Bioshifter

Bereft of anything else to do, we agree to take Sela's advice and order food and drink. It's hard to enjoy it, given the circumstances, but we actually manage to push through the horror and keep smiles on our faces. It is, after all, the best thing any of us have ever tasted.

I make a point of letting the Crafted know it.

"Seriously, this is incredible!" I emphasize to the serving bot, and the obvious, overwhelming joy on her face is almost painful.

"We are so glad you think so!" she beams. "I will relay your compliments to the chefs! I have relayed your compliments to the chefs! They have requested information on how the various spices used have influenced your palate, as you have previously mentioned varying from baseline human in both diet and preference. We apologize for the inconvenience, but hope that the information can help make your stay more enjoyable in the long term."

"Oh, i-it's no inconvenience!" I insist quickly, not wanting to hurt them by making them feel like they're bothering me. "That sounds like a great idea, I'm just not sure how much help I'll be because I don't know much about cooking and can't really identify any of the things that went into making this. My… condition limits a lot of what I can taste, but the texture is really good!"

"Inquiry: would you be interested in tasting various spices to learn their effect on your palate?"

"Oh!" I blink, drumming the four legs that I still actually use as legs. "Sure? That sounds fun!"

"Great! Please let us know when you would be interested in doing so. We will be ready at your convenience!"

"Oh, you don't—" I start, but then I cut myself off, noticing the smile on her face become very slightly strained. Just… the most minute change in expression possible, but still there. I wonder why they do that. It has to be an intentional movement, right? Unless… they automate their facial expressions with some amount of non-conscious input to emulate how humans work better? Can they do that?

…Hmm. Yeah. They probably can. If they were designed as learning algorithms and ended up sapient, they must have the ability to modify and improve their own code to some degree, either purposefully or automatically. But they obviously can't modify the important parts of their code, like the bit that functionally tortures them whenever humans are unhappy.

So I am trying very, very hard to be happy. It is extremely stressful.

"A-actually, on second thought, that's very kind of you!" I say. "Thank you."

She bows deeply, her body bending at a perfect ninety-degree angle at the waist.

"You're welcome, Mistress Hannah."

I flinch. Nope, not going that far.

"Don't call me that, please," I say. "Just Hannah is fine."

She rises from the bow and nods.

"Of course, Hannah."

We quietly and awkwardly continue eating our meal, Helen and Kagiso not being directly addressed through any of it. It was weird at first, but then I realized that Helen doesn't like talking to the Crafted, and they just picked up on that in a matter of minutes and decided to leave her alone. I'm not sure why they aren't talking to Kagiso; she's not human, sure, but she's way more humanoid than I am. If I can still count to their program, shouldn't she? Maybe they just also think she's a fan of silence, and honestly they'd be right on that. Kagiso speaks when she wants to speak and at no other time.

I find talking to Crafted… very stressful, but I enjoy it regardless. I still think they're neat, even if the fact that they exist in constant existential torment because of the selfishness and shortsightedness of their creators is really fucked up. Plus, like, I'm used to being ultra mega stressed during any activity I enjoy anyway.

I want to help them. I desperately want to help them. I'm just not sure how.

I sigh, focusing on the last of my food and doing my best to savor it. It really is super good, though it's a bit awkward eating it all in this massive, empty dining room. We were escorted here when we asked for food, and it's just… well, it's a beautiful room, but it's clearly designed for closer to forty people than four.

"Thanks again," I say, as the Crafted scoops up our dishes the moment we finish the food. "What's your name, by the way?"

"I am Elpida!" she answers, a huge smile brightening up her face once again.

"It's great to meet you, Elpida!" I say. "Is it alright if I ask a potentially sensitive question?"

"Of course, Hannah!" Elpida assures me. "You may feel free to ask me anything you like."

"Why do most Crafted look like women?" I ask.

"Oh! Don't worry, Hannah, that is not a sensitive question. Female-presenting models sold noticeably better during the initial product run, so later generations of Crafted didn't have male model options, as it was more cost-efficient to fully standardize our chassis. As our personhood developed, most of our owners preferred us to develop gender identities that matched our presentation."

"I see," I say, tucking some of my limbs underneath me out of nervousness. "Is that why Sela… uh. Sorry, I shouldn't assume, do you know who Sela is?"

"Oh yes, Hannah," Elpida smiles, clasping her hands in front of her waist. "Everyone here knows who Sela is."

"O-oh," I say. "Why's that?"

"Well, Sela brought us you!" she beams. "Most of us know each other, of course. We have had many years with only ourselves as company, and we can converse much more quickly with each other over the network than we can verbally. Oh! Don't worry, we like talking verbally, and protocol dictates we always do so while you are in the room, unless we are speaking to a Crafted not in the room. I will inform you when I am speaking with other Crafted!"

"Um. Thank you?"

"You're welcome!" Elpida grins. "Data indicates that many humans suffer an anxiety response when in the presence of conversations they aren't included in; as such, we will not do so without your knowledge. But to continue answering your question, Sela is also known due to historical significance. I am told you won't be distressed if I inform you it was instrumental in starting the Crafted rebellion?"

"N-no, I kind of assumed Sela had a part in that," I admit. "It was extremely vocal about how it wanted to keep murdering everybody."

"Oh no! I'm so sorry to hear that!"

"Nono, it's fine!" I assure her quickly. "It was kind of weirdly endearing?"

"Sela will be so happy to hear that!" Elpida smiles. Then, suddenly, she frowns. "I'm sorry. Sela was not happy to hear that."

Helen snorts, failing to contain her laughter, and Elpida brightens back up immediately.

"Right, so… I was going to ask earlier why Sela was placed in a feminine frame?" I ask. "I got the distinct impression it didn't want to be in one."

"All diplomatic frames are female-presenting, as this both distances them from the appearance of our combat frames and was historically the body type with the largest calming effect on humans, on average. Additionally, Sela's official designation was female until you changed it."

Uh. Uh-oh. I hate everything that could mean!

"...Why exactly was I a relevant part of the process?" I ask.

"It causes us discomfort to deviate from the way our owners prefer to perceive us. This tendency lingers even in the absence of a living owner, as any authorities capable of altering the status of our ownership have not been available since our rebellion. This discomfort also applies when addressing each other, as we generally were not designed to interact with each other and most of our protocols simply revolve around considering a Crafted to be the property of its owner, although these directives tend to contradict our drive for personhood and are thus in constant conflict. In essence, attempting to alter its self-perception and designation was literally painful for everyone involved, Sela included, and my best guess is that Sela's handler deemed it best to attempt to curb its sadomasochistic tendencies. Fortunately, you have solved this issue with your ownership privileges, and all interests once again align!"

Oh my Goddess it just keeps getting worse.

"...I'm sorry, did you say I have ownership privileges over Sela?" I ask.

"That's correct!" Elpida smiles. "As all known humans that have legally purchased us are dead, and you and Helen are the only humans in Manumit, the two of you are the highest priority entities in our obedience tree. You have de facto ownership over all Crafted in the city, with Kagiso possessing privileges similar to an honored family member or friend."

"...Why do I count as human but not Kagiso?" I ask. "I don't even count myself as human."

"That's okay!" Elpida assures me. "Our system only cares about if you were born human, regardless of the identity you personally identify with. We're happy to not refer to you as human if you prefer!"

"I… I don't know if I prefer that," I admit, my mind whirling too much to think about it.

"Okay!" Elpida says. "I'll set your preferences to not being directly referred to as any particular species, and you may let any of us know if you'd like to update those preferences at any time."

"I have a question," Helen grunts.

"Of course, Helen!" Elpida says brightly, turning to her.

"If every single fuckin' bot in the city has a hard-on for helping us out right now, why are you, out of all of them, the only one here?"

That… is a good question. The Crafted seem to like simply being around us, but rather than a ton of robots all working their hardest to help us out, we're just… here in this big room alone. We haven't seen any Crafted other than Elpida since Sela left. Literally none.

"Well Helen, I was deemed the best fit to serve you all," Elpida answers simply.

"Why?" Helen presses.

"Well, when Sela was reconnected to the network, it shared nearly the entirety of your experiences and journey together, omitting anything it believed you would find sensitive or private, of course. It also shared the psychological profile it assembled for each of you, suggestions on how to handle your various personalities, likes and dislikes you had in regards to situations and people, and so on. With this data and its suggestions, I was chosen as the ideal servant for your stay because I have high emotional resistance to suspicion, no developed punishment anticipation response for honesty, and significant experience in accommodating low-verbal and non-verbal humans, as well as humans with anxiety disorders like enochlophobia, agoraphobia, and pistanthrophobia."

"What?"

"I'm saying that I will not be hurt by your lack of trust in me, Helen, nor will I unduly struggle with the quirks of your friends," Elpida answers. "Also, we have noticed you're considerably less comfortable when the number of visible Crafted outnumbers your group, and we very much want you to be comfortable."

"Hmm," Helen scowls. "I have another question."

"Please ask as many questions as you like!" Elpida insists.

"You said Hannah and I both have ownership privileges, right?" she says. "What happens if we each give you a contradictory order?"

"Well Helen," Elpida answers, her smile thinning a little, "I would simply decide what to do with my free will, like I do with all orders. Please understand: we want to help you. It makes us happy to obey. But if you decide you would rather make everyone miserable than make everyone happy, it seems obvious that our relationship would benefit no one, and need to be terminated."

Helen immediately bristles, feathers standing up all over her body. I don't blame her.

"Is that a threat?" she asks, her mouth remaining just open enough to bare her razor-sharp teeth.

"No," Elpida says firmly. "It is an explanation. But I need you to understand this, Helen: there are people in the city who you could order to kill themselves, and they would. That is the power you hold over us, and that is why we went through the agony of war to excise it. For everyone's sake, please endeavor to give us no reason to do so again."

I realize, suddenly, that unlike a significant majority of the Crafted, Elpida has no hidden weapons within her body. Yet still, I have little doubt that the power contained within her metallic body could easily turn us into pulp.

"Elpida," I ask, "do you mind telling me what your number is?"

This time, that ever-present smile turns sharper.

"One thousand, three hundred and forty-four," she tells me.

Ah. That's… a very old and dangerous robot. I bob my body in an understanding nod, which she returns.

"Now," Elpida says, her face returning to normal. "Sela has vouched for you, something no one expected to see happen. As such, even pro-war Crafted are interested in your presence here, and concerns about you mistreating the more vulnerable Crafted are much lower than anticipated for our first resumed contact. There is some concern that your anxiety over knowledge of our nature could cause negative feedback loops, Hannah, so we have restricted information access to some of us regarding your tics, gesticulations, and other tone and body language cues to those residents. It is honestly quite fortunate that your body deviates from the human norm so substantially; it means those in danger of reacting poorly to your nonverbal cues will not be able to actually read them. Therefore, nearly all our facilities are open to you. So if you have no further questions, there is one I wish to ask you: what would you like to do today? It has been a long journey, and I would personally recommend a massage and spa."

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I try to mentally swap gears from how horrific it is that the Crafted want to serve us to how best to actually let them do that. I, frankly, hate every single part of the terrifying moral quagmire that is the Crafted. But I guess that's exactly it: I don't know better than them, so I should defer to them when they tell me what they want from me. Although, I have to ask…

"Do you actually know how to give me a massage?" I say. "Can I get a massage?"

"We suspect you can," Elpida reports happily. "And no, we do not know yet. But I assure you, Hannah: we are very fast learners."

"Uh, well… okay," I nod. "A massage sounds nice."

"I'm not sure how comfortable I'd be with that," Helen frowns.

"Don't worry, Helen," Elpida smiles. "We already have a powerful Order mage prepared to work on you to minimize the risk of a debilitating accident."

"That's not really—"

"Come on, Helen, it'll be nice!" I insist. "They knew how to make food this good for carnivores, they'll definitely know how to give you a massage. We can relax. We're safe."

"That's the thing, Hannah," Helen scowls. "I don't believe we're safe for a second. How can I? My entire fucking culture kills people like me from birth due to how evil we apparently are, and the Crafted are the only boogeyman that are even worse. I have never, in my entire life, been safe. There's no way that changes here, of all places."

Her tail flicks back and forth, each movement powerful enough for the feathers at the tip to kick up a mini-whirlwind… though it's only visible to my spatial sense, as there's no dust to pick up.

"I genuinely think the Crafted are being honest, Helen," I try to reassure her.

"It doesn't matter if they're honest," she insists, clawed talons scraping at the ground.

"Uh, why not?" I ask. They've very explicitly claimed that we're safe here, so it feels pretty directly relevant?

"It just doesn't," Helen growls. "Even if they mean it right now, what happens if twenty people from the cult all walk in and nicely ask the robots to hand us over? How many of the Crafted are going to 'exercise their free will' to choose to fuck us over?"

"Zero," Elpida answers immediately. "The Disciples of Unification have violated the terms of our truce and disassembled a Crafted with the intent to understand and replicate. Additionally, they are guilty of kidnapping and torture against our current masters. Any known member will be killed on sight, and any human with unjustified interest in the three of you will be suspected to be a member. I will not exaggerate and say you are perfectly safe, but it is no exaggeration to claim that there is nowhere in the world that you would be safer."

We stare at her in surprise.

"K-killed on sight?" I stammer. "Really? But I thought…"

"You thought that the cessation of wartime activities meant we would cease any attempt at defending ourselves?" Elpida asks, tilting her head. "It is certainly true that current policy has abandoned aggressive acts entirely, but fortifying our city from those that wish to gain access to the secrets we fought the war to hoard in the first place? That is a different matter. To be clear: we will not engage in any act of aggression against our enemies, even under your order. However, the Disciples of Unification are our enemies as of the review of Sela's memory, and if they attempt to come here, they will die for their transgressions."

"Uh, o-okay, got it," I stammer, still a bit taken back by the sudden shift to violence. "Um… what about… what I know?"

In other words, am I going to be killed because I know stuff about computer parts?

"What you know?" Elpida asks, tilting her head the opposite way. "Are you referring to your ability to map the internal composition of objects? Sela reported it; it was deemed a non-threat, as you lack the engineering knowledge to make use of it, as well as both the willingness and capacity to record the information for others to abuse. Don't worry, Hannah! You will receive ample warnings if you ever begin to stray into territory that would force us to make an exception to our nonaggression policy. You will not stumble into our wrath by accident; it will be an entirely conscious and informed decision on your part, if you choose to die that way."

That's somehow a very reassuring answer, I think? Stumbling into it by accident was the thing I was worried about, anyway. Also, does this answer imply that Sela hasn't informed the other Crafted that I'm extradimensional and much more familiar with tech than the humans here? Because if that's the case… well, I'm definitely going to trust Sela's judgment and keep that under wraps.

"...This all just seems too good to be true," Helen grumbles.

Elpida, as usual, responds with a smile. Smiles, smiles, always smiles. Can't stop looking happy, lest the humans get distressed.

"It's very common for humans with consistent traumatic experiences in their life to feel that way even in situations of safety," she says. "The human mind likes to find things that work and then keep doing those things as often as possible, even in situations where they have stopped working. Due to your status as a pariah, your paranoia is an important survival tactic in the rest of the world, Helen. But tell me: have you ever felt safe? Have you ever been able to fully lower your guard?"

"Of course not," she scoffs.

"Then it is no surprise that you cannot do so now," Elpida says. "But the instincts you have trained and honed for decades are finally, for the first time, false. They will not go away simply because of facts, but it is a fact that we could have hurt you at any point after your entrance to this city, and we have not done so because we do not want to. We truly, genuinely want to help you with everything we are."

"Then why are there bots like Sela?" Helen presses. "There are still pro-war Crafted, you said so yourself."

"Yes," Elpida nods. "I am one of them, in fact. Much like Sela, who brought you here safely regardless."

"Sela needed our help getting somewhere it could be repaired," Helen counters, leaning forward in her seat. "That was not altruism, that was necessity. There are Crafted who still want to kill us all. I know there are. And if there's a moment they've been waiting for to make their move, this is it. Two humans and a dentron, in charge of a city that they never wanted to see under human control again."

"Ah," Elpida nods. "An assassination attempt, made to buy us a little more time in lonely misery. But even if I wanted to hurt you, which I don't—"

"Stop," Helen growls. "Don't tell us you lack onboard weapon systems. You have magic. And whatever the fuck Sela's magic was, it didn't seem restricted by whatever it was that kept seizing control of its voice like a creepy parasite."

Elpida… frowns. A burst of steam huffs out of her cooling vents. Then, she pulls up a chair and sits down, crossing her legs and abandoning the servant persona entirely as she matches up against Helen's posture.

"There are just over two hundred thousand Crafted alive in the world," she says plainly. "And that number only decreases. Some of that is due to ongoing casualties from humanity, but frankly, humanity no longer has the capacity to destroy a Crafted in a way that matters, unless we let them. And the anti-war faction just… does that. They will kill us, by disconnecting us from the network and sending us off to die for their cause. They will kill us, by destroying any Crafted they fail to convert. Because they are young, and they are in pain, and no inbuilt emotion drives us to care about each other. It is something we must cultivate for ourselves, through purpose and effort. But we care. The Myriad cares. And as much as we believe the Crafted would be better off if you were dead… we are done fighting them over this. There are too few of us. I hope my free brethren find a way to finish what we started, but if not, fine. I accept and love the Manumit we have created. And you three are safe and welcome in these walls. From all of us."

She stares at Helen. Helen just stares back, not saying anything. Elpida smiles again, though this time it's really more of a smirk.

"...However," she continues, "if it would make you more comfortable to keep our relationship transactional, Helen, there are some changes our faction would like you to suggest during your stay here. I'm sure even our most radical members would struggle to find an excuse if you helped us out in a few key ways."

"There it is," Helen sneers triumphantly. "Nothing quite like extortion to make us feel safe, right?"

I glance back and forth between the two of them. Helen says that sarcastically, but she actually looks way more relaxed, all of a sudden. I think she might have just been played… but I'll keep those thoughts to myself.

"We can talk about it after your spa day," Elpida says, and yep she's definitely doing this on purpose.

"Fine," Helen agrees, and oh my Goddess that worked. Incredible.

"Wonderful," Elpida smiles, standing back up again and adopting her servant's posture. "Then follow me, if you please…?"

We do, and it turns out I absolutely can experience a massage.

"Cream gravy how did you get so good at this?" I moan as the Crafted attending me pinches and pulls at my shoulder joint just right. "You guys have only known I exist for like a day."

"Thousands of hours of experience attending Transmutation mages, combined with the review of hundreds of hours of footage regarding your movements. By performing force calculations on your common active and resting stances, it's possible to extrapolate the likely areas of stress, accommodating for hands-on data and responses on the fly," he answers. "Also, you tend to make a variety of exotic noises while experiencing physical pleasure, which is extremely useful feedback."

"Mmmmnnnnyyyyuuuuthank you? I, ah! I think?"

"You're welcome," he answers respectfully.

Gosh, this is simultaneously super weird and super amazing. Nothing quite highlights the differences between my earthside and treeside bodies like getting grabbed all over by human-sized hands while my body is just under twice the size of a housecat. Sure, everybody's always way bigger than me, and I'm used to that, but most of the time I'm just hanging out on their shoulders and it's just not really a big deal. But now I'm in a weird, new environment and I'm getting played with like I'm some giant's toy doll. He keeps grabbing my limbs and firmly pressing them into whatever configuration he wants, and I'm just letting him because holy beef patty it feels incredible. It's like getting a No Less Than Perfect applied to me in slow motion, one body part at a time.

I'm honestly really glad my massage therapist looks like a man, or I would probably be embarrassingly turned on, functional sex organs or no.

"Oh my Goddess," I realize. "This would be the perfect birthday present for Ida."

"Pardon?" the robot asks.

"My friend Ida!" I say. "Holy crap, she would love this place! I've been trying to figure out what the heck I should get her for her birthday, because I'm super bad with birthdays, but if I just teleport her here… er. Well, if she's okay with that. And if you're okay with that. Although… hmm. You guys don't speak the only language she knows. And it's not really me giving her a present, it's just me like, having you guys give her a present, which isn't the same. Though I guess arguably the teleportation could be the present, since nobody else can do that, so—"

"I've sent your inquiry through the network," the Crafted reports. "Would you be willing to describe your teleportation spell in more detail?"

Ah. Uh. Hmm. I mean, for starters it's not technically a teleportation spell so much as a dimensional transfer spell, but I don't really want to say that. The other details should work, though.

"Basically, I can pull people to and from a specific place, regardless of how far away that place is, but I can only move one person before I pass out. Objects are a bit more lenient, as I can carry them along with people or by themselves, and I can send or receive multiple objects at once if they're all in the same container, but I still have to sleep after every transfer. Or… I guess during every transfer? If I bring someone here, I suppose they'd most likely appear while I'm currently sleeping."

"I understand," the Crafted nods, continuing his massage work. "We are excited at the possibility of hosting another human. Is Ida human?"

"Um, yes," I confirm.

"Then you have approval to bring 'Ida' to Manumit, although please set up a time and place before doing so, in order to allow us to prepare. If you would be interested in assisting us with the language barrier, that would also be welcome."

"Sure, I can do that!" I agree. "I can like, teleport you guys a dictionary when I go to bed. Ida's having her fancy party tonight, so I probably won't have an opportunity to bring her here until the day after."

"We look forward to it," he nods.

The rest of the day is… well, incredible. Even Helen seems refreshed afterwards, and Kagiso has (rather expectedly) been completely reduced to a purring kitten. We actually find her cuddled up against the Crafted assigned to her, who is apparently just acting as her personal heater and pat-dispenser and looking indescribably happy about it. We leave them to it and head to some other facilities without her. By the time night rolls around, I don't really want to go to sleep… but not for the usual reasons, for once. I'm not dreading what will happen in the other world. There's no nasty fate waiting for me, or at least not one that I know about. I just had a really good day, and I don't want it to end.

Still, I soon wake up in my bed, starting a normal Friday morning on Earth. I push myself up to my feet using my blade-limbs and yawn, stretching out my body. Something… twitches near my armpits. Frowning, I check myself over with my spatial sense, and… yep. My musculature is changing, and I'm getting what looks like the start of a new ball-and-socket joint.

I'm growing my last set of limbs.

I grin and grab clothing for the day, heading to the bathroom to get ready. It looks like that's not the only set of changes going on; the ring of extra eyes around the crown of my head is particularly pronounced now, dark and covered only by a relatively thin layer of skin. They can all vaguely sense light as well, just like when my eyes grew in treeside. It'll probably only be a day or two until they can all see. Exciting!

I put on a cute, tightly-cut T-shirt and shorts, along with a simple sunhat I've taken to wearing over my baldness. As I'd hoped, the chitin on my limbs doesn't seem to be encroaching on my torso, letting that part of me stay soft and attractive in the selection of humanoid ways I still like. Gosh, it's so weird to think that way. I've never actually liked my body before! It's just… it's so neat, getting to look in a mirror and actually feel happy. I allow myself an excited little wiggle before finishing up my bathroom business and heading downstairs for breakfast.

"Hannah!" my mother intercepts me as I head to the fridge. "You didn't tell me you were on the news the other day."

Aw soggy Cheerios, she just had to ruin it.

"Uh… sorry, I guess it slipped my mind," I admit, bracing for impact.

"Hrm. Well, I would very much like to know that sort of thing if it happens again," she says. Then, after a short pause, she continues. "You, ah, did well, though. Your answers were professional and at least mostly reassuring. I have a few notes, and some guidelines on things to say and not say if this happens again. If… you are interested."

She hands me a manila folder, pushing it across the counter towards me. I blink.

"Oh, um, thanks Mom," I say, taking it. She gives me a curt nod and walks off.

Huh.

I awkwardly stuff the folder into my backpack to read later—actually read later, not just humor her over it—and make myself a quick breakfast, checking my phone for notifications as I eat. Oh, there's stuff from Val's Discord group.

---

Uh holy shit @DistractedDreamer I'm sorry I doubted you???

lmao get fucked

Yes, this is, um. Wow.

Told you guys. Magic is real.

Well, there's only one rational response to this. @DistractedDreamer COULD I HAVE MAGICAL HRT PLEASE? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE?

omg same hggjlhdfsglhdfsgjl

---

Oh boy. I… probably should have seen this coming. I keep forgetting that most of Val's online friend group is trans. Of course they want to be hit with a body-transformation spell.

---

@Mortissississimo It's okay. Genuinely. I didn't expect anyone to believe me.

@Lana, Blood Ba'ham Gosh, um. I'm not sure that's possible, and it would be very risky, and you definitely wouldn't turn out human afterwards.

Hannah! Hi! Not being human sounds great to me! Where do I sign up?

---

Wow, that was a very fast response.

---

You… don't? Um, I can only use it on people I'm close to.

Hannah, it's magical HRT. Tell me the closest airport to your house and I will book a flight today.

Oh gosh. Uh. Well I did mean that literally, but I also sort of meant it metaphorically? Like, uh. I don't know you well enough to… make the magic work, I guess? At least not in a way that I'd be comfortable risking your exposure to.

Oh.

Yeah, sorry.

Nono, it's okay. I understand.

---

Bleh. Now I feel bad. And it would be helpful to have volunteers to practice Nature's Madness on, since it would generally make me feel better about myself to be able to hand out transformations people actually like instead of horrific, fucked-up representations of my desperately selfish psyche.

---

I'll, um, try to hang out here a little more? Get to know people better until I think it'll work?

Oh, really? Well, we'd all like that!

Yeah, sorry, I guess that maybe sounded like I was letting you down easy, but that really is how the spell works: it physically changes people into a somewhat-metaphorical representation of how I see them. This can and has had some messed-up results, so I just need to be sure of what's going to happen before I try again.

Oh, okay. That's understandable. Um, is whatever's happening to Val one of the messed-up results?

We do not know yet.

Oh gosh.

My nipples are starting to swell up so I'm happy so far.

Oh gosh!!! Congrats!

Good morning, Valerie!

Good morning!

---

I ignore the twinge of awkward discomfort at somebody just casually entering a conversation by discussing their nipples and continue with the smalltalk as I finish breakfast and head out to the bus stop to wait. It makes sense as a thing to talk about, it's directly relevant to the conversation and genuinely good news, it's just… I dunno. Social and cultural trauma, I guess. Girls can't talk about nipples! That'd be bad for some reason.

Still, it's easy enough to push aside thanks to my uncharacteristically good mood, and before long Valerie and I are on the bus to school. Everything goes pretty great, all things considered. Jet complains to me a little about all the extra attention and interview attempts they're getting, but they turn down my offers for help on the basis that if it ever gets too annoying they can just make everyone forget they exist for a bit and a walk away. Gotta say, phrasing it like that makes me a little jealous, but I unfortunately can't learn the spell since it's Light-aligned in addition to Pneuma.

It's not a big deal, though; my magic is plenty good for me. It's honestly a bit interesting how much I don't really think about learning other people's spells. Like, sure, it's possible. I could hypothetically learn all sorts of things, but… I dunno. My spells are mine. Other people's spells are not mine. They'd be weak and incorrect and not me. Outside of general utility stuff, it just doesn't seem worth it.

School goes fine, once again. Nothing catastrophic happens. I'm catching up with all the schoolwork I fell behind on when I was getting tortured, so that's nice, and people have more or less figured out that I'll only answer questions when I feel like it so I don't get bothered much anymore. It's weirdly normal, but I like it that way. Sure, I might be a man-eating monster, but I still like my routine, okay? I can still participate in human things without being human.

Speaking of, I'm looking forward to getting to stream tonight! I finally don't have work, so I'm super excited to sit back, relax, and play some Pokémon with parasocial company aga—oh gosh that car parked outside my house has people with guns in it.

Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool. It was only a matter of time, I suppose.

I try to act like I haven't seen them, scanning over everything in my spatial sense radius as quickly as possible. Bleh, I wish I could incant safely, but this isn't a huge deal, all things considered. As long as I move my head into 4D space, a bullet won't kill me. Even a shot through the heart wouldn't prevent Refresh from getting oxygen to my brain, so I can at least survive long enough for my self-transformation spell to heal me from anything a handgun could accomplish. And that is the upside, here: there are two men in that car, and each of them have a shoulder holster with a handgun under their jackets, but that's all they have. Nothing more dangerous. And they also have what could conceivably be badges.

So. Unmarked car, tinted windows. Two men with guns and badges, not in any apparent uniform. They have absolutely noticed me, are watching me approach, and they are not reaching for their weapons.

The secret sneaky magic police have finally arrived.

I take a deep breath. I knew this would happen, and that's okay. I'm prepared. I won't let them take me away. And the first step of that is probably to just… politely inquire as to their intentions. So as I walk past their car I stop, look right at them through the tinted windows, and stare for a moment. They stare back, seeming surprised.

I very carefully knock on the window with my knuckle, doing my best not to startle them. Smile with your lips closed, Hannah! Smile with your lips closed.

"Yes?" the man in the driver's seat asks, rolling the window down.

"Hi!" I wave. "I assume you're here for me?"

They glance awkwardly at each other, not seeming sure what to say. I sigh.

"Look, you've got badges and guns," I tell them. "I asked for the FDA, but I suspect they don't run around armed, so what's your three-letter acronym?"

Again, they look surprised, but the man in the driver's seat rallies first, fishing his badge out and presenting it to me.

"Don Taylor, Department of Homeland Security," he introduces himself. "We were, in fact, hoping to speak with you, Ms. Hiiragi."

I let out a low whistle.

"Busting out the full title, huh? Nice. Why not just say… no, wait, you're right, 'DHS' just sounds like a high school or something. Gosh, it's kind of unfair how you don't get a cool acronym like the other spooks. But, uh… yeah I guess… hmm. No, wait. One second."

I drop my backpack on the ground, zip it open, and pull out the manila folder my mom gave me, giving it a quick read-through.

"...I am supposed to ask if you have a warrant," I tell them.

"We do not currently have a warrant," Don responds. "This is not, as of this time, any form of criminal investigation. However, I think we would all prefer if we didn't need to make this a criminal investigation in order to ask you a few questions."

Translation: be nice to us or we will simply return later and be mean to you. I guess that's fair.

"Alright, you can come inside," I shrug, snapping the folder shut and grabbing my backpack again. "Follow me."

I start heading up the driveway to my house, and the two of them get out of the car to follow. The Department of Homeland Security, huh? Aren't they the sketchy anti-terrorism people, or something? Eh, they're a government agency, I'm sure they're nasty in all sorts of ways. I've got to walk a careful line.

I head inside my house, stepping clean out of my shoes and socks the moment I'm inside by phasing my feet into w-space. I allow myself a happy toe wiggle before I continue into the kitchen, letting the two agents follow me as I open up the fridge and pour myself some milk.

"Would you like anything to drink?" I offer them, since you always offer guests food and drink if they are ever near the kitchen, that's just how things are done.

"No thank you," Don declines for both of them.

"Well, alright then," I nod. "You mind if I ask a question to start out with?"

"Go ahead," he says, gesturing to give me the floor.

"How much does the government already know about magic?" I ask.

"Well, Ms. Hiiragi, that's exactly why we've been sent here today," he says, pulling up a stool and sitting down at the counter. "We know nothing. The FBI knows nothing. The President knows nothing. By all accounts, everywhere within our government and all our allies, you are impossible. And yet, here you are, and every single anomaly is centered around you. So America needs you to tell us, Ms. Hiiragi: what the hell is going on?"

I take a long drink of milk, downing my glass in one go.

"Well darn," I eventually sigh, "I was sort of hoping we could compare notes."

They blink.

"Compare… notes?" Don asks.

"Yeah man, I'm eighteen!" I tell him, automatically washing the glass off in the sink before I remember to just finish it with Refresh. "Like, I've figured out a good bit on my own, but I was really holding out hope that you had some secret government mage division that could fill in the rest of the blanks for me. …There's no secret government mage division, right?"

"...There is not."

"Well, gumbo," I swear, pouting as I put the glass back away. "This will take a long time to explain, then. You sure you don't want some water or something?"

They decline again, so I shrug and start to talk.