John experienced a discombobulating bout of déjà vu as he walked behind Doug, the older man’s broad, liver-spotted shoulders seeming to fill his vision. After a moment, he realised this wasn’t the first time he’d followed Doug through a temporary base of operations towards a conversation he was sure was going to be uncomfortable.

  Last time, it had been in the Meriden Community Centre shortly after he’d rejoined the team, having been separated in the school portal world. Doug had brought him to a storage closet on the pretence of helping him clear it out, but with the true goal of a private conversation. It had been… an unpleasant experience, if a necessary one.

  He wasn’t sure whether to be more or less nervous than what he’d experienced back then. Another painful conversation was impending, but at least he wasn’t at the centre of it.

  Doug only stopped for a moment to question where the golden twins were when they reached the manor house’s back door—a staff entrance, apparently. John flashed Clairvoyance, found that the duo hadn’t moved a muscle from where he’d noticed them before, and told the older man. Doug ordered John to wait outside, then, upon getting John’s agreement, entered the building.

  John briefly considered using Clairvoyance to listen in on whatever Doug was going to say to the two women, but decided against it.

  The burning sky blazed overhead. The flames roiling across the heavens had become a constant in the past week, something he’d adapted to and began to almost entirely tune out. When he listened for it, there was a deep roar of distant flames, but it faded to the background when he didn’t concentrate.

  He hated that. Hated that the madness had descended on the world was becoming the new normal. Part of him didn’t want to adapt to this shit, wanted it to feel discordant and jarring so he could never grow complacent. If the rage against the injustice plaguing the world ever died out, he worried, he might lose the drive to fight against it.

  Something brushing up against his leg brought his attention back down to Earth. It said something about his preoccupation that he didn’t even flinch, just turned his gaze down to find a German Shepherd staring back up at him, tail wagging, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

  Reflex had him stroking his hand over the little beast’s head before he’d even consciously registered his own movement. The dog leaned into the touch. Its fur was absurdly soft, boasting not a single tangle. It didn’t even seem dirty.

  The perfection of the dog’s coat made John wonder. There didn’t appear to be any injuries on the creature, no scars. It could have walked right onto a dog show and not looked out of place—well, except for the fact it was a German Shepherd. The breed didn’t strike him as the kind of thing that’d be popular among that crowd.

  "What does your system make you do?" John murmured, scratching behind the dog’s ears and earning a canine smile for his efforts. "Are you actually a horrible little shit of a dog, and having to cosy up to a human like this is killing you on the inside?"

  The dog’s mouth snapped shut, and John couldn’t help thinking that its eyes looked indignant.

  John chuckled to himself. "Sorry, sorry. Just speculating. I know you’re a good boy, really."

  Its grin cracked open again, and it resumed its happy huffing as John gave good scratched vigorously behind its ears.

  It was able to make barriers of air, he recalled. What does that imply? Not every ability has to be a perfect indicator of the user’s system, but I haven’t seen anything else to go off yet.

  Before he could speculate any further, the dog’s ears twitched towards the house. A moment later, the back door opened once more, and Doug strode out, chin held high and shoulders squared in a way that reminded John of their first meeting, when Doug was more committed to his Doug the Thug facade.

  Behind him came the golden twins. Anastasia and Natalya.

  They were identical in facial features. Almost unsettlingly so. The same sharp cheekbones, the same straight nose, the same full lips that might have been beautiful in different circumstances.

  But there were differences, too. The one on the left seemed a healthier weight. The one on the right appeared gaunt by comparison, her clothes hanging loose on her frame in a way that made John think she'd been skipping meals.

  Left’s hair was shorter, a cut that just reached past her chin in a way that had probably been stylish before everything went to shit, while Right’s fell to her shoulders in waves that looked like they hadn't seen a brush in days.

  Despite these differences, they moved in eerie synchronisation as they approached, their footfalls landing in perfect rhythm, their hands swinging at identical angles. It was like watching someone walk past a slightly distorted mirror, the reflection just off enough to be disturbing rather than merely strange.

  Their eyes were both haunted. That was the word that came to John's mind, and he couldn't shake it. Dark circles underneath spoke of sleepless nights, and the eyes themselves held a hollow quality that reminded him uncomfortably of when Jade had been struggling. Those eyes were fixed on John now, wary and weary, studying him with an intensity that made his skin prickle despite Biomancy's calming influence.

  Two women willing to take part in a scheme to torture a child to death to get back at her father.

  Until a short while ago, John hadn’t taken the time to question why anyone would be willing to go to such extremes. He still felt there was no acceptable justification for the act, but he was willing to entertain the idea that these two weren’t just evil pieces of shit who’d participated to sate their sadistic urges.

  "John, this is Anastasia and Natalya," Doug said, gesturing towards them with one hand--Natalya was the one with short hair, while Anastasia's was longer. Then the hand reversed direction. "Anastasia, Natalya, this is John. I gather you’ve already met."

  John felt oddly exposed. He hadn’t had the time to take an aloof and/or cool pose, but now that they were in front of him, he wasn’t convinced he would have wanted to. He wasn’t sure what image he was projecting to them, standing side on, giving pets to a large, fluffy German Shepherd, but he wasn’t sure he cared what these two thought of him, either.

  Even with Biomancy keeping his body calm and his voicebox controlled, John spoke slowly and carefully, unwilling to risk any break in his carefully maintained composure. Just being near these two was threatening to plunge him back into memories he most assuredly did not want dredged up. "What happened to the other ones? The mech guy and the storm trooper?"

  Anastasia and Natalya glanced at each other in synch. It was like watching someone look in a mirror, and he wondered if they were even two separate people at all, but rather someone with a cloning ability deceiving them in service of some elaborate scheme.

  After a moment of silence, however, Anastasia spoke with a strong Russian accent, "We… do not know."

  "We parted ways," Natalya added.

  "We were not friends or allies," Anastasia continued.

  "In fact, we did not like them very much."

  "We had a common goal, nothing more."

  "Once it was complete, we had no reason to tolerate their presence."

  "So we left them."

  John’s heart gave a single, solid thump, but Biomancy caught it before it could properly get off the starting line and set his blood racing. Had to keep calm. "The common goal of murdering a child."

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  The golden twins shifted uncomfortably, and it was the first out of synch movement they’d taken since they’d arrived out here. Natalya’s shoulders had hunched up to her ears, while Anastasia shuffled her feet, turning away slightly.

  Then they were back in synch, but in a way that seemed less coordinated: their brows simultaneously furrowed in thunderous fury, and they turned identical, sneering glares upon one another, then started hissing quietly in a language John assumed was Russian judging by the ‘blyat’, but couldn’t say for certain.

  This went on for long seconds, their mirrored body language getting more aggressive until they were right up in each other’s faces, voices rising with each word they spat.

  John did not for a second believe this was an act anymore. Hell, if it was, they deserved all the awards. There was genuine venom dripping from their words, whatever it was they were saying, and he could see tears gathering in Anastasia’s eyes.

  Their argument went on for an uncomfortably long time before Doug heaved a sigh and stepped between them, placing a hand on their nearest shoulder and gently easing them apart.

  "I called you out here for a reason, ladies. Please, focus?" he said softly.

  They seemed to tense up at the same time. Both were breathing heavily, still glaring at each other, but they slowly turned to John, manic intensity shining in their eyes. Seeing their renewed focus, Doug stepped back.

  John spent a moment looking between them, choosing his words. Eventually, he decided on the blunt approach. This conversation promised to be uncomfortable no matter what he did, and beating around the bush would only prolong the suffering.

  "Why did you go after Curtis like you did?" he asked, maintaining a level voice only through the power of Biomancy. "Why did you deem killing his child an acceptable punishment for whatever he did to you?"

  The twins went still. They barely seemed to breathe. Then, Anastasia made a sound like a wounded animal, and Natalya’s face crumpled into a horrific expression of anguish.

  "We couldn’t even recognise her face," Anastasia whispered, eyes going distant, vacant. She wrapped her hands around her torso like she was trying to hug herself. "There was just… pink mush."

  "Her teeth were in the back of her skull," Natalya snapped. "And he laughed at us as he threw her body into the horde of monsters!"

  John grimaced. "Who?"

  Natalya sneered at him. "We are not twins."

  John looked between the two of them. If not for their hairstyles, they would be absolutely identical. Even their clothes—a black turtle neck, black trousers, and black combat boots, without their golden armour summoned—were the same.

  Natalya caught his look. "We were triplets, you…" She trailed off, then descended into more angry-sounding probably-Russian.

  But he decided not to make a thing of it. Instead, his eyes fell closed as he drew in a deep breath. He’d figured it would be something like this.

  "And you wanted Curtis to feel how you felt when he murdered your sister," he said, eyes still closed.

  "Mere death would have been too easy for an evil man like that," hissed Natalya. At least, he assumed so. Even their voices were indistinguishable; it was just that Natalya seemed the more willing to be aggressive out of the two, so far.

  "Mirian approached us a day or so after… after," Anastasia picked up, her voice thin and distant. "She said she had been watching him, and the reason he was murdering people was to bring back his daughter."

  "That motherfucker smashed Polina’s face in with his bare hands and laughed about it! He did not deserve a happiness in his life, not when he deliberately denied it to us! He knew what he was doing when he threw Polina’s body to the monsters."

  John had to take deep breaths. Biomancy was working overtime to keep himself calm. "That wasn’t Claire’s fault. She was just a kid."

  Silence stretched long enough that John opened his eyes to find the twins were once again mirrored: they were holding hands, standing close enough to each other that their shoulders were touching, leaning on each other like they’d both collapse if the other wasn’t there.

  Natalya’s voice was more subdued when she replied, "What do you want us to say? Of course the dead child doesn’t make us feel better."

  "Nothing can," Anastasia agreed hollowly.

  "But I— we were just so angry. We had to make him hurt, and we thought a soulless man like that would experience no remorse in the moments before his own death unless…"

  Doug spoke then: "We have the girl’s body, and are considering bringing her back."

  John had expected strong reactions to that reveal, but the twins barely even twitched.

  "If you are asking whether we will object, you do not need to worry," Natalya said. "That bastard experienced the anguish of watching his child he’d fought so hard and committed atrocities for die in his final moments. It was never about her. I will not pretend to have positive feelings towards her, but I recognise her innocence in all this, and would do nothing to her if she came back."

  Anastasia, meanwhile, shuddered so violently it looked almost fake. "If you bring back the man, we will put all our hearts and souls into killing him again. There is nothing you could say or do that would change our mind about this, so do not waste your breath if that is what you intend."

  Natalya’s head snapped up to her twin, eyes going wide, then turned to John. "You cannot possibly be thinking of returning that monster."

  "If we’re giving out second chances—" John began, levelling them a significant look.

  Natalya cut him off with a strangled sound. "You’d dare compare us to that man?! Do you have any idea of the things he did?"

  Anastasia was breathing heavily. "I don’t know how he presented himself to you before we arrived at the hospital, but if you have received any kind of positive impression about his character, he deceived you severely."

  "I don’t have a good impression of him, believe me," John said. "But Claire doesn’t deserve to have her body sitting in my Inventory when I have the ability to bring her back and heal her illness."

  "So bring her back," Natalya said. "And leave that fucker in Hell, where he deserves to be."

  "That’s…" John sighed. The German Shepherd pressed against his leg, and he resumed giving it head pats. "That might be the best solution. It just… it’d feel kinda cruel, bringing her back surrounded by strangers, after…"

  After she asked me to let her go, because moving on meant she was reuniting with her mum and dad.

  Natalya seethed. "The cruelty of making a child feel lonely versus the cruelty of forcing two women to coexist with the man who laughed as he murdered their sister!"

  "Why does she even need to come back now? Danger surrounds us," Anastasia said.

  John was definitely not going to get into the psychological repercussions of the corpses in his Inventory. Showing that kind of vulnerability to Doug had been bad enough. Baring it for these two was out of the question.

  "I have my reasons." John let out a deep sigh. "What about Marian? I have her, too. Does that change things?"

  The twins exchanged a look.

  "We don’t have any particularly strong feelings about Marian," said Anastasia. "As we said, that team we were with… They were not our friends. Marian wasn’t an exception."

  "She wasn’t forthcoming about her reasons for going after that man, but she carried around a plush toy that she’d stare at when she thought no one was looking. I presume he killed her child." Natalya smiled at John thinly. "Perhaps take that into account in your decision, if you’re objecting to the deaths of children."

  John looked up at the burning sky. "Can I get confirmation that you won’t do anything to harm Claire if I brought her back?"

  "Yes," they both said at the same time.

  "Good," he said. "Thank you for your time."

  The twins didn’t linger after the blatant dismissal, both retreating back into the manor house. There were others outside, and people were watching from the windows, but John was feeling too wrung out to devote any concern to the scrutiny. He just absently kept patting the dog.

  Feel like that conversation should have had some Aura losses or gains. Had he truly done nothing worthy of judgement, positive or negative? He couldn’t put his finger on any single moment where he’d been notably cool or uncool, but he still felt like the Aura system had just… sat back and watched.

  If there’s a narrative to all this, are there times when the ‘showrunners’ prefer to just sit back and let the scenario play out?

  "What do you think, Doug?" he asked softly.

  The old man gave a rumbling hum. "I think you can only realistically bring Claire back if we want to avoid interpersonal issues. Seems like this Curtis fella’s presence would kick off a shitshow, and this Marian… Just from what I’m hearing about her, seems to me that she’d go after Claire, and that would be its own kind of shitshow, too."

  "Yeah," John said. "Yeah."

  Silence lingered between them for a moment. Before John could break it, a shout came from the front of the house, Lily’s distinct Florida accent bellowing:

  "Monsters approaching!"