After things calmed down a bit, I had to give an annoying overview of how I became an Anathema. Unfortunately, I couldn't admit that I was the product of one faction of Star Guardians and their research into Anathema and esoterics as a whole. I would have loved to do that, because it would have been simpler, quicker, and also way more interesting. I imagined the revelation would cause quite a buzz.
Unfortunately, I hadn't forgotten my dad's insistence that I keep the secret. I hadn't had any intention to disobey his instructions before, but now that I was committing to taking things more seriously, I really wasn't going to be careless and drop that particular ball. So, I was essentially forced into doing something that I still considered myself halfway decent at—spewing a massive amount of bullshit.
I had one thing going for me, which was that the hive mind Anathema, Mook, was obviously working either for or with these Bouquet people. That meant they already knew about 'intelligent' Anathema—and importantly, I myself knew that they weren't creations of the 'Red' Faction of Star Guardians.
Combined with my usual rule about keeping things simple and as truthful as possible, I talked about my experience being kidnapped, nearly escaping, and awakening as an Anathema at the same time that Katherine got her Star Core. From there, all I did was leave out any of the parts where my real 'parents' got involved. Which turned out to be weirdly easy to do, now that I think about it.
Regardless, they seemed to buy my explanation—or rather, Golfcourse seemed to buy it and no one else called either of us out on any part of it.
That was a while ago. Now, I was sitting in a dark breakroom, chowing down on old snack food as well as packs of staples that I found sitting around gathering dust. Joining me were 'Dr. DeVille,' Mook, and one of the two Guardians present—the Tier 4 one who I'd started thinking of as Snickers.
"I just can't believe it. I still can't believe it." The plastic surgeon continued muttering to himself, at once bitter and overjoyed. His eyes flicked again between me and Mook. "All this time, and no one told me. No." He clenched his fists. "They kept it from me. On purpose."
"If it makes it any better, they don't strictly work for us," Snickers said. She glanced at me. "Well, most of them don't. It's all very hush-hush in general, you know, and, well." She hesitated. "From what I understand, you've been doing good work already on your own, and the big bosses didn't want you going crazy and interfering with their diplomacy or whatever."
Just from listening in, I was starting to gather that the 'cultists' the Reds wanted me to infiltrate weren't created by the Bouquet, contrary to the previous theory I'd started forming. They also didn't work for them—or rather, they were an independent group and the two were becoming increasingly involved in each other's operations.
Of course, Dr. Jason was supposed to be well-known for his obsession with doing essentially exactly what a whole contingent of Star Guardians had been doing for several decades at this point—so I could see why he was feeling intensely conflicted over the whole reveal, since he'd clearly been kept completely in the dark.
"So what's your deal?" I asked Mook after finishing off another pack of staples. "I thought you had some kind of cloning ability, but the boss-man out there said something about you 'taking over' a whole Civil Guard detachment?"
All four of the Mooks in the room turned their heads to look at the only Guardian in the room. In turn, Snickers looked at me. "He can't talk, so you'll have to learn ASL if you want to chat face-to-face. Anyway, he's a Tier 4 variant. Mook, do you wanna show her?"
Hell yes, please 'show' me. At the very least, I'd be happy having learned that he wasn't just giving me the silent treatment as well as his specific Anathema type. But I really wanted to know more.
Shrugging, one of the mooks pulled away his mask, helmet and goggles. Two of the other bodies followed, leaving only the one closest to the door fully covered up. I briefly took note of that—my instincts told me it was intentional. I guess he always wants to leave a few bodies fully prepared? I'd probably act similarly if I was some sort of hive-mind that needed to cover up.
As for why he needed to cover up—well, it made sense, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I was expecting. All three of the 'men' had nearly identical faces, and they were all 'staring' at me with half-lidded, unfocused eyes. Aside from the fact that all of them looked kind of sick and simultaneously drugged-out, he seemed mostly—fine?
He just looked like a twenty to forty-something dude. Big range, but I'm terrible at judging ages. Other than that, he was just a violently average looking fit white guy with short, messy brown hair. Actually, he looks like the typical default AAA action video game character. What the fuck. How does he look so perfectly like Mr. John Videogames?
I kind of hated that thought, mostly because it felt like a total waste of what would have otherwise been a fantastic personal nickname for someone. I was already used to thinking of him as Mook, and since that was what he actually went by, I couldn't really go back on it. Fuck. Why does the one guy who looks like a perfect John Videogames have to be someone I already know? It was unfair.
"Most of Mook's bodies are genetic clones of his original body," Snickers went on to explain. "I think that's just some kind of preference, though, because he can also take over other bodies. Apparently the clones just make it easier."
As I listened and watched, one of the Mooks opened his mouth. Small, black tendrils began wriggling out, until a tiny, unusually thin and limp grabber slithered all the way out and dropped down onto the floor. Or it would have, if an arm didn't reach out to catch it.
Ew. Talk about gross. I felt like I was starting to understand the specific way the whole hive mind thing worked, though. His actual bodies are just a bunch of freaky little grabbers that slither around puppeting larger creatures. That's—I would be lying if I said it didn't freak me out just a little. I wondered if the people he 'took over' ended up effectively braindead, or if they were shambling around as prisoners in a corrupted meat-prison.
The more I thought about the whole situation, the more fucked up were the things I began to imagine.
But he has to be limited in some way, right? I found it hard to imagine that a mere Tier 4—the equivalent of a Tier 3 Guardian—would possess an ability like this without it being seriously constrained. If he could just keep splitting and reproducing asexually, he would be both immortal and nearly unstoppable. Surely he has to have some maximum number of Anathema bodies or a maximum range or something, right?
Snickers didn't know, and Mook himself just gave me a thumbs down for asking. Which was fair enough—if I were in a similar position, I also wouldn't want people knowing the exact limitations of that kind of ability. I also realized that even without a limit like that, he wouldn't necessarily be immortal. There would certainly be higher tier Guardians with the right set of abilities to completely take down a being like that.
After all, Mook was essentially a single mind remotely controlling however many physical bodies. The very existence of such an entity implied the existence of powers that could attack him more directly. Hell, I bet at some point Katherine might even be able to do it. She's literally some kind of freaky psychic medium.
The rest of our time in the breakroom was spent with me showing off to Dr. Jason while Mook acted bored and Snickers made occasional snide comments. It didn't take long to completely figure out what Dr. Jason's deal was. The man was a massive fucking weirdo, despite being technically competent. What was it I said about prejudice a little while ago?
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Regardless, his obsession with 'Anathema-human hybrids' was definitely sexual in nature. Maybe not entirely, but it was certainly a core pillar from which the rest of his pursuits branched off and developed. The whole thing was kind of uncomfortable, but it was also immensely useful. Also, it explained why the report on him from the Red Faction said that they decided not to recruit him. In retrospect, it wasn't as hypocritical as I first thought.
Anyway, 'showing off' was mostly things like showing the range of motion of my claws and letting him feel them. I was able to tolerate that more than I would have in most cases simply because I wasn't used to interpreting my metal fucking chamelium claws as anything remotely scandalous—or rather, not scandalous in that kind of way.
I didn't let him feel my mouth, though. I wouldn't have minded it at all if I could have taken a nibble, but I was pretty sure that was definitely off the table.
Really, the whole thing was just an opportunity to win myself a strong ally in the organization I'd found myself suddenly embedded in. From what I'd gathered so far, Dr. Jason did have a decent amount of reach and influence within the organization. Stringing him along in the right ways was completely worth the minor ickiness that was inherent in the process.
Just when I was starting to run out of ideas and things were promising to get a bit awkward, Golfcourse finally returned. I knew his actual name, now—Richard Song—but I still kept thinking of him as Golfcourse. The fact that he was both completely and utterly human and looked nothing like a crime lord was dangerously disarming. Best remember not to discount him. He's in charge for a reason.
Also, he was both clearly exhausted and clearly doing his best to stick out the tough guy act and not let it show. I would even say that it worked, well, aside from the fact that I could still tell that he was doing it in the first place. "Congratulations. At the moment, it seems like we've successfully cleaned up the various different messes you've left in your wake. Anchor—tell Mr. Bones to get over here, would you?"
Oh, right. I forgot that Snickers had already introduced herself. Anchor, though—not sure what that would imply. Defensive specialty? Kind-of-maybe?
There was also the scary, Tier 5 Guardian from earlier, who'd since disappeared. I kind of doubt he's 'Mr. Bones,' though. Everything about him was way too serious for a silly name like that. I was also surprised that he would tell 'Anchor' to go get somebody. After all, she was literally the only person in the room who could actually put up a fight against me, let alone win.
But she didn't leave the room. Instead, she just stood there—no. She was using an ability. Even if my taste couldn't pick up on it, I could see her entire form sort of—flickering. Like a hologram effect. A moment later, she addressed the rest of us. "He wants us to wait for a few minutes. Says he's busy."
Golfcourse—Richard—crossed his arms. "Knowing him, that means we'll still be waiting half an hour from now. Show me."
Snickers—Anchor—obliged. A flick of her hand sent a wad of sticky light splatting against the wall. The luminous, incorporeal-looking gel stretched and oozed into a smooth rectangle, and that wasn't all. The glowing patterns quickly unblurred to reveal a live feed into a total warzone.
"He's fighting a Tier 7 over there," Anchor explained—but not from within the same room. She was still there with us, but she was also standing in the middle of a torn-up, rocky and sandy hellscape. The 'screen' that she splattered against the wall was broadcasting a live view of what had to be somewhere in the incursions that were slowly being fought back out in the desert.
Holy shit. I'd completely failed to consider that potential meaning of the word 'anchor.' I was wondering why she looked so much like a political candidate and not like a sailor or some shit! Frankly, these were my favorite kinds of abilities. A guy who could fling around lightning was certainly pretty damn cool—but a power that manifested the conceptual archetype of a news anchor? I love it. I absolutely love it.
I was getting excited again, because this was the kind of wacky bullshit I wanted to see more of, now that I was in the thick of things between Guardians, the Government, Anathema, organized crime rings, and who knew what else.
"I don't think I can get any closer," she informed us. "Sorry. The aura is just too strong for my own abilities to push through." Meanwhile, the other version of her that was visible through the 'screen' pulled a comically large and stereotypical looking megaphone out of thin air. "Hey, Bone Boy! Big D wants you back here right now so why don't you just come back later, m-kay?"
Big D? Seriously? I shot a skeptical glance over towards the 'Big D' in question, though he wasn't paying any attention to me. Honestly, I don't know if the fact that his name really is Richard makes it better or worse.
We waited.
And waited, and then, finally, things quieted down on the other side of the screen. It had been a little difficult to discern what was actually happening, other than that there was a massive fight taking place on the other side of a ridge of some rocks.
Clearly, 'Mr. Bones' won, because it was now my pleasure to witness a literal skeleton approach the 'camera' created by Anchor's ability. I guess I can see why he's called that. Something I found amusing was that the skeleton didn't even have any glowing eye flames or really any other kind of magical effect visibly animating it. For some reason, just the bare-bones look made it seem more intimidating and unnatural to me.
The skeleton approached all the way until the perspective of the 'camera' warped, then snapped back into focus and now giving the appearance that Mr. Bones was peering back at us through a screen of his own. The skull twisted right and then left, barely even lingering on me before settling on the assembled mooks.
Then the bony jaw clacked open and I got to hear a skeleton speak for the first time. "Which one?"
He sounds like a hammy Victorian butler. Why does he sound like that? As I continued to observe things play out, three of the Mooks all pointed in sync at the fourth one. Somehow, despite literally not having eyelids—or eyes, or anything else, for that matter—the skeleton gave the appearance of squinting. "Right, then."
With what was perhaps the most visceral, disgustingly gory squelching, sucking, and tearing sound I'd ever had the displeasure of hearing, the chosen Mook body's own skeleton ripped itself out of the surrounding meat much in the same way I imagined an alien metamorph would hatch from a flesh cocoon.
I couldn't stop myself from wincing and taking a step back. Eating people was one thing, but even I had limits. And while I was sure that I would eventually find something like this really fucking funny, the lingering human mentality I inherited was screaming at me that this shit was something egregiously awful.
Thanks man, I was looking forward to a new subgenre of body horror nightmare. The one where my teeth melted and dribbled out like vanilla ice cream was getting pretty well-worn by this point.
The freshly harvested skeleton put its hand on its hips—pelvis? And drummed its fingers, making an obnoxious tapping sound. "Mr. Bones reporting for duty, who would you like me to—hey, now wait just a minute." The skeleton pointed a boney finger in my direction. "What on Earth is that?"
I blinked. At this point, I had found myself rather distracted by the—discarded body-sac that Mr. Bones carelessly left discarded at his feet. Now that I was being directly addressed, I quickly shifted focus and also took the opportunity to taste the air. Christ, Tier 6? They'd really brought out the big guns for me, it seemed.
"Me?" I looked around the rest of the breakroom for help. "I'm just the newest recruit."
Again, despite not having any facial features to flex, I got the distinct impression that the naked skull was glaring down at me with a sort of perplexed condescension. "No, not you, I mean the thing you're hiding under there."
What the fuck is he talking about? "Under where?"
Snickers snickered. "She said underwear."
Mr. Bones looked even more confused, but we were all interrupted by a literal gunshot. We all turned towards Golfcourse—Richard—as he slipped an old-school revolver back into his pocket. "Enough clowning around. We still have more business to take care of."
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