UnfathomablyCute
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Chapter Thirty-Three: A byproduct of my newfound Nihilism.
🕑 Added 2023-06-24 06:00:33 +0000 UTCI study the floral designs swirled around the outer edge of my empty plate, the dark blue pattern repeating its leafy spirals until the ends meet like some sort of photosynthesizing ouroboros. I can’t say it’s the most interesting thing to look at, though I do find it hard to tear my gaze away from it.
“It’s the funniest thing, Barbara! Up until I saw Sydney at the market, I was under the impression they were both staying with you for the night—yes, they’re both here. That’s what I said!” My mother says, her phone pinched between her ear and shoulder as she carries a pot of yellow rice and fabricated sausage.
I flick my gaze to the right, meeting Sydney’s eyes as she looks up from her plate as well. An embarrassed guilt settles across her expression, and she mouths a quick ‘sorry’ before clicking her phone on to check the time.
"Oh, I’m just bribing them with some supper before I interrogate them. They—Rice and sausage, is that a problem?” She says, sliding off the oven mitts and hanging them up on their hook. “Vegan? That’s the first I’ve heard of it; Syd just said she was fine to eat fabricated meat.”
I watch her face contort into a sardonic grin—something Sydney's mom said flipping a switch in her. “Something you’re doing as a family? I take it this was discussed between the whole family and chosen with their input in mind, then?” She cups her hand over the speaker and looks at Sydney, her eyes asking the same question but with a completely different emphasis.
I watch my best friend's nervousness flip instantly into exhaustion, the topic clearly being one discussed at length. She shakes her head back and forth, silently calling her moms bullshit.
“I see, well, if you’re sure, I’ll make sure to take the sausage out for her,” my mom says, dramatically crossing her fingers in front of us to demonstrate her deceit. I can’t help but snort a little, glad she doesn’t seem to be as upset at us for lying to her as I thought she’d be. “I’ll send her your way after dinner; you and Donald can go ahead and eat without her.”
I watch her expression transition through amusement, stop at disbelief, and then drop into cold anger as the shrill voice coming out of the phone continues to rant at her. Her phone audibly creaks, whatever she’s made out of apparently trumping Vanguard-tech.
“I’d like you to reconsider just whose daughter you think you’re calling a hooligan, and instead ponder what sort of home environment you’re providing that would make Sydney refuse to come home at night. Good night, Mrs. Singh.” She bites out, her valediction especially harsh as she hangs up.
I sort of gloss over the fact that I’ve been referred to as a hooligan, both because I’m aware how Sydney’s mom feels about me, and because seeing my mom get this heated over anything is far more shocking. I feel a bit of sweat drip down my neck as she sheepishly sets her phone face down on the table.
“Pardon that, I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble with your mother, Syd.” She says, scooping up extra sausage to put on Sydney’s plate.
Sydney looks as gobsmacked as I feel, but collects herself enough to wave off my mom’s concerns. “Oh, no, if anything, this’ll get her off my back for a bit. People don’t usually mouth off to her, so she just sort of sulks for a few days when she gets chastised.”
This time it’s me and my mom sharing a look; the already bad statement made worse by how blase she said it. It’s not real telepathy, like me and Roosevelt have, but we definitely have a conversation in those few seconds.
I put my hand on hers, the sudden action making her jolt. “You know that you can stay with us, right? If things are uncomfortable back at your place, you’re one hundred percent welcome here.” I say, ensuring my tone is even and doesn’t sound pitying.
Based on her reaction to my proposal, our nonverbal conversation was not as effective as I had thought—though it’s not like I can rescind the offer at this point.
“Definitely not. You haven’t forgotten that your brother and I dated, right? If there’s anything worse than having my parents as roommates, it would be living with my ex.” Sydney scoffs, scrunching her nose at the idea. “Besides, it’s not as bad as you guys think. They’re just worse at dealing with…” She waves her hand vaguely outward before continuing, “...Everything. The Old Tide hit our family particularly hard; I’ve just done a better job adjusting than they have.”
I gnaw on my lip, wanting to take her words at face value. but also fairly certain she’s explaining away their behavior subconsciously since they’re family. Or, even worse, she’s putting on a front so we won’t worry.
“I’ve known your mother since we were interns at the same publishing company; she’s arduous to deal with even on the best of days.” My mom says, swooping in to save me before my foot reaches my mouth. “So if you truly feel like you don’t have somewhere to come home to for the night, I’m sure I can hoist Victor off on one of the other three cretins for a few days. I could toss Brooke out, too, if need be.”
Sydney's expression warms a bit, presumably relieved that the offer is an open-ended one, and that we didn’t push her on it. “Thanks, I... doubt I’ll take you up on that, but it means a lot to have it on the table. Though, on the subject of ‘on the table,’ I haven’t had more than two pieces of meat in the last month, and I’m very near the point of drooling.” She says, her attempt to change the subject drawing a smile from my mother and me.
————————————————————————————————————
Massaging her temples with her index and thumb, Catherine tries to relieve the headache that’s decided to take up residence in her prefrontal cortex. In front of her, a glass box rests neatly on the middlemost section of desk attached to her workbench. There’s nothing in it, and the only curious thing about it—other than it being literally perfectly square—is that there are small fingerprint-like smudges on its insides.
“Our results are conclusive. The entity's DNA, though heavily modified, is that of Vanguard Shroud,” a voice sounds out from seemingly all around her, its intonation almost mechanical in nature.
“We figured as much from the fingerprints, though what it doesn’t tell us is how the rest of her is doing.” Catherine says, her eyes unblinking as she stares deeply into a sealed vial of actively writhing liquid. “These cells might be useful to reverse future injuries caused by Fathom Sap-119, but I’m understandably unwilling to trade the life of one of our own for that.”
A muffled tink sounds, and the glass box shifts ever so slightly on the table, the invisible creature within dissatisfied with its cage. A new smudge marks its defiance against its cruel captors.
“That is correct. Though the Memento we requested from New R’lyeh might prove effective in ascertaining her current state,” The voice responds, though this time it comes from a humanoid figure emerging from the wall. His dull, lead-colored form and the fact that his head only makes it up to his lips leaves him looking like a metal replica of a Grecian statue—one broken off at the nose.
“What, they approved us using the fate deck? I figured that would be wasted breath, honestly. Someone must have pulled some strings on that one. To whom do we owe the favor?” Catherine asks, praying her gut feeling is wrong.
The metal figure turns his head towards her, his lack of eyes not impacting his ability to see whatsoever. “I will not answer a question that you already know the answer to, Director.”
Another identical figure emerges from the far wall, his arms a blur as he precisely fills the centrifuge with a collection of multicolored vials. Once satisfied, he flips a switch and sinks into the floor, the surprisingly quiet whir of the centrifuge the only trace of his passing.
“I wasn’t aware you managed to give yourself more cheek during your self-surgery, Chassis. Did you also figure out how to remove it?”
The two metallic figures carrying a hilariously old-school-looking filing cabinet pause and turn in her direction. “Actually, it’s more of a natural byproduct of my newfound nihilism. Having your beating heart torn to pieces changes your perspective on life a bit.” Their voices say in unison, immediately returning to their lifeless state afterwards.
Catherine grimaces, remaining silent for a moment as she tries and fails to find a good response to that. “When do the cards… and my sister arrive?” She asks instead, sighing at the mention of her sibling.
The two puppets Chassis was using to rearrange furniture set the cabinet in its new, ‘more optimal’ position, before one of them morphs into the shape of an armchair for the other to sit in. “They were scheduled to arrive forty-six hours from now, though it seems they have experienced interference and will be delayed an approximate twenty-six additional hours.” He says, his lips desynced from his words by a fraction of a second.
“That’s... we don’t have that kind of time. By the time they get here with the cards, it’ll become a recovery mission rather than a rescue. We’ll have to try something before that.”
Even with nothing but a mouth, an exhausted sadness settles on Chassis' expression. “We simply don’t have the resources for a search of that scale. Risking the lives of our remaining Vanguard to ascertain the fate of one who ran off on their own accord simply isn’t within our means.” He clasps his hands together, the metal digits causing a dull clang.
“No, I know we can’t just send everyone out looking where we found her hand, but maybe we can figure out something on a smaller scale. Look at the scan—” She says, pinching a hologram on her desk and expanding it towards the metal man. “We couldn’t see it with any kind of imaging device, but when we took a mold of it... Do you see? Even though the mutations grew over it some, the cut that separated it from the rest of her hand was instantaneous. Whatever caused the injury did it intentionally to reduce the chances of Oedema occurring during future recovery.”
Chassis waves the hologram away after glancing at it, returning his focus to her. “I take it you’re suggesting this amputation was both intentional, and that her contractor, Str’xuirer, considered her to be safe enough to prioritize future medical issues?”
Catherine crosses her arms, twisting her office chair around to face him. “Is it really so unlikely that you’d discount it with no further thought?”
Chassis’ body ceases all movement, his drone freezing into an actual statue as he stops controlling it from elsewhere in the building. Unsure whether she just experienced the world's rudest hangup or not, Catherine waves her hand in front of the statue's half-face to prompt a response.
“Jamal…?”
“That is no longer my name, Director Asclepius. Though I do apologize for the interruption, I was checking our databases for relevant information when my puppets in this room disconnected. It’s... not quite a science.” Chassis voice sounds from the speaker behind her. Though, in regards to your point, I have given it further thought.”
Catherine, sitting back in her chair with a slightly redder complexion, responds: “And the result?”
“You mentioned that our most recent Vanguard had her first Insight… and it allowed her to ignore most mental influences?”
