion asked as she closed the rift.  Red energy buzzed from under her glove, sending sparks all around when it moved.

"I know where it was," Myron corrected.  "There's no guarantee it's still there, but I think it's worth checking my village."  He waited for a moment, clearing his throat.  "And since it is such an important matter, I'll need to get there as soon as possible."  Vermillion rolled her eyes and spread her arms wide.  Energy spilled from her gloved arm, and a rift opened up in front of them.  She clenched her fists, and the borders of the portal grew more solid, anchoring it in place.

"You have an hour, at most."  She said, walking back towards the med bay.  "Don't expect me to bail you out if you miss the deadline."  She teleported mid step, a flash of light engulfing her instantly.  Myron turned back to the rift, and walked through, closing his eyes and trying not to throw up.

For a heartbeat,  the ground beneath his feet disappeared, and he was floating.  Or falling.  He wasn't quite sure.   Lights flashed around him, but he didn't dare look.  He made sure he had a sturdy grip on his cane and kept walking.

Then the ground came back.  The flashing ceased, and the air around him was dry and hot.  He opened his eyes to the familiar huddle of huts in the middle of the miasma flats.  Here and there, the dry, cracked ground spilled black vines from inside the earth.  Miasma here was in its most raw form, and the people had learned to live not only in spite of it, but evolve with it.  He walked towards a small pond that connected to a bog that seemed to have no place here.  The miasma flats had no ryhme or reason; there was a tundra one second and a plain the next.  It was the way of his people to live in every one of these miniature biomes, to be able to adapt to anything.

Myron hadn't expected it to be so empty.  Not many people made their home in the blistering heat, but it seemed like everyone had just up and left.  An outside kiln still burned at the pottery maker's shop.  That was strange; Dorothy would never let a fire burn unattended.  

Myron crossed over to the bog, walking along the trees until he found the markings he'd left in his last visit.  Avoiding the dark waters, he hobbled along, walking until he found the wood bridge his dad had built.  Another turn, and he saw his old home.  It was still attached to three trees that had grown close together, protecting him from any of the creepy crawlies on the ground.  Where are all the beasts?  He asked himself as he approached his treehouse.  He hadn't recalled seeing even one Boa constrictor on his way here.

His cane started shaking, the beads in its hair rattling against the skull.  Someone was here, that much was certain.  And that someone had scared everything into hiding.  Myron tapped his ane on the ground, and a gust of wind picked up.  It took him up, jetting him toward his porch.  About halfway there, the force disappeared, and he started to slow.  He reached his porch at the apex of his ascent, and landed just on its edge as he had begun to fall.  The treehouse only had one covered room, its walls lined with Myron's various findings, experiments, and brews.  A bookshelf in the back held what must have been hundreds of little trinkets and trophies from his travels.  He walked to the bookcase, glossing over the various nicknacks.  His gaze settled on an empty space where the stone had been, dust outlining its previous resting place.  

Gunshots rang out, shattering his thoughts.  Voices yelled, though he couldn't make out the words, it sounded like someone was barking orders.  Myron moved the window looking through the light canopy of leaves.  He could see people in white and yellow uniforms, and one behind them wearing some kind of jumpsuit.  Everyone but him had a gun, and where fanning the ground and the trees for something.  The one in the jumpsuit curled his fingers, and a fireball formed in his hand.  He threw it at a nearby tree, setting it ablaze.

"I don't care if we have to burn down every tree in sight to smoke it out,"  He was yelling.  "We aren't leaving without that stone!"  So, Enforcement was already a step ahead of him.  But if they didn't take the stone, where was it?

Myron looked up to find something on a branch staring back at him.  It had been climbing toward him quietly, claws extended, but immediately froze when he saw it.  Its fur was black, though it changed mock the color and texture of the surrounding leaves, apparently thinking it could still hide.  It crept forward again on all fours, moving like some kind of monkey.  It gripped the branch with thumbs on its forelegs, though it didn't have thumbs on its hind legs, and no matter how good its camouflage, Myron could still see its bright, shining yellow eyes.  Myron's first thought was that it was a construct, but its master was nowhere to be seen.  Even so, no summoner would create a construct so... tiny.

It jumped at him, teeth bared, spitting and hissing.  Myron stepped aside, catching it by the scruff of the neck.  It kicked and scratched, though it couldn't reach him.  It eventually gave up, its fur changed back to black and its claws retracted. It was glaring at Myron, and probably thought it looked quite scary, but it looked more like a pouting child than a beast.  If Myron didn't know any better, he thought it might stick its tongue out at him.  It had fangs that only showed when it pulled its lips back, a tail he'd almost describe as bushy, and ears so big it'd probably trip over them if they weren't held up.

"What the hell is that?"  He heard the fire-thrower yell.  Myron glanced out the window, and saw that they were closer now, looking straight up at his house.  He tapped his cane on the ground, and a purple sheen spread over the floor and around every wall of the house.  It disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared, and a small inscription was left in the wooden floor when his cane had touched it.  That out to ward off any fires.  The creature was watching him amazement, apparently forgetting it was supposed to be angry.  Myron thought back to what the fire-thrower had said.  They were looking for the stone too, but how would burning down trees help reveal it to them?  The creature looked more bored than agitated now, and had begun to swing its legs.  Had this thing taken the stone?  

A fireball peeked over the porch and hit the outside roof, dissipating harmlessly.  The Enforcement squad sounded surprised, apparently expecting the house to be up in flames by now, but Myron ignored them.  He walked back over to the bookshelf, showing the creature the empty spot on one of the shelves.  

"Do you remember what was here?"  Myron asked quietly, not sure what he expected.  The creature turned to him and nodded, chittering.  "Do you know where it is now?"  It reached for its chest, pulling the fur apart.  On the surface of its dark skin, Myron could just make out the dim glow of a discharged inscription stone.  The same stone he was looking for.  

The inscription stone was meant to be used as a special catalyst; its purpose was to replicate any.  Yet here before him was a self-created construct, bearing the symbol of the same stone.  The creature had gotten bored again, and was combing through its tail with its fingers.  Myron thought over his options; the item he'd been sent to retrieve was now a living being, and Enforcement was breathing right down his neck.  He could fight them, but they didn’t know who he was, or even that he was still here.

"Do you think you could show me how you turned invisible again?"  The creature smirked and faded away, only its glowing eyes remained.  “We’re going to sneak past those people, okay?  Just stay quiet and keep your eyes closed.”  Myron walked to a window on the other side of the treehouse, opposite to the side the Enforcement squad was on.  He sat in the window sill, looking down to make sure his positioning was correct.  He sat the creature in his lap, and, rather amazingly, it didn’t run when he let it go.  “Stay quiet.”  Myron whispered to it before falling back.

Air rushed by him, curling around him and slowing his descent.  He hovered for a moment before righting himself and stepping onto the ground.  The creature was breathing heavily and had dug its claws into his jacket, its camouflage shifting in its fright.  He pet its head, trying to calm it down.  When its breathing evened out, he extricated it from his chest, placing it on his shoulder.  “Just hang on, and make sure your eyes are closed.”  He waited for the creature to comply before walking back to the desert village.  He kept his pace brisk, making sure he wasn’t being followed.  The creature opened one of its eyes a sliver, and started chittering in his ear.  He waved it off, shushing it.  Just a little further and they’d be at the rift.  It kept chittering, trying to tell him something.

“Sir?  Where are you going?”  He stopped walking, turning around while over-exaggeratedly leaning on his cane.  There was a man behind him, in white and yellow, with a visored helmet that covered his face.

“Don’t scare me like that!”  Myron said, putting on the innocent old man act.  “You’ll give me a damn heart attack with all your creeping.”

“My apologies, it’s just that this area has been evacuated.”

“Evacuated?  Did you check all the houses?”

“Er… well, I’m sure we-”

“I just woke up!  This is the first I’m hearing about an evacuation.”  Myron walked toward the soldier, making sure he was within swinging distance.  “Why do we have to leave?”

“There’s a class nine miasmatic construct wondering the premises.”  He said, speaking like he was told to memorize the exact wording of his excuse.  “For your own safety, we have to relocate you until it’s captured.”  He felt a weight release itself from his shoulder.  He rushed to grab at the creature, but it was gone.  He cursed under his breath as he saw some nearby reeds bend unnaturally.  The soldier was looking at him, unsure how to proceed.

“Um, are you okay, sir?”  Myron let power flow to the end of his cane, and hurled purple lightning at the soldier.  The soldier vanished, the lightning fizzling in the distance.  He was a Fallotus, then, capable of creating illusions and turning anything he touched invisible.  Myron could track him, but a Fallotus wouldn’t hang around for too long.  He was probably already heading back to his friends by Myron’s house.

The reeds waved again, and Myron smiled.  He readied another blast, but the man became visible again, tripping over something in the reeds.  He fell, and something with black fur and yellow eyes jumped on him, whacking him in the helmet with a small stick.  The creature got the stick under his helmet, and pried it off as the soldier struggled to stand.  He threw it off, losing the helmet, and turned invisible again.  Almost.  Myron couldn’t be sure from his distance, but he saw two blue eyes floating in the air.  The creature raised its stick, pointing at the pair of eyes.  Purple lightning erupted from the stick, hitting the Fallotus and causing him spasm the way a cartoon would if it got shocked.  He started to cycle through colors before eventually stopping on blue and collapsing.  

Myron looked back at the creature, who was looking back at him with a wide-toothed grin spread across its face.  Now it all made sense.  The creature was made from an infusing stone meant to replicate any process.  It could only camouflage because it must have seen this Fallotus do it, and it couldn’t camouflage its eyes because the soldier couldn’t.

It walked toward Myron, imitating his hobbling and leaning on its stick.  Myron led the way back to the rift, and the creature stayed with him.  He’d kept Enforcement from getting the stone.  Sure, he hadn’t gotten it either, but it was looking like the resistance just got a new member.

The Dragon

Gerald heaved himself over the ledge, rolling onto his back when he'd finally reached the top.  He eventually got up, his scaly skin only getting dustier with each climb.  The job seemed easy enough; Rescue some politician's daughter from a psycho and walk away rich, with none of the legal hang-ups he usually dealt with in his profession.  He made a mental note to always ask for the location before accepting the job.

He walked along the dusty road, hands in his pockets, hood hiding his face.  He didn't know if he'd find anyone wandering an abandoned mountain road, but he didn't want to risk running into anyone from Nineveh.  He understood there were racists out there, but an entire city with daily hangings?  He'd never been so glad to drop a contract.

After a few hours of walking, he came up on an old mansion with an ancient garden.  Dead flowers poked out of the browned bushes that lined a winding cobblestone walkway overgrown with moss.  Rusty wind chimes hung by the porch, stubbornly stagnant despite the breezy weather.  There were statues scattered around the garden, stone angels holding real watering cans, spades, and hedge trimmers, knelt over dead flowers or trimming worm-infested hedges.  Whoever lived here had way too much time on their hands.

The gate was comprised of vertical metal bars, with no obvious footholds.  Even if one were to climb them, they would have to face the sharp metal shafts on top of the gate as well as a bushel of barbed wire someone had gone through the trouble of lining the entire fence with.  It was clear that Gerald wasn't going to climb over this fence.  So he jumped over instead.

Tucking in his legs, he jumped clean over the fence, rolling as he landed on the other side.  He stopped just short of an angel statue that was trimming a bush in the shape of a lion.  Of all the dead and undermanaged things in the garden, the bushes were expertly upkept, showing vibrant renditions of of large mammals, birds, even a school of fish swimming in a leafy wave.

"Nice job,"  He complimented the statue.  He rose back to his feet, taking the scene in with his hands on his hips.  "You do all this by yourself?"  The statue offered no conversation.  Gerald shrugged and moved on, along the old cobblestone path, up the creaky stairs to the rotting wooden porch.  He felt the wood give with each step, groaning as if the house was reluctant to let him in.  When he tried to knock on the door, his hand went threw the termite-infested wood, spraying moldy splinters.  Gerald reached through the hole, unlocking the door from the inside and letting himself in.

The foyer was a large hall of colors that had grown muted with time.  What were once tapestries adorned the wall, now reduced to dusty carpets indiscriminate from one another.  Gerald walked to the main staircase, finding that on either side were two more hedges, trimmed to look like butlers, each gesturing towards their respective wing.  One of them was holding an expensive-looking scarlet jacket.

"Guess you're holding the lovely lady's coat while she's here."  Gerald said to no one in particular.  He took the coat, smelling it along the collar.  He was expecting some kind of expensive perfume or soap or something, but all he scented was sweat.  

After checking the coat's pockets (She wouldn't need a golden pocket watch, anyway) he followed the scent trail to a side door leading downstairs.  He'd lost the trail halfway down, but could now hear the steady snipping of scissors, and decided to quicken his pace.  To any normal person, it would have been pitch black downstairs, but Gerald could see just fine.  Under the sound of scissors, he could now hear a voice, low and urgent.  He cast his gaze about the room, finding only one other door on the other side of the basement.  He made his way to it quietly, pressing where his ear would have been to the door.

"You really should hold still."  Someone said, the voice edged with agitation.  "What use is a muse if she keeps moving?"

Gerald slid the door open slowly.  The first thing he saw was a table full of bonsai trees.  Some plain, others trimmed into precise figures and shapes.  Above the table was a peg-board of different scissors, magnifying glasses, and delicate tools that looked more fit for surgery.  He edged the door further, until he saw a chair bolted to the ground.  In the chair was a girl, maybe sixteen, struggling against the metal wrist and ankle bindings.

"Who are you?"  Gerald jumped at the voice behind him.  He swung wildly, completely missing the man in the suit behind him.  He was tall and lanky, his face expressing genuine disinterest in his own question.  The girl had seen him jump in, and was trying to speak around the tape over her mouth to tell him something.  "Did you touch my trees?"

He pushed past Gerald before he could answer, making a beeline for the table with the bonsai trees.  He chose a pair of scissors from the peg-board and began working while the girl kept mumbling.  "Do you think you could take her with you?  She justs sits there whining all day; I haven't been able to trim something presentable in days.  Honestly, I don't know what Leon sees in her."  His voice was calm, even, if slightly arrogant.  He wasn't the person Gerald had heard.

"Alright, I'll take her, Mister..."

"Noel," he finished without turning around.  "And please don't speak any more, your southern drawl is extremely annoying."  Gerald made his way to the girl in the chair, cautious of Noel, though he seemed content trimming his bonsai trees.  Gerald got the tape off her mouth and started unbinding her arms.

"Hurry up, already," she complained, her English accent playing along the words.  "We need to get out of here before Leon gets back."  Leon must have been the one talking to her before.  But Gerald had come in the only door out... where could Leon have gone?

When her arms were free Gerald went to her right leg, and she handled the left.  As soon as there was nothing holding her down, she practically leapt from the chair, walking briskly for the door.  Gerald followed her, casting one last look at Noel, but he seemed to show no interest in keeping her here.  She was waiting for him outside the door and grabbed his arm, dragging him along.

"You're really crap at rescuing, you know that?  If Leon gets back, we're..." She looked back at him, let him go, and took a step back.  "What the hell are you?!"

"I don't know the technical term, but they basically took a lizard, did some miasma mumbo-jumbo, and experimented on the closest thing on two legs.  Lucky me."  Gerald started walking up the stairs, and the girl followed.  "Got a name?"

"Not as far as you're concerned, freak."

"Mine's Gerald, nice to meet ya."

Gerald reached the top of the staircase, and led the girl past the main stairs and toward the exit.  When he caught sight of the door, it was blocked by several potted hedges, trimmed to look like knights with swords and shields.  There was someone in front of them, hacking away at one of the hedges with a sword.  He had a studded buckler in his off hand and a helmet that looked like something out of a history book.

"Noel thinks he's sooooo much better than me..." he was mumbling.  He finished carving a new knight from the hedge.  "Him and his little bonsai trees can rot in the basement.  Now this is art."  His voice seemed oddly familiar.  The girl grabbed his arm, and was trying to pull him back downstairs, but Gerald shrugged her off.

"S'cuse me."  Gerald called to the man.  He turned sharply, snarling with his upper lip.  The face was worn a different way, but there was no mistaking it.  This man was Noel.  "So... have you seen any of Noel's trees?"

"Noel's just a pretentious creep.  He thinks his work is just too good for everyone.  But... just look at this!"  He gestured to his knights, an almost childish smile on his face.  "Simple, yet grand, aren't they?  That one in the back has a claymore."

"Oh yeah, they're all amazing."  Gerald encouraged him.  No use in lighting this psycho's fuse.  "But, they look like they're blocking the door."

"Well, sure.  But I can't let you just walk out of here with my muse."  His smile vanished.  "You should never have come here, dragon.  I am the noble knight Leon; Prepare to meet thy absolution!"

Dragon?  Well, that's a new one.

Leon, or Noel, or whoever came charging toward Gerald.  Gerald stood his ground, waiting for the right moment.  As Leon thrust his sword forward, Gerald jumped over the stab and over Leon, landing behind him.  Gerald kicked Leon between the shoulder blades, and he went stumbling away, eventually falling awkwardly around his sword.  The girl was waiting by the basement stairs, and made a break for the door when she saw Leon go down.  Gerald followed her, tearing a path through the hedges with his claws.  When he looked back, Leon was gone, and the girl screamed.  Somehow, Leon was at the door, and was holding his sword against the girl's throat.

"You shouldn't let your opponent out of your sight."  He sneered, putting the girl between him and Gerald.  Gerald closed his mouth, holding his breath.  "Though I must admit, she isn't as beautiful a muse as I once thought.  How about this, dragon; your life for hers."

Gerald glared daggers at him, but nodded.  He walked forward slowly, raising his hands in surrender.  Leon edged closer, but didn't notice Gerald's puffing cheeks.  Gerald could feel the heat trying to escape, but he was waiting for the right moment.  "No closer!"  Leon ordered.  He reached into his pocket and tossed something at Gerald.  A cable tie.  "Tie your hands, and she's free to go."  They didn't look that strong, he was sure he could break them.

He complied, tying his hands together at the wrists and showing Leon he couldn't untie himself.  Seeming satisfied, Leon nearly threw the girl behind him, toward the door.  She went to the door, but hesitated to leave, casting a look a Gerald.

Just go.  He wanted to say.  You're in my line of fire.  But he couldn't open his mouth.  He couldn't even breathe safely.  Leon started towards him, sword extended.  He'd need to wait until he was closer...

"I haven't seen many beasts of myth out here."  Leon was saying.  "Though, I suppose most of you are rounded up or killed on sight.  How does it feel to know that even the Mirum are treated better than you?"  Gerald couldn't answer, so he shrugged.  His eyes started to water, and it felt like steam would start billowing from his ears.  The girl was still lingering by the door, staying out of survivor's guilt, it would seem, rather than concern.  Gerald gave her a thumbs-up, doing his best to smile without opening his mouth.  Leon turned.

"What are you still doing here?"  His shield was down and he was distracted.  Gerald couldn't wait for him to get any closer.  This might be the best shot he was going to get.

Gerald opened his mouth, letting the gushing flames out.  They fanned out in front of him, washing over Leon and covering everything else from his vision.  His hood had blown off, draping over the sail that stretched from Gerald's head down his neck.  Gerald stopped the torrent as soon as the flames color dipped from a searing blue to their usual bright orange and yellow.  He coughed and heaved, his chest feeling empty and cold.  When he could steadily breathe, he looked up to inspect the damage.  The carpet on the floor in front of him was completely burnt away, and the wood below it was smoldering.  A nearby tapestry had caught fire, and the whole area still had a haze of extreme heat around it.  Leon was gone, and seared shadow on the ground was in his place.  A hand reached out to steady him.  He took it, walking a couple steps before he was sure he could support himself.

"Next time you have an crisis of conscience, just do the selfish thing and leave."  Gerald told the girl, trying not to cough up soot.  "Everything woulda been fine if you'da gotten out of the way."  They walked out the door and through the garden.

"What's that thing on your head?"  She said, poking his sail.  He ignored the question and swatted her hand away, pulling the oversized hood back over his head.  They walked past the statues of angels, and Gerald noticed a bonsai tree shaped like a tiger sitting in the hands of one of the statues.  There were more trees, some planted into the ground, depicting wars, animals, and very odd-looking geometry.  He hadn't seen those on the way in.  And where were the hedges?

As they turned a bend in the path, Gerald saw someone else in the garden.  He was digging a small hole in a bed of soft soil, planting one of many potted bonsai trees in it.  He turned toward them, and Gerald urged the girl find somewhere to hide.

"Oh.  It's you again."  Noel said, pulling off a pair of gardener's gloves.  He had some of his tools from the basement in a utility belt around his waist, and a small spade in his back pocket.  "I'd like to thank you for taking care of Leon.  As I'm sure you've seen, he can be quite... cantankerous.  Well, now he can trim his crude hedges in basement."  He gave a small wave before returning to his trees.  Gerald didn't bother asking how Noel had gotten past him, or how he was even alive.  He bustled along the path towards the gate, making sure the girl stayed with him.  Gerald reached for the gate's lock, but it was one of the few things here that wasn't an ancient relic.  He looked up at the barbed wire, wondering if he could jump over it again while carrying the girl.

"Excuse me."  Gerald knew it was Noel, but still jumped.  "You forgot this."  He said, handing the girl the red coat that had been in the foyer.  "And here, let me unlock that for you."  He produced a key from his pocket and took away the padlock, winding the chain around his arm.  He gave a small bow and walked back toward the garden.

"Don't care how,"  Gerald muttered under his breath, pushing the gate open.  "And don't wanna know how."  The girl was keeping pace with him.

"So, we're walking back to town?"  

"Unless daddy has a helicopter on standby."

"How long is it going to be?"

"Dunno.  Couple hours?"  She groaned, looking through her coat pockets for something.

"Where's my pocket watch?"

Tattoo

Wake up

Muddled shadows swam through her mind.  Voices reached her, some echoed beyond the rest, insisting she heed their words.  She heard her friends, family, strangers...

Wake up

But in her deep sleep, there had always been one voice above the others.  Comforting her, keeping her from slipping past the threshold.  She could hear it now...

Wake up!

And so she woke.

She opened her eyes and looked down at herself.  She was on a cold metal table, and was naked save for a white blanket draped over her.  She tried lifting an arm, finding that mustering the strength to move the blanket was a laborious task indeed.  Under the blanket, IV drips dug into her skin at regular intervals.  It took her a while to realize she was wearing a mask, which was supplying her with some kind of sweet-smelling gas.

Get up.

She'd heard that voice before.  She couldn't place a name to it, but she knew it was important.  She struggled to sit up, holding the blanket so it still covered most of her.  One of the IVs popped out, and started dripping something clear onto the white tiled ground.  She hoped that wasn't important.

Poison gas...

The voice was fading by the second, but she knew what it had said.  She yanked off the mask, sending it and an attached gas canister to the floor.  She had no trouble breathing without it, and began to pull out the rest of the IVs.  When she pulled the last one, she cried out in pain.  That hurt.  A lot.  Why hadn't the others hurt as much?

Anesthesias and toxins; to keep you docile while they experimented.

The voice grew louder, until it sounded like there was someone talking right behind her.  Her vision sharpened, and began to feel just how cold the table was.  She slid off, looking around her small room.  Apart from a door and the table, it had no features, furniture, or windows.  She walked to one of the doors and reached for the handle.

October sixteenth... they didn't even bother putting the year.

The girl was confused by the voice's input until she saw what was written on her wrist.  Written in beautiful calligraphic ink was the date October sixteenth, stricken through with a red line.  What does it mean?  She wanted to ask.

It's the day the poisons were supposed to kill you... three days ago.  The voice said in immediate response, then added cheerfully.  You should never be afraid to ask questions; Knowledge is power.

The girl was confused.  What am I doing here?

Those that survive the treatment are supposed to have extraordinary abilities and limitless power, and I'm sure they'd love to see just how much usefulness they can get out of you.  

That didn't really answer my question... and it raised so many more.  The girl reached for the doorknob, but it was locked from the other side.

Funny how answers can do that.  I'm afraid I'll have to cut our conversation to an abrupt end, it seems I'm not the only one that's noticed your continuity.  And I'm sure he'll ask, so your name is Osira.

Osira could hear the sounds of locks disengaging on the other side of the door.  It swung outwards, and a man in a labcoat rushed to meet her.

"Hold still, please."  He said, shining a light into her eyes.  She flinched back, and he stowed the flashlight.  "Are you feeling okay?  Do you want something to drink?"

Osira didn't respond.  She wasn't sure she could remember how.  "How about a name?"  He tried.  "Do you remember your name?"  A strange feeling came over her.  She felt warmer, more confident.  She heard someone whisper in her ear.

I just told you your name, silly.  Did you forget already?

"Osira."  She said clearly.  The man looked impressed with her.  He extended his hand, and Osira extended hers too, shaking his.  He looked even more pleased at this.

"Call me optimistic, but I think you made a complete recovery."  He stood, motioning for Osira to follow him.  They walked into a room full of monitors and computers, with a big window looking into her room.  She hadn't remembered seeing that from the inside.

You probably don't remember much, being dead at the time and all, so I'll fill you in.  You died.  But not for long.  This man is a spy sent to get you out without Enforcement ever knowing you woke up.  But... you're going to make a detour.

The man led Osira out into a hall, where they walked past various doors.  Towards the end of the hall, most of them were metal blast doors with caution signs on them.  They reached an elevator, and the man hailed it before turning back to Osira.  "We're going to be leaving soon, but I need to you act as normally as you can until we get outside."  The elevator opened, and they got it.  Once the doors closed, he reached into his lab coat and got out a set of neatly folded clothes.

"Put these on and follow me."  He said, typing something on a screen in the wall.  She'd forgotten she was naked up until now.  She snatched the clothes from the man, backing up and covering herself.  The man turned around, giving her some privacy.  She would have preferred pants over shorts, but she wasn't about to complain.

"I'm done."  She said.  The man turned back around and squatted, meeting her at eye level.

"You're probably very confused right now, and you have every right to be, but I promise I'll get you out of here safely.  Just know that the people that found you wanted to do something... they didn't have your best interests in mind."  The man stood again, watching the monitor on the wall.  "My name's Jax, by the way."

Osira looked down at her hands.  There were holes where tubes had been put in her, but none of them bled.  When she was looking down, something got in her way, draping itself over her eyes.  She picked up a few strands of it, feeling its weightlessness in her hands.  The strands were a startling white, and had a soft aura about them.  They floated around her head, bouncing when she jumped and twirling when she spun.  "What is this stuff?"  She asked Jax, showing him a handful.

"That's, um, your hair."  Osira kept fiddling with it, brushing her fingers through the pearly curtain.  The doors opened, and Jax hurried through, turning his head to make sure Osira was keeping up.  They rushed past other people in this hall, some of them looking curiously at Osira, but never stopping them.

Stop.

Osira stopped in front of a huge blast door.  In the place of the usual caution sign, this one had a skull and crossbones, with Expert personnel only written under it.  She heard a sizzling sound, and a passage dissolved its way through the door.  Inside, Osira could see the walls and floor were lines with strange black markings.  Too ethereal to be paint, but too real to be shadows.  They danced along the hall, letting now light through.

Go.

Osira heard Jax call out from behind her, but she ignored him and squeezed through the hole in the door.  The markings flowed down the hall, urging her to push onward.  Thorny tendrils blocked off doors and side halls, forbidding any deviation from the path.  She heard Jax clamboring behind her, but when she turned around, he was struggling to follow, the tendrils grabbing at his legs

He'll be fine.  The voice assured her.  Just follow the miasma.  Jax yelled for her to stop, but she turned around, following the flow of the blackened tendrils.  They were pouring into an open doorway, where another large blast door had been blown clean out of the wall.  Osira walked into the room, her breath coming out in stifled gasps as the air grew thin.

There was some large machine in the middle of the room, throwing miasma all around her.  It was a cage of some kind, meant to harness the power of its prisoner, but thick power cords had been cut, and every light in the room was blown out.  

Inside the cage was more miasma, but this had a shape.  Ears perked up on her arrival, and its yellow, pupiless eyes opened wide.  The beast seemed to be smiling at her, though it was hard to tell with its muzzle, and she could hear a steady thumping from behind it.  Its tail was wagging.  Its form shuddered, as if the miasma was being pulled apart into nondescript tendrils, but it hung on stubbornly, refusing to give out.

"I helped you..." it said.  Though its mouth didn't move, it rippled like water when it spoke, and its fur retracted and regrew as ripples reached it.  "Think you could return the favor?"  The dog's head tilted at the question.  In its eyes, there was a hopeful pleading, begging her to consider.

Osira heard a crash from behind.  Jax was there, his lab coat was tattered and he only had one shoe.  He was holding a giant war hammer with glowing inscriptions along its head, and was standing in a doorway he'd just made.  His anger was quickly overshadowed by amazement as he looked around the room.  We walked forward slowly, taking it all in.  "So this is their power source."  He said, casually stowing the hammer on his back.  "I heard they caught the Black Dog, but to see it behind bars..."

There were shouts coming from the hall.  "I don't know what this thing told you, but you can't trust constructs."  Jax said, grabbing Osira by the arm.  "We need to go."

As Jax pulled her to the hole in the wall, thorny black vines grew from the floor, blocking the door.

Wait.  It told Osira.  Jax couldn't hear it, and was already smashing the walls apart, trying to outrun the vines.  I'm powerless to leave without a host.  More shouting from outside.  Then pounding.  They were trying to break in as badly as Jax was trying to break out.  And you'll never make it out without me.

Osira turned back to the Dog, walking towards its cage.  "I have no idea what's happening, and the only answers I've gotten make no sense.  I don't know what a construct is , who you are, or why you need a host, and until a few minutes ago, I didn't know my name."  The Dog looked down, started to speak, but Osira kept talking.  "But your voice was the only thing that kept me from giving up.  So how do I open this thing?"

The Dog looked up, shocked.  It should be that lever over there.  It said, pointing with a tendril at a console just behind his cage.  Osira walked to the lever, pulling it down all the way on her third try.  A whirring she wasn't aware of until now stopped, and the room seemed eerily quiet.  Jax had stopped his hammering, and the people on the other side of the wall had grown silent.  The cage door opened, metal whining as it scraped along, and the Dog walked through, nearly collapsing with each step.  Osira hurried to its side, using her own weight to prop it up.  She hadn't realized how big the Dog was until now- it looked more like a bear than anything.

It was breathing heavily, and the miasma around the room started to flow towards it, disappearing under its fur.  The vines on the wall gave out, and people rushed in, wearing armor and toting guns.  Jax dropped the hammer and put his hands up as three rushed over to him, while five others surrounded Osira and the Dog.  Four of them had guns and identical helmets, while the other was dressed more casually in jeans and a tee-shirt.

"Well, if it isn't Ms. October."  He said, his eyes glowing an unearthly blue.  "Welcome back to the land of the living."

That's an Anivis.  I want you to close your eyes, and don't open them until I say so.  Osira didn't argue.  She closed her eyes, and almost immediately heard a wet crunch followed by what sounded like a dying squirrel screaming.  She opened her eyes in time to see the Anivis start dropping to the ground, a gaping hole where his chest should have been.  Black tendrils came off the Dog, sweeping over the other soldiers before they had a chance to fire and sending them all toppling.  The same tendrils wrapped themselves around her waist, pulling her into the air and onto the Dog's back as it ran at Jax.  The soldiers guarding him were turned around, firing at the Dog.  Jax took the opportunity to grab his hammer and take one of the guards legs out from under him.  The Dog charged right through one of them, sending him barreling into the wall.  The last had started running back to his comrades by the cage, who were starting to get up.  The Dog flung miasma in front of it, creating a wall between them and the soldiers.  Osira tried to slide off the Dog's back, but found that her hand was stuck in its fur.  She tried to pull it out, but it pulled back, until her arm was reaching inside the Dog.

I'm sorry.  Was the last thing she heard before slipping into the Dog entirely.  Miasma moved around her in waves, washing over her until she couldn't breathe.

*********************************************************************************************************

Jax couldn't do anything as she disappeared inside the Dog.  He'd only seen this once before; a rampant construct linking itself to a new host.  The dog started to come apart, its miasma scribing itself onto the girl's skin.  During the process, the Dog's wall came apart, pouring into Osira.  The soldiers saw the wall was gone and took aim again.  

Jax was ready to run, but Osira pointed a finger mottled in black at the gunmen, sending a surge of miasma crashing towards them.  Those that didn't die on contact were ripped apart.  The miasma slinked along the ground back to Osira, leaping back onto her arm and settling in their runes.  

Osira fell to her knees, trembling and drawing breaths in shaky gasps.  Jax wasn't sure how to comfort her, so he just picked her up and carried her out.  People were running past them in the halls, and there was a voice on an intercom telling people the situation was under control, and that the Dog was being detained and recaptured.  By the time they'd reached the rear exit, Osira had fallen asleep in his arms.

"Hey, Dog.  Can you hear me?"  Jax said, pushing a door open with his back.  Miasma twitched around her in anticipation.

"Yes."  It responded.

"I've never liked you monsters.  I have no idea why a girl that just woke up from a coma has taken such an interest in you, but you must be doing something right."  He looked down at her.  She'd started chewing on her hair in her sleep.  "But the second you do anything to hurt her, I'm getting Myron to separate you two, and I'll make sure you fade away for good."

The miasma starting pulsing on her skin, and the sound the Dog made could only be described as laughter.

"Still as ham-fisted as always, Jax."