Day 5/365

Black-Hair was Rouge. Witch-Girl was, well, Witch-Girl. The Asian girl was Surge. Glasses-Boy was a dork who apparently never left the confines of the underground headquarters and his glitchy bank of stolen computers. Kaiju-Girl was Saber. And Sophie was now a little worried that she was tagging along with a slightly ridiculous freakshow. The Capes she was usually around weren't so…young. It was hard to find people her age doing things like this, more so a gang of people gunning for a group of smugglers' throats. She was one part scared, another part interested in how this would go down. Either they'd all get wiped out and Sophie would chalk it up to Lower Olympus being Lower Olympus, or they'd somehow pull this off without a hitch, and they'd all get to go home.

Besides, she'd just take the weaponry all for herself, anyway. If Cassie had sent her down here to get this one specific smuggler, then that meant they had something worthwhile on them, right? She'd heard rumors about some kind of weaponry that could send even Olympia flying for several blocks. That kind of gear would be very priceless, especially with those self-proclaimed gods haunting their skies. She figured it wasn't her problem to get all worried about fighting the Arkathians, or whatever Cassie called them. Her mom would figure out a plan, too.

At the end of the day, Cassie Blackwood was one of the most influential people on the planet. Just because Olympia got her arm shattered and might have died from the dozens of surgeries they have to do to even keep her alive, doesn't mean that Cassie wouldn't have a plan. And Sophie was part of that plan. A very important part of it.

So she found it just a little bit insulting when all she found standing in front of a non-bulletproof door was a twenty-something with hunched shoulders, carrying a gun too bulky for him to properly keep upright in his arms.

She almost felt bad for the guy. Almost. She couldn't really muster enough emotion to care.

"Hey!" he shouted down the corridor. The smugglers, like a lot of people in this city after the attack, were working underground, shifting gear and crates through tunnels, sewers, and abandoned railways, because the police were so stretched thin that none of them would bother coming down here. Where certain thugs and gangs and even villains were hiding was almost public knowledge, so that's why finding a single college-aged kid trying to aim an assault rifle at her chest was a little aggravating. The 'Olympus Guardians' (or whatever) had spent nearly half an hour bickering about how to go about this. It took Sophie rolling her eyes and coming out of the corner they were hiding behind to get this ball rolling. The more time she spent down here, the less time she had to do more raids.

She prioritized efficiency over outcome. If everything worked out like she hoped, then it would be fine.

If the smugglers tried to run, then…

Well, they could try if they wanted to.

Not that it would do them any good.

"Hey!" he yelled again. His voice echoed. The hallway here was cramped, lit up by a single green strip of bulbs taped to the wall. It reeked of urine and dirt, of old sewage and stillwater. Sophie, in her red and black costume, domino mask on her face and arms folded over her new golden bird crest, tilted her head at him. The rifle rattled in his arms. He smelt like he was on something foul. Maybe heroin, judging by the sickly black rot under his fingernails. All this planning, just for this guy to be their first line of defence? "Wh-who are you! Get out of here!"

The bulbs flickered above her. The rest of her brave and daring teammates hid in the shadows.

"Signals are all jammed," Glasses muttered in her ear. "He won't be getting back up."

"Doesn't matter," Sophie said, letting her arms hang by her sides. She rolled her shoulders. "It'll be quick."

Before she could shoulder-check the guy through the door behind him (or break his ribs, whichever came first), a tiny metal ball darted past her ear, so fast it whined like a bullet, and caught the guy right in his thin throat.

It tore through flesh like it was paper. He dropped the rifle, making it clatter, grabbed his throat and let blood gush through his clenched, filthy fingers. Sophie and the rest of the team watched him collapse onto the floor, choking on his own blood until his body went rigid. Rogue tucked away the tiny mechanical slingshot and left it hanging on his red utility belt. He flashed Sophie a grin, his own red domino mask hiding his blue eyes.

She was halfway sure she'd heard him mutter touchdown when the balljoint had hit raw skin.

Maybe not freakshows, she thought, as Rogue led the rest of them forward. Kinda just crazy.

Surge might hate her, but hell, if this was how they were rolling, she didn't really care.

When they got to the metal door, Sophie raised her fist, and then paused when Rogue put up his hand. He leaned in and whispered, "What's your favorite band?" She frowned. They were all staring at her. "Well, what is it?"

"Band?" she whispered. "We're in the middle of a sting operation, and you're talking about that?"

Rogue shrugged. "It never hurts to know, you know?"

"I thought it was my turn to pick," Witch-Girl muttered, her tabby cat sitting on her shoulder. She was in a purple and black get-up, kinda strange-looking with the frilly dress and thigh-high mismatched socks. "You pro—"

"Have you guys ever heard of Cult of Capes before?" Sophie asked.

"Yes!" Glasses cheered through her earpiece, making her cringe. "Best heavy metal band ever."

She grinned and tapped her ear. "See, even the nerd gets it."

"I… I'm not…" She could almost hear Glasses frown, then he sighed. "Fine, whatever. I'll hit shuffle."

Ego, Capes and Death started blaring through her earpiece, just like it did for the others. Witch-Girl flinched. Surge didn't seem to care one way or another, stoic with her full-faced white and scarlet cat mask, katana on her back and a hand on her hip. Saber was crouched beside the dead body, bobbing her head as her black ears flicked and she plucked the dog tags off the guy on the ground. She pocketed them, then stole his shitty silver watch next. Saber flashed her a grin, showing off razor sharp white teeth, with one of them a golden filling. Sophie turned back to the door, rolled her shoulders again, and couldn't help but smile as she stepped back, waited for the music to swell inside her head, and then she swung her fist directly into the door. The impact sucked the air out of the tunnel. For just a brief moment, silence. Complete and utter silence. And then the door imploded and flew off its hinges. It smashed directly into a man picking his teeth with a hunting blade, smearing him against the far wall.

The gang of five stood in the doorway, breathing in the stench of sweat, cigarette smoke, and something so tantalizingly foul that Sophie almost threw up inside her mouth. Hordes of men and women, grungy, haggard, some of them ugly, most of them armed, stared at the dead man smushed into the brick wall, and then at the teenagers.

It took a handful of seconds to read the room. Wooden crates stuffed with straw getting nailed down. Hammers in hands. Assault rifles on rickety tables, alongside bowls of strange yellow soup that frothed and bubbled. No ventilation. Silver-blue smoke hanging above their heads. A slow ceiling fan lazily spun round and round in swaying circles. And the mounds of Ambrosia in taped-up golden-brown bricks were stacked on a table.

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Surge moved first. Hand to her sword, Converse sliding on the ground—she crouched, then launched.

Chaos exploded in after her, with Ego, Capes and Death the riff to their chorus of violence. It was free game in a heartbeat. Assault rifles were levelled. Entire magazines were emptied. Sophie flipped over the side of a table, slammed both her heels into a burly man's chest, and sent him smashing through a shelf of rifle parts. She ducked for the sake of it and slammed her fist into a ribcage, followed by sweeping her foot across their shins and leaving them shrieking when their legs shattered. They collapsed into a heap. Saber lunged onto the man and tore out his throat with nothing but her bare teeth. She spat out a bloody chunk, grinned, sinew stuck between her teeth, and then lunged for the woman who'd tried to shoot Sophie point-blank in the back of the head. She screamed like hell had taken a bite out of her shoulder, which Sophie guessed was true—Saber's jaw had ripped through her like paper.

And then she got hit in the back of the head so hard she didn't remember how she ended up across the room, stale blood in her mouth and agony ringing through her skull. She tasted vomit and iron. She spat them both out, shoved the cabinets and tables off of her, and rolled herself onto her hands and knees. She snarled and looked up. A half-naked man was standing in the middle of the room, bare chest covered in sweat, and his neck…his…

"What the fuck?" she whispered, wiping blood off her lips.

Almost every single smuggler was down. Was down. As of just a few seconds ago, most of them were climbing onto their feet, cracking their broken necks into place, wounds healing, bones mending, missing limbs cut directly off their torsos being forced back into place. Her earpiece had fallen out. The crunch, grind and knitting of torn flesh and bones was all that echoed through her ringing skull now. The man standing in the center of the room was the same one that she'd sent into the wall using the door. The same one who'd been turned into a red smear.

The very same one with bloodshot black eyes, and some kind of purple tumor sticking out of his throat.

It made her skin crawl. Her gut turned just looking at the greenish-purple growth pulsating on the side of his neck. Tendrils spread across his shoulder and stretched over his chest, their barbs sinking into his muscle. She swallowed. Used the wall to get back onto her feet. Each one of the smugglers had the same tumor, the same mass of green and purple flesh clinging to their bodies. Most on their necks. Some on their chests. One woman's entire head was enveloped by the squirming, squelching mass—she stood stock still, her hands clutching onto a heavy rifle.

They were all staring at Sophie like they had a problem with her personally.

Rogue, silent on his feet, inched backward, long steel pole clutched in his hands. Surge's eyes flicked behind her mask from face to face. Saber remained crouched, growling from deep inside of her throat. Witch-Girl was clutching onto a thick yellow book, her fingerless gloves leaving her fingertips blossoming bright white.

And something felt…weird. Wrong. Sophie flexed her fingers. It almost felt like her joints were grinding just by doing that. She rolled her right shoulder, then cringed and grabbed it. Pain ebbed deep into her muscles.

"Arkathian," they chanted as one. Rogue stilled, and so did Sophie. She raised her fists. None of them moved. Not a single thing in the entire room moved. The smoke in the air almost seemed to freeze. "You are not welcome here. Leave with urgency." Their arms all collectively pointed at the doorway. "Leave with urgency."

"Tempest," Rogue said quietly. "What's going on?"

"They've got a problem with my blood," Sophie spat.

Whatever the fuck they are, they don't like the smell of me as much as I hate the smell of them.

The feeling inside of her was so abrasive it felt like her blood was grinding against her own bones. It wasn't hate or rage, it was…fear. It was something inside of her body trying to run. She forced her jaw to slowly unclench. She told herself to square her feet and stare them down. If only she could make her racing heart slow down and get rid of the icy ball sitting square in her guy, so solid and large that it froze her in place. She'd felt like this once. Just once. When Olympia had her skull in her hands, when she'd looked straight into the eyes of something so fucking beyond what any of these people even really understood, and nearly died right there and then when she nearly cracked Sophie's skull open. It was primal knowledge. It was a fear that her body had already known, something that none of these scientists and experts ever taught her about—this fear inside her was genetic.

It pre-dated the very first version they'd even conceived of her.

Witch-Girl flipped open the yellow book, spread her hand, and yelled, "Espalloc!"

Nothing happened. They didn't even turn to look at her.

And then the air quaked.

The smugglers smashed into the floor, turning into wet, gory puddles, as if gravity had decided it had enough of them being able to stand upright. Sophie blinked, then spat the piece of meat that had flown into her mouth. Silence filled the room. Witch-Girl lowered her hand as a sheen of sweat glistened on her cheeks. She shut the book, grinned, and then fell face-flat onto the floor, leaving the cat trapped underneath her large purple hat.

Holy shit, Sophie thought, staring at the puddles dotting the floor. Holy. Shit. And I insulted her outfit?

She could've turned me into a stain, and she chose to take my insults?

Sophie wiped the blood splatter on her face, and then pulled off her domino mask. She slowly stepped over one puddle and then the next, the strange green-purple tumors now just coloring in the piles of liquified bodies.

She crouched beside Witch-Girl and lifted the hat off the cat, then nudged her shoulder. "You alright?"

A few motionless seconds went by, and then Sophie heard the sound of snoring coming from her.

The others dropped their guard. A collective sigh rippled through the room.

"Dude," Sophie said, standing up and facing Rogue. "She can just, like, do that?"

"Apparently," he muttered, using the scarlet bandana around his neck to wipe the sweat off his cheeks. He looked around, chewed his tongue, and then broke into a grin. "And you thought we probably sucked at this, huh?"

"I'll admit," she said, putting up her hands. They were shaking a little. She told herself it was the adrenaline. "You guys maybe handled your shit way better than I thought you would. We should start hauling this."

He nodded. "Irina's gonna send a couple of her drones to do the heavy-lifting."

Drones? Right, like that big guy who brained me and then kidnapped me.

Irina could control blood. The thought was so jarring that Sophie could only swallow past the dryness on her tongue. For the first time in hours, it occurred to her that, if these people wanted her dead, they would have killed her. Some of them quickly. Some of them slowly. She was surrounded by people who could snap their fingers and she'd be dead on the floor, and yet Irina was more terrified of Olympia's name than Sophie as a whole. And yet even saying Olympia's name was almost taboo down here. They all kept skirting it like she was some boogeyman.

All she could taste now was bile and bitter saliva, both of which she spat into a human puddle.

The eyeball that her saliva had hit had been staring at her. It popped on impact.

"How about we crack one of these things open, shall we?" Rogue said, rubbing his gloved hands together. "We're either gonna find gold or, on the bright side, cut off a tiny vein in a massive body of terrible things that happen in this city, right?" He waved Sophie over. "Come help me crack this thing open. Let's see what's inside."

Saber hefted Witch-Girl into her arms. The cat leaped onto a nearby table and helplessly meowed.

Surge stared at the human puddles, using her sparking katana's edge to draw lines through them. She pulled off her mask, face pale with sweat. She crouched, swabbed two fingers through it, and tapped them onto her tongue. Her nose scrunched up. She spat, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "What'll we do with the 'brosia?"

"In our hands, off the streets, everyone's happier," Rogue said. "We'll give it to healers in doses. Maybe they'll be able to help heal a couple of people whenever they get sick. Better off just sitting idle all the time."

"Why were they moving so much of it, though?" Sophie asked.

"Consumption," Surge said, sliding her katana onto her back. She stood. "It's in their blood."

"But…" Sophie frowned and leaned against a crate. "It kills those tumor-worm things, right?"

Rogue, who'd used his metal staff, cracked open a wooden crate, and then froze. The smell that gushed out of it was awful. So bad that it jerked Witch-Girl awake and forced her into a rapid-fire coughing fit. Sophie's eyes watered. She waved her hand across her face, because Jesus, that was terrible, and she'd smelt nearly everything—

"Either that's a fucking alien, or I'm staring at a dead kid right now," Rogue whispered.

They gathered around the box and stared into it.

The corpse was thin. It was tiny. It was hairless and its flesh, gray and dead, was pulled tight around its bones. But its head was too big, too long—and its eyes were shriveled black tubes, almost spilling out of its head.

Purple, worm-like spores fed off its body, leaving dozens of tiny holes around its body, some so deep they could see the thing's empty stomach cavity, others so shallow that sulfurous black blood crusted around the wound.

Sophie ran both hands through her hair, breathed in, and said, "Oh, my God, Adam wasn't lying."

"What?" Surge hissed.

Sophie stared at the creature, shaking her head slowly. "Long story," she whispered breathlessly, heart racing, stomach turning—she wanted to throw up, maybe even put the lid back on and pretend she saw nothing.

Instead, she stepped back from the box, pulled out her phone, and took a picture.

Gold-Star would need to see this. He had to see this.

Hell, it would mean Washington was right about something ever since the attack.

The universe was migrating, and for whatever reason, Earth was their destination.

Or maybe their final safe haven in the entire galaxy.

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