39. (Side story) Raising a Stronghold 4 - The People of the Land

"Name three things you can hear."

Dr. Sean Garrison had a lot of practice leading people through this grounding technique. Some from his prior career as a minor celebrity therapist to the super-set, and much more from his year (and two months, and eleven days) experiencing the hospitality of the military/prison industrial complex.

"Ah. Uh." Philip, a young man with blue hair, a ten-octave vocal range, the ability to sing three-part harmony by himself, and a song for most occasions (when he wasn't having a panic attack) rocked back and forth on the ground, clutching his knees to his chest. "Uh, stone on stone."

The senior Edmond sister was nearby in her rocky form, barefoot and shuffling backward while holding up one end of a copy machine looted from the Toolshed. Litterbug followed, supporting the other end. Either one of them could have easily supported the weight by themselves, but the piece of office equipment would have been rather unwieldy for one person to carry.

"Uh, the Beastie Boys."

Some of the younger adults and older teens of the camp had found a portable sound system and karaoke machine in the jumble of loot being reorganized. They were burning through a portion of the scavenged battery supply to celebrate getting their collars off and their recovered "right to party" with a song of the same refrain. Stacy, his fellow research subject of Project Collodi, was staking her claim to be the life of that party, swaying sinuously atop a table with her shirt and pants tied off to show more of her scaled red skin. The table also swayed a bit, not having been built for this sort of activity.

"And I think Cell is fizzing."

The protoplasmic fellow was indeed there, walking alongside the copy machine carried by Emma and Litterbug. As his personal 'style' and powers both led him to forego shirts, the granola bar floating inside his translucent chest was on display, slowly dissolving and giving off bubbles. It was rare to not find Cell in the vicinity of Litterbug, out of 'Morlock solidarity' and because his larger friend often needed a translator. He was also there to watch his friend's back as Darby was also nearby, glaring at Litterbug. The mutant freedom fighter had taken to watching the ex-Army engineer as if he expected the insect-man to build an origami Sentinel from office supplies when no one was looking.

Sean wrenched his thoughts away from images of Sentinels made from non-standard materials and carried on with the grounding exercise. Unfortunately, the next question in the series, "What are two things you can smell?" steered his thoughts right back to the scent of blood, raw meat, and other things he would rather continue to suppress for now. At least the grounding technique was much easier in a safe (compared to the death-camps) environment and positively trivial with his emotion-affecting pheromones at his command once more. Still, it was best to maintain a light, subtle touch with such things. Just enough calm to ride out the panic attack and a sense of wellbeing to help the patient carry forward, while also reinforcing positive associations with the presence and guidance of the good Doctor Garrison.

Sean was among the minority of the Toolshed survivors in having his powers fully active. Most of the rescued mutants were still affected by the implants trickling receptor blockers for Mutant Growth Hormone into their bloodstream. The exceptions tended to fall into two categories. First, there were those whose powers manifested as altered physiology that was always present unless actively suppressed, such as Litterbug and Cell. Those who had been the focus of research, such as himself, had tailored implants made to turn their powers off or on whenever desired for experimentation. Emma Edmond was proving to be a fascinating case in this regard as well as others. She didn't fall into either of these categories but appeared to have had some sort of breakthrough in her abilities shortly before her attempted escape.

With Philip settled and on his way (not that there was anywhere to go) Sean stretched, yawned, and scanned his surroundings for problems or opportunities. The clean-up after yesterday's visit with Ainz Ooal Gown, his interrogators, and his Evil Lords of Sin had evolved into an effort to rearrange the plunder from the Toolshed into something more convenient for both living space and access to certain items. Miss Edmond once again led the way in either a desperate desire to be needed or a surprisingly subtle and effective bid to establish her authority. Or perhaps the inscrutable Lord Gown was the one establishing Emma's authority as the young lady kept running over to the desk of Nitocris for updated notes and floor plans.

Having hosted a successful talk show for a few seasons, Dr. Garrison recognized a well-constructed script in action when he saw one. Yesterday's visitation had been a masterful piece of theater and social engineering. First, the 'nurse' made her entrance, reminding all that their suffering had been eased by the Lord's benevolence. Then one of their hated oppressors was displayed, suffering the same torments and indignities that had been heaped upon them. The display of ruthless cruelty towards one's enemies was made more palatable by interwoven comedy. The collars of the slaves were struck off, the 'free' people led in chanting their praise and thankfulness, and then the Lord made his appearance, joining in the celebration and reinforcing the knowledge that he might appear anywhere at any time. Then finishing with a literal display of his Wrath and the power at his command, mixed with a bit of comedy to show a 'human' side. Most impressive of all, Sean himself had been drawn into providing the set-up for the bit with the anesthetic, which combined care for his followers, cruelty to his enemies, and a reminder that they were all dependent on his continued goodwill.

Back in the here-and-now (my, but he was unfocused today), Sean updated his physical and social maps. Emma, Litterbug, Cell, Darby, and Stacy noted and accounted for. Nora Edmond was engaged with three other children in a game of tag, darting among the columns. While the adults kept mostly to the open space between the two curtained sleep areas, Nora seemed determined to race across every inch of the artificial cavern. Her smile and laughter as she ran were noticeably (at least to a professional such as himself) more genuine than the brave face she usually put on for her sister.

Casper was engrossed in reconstructing a half-remembered strategy game of some sort using paper tokens. The monochrome thirteen-year-old was engaged in a heated three-way rules argument with two younger children, one with fourteen fingers and the other a curly-haired triclops. It was vital for Sean to keep track of the sole telepath in the group. However, the ability to be absolutely sincere when saying anything and general double-think screening had allowed him to maneuver around Emma Frost in the past. It was proving more than adequate to handle a young, untrained amateur.

Similarly, his fellow research specimens of Project Collodi were potential wildcards due to how their pheromone-based powers interacted with his own. Stacy, having her own well-developed sense of social situational awareness, descended from her makeshift stage and pulled Philip into the party for a dance once he wandered over. Sean gave her a nod in recognition of her efforts to distract the young men and affirm the joy of life, receiving a wink in return.

Kara… He'd lost track of Kara. That was concerning. The rollercoaster of the last few days had included some particularly sharp turns for the former government superhero. Best not to let her stew in things for very long. Her abilities and background were likely to be very important to the group and in their new sponsor's plans. However, it was best to finish his review of things before tackling that.

Reverend Jake, who was not actually ordained, led another study and prayer session. Sean judged that the 'Reverend' cutting his hair and trimming his beard in such a way as to superficially resemble most depictions of Jesus was not a conscious choice on his part, but under the circumstances, it helped calm the flock.

The Bible study had set up as far from the dance party as possible while remaining inside the invisible boundaries of the living area. Despite that, two of the older members of the flock threw scandalized looks towards the gyrating youngsters. Especially Stacy, which was somewhat understandable, but certainly wasn't going to discourage her behavior.

Sean knew he should be keeping closer tabs on the more religious members of their makeshift community, considering the prevalence of black magic and especially after the debut of the Evil Lords of Sin yesterday. However, he recognized the Bible in question as a product of William Stryker's independent publishing house. The camp hadn't had a chaplain but Private Lambert had been a fervent and evangelical believer in Stryker's theology. Jake was knowledgeable enough to spot the 'corrected translations' in the text and discount them, but Sean didn't quite trust himself to be in arm's reach of the book for a significant amount of time without causing an incident.

Sometimes Sean wished his powers worked on his own emotions.

But for the time being, religious faith was enough of a stabilizing factor among all these traumatized individuals that maneuvering the faithful into throwing the heretical tome away would be counterproductive.

And then there was Nitocris at her desk, appearing to ignore all the mutants around her while inscribing yet another scroll. Sean did not trust that appearance. 'Lord' Ainz Ooal Gown did not seem the type to tolerate lackluster performance at an assigned task, or to appoint a minion who would not perform well at it. As some form of undead, she might well have superhuman senses or senses that did not function in the same way as a baseline human. There were likely unseen watchers as well. Lupusregina and others had demonstrated their ability to appear in the midst of them without warning.

While he was not going to complain about a rescue from his circumstances or the opportunities being provided, it was less than ideal that his rescuer and his appointed supervisor were inherently immune to his pheromones. Then again, he hadn't been able to apply his powers to his television viewers or to those who bought his book either. Ordinary persuasion and indirect methods were an old game he played very well. One of the key elements of that game was to look one's best, which was why he chose to touch up his personal grooming before going to see Kara.

A bit later, examining himself in mirrors looted off the walls of the Toolshed and installed in the newly constructed men's shower area, Sean judged that it was going to take a while to return to his former television-approved level of good looks. He would freely admit he was vain about his appearance. It was blatantly true, an expected and professionally useful trait for a television celebrity, and admitting to minor faults made others see him as more relatable and approachable. The blond hair, vivid green eyes, and superb (if he did say so himself) bone structure were still there, and Nurse Lupu had regrown the teeth knocked out when the black-ops thugs had come for him in the night. However, long-term stress took its toll in ways even the miracle cures could not fully erase. He had lines that weren't there before, and not 'laugh lines'. He'd been very stressed even before the government thugs came for him in the night. As a valued research subject he wasn't suffering from minor malnourishment as most of the camp inmates were, but he needed a professional beautician, several spa days, and probably a personal trainer to rebuild some muscle mass and tone.

And the dark areas under his eyes were getting worse. Being the man people went to when they had nightmares presented many opportunities to establish his influence, but it also meant he wasn't getting much sleep himself.

However, he once again had perfect teeth and a warm, reassuring smile. It was time to go back to work.

Kara's shade of purple tended to be very visible in decent lighting. So, if she wasn't visible in the living area, then she was either staying in the women's sleeping area or had found a dark corner of the cavern to hide in. Either was a possibility given some of the recent shocks and swerves, but Sean thought it more likely that she was staying in bed. She would hardly be alone in that course of action, or inaction as it were. A certain amount of sleep deprivation was the norm at the Toolshed, the few chores assigned by their overseer didn't require that many people, and the newfound freedom to lounge around in bed was reason enough for many to do so.

Sean wished he could do that as well, but three hundred mutants with varying degrees of long-term stress, trauma, and an uncertain future of mixed hope and horror? That was a powder keg he didn't want going off. At least not without a means of channeling the explosion in a productive direction or having a personal avenue of escape. Instead, he was putting in extended hours dealing with other's nightmares.

There weren't any doors to knock on or even solid walls to the sleeping areas, just improvised curtains. However, sentries were hanging around each area to prevent intruders and remind residents to enter quietly. Guards storming into the cells at any hour to do anything they wanted had been yet another common indignity and trauma-inducing horror of the camp. Sean approached the matronly woman with four arms sitting in an office chair in front of the women's side and waited to be acknowledged.

"Dr. Garrison," she said, rocking back and forth and fanning herself with a sheet of paper, "What brings you to our doorstep?".

Sean identified the slightly emphasized Georgia accent and other mannerisms as an attempt to recreate a more familiar and pleasant setting from her past, greeting visitors on her front porch. In particular, fanning herself was an obvious affectation since the cavern was a bit on the cool side. He responded with a bit of mirroring to prompt feelings of trust, weaving a slight southern drawl into his reply. "Begging your pardon Miz Johnson," remembering names and preferred titles was always important, "but I'm hoping Miss Killgrave might spare some time to talk."

She tilted her head and hummed noncommittally. "The poor dear's worn slap out." Tilting her head to the other side, she continued, "Then again, a bit of a jaw 'bout what's wearing her down might be just what she needs." Despite wearing the same surprisingly comfortable plain-spun shirt and trousers as everyone else, Miz Johnson was as regal as a queen in gesturing to a woman with an extra joint in her legs standing a few meters to her right. "Jeanie, go see if Kara's awake and ask if she'll see the good Doctor."

Sean waited off to one side, as befitting a well-mannered petitioner. He noted that Philip from earlier was now in much better spirits, serenading Stacy atop her stage-table with some disco-era falsetto piece about an 'evil woman'.

When Kara emerged, she looked physically better than she had in all the time he had known her. A few days of rest and a round of magical healing both did wonders. But Sean was both an expert at reading people and could literally smell strong emotions. In the depths of her eyes and the air around her, Kara was a storm of hope and dread spinning around each other.

They exchanged no words at first. Non-verbal communication on Kara's part had been her only option for several months and Dr. Garrison had experience with patients who weren't ready or able to speak. He gestured to a table somewhat removed from the activity elsewhere and they quietly took their seats. Kara leaned forward with her elbows on the table and her head drooping. Sean had made some arrangements before approaching Miz Johnson and another young woman brought over two mugs of hot cider, the non-alcoholic type reconstituted from powder packets. Kara wrapped her hands around hers, breathing in the steam coming off it.

Sean leaned back and sipped from his mug while waiting for Kara to break the lengthening silence, which she eventually did after a few sips, asking, "So, is this an intervention, or are you going to make a pitch about ruling from the shadows?"

"Despite what I was made to confess," and he had confessed to every accusation the government thugs brought against him, true or false, rather than show futile defiance, "you know I've never been interested in ruling anything. I just wanted a comfortable life. Besides, we've both been made enemies of the state for poking into unwelcome truths and knelt to Lord Gown. It's a little late to be recruiting you for the dark side."

She sighed dramatically. "Too bad. A twist revealing you as my father would be a step up."

Dr. Garrison maintained his warm, inoffensive smile and said nothing.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." Kara trailed off. "So, intervention then?"

Sean kept steady eye contact and leaned slightly forward at the proper angle to convey that the person he was talking to was important and interesting. "Under ideal circumstances, or even just remotely normal ones, the best course of action would be not to push, just to make myself available for when you might be ready to talk." He placed his free hand on the table near her hands, but not touching them. "However, there's some sort of plan in the works here. It's not going to wait on you, but I believe everyone's chances of coming through it are better with you as an active participant."

"Participating in what?"

"That is the question." Sean leaned in more closely to convey taking her into his confidence and sharing secrets. "Recent events have been partly driven by Miss Edmond reaching out, and our new benefactor reaching back to her. Lord Ainz has made his choice clear if not all the reasons behind it. And we should keep in mind that people such as him rarely do anything with only one reason or goal in mind. I can see some qualities in Miss Edmond that could be shaped into those of an effective leader. She is certainly giving it her all and even pulling others in her wake." He had chosen his position at the table so that Emma directing the movement of pallets and conferring with Nitocris would be visible behind him. "But she's young, inexperienced, and is going to need advice going forward. Lord Ainz might appoint some advisors or supervisors, but for our sakes, it would be best to have some of our own providing guidance. And out of our current selection, you are the best choice."

"Not you?"

"I've always made it a point not to get involved in the violent or physical side of things. I've never thrown a punch in my life." Expressing a bit of self-mockery with a shrug and a crooked smile was useful in getting others to open up and defusing suspicions of his motives and ambitions. "I can help everyone deal with their trauma. I can teach her public speaking and persuasion. I've studied heroes and villains but I don't know how to be a superhero or villain minion or whatever her role is to be. You're the one who's had government training as a superhero and then fought that government."

"Darby was a U.S. asset for a while."

"Yes, but he and his crew have always been followers in search of a leader. For other choices as the voice of experience we have," Sean jerked his head towards his left shoulder, as he could hear Litterbug's guttural chittering and Cell's profanity-laden translation behind him, "the urban survivalist who can't speak intelligibly and no one trusts, or the urban survivalist who can't speak politely and no one likes." Sean waited until Kara was taking a sip of her cider before adding, "Or Stacy."

Watching Kara recover from nearly snorting hot cider up her nose and then inhaling a few drops of it was more satisfying than it should have been.

"Oh God," she said after the coughing died down. "You did that on purpose." Sean just smiled enigmatically but they both knew the truth. "Oh God no. Stacy's gotten me through a lot but no. Just no. Emma doesn't deserve that." Kara coughed again and took another sip of cider to soothe her throat. "And Stacy admits she was a crap superhero."

Sean considered following up on the acknowledgment of Miss Edmond's efforts and their benefits but chose not to press too hard. Nudging Kara into crossing most of the distance herself would be better.

Kara one more sip for the sake of her throat. "So what are you proposing here?"

"Well, before moving on to what you can do to assist Miss Edmond, we should address what you can do for yourself. You've been through many trials in the past few years and many shocks in the past few days and it's been a long time since you were able to talk to anyone about any of it."

"And you expect me to just spill everything just like that?"

"I'm offering the option to share your experiences with someone who has already shared many of those experiences and knows where you are coming from. And I am a professional good listener. Then again, we could just sit and enjoy some cider."

Kara let out a long sigh, slumping forward to press the side of her face into the table as she moved her drink out of the way. Her long dark hair pooled around her head, hiding her face. For a moment, Sean saw blond with red soaking through, but he allowed nothing of the accompanying surge of rage to show in his face or body language.

Kara sighed again. "I'm not my father."

"None of us are." Sean let that statement sit for a carefully timed moment before following up to ease the tension. "Well, I should say few of us are. There might be some branches in the Summers-Grey family tree that are loops."

As intended, she laughed at that, though it was a bitter chuckle. "My life doesn't let me do the secret identity thing, or have the normal sort of anchor points. So, I've defined my not-normal life by two anchors. Pillars? Whatever. I'm the best big sister I can be to a pair of very damaged girls who need me. And I'm not my father."

She sat up again to take another sip from her mug and looked him in the eye. "I've made mistakes. Silly teenager me thought having Northstar as a boyfriend would be so cool and I almost went down my father's road before I even found out who he was. Then some good people saved me from my stupidity and taught me how to be a hero. But the grown-up heroes didn't have time to deal with my goofy-grape teenager problems, and they took orders from people who kept turning out to be either incompetent, corrupt, or just creepy."

Her mug came down on the table with a bit more force than necessary. "Now I'm an enemy of the state. The people who taught me to be a hero work for the state that's running death camps. And when I tried to tell my heroes what was going on under their noses they threw me away like, like," her left hand wandered through the air as if she would be able to pluck the words she was searching for from it while her right clenched around the handle of the mug. "Like I was milk past the expiration date. I got down on my knees to beg and swear loyalty to," there was another pause as she flailed again in search of words to express herself. "To Skeletor Beyond. And I'm asking myself, 'Will I be my father if that's what it takes?' Who will I kill? Who will I break? Because people like us, "she gave him a knowing look," can break people in ways that are so much worse than killing them. My father..." She trailed off, breaking eye contact to stare into the shallow liquid left in her mug. "There are people I love who are protecting the people who are going to torture and kill the two people I love most. And I think I'm probably going to have to destroy some of the people in the first group to save the two in the last group."

She looked back up at him with her head still bowed. "So you got a diagnosis Doc?"

"Most of the standard advice for what to do when people hurt you isn't applicable. It assumes you can make the people hurting you stop or get away from them. Since we have been taken away from the immediate source of our pain and given comfort, such as it is, I've been counseling a lot of people about the importance of moving on. Not forgiving or forgetting, but just not letting the bad things that were done to us define us. Not letting the people that did these things keep their hold on us."

"But it's not over for me because they have my girls."

"Indeed. So, speaking as a mental healthcare professional, I would advise you to do what you can without letting the anger and grief consume you or turn you into something you would hate."

"And speaking as the two-faced hypocrite we both know you are?"

Sean shrugged. She had seen him with all his masks torn away too many times during experiments and 'motivational encouragement', but he could still put his spin on things. "For all my life, all I ever wanted was a pleasant, comfortable life. I used my powers to smooth my path from time to time, but to have that kind of life I need a pleasant, comfortable world to live in. One where people aren't hurting themselves or each other all the time. So I built a career out of helping people find peace and stop hating each other. Yes, I made a fair amount of money doing so and pheromones are very useful for making people stop, listen, and think. But pheromones don't work through television screens or books. So all those people tuning in and buying my book did so because they found something useful and helpful in my advice."

Sean still wore his well-practiced smile and his expression at this point could have been called serene, but it was the serenity of an arctic wilderness, cold and merciless. "That's what I wanted. Then I wanted to meet my little girl. Then I wanted to know why the world killed my little girl and turned her corpse into an abomination. Now? Now I think I'd like to see it burn. I'd like to see the existing, unforgivable, horrific social order that allowed and encouraged these things ripped down and ground into the dirt." His smile was open, cheerful, friendly, and yet he let enough of his true feelings through to convey that he wanted to sink his perfect, white teeth into someone's neck. "I want the people who told the world my little girl was a monster to learn firsthand what real monsters are. I want the people who believed them or just didn't care to live their lives regretting everything they did or failed to do that brought us to this point." He leaned forward and his smile was as demonic as any of the creatures their benefactor commanded. "Lord Ainz seems like someone who might be able to make that happen."

Kara stared at him, frozen with wide eyes, her mouth slightly open and her mug raised halfway to her lips. "Damn Dr. Garrison. I thought I was the one who was supposed to let it all out here."

That...Had been a bit more intense than he had been planning. To recover he displayed some socially appropriate signs of embarrassment, covering his mouth while clearing his throat. "Yes, well, I suppose I've been bottling a few things up as well." Leaning back into his seat, he was once again the kind and concerned Dr. Garrison he normally presented to the public. "But you're right that this was supposed to be about what you want and what you can do. I can't get my little girl back. If you have a shot at getting your girls back, then my honest advice without any hypocrisy is to do whatever it takes. The world is full of monsters who wrap themselves in righteousness and call us monsters for being born or fighting back. Monsters love and protect their children too. Be the monster your children need."

"What were you saying about not knowing how to supervillain?"

"I've gotten quite an education in how to 'enemy of the state and the people', whether I want to or not."

Kara held out her mug. "Enemies of the state."

Sean lightly tapped his mug against hers. "For our girls."

After draining their mugs to that toast, Sean signaled for a refill and they drank in silence for a time, contemplating their past and future.

Kara was the first to speak again. "O.K. Doc. I admit the catharsis was nice, though I'm still expecting another round of nightmares later. But there's still the question of what- Oh, that's not going to end well."

Sean turned to see what had gained Kara's attention behind him.

Phyllis Anderson was the quietest member of Reverend Jake's flock. A literally mousy woman with gray fur, large ears, buck teeth, and whiskers to the sides of her pointed nose. The nickname 'Church Mouse' was somewhat inevitable. Sean wasn't sure if her timid demeanor was part of her original personality or something that had been beaten into her as it had for many others in the camps. Three hundred prisoners were far too many for Sean to form an in-depth analysis and profile on all of them, at least not without the free use of his powers for a few more weeks.

Whatever the nature of her usual timidity, Phyllis had found her courage today as she had gone over to the party and was admonishing Stacy. Or at least it looked like that was the case. Phyllis was more energetic than Sean had ever seen her in shaking a scolding finger at Stacy while the scaly woman, still swaying on the table she had commandeered as a stage, looked amused by this. However, courage, in this case, did not translate into volume as not a hint of Phyllis's voice was audible at this distance over the music. The young party crowd was divided between those who chose to ignore the confrontation, those who were amused by the spectacle, and those who were not amused by the interruption.

There was a time when Sean, ever alert for social cues and currents, would have noticed the change in the sound of the revelry without Kara calling his attention to it. Even in the camps, he had maintained a keen awareness of the moods of guards, researchers, and prisoners, mostly to look out for his safety. It would seem Kara wasn't the only one thrown off-kilter by recent changes in circumstances. Lack of sleep and running around to put out metaphorical fires like this were catching up to him. He rose from his chair slowly, with a hand on the table for support, saying, "I was expecting something like this, but I also expected to have another couple of days before it happened."

Kara rose with him. "Stacy's a fast girl in every way. You know she's already lining up customers for when they have something to pay her with, right?"

Sean wasn't so tired that he had trouble maintaining the mask of calm and composed Dr. Garrison while ranting internally. However, the fact that he had not known that was yet another sign of his flagging observational abilities. On the positive side, his plans to motivate Kara, nudge her in a useful direction, and reestablish a positive rapport with her were succeeding splendidly. Time to strengthen that bond and establish himself as a partner to the power structure that would coalesce and as a useful component for whatever master plan Ainz Ooal Gown had for these mutants. "Did the government train you in de-escalating conflicts?"

"Their focus was more on fast takedowns for problems they just wanted to go away, but Guardian and Shaman liked the peacekeeper approach when they could make it work."

"Then let's see if we can pour some oil on these troubled waters."

Kara looked puzzled. "What, like a Roxxon rig? What does that have to do with anything?"

Sean would have informed her of the ancient origins of the phrase, had he the time to do so. Kara's spotty education was understandable considering the unusual course of her teen years. Of course, that was the moment when the irrepressible Stacy X chose to pour out some gasoline and light a match.

"Yes!" the literally and figuratively scarlet woman shouted, throwing her arms into the air and striking yet another pose. Unlike the mousy Mrs. Anderson, Stacy's voice carried clearly over the music. "Shameless! That's me!"

Stacy strutted to the edge of her makeshift stage and loomed over her accuser. "I've been in one black-site hell-hole after another for years now. Do you know how I didn't end up in a buncha different jars? I threw out what was left of my shame and did whatever I had to. And while I was crawling around in the mud and other sticky fluids for their entertainment, I swore to God, the Devil, and myself that I would get out."

Jumping off the stage and forcing Phyllis to stumble back, Stacy still towered over the smaller woman. "And when I got out I would never let anyone make me ashamed of anything ever again. I will never be ashamed of myself or my choices, ever again. So here I am." Stacy slowly sashayed into Mrs. Anderson's personal space, driving her further back. "I'm out and shameless. I'm a bad girl who's ready to upgrade to evil. I've been a great whore, a so-so superhero, and I'm rarin' to give supervillain a shot. Gonna get me some tight black leather and a whip, 'cause I got job experience with those, and some spikes in the right places. Let's hear it for team evil."

And there was the elephant in the room. Many of the mutants present didn't care about some consensual hanky-panky as long as it wasn't happening right there in the middle of the living area. And for most of those who did, there were other subjects of greater importance and concern. This was one of those subjects.

As he had just admitted to Kara, Sean was also ready and willing to sign on with 'team evil'. Kara had already been fighting the government after her first experience in the camps and had more than enough motive to go further down a dark path. However, even in circumstances as desperate as these, very few people were comfortable in joining hands with what might be actual demon lords.

"We're only evil until we win."

And now Darby was adding his two cents.

"We," he waved his claws to encompass everyone, "are the revolution. We are the resistance against an unjust and unnatural genetic tyranny. And like all rebels throughout history, we are condemned as criminals, as terrorists, as traitors. Right up until we win. Because history is written by the winners. Once the old order is swept away by a new order, we become heroes of the glorious revolution and founding figures of the new society."

Kara leaned in to whisper in Sean's ear. "You got a plan for this wreck in the making Doc?"

"I had hoped for a few days before dealing with these issues as well", he replied. "If I use my power, Stacy will notice and she's in a mood to call me out or stir things up in response. We see how this plays out because it's going to have to play out at some point and we try to steer it into a wreck we can all walk away from. If things get too extreme, then better for us to take drastic measures before Ainz decides he needs to put down a revolt."

In the meantime, Darby carried on preaching the creed of the Brotherhood. "And, yes, that means doing some horrible things. Revolutions aren't like Hollywood shows you. The rebels don't get to keep their hands clean and their morals pure. It's ugly and bloody and vicious. It's a fight for basic survival as much as for ideals. The folks on the other side aren't people just like us fighting for their country. They're people who hate everything about us fighting for our extinction."

Darby paced back and forth with military posture and precision while gesturing dramatically, sometimes stepping forward to address a particular individual or group, and drawing in more of those mutants who were up and about with his oratory. "So, yeah. That's why the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants started out with that name. As an acknowledgment of what we were going to have to do and of the labels that would be put on us. And we took that label and we threw it back in the world's face.

"So welcome, my brothers and sisters," he said, throwing his arms wide and with his face alight with genuine joy, "to the revolution. The world has decreed that you were born evil. The laws of this world condemn you as villains if you do not meekly lie down and accept your chains or your execution. If you would reach the promised land, then you must break this world asunder and remake it into one that will accept you."

Randall Darby was an old hand at being a revolutionary crusader. His speech was well-practiced and his delivery polished. It would also be rather hard for anyone in the crowd to refute his words in light of their experiences. Sean was a bit surprised at how effective it could potentially be in bringing the masses to accept the necessities of their immediate situation and of a world that was indeed against them. Darby may have had years of experience, but there were very few lasting accomplishments in his career as a mutant freedom fighter. However, to bring things to a close and to ensure the basic ideas found acceptance. Now was the time for Dr. Garrison to step in as the voice of reason, compassion, and insight.

Unfortunately, Cell was a bit faster in jumping into things than Sean. While Sean was still drawing a breath in preparation for his own round of oratory, Litterbug's friend was eager to score points and get payback against the man who had been stirring up distrust of the former Sentinel repairman.

"That was a nice speech Cap'n Hardass," the translucent Morlock sneered, "but I get the feeling Evil Lord Greed ain't planning on changing his name out after getting his 'W'. These guys is thug fo' life," he pointed at Nitocris, "and then they keep going."

Cell presented another ongoing problem for Sean. Aggressive intimidation displays and antisocial behavior weren't helpful in managing the delicate aspects of their current situation. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem as Dr. Garrison had a wonderful and well-deserved reputation for his ability in dealing with difficult cases and difficult people. Unfortunately, the mono-cellular body that gave the translucent Morlock his name meant the biological receptors and brain chemistry his pheromones targeted just weren't there.

"Yeah, I'm good for the bad. I'm down with the mad. I ran with the North-Side Crazy Cardinals of Chi-Town." Sean didn't see the point of Cell bringing out his biography. Largely because everyone from the Toolshed had already heard it several times and it hadn't been that impressive the first time. Nonetheless, the tale continued, "Then the 5-0 put lead in my gut, smoked my crew, and put another round in my head. We was all surprised when I got back up for more. That's when I went Morlock. You know the Morlocks? We're the monsters under the streets that parents scare their kids with. They say we eat people and you know what? Sometimes it's true. Batch of pigs came down looking for-"

There was a squishing sound as Litterbug's large, clawed hand came down on his friend's shoulder, which deformed visibly under the pressure. Litterbug's other hand was pressed over his own face as he shook his head.

"Oh, come on man," complained Cell, looking back over his shoulder, untroubled by the fact that it was now several centimeters lower than the other shoulder. "It's a great story."

Armored fingers parted so that a single red eye could peer between them. The modulated hissing likely wouldn't have been comprehensible to the gathered crowd, even without being muffled behind a wide palm, but somehow the tone of exasperation came through anyway.

"Why are you all listening to this?" Phyllis the 'Church Mouse' had summoned up another burst of courage and enough volume to make herself heard. "Evil isn't just painting your room black and changing your wardrobe. Evil, true evil called up from hell, doesn't leave room for anything good. Whatever strength you think it will give you, it won't leave room in your heart and soul for love or kindness. You might get to fight back, but you won't have anything left worth fighting for." Turning to Darby, she asked, "What kind of promised land do you think you're going to reach following an unholy sorcerer with demons?"

Dr. Garrison stepped into the space between the three debaters, releasing a cloud of calming pheromones and calling up his 'sage wisdom' voice and demeanor. "This has been a productive discussion that raised some important points to consider, but perhaps we should all take a break now and return to this topic after some time to think things over."

This was a more overt intervention than he would have liked, especially as Stacy was both immune to and aware of the pheromones released. The long legs she (justifiably) took pride in covering the ground between them in three strides. She wasn't quite tall enough to look him in the eye without looking up, but she was tall enough to get "up in his face". The finger arrowing towards his chest and verbal chastisement to follow were interrupted as he flicked his eyes to the left. Spending time, often restrained and under watch, in the same lab had given him, Stacy, and especially Kara a lot of experience in non-verbal communication. As Stacy glanced in the indicated direction without making it apparent she was doing so, her motion to prod him in the pectorals with her finger became a less aggressive pressing of her palm to his chest and a soft, "Oh," of realization.

Emma had joined the throng at some point, remaining a few rows back. Standing beside and slightly behind Miss Edmond, was the new focus of Sean and Stacy's attention, Nitocris. The lich's expression was difficult to read, being locked into a permanent rictus sneer, but there was a quiet menace in the way she rolled her round mirror back and forth in her dry, leathery palms.

"Shit," Stacy whispered, barely moving her lips. "What do we do?"

Despite the tense and possibly disastrous situation, Sean momentarily found it difficult to focus on anything other than the woman who habitually radiated sexuality in every word and motion, standing close with her hand on his chest, looking up into his eyes. His lifestyle before his daughter's death had revolved around sampling life's pleasures but it had been a while, well, it had been a while for so many things. He was also aware of the crowd of people under the influence of his pheromones, placidly watching what looked like a sudden intimate moment between the two of them.

Fortunately, he retained enough of his wits to keep watching Nitocris out of the corner of his eye and to see Kara's hue of purple sliding into his peripheral vision on Emma's other side. The nonsensical song lyric in the background about what a fox said might have been jarring enough to help him avoid getting lost in the moment.

"What we do," he whispered leaning in closer, "is what I just said. We keep things calm. Someone needs to handle Cell. We can't shove this under the rug anymore but we can spin it better later and keep as many of these good folk as we can from making any bad choices. Kara and I were discussing how Miss Edmond could use a few supportive friends and advisors..."

As he said this, Sean turned to bring the center of his field of view closer to the young woman he was mentioning. This allowed him to pick out more details. The first detail of significance was that Nitocris had turned and was now facing Emma directly. The lich's body language was not quite that of a normal human, but she was clearly expecting the young mutant to do something in this situation. The second was that Nora had joined her sister in the crowd. Emma had not noticed Nitocris yet, but Nora had, staring up at the unwrapped mummy with interest, but no fear. He wondered, briefly, how much of that was due to his still-present cloud of calming pheromones and how much was Nora's open acceptance of Lord Ainz and all his inhuman minions.

Nitocris shifted her attention to the younger Edmond sister, locking gazes with her and then nodding her shriveled skull towards the elder sister. Nora nodded once and reached up to tug on her sister's pantleg. Emma, ever attentive towards her sister, turned with a smile that disappeared as she lifted her eyes to meet the eye-sockets of Nitocris. The still-silent lich again nodded her head, this time towards the rest of the crowd, clearly directing Emma to do something about the situation.

Sean and Stacy watched this pantomime, frozen with her hand still on his chest and his lips near her ear. Kara had a closer view from Emma's other side, obviously fretting but hesitant and unsure of what to do. The rest of the crowd stood around placidly, calm under Sean's influence but with creeping confusion about why they were so calm. Cell was an exception to this, but was, miraculously, displaying signs of self-preservation and slowly pulling his large friend away from the gathering.

Emma swept her gaze around the room. Kara, having years of experience in crises, hid her own uncertainty, gave the young woman an encouraging nod, and mouthed, "You got this." Sean released a counter-agent to his pheromones. It would take a while for people to work themselves up to their previous levels of passion and whatever was about to come, it would be best for Miss Edmond to have a clear head.

And Miss Edmond stepped forward. "Lord Ainz is a supervillain." Dr. Garrison wasn't sure that was a helpful start, but he was still looking for the opportunity and angle for trying to steer the conversation himself. "We all know he's a supervillain. He's a spooky scary skeleton sorcerer with legions of death and people working for him with 'Evil' in the title." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to gather courage before pressing on. "But he's not being evil to us, and he's not trying to tell us he's the hero like the folks who were being evil to us did. And I am really, really tired of people being evil to us just for being, well, us."

She waved an arm in Darby's general direction while continuing, "He's got a point. We're stuck with a world that says we're evil so it has an excuse to be evil to us." She dropped that arm and waved the other towards Phyllis the Church Mouse, who had retreated to join Reverend Jake and the rest of his congregation. "She's got a point. Whatever we do from here on, we should recognize what it is we do. Chose what we do, knowing what we're doing without justifying it as something it's not."

She clasped her hands together as if in prayer. "We all prayed for someone to save us, even if some of us weren't always clear on who we were praying to. Lord Ainz saved us and so I will serve him. Isn't-" She fumbled and looked around in desperation for a moment before turning to address Reverend Jake. "Isn't there a parable about how if you pray for something to save you, you don't get to complain about whatever it is you get when it shows up?"

The preacher stepped in front of his small flock, addressing the larger congregation with a clear and compassionate voice that Dr. Garrison could appreciate from his talk show days. "There is a famous parable, not from the scriptures but with wisdom enough. The lesson it teaches is that when the water is rising and a boat comes by, you don't tell it to go away because you are waiting for an angel of the Lord to swoop down and carry you to safety."

He raised his Bible, which still made Sean twitch due to its associations. "We have been delivered from the hands of evil, by the hands of evil. So I've been looking for verses on the subject of evil. This is a very, hrm, unusual situation and the applicability of the verses I do find is debatable."

Opening the book to the desired page with practiced hands, he traced a finger down a page as he talked. "The first verse I found comes from the Book of Isaiah. 'Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter!'" He looked up from the page with a twisted smile. "In meditating upon this verse, I must admit I prefer an honest villain to those who heap persecution upon us and call it righteousness. And, as Miss Edmond says, we must not be false to ourselves in what we chose to do or why we chose it."

Flipping towards the front of the book, he continued. "It may seem trite to say, but God works in mysterious ways, and turns all things to his purpose. As an example, I found the story of Joseph. A man sold into slavery by his own brothers. He was bought by the captain of the royal guard in a land of sorcerers and pagan gods. In providing good service and wise advice to the court, he rose to a high position and put measures into place that carried the people of that land through a great famine and brought safety and prosperity to the small but growing House of Israel as well. When the time came to confront his brothers who had sold him, he said unto them, 'As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.' Today," the Reverend said as he waved a hand across the gathering, "we are alive, having been brought forth into a realm of sorcery. And this too is God's plan. When we are asked to serve let us be good servants, in every sense. My advice for now is for all of us to retire and think about what that means. May God guide our path, strange and dark though it may be. Amen."

Everyone took that as the cue to disperse. As people had come out from under the effects of Dr. Garrison's initial pheromones, most of them had only been giving the speakers part of their attention. Nitocris, as the direct representative of their undead patron and a blatant reminder of their situation, was rather attention-grabbing with her glowing pinpricks in dark eye-sockets, clenched teeth in a permanent sneer, and withered hands twisting her mirror about in a vaguely menacing manner. It hadn't been a bad speech from a novice and a part-time preacher, but most of the audience was driven to scatter more by a desire to avoid the mummy's scrutiny than by an intent to go contemplate the words spoken. Nitocris herself turned and strode back to her desk, her nose (if she had possessed one) raised contemptuously.

Emma looked to be at a loss as to what to do next until Kara gave her a pat on the back and led her towards the table Dr. Garrison had led her to earlier. Stacy's fingers trailed across his chest as she moved to catch up with them with a hip-swaying strut. Sean went to arrange for more cider and then…

He considered the recent cascade of events that had somehow rushed by without his intervention. Always being a step behind at each turning point. All the time he was spending coping with other people's nightmares while not addressing his own, or even getting enough time to close his eyes and have a few nightmares.

The girls could handle the rest for today. It was time for Sean Garrison to get some sleep and deal with his own issues.