Tanya sat in the silence at the end of Mrs. Eceer's story, the weight of it settling over her like a thick blanket. The entire tale had only taken a few minutes, but now that it was over, she was painfully aware of how quiet the shop had become. The old walls held onto the silence like they were waiting for more. She could hear her breath, the subtle rustle of fabric as she adjusted her legs, and the distant creak of the wind pressing against the boarded-up windows.

"Did ya?" Tanya finally asked, her voice oddly loud in the stillness.

Mrs Eceer turned slightly, her expression unreadable in the dim light. "Hm?"

"Make sense of it all?"

A pause. Then a quiet, "Bits and pieces."

Tanya exhaled slowly, rolling the answer over in her mind. It wasn't much, but it was something. "So you've known about this for longer than me." She frowned, mentally piecing together the timeline. It was Thursday now, which meant Mrs. Eceer had known for 5 days.

Mrs. Eceer tilted her head slightly, studying Tanya with her usual sharpness. "When did you find out about it?"

"4 days." Tanya exhaled, shaking her head. "I got me powers without knowin' what was goin' on. Then I was out for hours. I must've missed the first BBC broadcast."

Mrs. Eceer nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "Monday—before people were taking the smaller broadcasts seriously."

Tanya stared into space, turning things over in her mind. "I don't blame us for not believin' 'em," she muttered. "Not when they held back so much information."

"It sounds like a hoax until you see it for yourself," Mrs. Eceer added.

Tanya let out a breath, and for the first time, she noticed the way it fogged in the air. She rubbed her arms absently. Without the heating on, it had to be just a few degrees in here, but she wasn't shivering.

Must be me new Vitality.

Mrs. Eceer sighed and leaned back, her gaze drifting to the wall that separated the shop from her old flat. There was something wistful in her expression. "I miss my notebooks."

Tanya straightened. "Some of them might be a bit sticky—or uh—maybe disintegrated… But any that avoided the blood should be okay," she said, remembering how the blood had eaten through the floor. "We can get 'em back when we're all fightin' fit."

Mrs. Eceer paused, then nodded. "I'd like that."

A moment passed. Tanya's lips curled into a grin. "So," she said, shifting forward. "Bunker Wizard. How'd you get that?"

Mrs. Eceer snorted. "No more stories."

"Oh, go on—briefly," Tanya pleaded, flashing her best hopeful look.

Mrs. Eceer gave her a long, flat stare, then relented with a sigh. "It was a few hours before you came in."

Tanya blinked. "Wait, you were holding 'em back for hours?"

Mrs. Eceer sniffed, straightening slightly. "It was going well until a blasted portal appeared in the flat opposite."

Tanya flailed her arms, fingers splayed. "You—WHAT!?" She shuffled closer on her knees. "What did it look like?" she breathed.

"Surprisingly pretty," Mrs Eceer admitted. She lifted both her pointer fingers in the air, Tanya assumed she had her Interface open again.

Tanya groaned. "Why didn't you tell me that story instead?"

"You asked about the radio—I told you about the radio. Now hush." She waved her hand in Tanya's general direction, not looking over. "Design a hand or whatever it is you do."

Tanya snorted and turned back to the papers on the floor.

Okay, where do I start?

It was strange sitting crosslegged on the floor to design. Her last tattoo had been in the middle of battle, but even Assistant had felt somewhat frantic, even though it was just from her own excited energy. This time, she was determined to do it right.

She felt for the niggle in her brain where she was suppressing her new ability and let it go. It felt like pulling a plug out of a very full bath. Immediately, her senses were overwhelmed by the new information.

The moment the suppression lifted, her mind exploded with input. It was too much, too fast—like trying to drink from a waterfall while drowning in it.

Her vision blurred, not from light or motion, but from knowledge forcing its way in. The tattoo designs on the floor peeled apart in her mind's eye, laid bare in intricate layers—each line, each curve a deliberate choice she had made. She could see the decisions that had shaped them, the paths she hadn't taken branching like phantom limbs, teasing her with what could have been.

She closed her eyes, and the text spiralled in the blackness, more and more layering words until she couldn't tell where they ended and the space around them began. That was worse. She opened them again, and she was staring at the shop from a whole new angle a few feet away.

Her clothes, the stone beneath her feet, the damp air in her lungs—shifted into possibility. She could see how they could be used, how their essence might be carved into ink, how they could be broken down, reforged, woven into something new. Every object, every material, a whispering suggestion, a demand. Use me. Unmake me. Rebuild me.

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Ideas crashed against each other in her head, too many, too fast, twisting into tangled knots of could-be and should-have-been.

The pressure built behind her eyes, sharp and relentless, until she thought her skull might crack under the weight of it. She gasped, clutching her head, but the flood wouldn't stop. It wasn't pain, not exactly. It was strain, a deep, twisting exhaustion as her mind struggled to hold something far too vast, too complex.

Her breath came fast and shallow. The world wasn't solid anymore—just a shifting web of ink, intent, and endless, endless choice.

She pushed the information away, unable to bear it—herding it back into the corner of her mind where she could contain it. With a deep inhale, she was back in the shop again. She exhaled. The wood was just normal wood, the clothes just fabric, the tattoos just ink.

She glanced around, her heart still hammering. The room was exactly as she'd left it—papers scattered, the faint scent of beans in the air. Mrs Eceer was on the other side of the sofa now, leaning against the arm.

The wood was cool under her hands. She must have fallen from where she was kneeling at some point.

Mrs Eceer was staring at her. "New ability?" she asked.

What the fuck kinda ability has Mrs Eceer got that means she knows what I'm going through.

Tanya opened her Interface to check, but she felt a familiar sinking feeling and stopped.

Vitality: 2/7

But Mrs Eceer's story was only a few minutes? Wait, how long was I in there?

It is 12:04 using your timekeeping system, known as Greenwich Mean Time.

Holy fuck.

Tanya didn't have that kind of time to lose again. She could still feel the ghost of the overload of information in her head pressing behind her eyes. It was too much data. How could she limit it?

I need less for it to analyse, less noise.

Her gaze settled on the papers. She flipped one, then another, adjusting them until a large white space of stencil backs emerged. Planting her hands on either side, she bent her elbows, lowering herself until the paper filled her vision—like a strange knee pushup.

She let the floodgates open again. This time, knowing it was coming made a difference. She focused on the sensation of letting it take over. It felt like a whirring deep in her head, as if a motor had switched on in her hippocampus. She was pretty sure that was somewhere in the middle of the brain and had something to do with ideas—though it had been a long time since she'd studied biology.

The pressure in her head built and built. She grimaced but kept her eyes locked on the paper. Focusing was difficult; her gaze flickered rapidly, as if on its own. It felt more like a side effect than a choice. Every time she tried to still them, they only reduced their movement slightly. With effort, she managed to limit the shifts to a few millimeters per millisecond. The world was still blurry, but at least it was better.

Some of the text swam into focus. It was still layered over other words, like a terrible graphic designer had ignored basic color contrast. She read slowly, word by word, forcing her eyes to hold still when they threatened to dart away. Each time the pulsing pressure pulled at her focus, she dragged it back, gripping onto the words before her.

* * *

Material Analysis: TATTOO STENCIL [Standard]

Physica7gl Properties:

ANALYSING—

Absorbency: High

Durability: Low (Structural weakness detected)

Layering Potential: Moderate

Ink Retention: OptimalCAUTION CAUTION CAUTION—

Suggested Applications:

Ink Stencil: Precise template transfer.

Binding Medium: Temporary conduit for tattoo infusion. DATA UNKNOWN

LOADING… LOADING…

Fragment Casting: Small-scale sigil activation via destruction. INSUFFICIENT DATA

Scroll Interface: Portable design reposit05y.

Practical Uses:

Acts as a stencil for precise tattoo designs.

Can be used to draft and refine summon markings before inking.

Temporary medium for testing layouts before committing to skin.

Can be layered or cut to create complex templates.

WARNING: DATA FRAGMENTATION—RECOMPILING…

Symbolic Uses in Tattoos:

Impermanence – Represents fleeting moments, temporary states, or change.

Knowledge – A symbol of recorded thought, learning, or—CORRUPTED DATA.

Contracts & Promises – Can signify oaths, agreements, or oblig0000tions.

Creation & Potential – Blank paper as a symbol of untapped possibility.

[ERROR: UNSTABLE INPUT. RESETTING INTERFACE…]

* * *

Everything in her vision moved, and she felt seasick. She suppressed it again. A bead of sweat dripped from her head onto the stencil as the room returned to her. Her arms grew weaker, and she pushed herself to kneeling again, attempting to deepen her panting breaths to something less erratic. The world spun as she moved, and she closed her eyes to take a break. The afterimage of the words was already there, fading after a few seconds.

What time is it?

It is 12:14 using your timekeeping system, known as Greenwich Mean Time.

10 minutes—that's a huge improvement.

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. It didn't do much. She scooped up the hem of her floral skirt and dabbed her head and then the back of her neck with that instead. Mrs Eceer flashed her a disapproving stare, but she hadn't the brain space to care.

It would be a long time before she could master this enough to use it whilst she was designing. She'd originally imagined something out of a VR advert where people are sat at their desk, smiling at their sci-fi-looking glowy monitors. In her version of that, she'd be there surrounded by papers in some intense but flattering pose, as she saw the design opportunities in little bubbles all around her. As usual, the reality of the cool idea sucked.

She shivered, remembering the error messages.

They were so fuckin' loud. Not that I could hear them—more loud visually?

Tanya sighed and gave up trying to describe the sensation to herself.

Tanya shook out her hands, trying to release the lingering tension from her fingers. The ghost of the ability still clung to her thoughts every time she blinked, like afterimages from staring at something too bright for too long.

She scooped up the scattered papers, stacking them into something resembling order. Even that simple motion felt grounding. Real. Unlike whatever digital fever dream had just hijacked her brain.

She took a breath. If she could wrangle it down to ten minutes this time, maybe next time, she could get it down to five. Maybe one day, she'd actually get to use this thing without it trying to consume her entire existence.

She glanced at Mrs. Eceer, whose stare hadn't softened. Tanya sighed, tucking her skirt back into place and meeting the woman's gaze with a tired, unrepentant shrug. Mrs Eceer sniffed and turned back to whatever she was doing in her Interface.

Yeah, Tanya had a long way to go before this looked cool—before it was something she could just do without bracing for impact. But for now, all she needed was a plan for Ishita.

I'll create a bunch of ideas and pick my favourites. I can put them one by one somewhere blank. That way, I still get some idea of what they'll do, even if this "cool new Ability" sorta feels like a scam.

With that, she tapped the papers against the floor, aligning the edges. This Ability might not be playing nice yet, but she'd figure it out. One way or another.

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