Chapter 20: 16 Therapy

Thanks to my latest gift from the Celestial Forge I had another option when it came to my costume. My Engineer Class skill provided me with a seriously advanced armored spacesuit complete with life support, power generation, and integrated shielding. The localized reactor would be a serious boon to some of the more advanced tricks I could manage with my omni-tool. The fact that it provided a sealed environment with a regenerating oxygen supply addressed one of my remaining vulnerabilities. Unfortunately there were two problems with just going out in my new armor.

First, despite the advanced material and integrated shielding it actually provided less protection that a set of clothes under the effect of my Fashion reinforcement power. It would have been borderline before I included the additional pieces I had made to protect me from life fiber testing, but with those included it was miles ahead. The shield had a serious advantage in blocking physical impacts, but would deplete and have to recharge. Even with the shield taken into account I was well ahead of the armors protection in terms of chemical, thermal, and radiation resistance, not to mention straight up physical toughness.

The second critical factor was Garment. While she definitely cared about my safety she seemed to consider fashionableness to be of equal importance. She made it absolutely clear that she did not spend all this time designing my costume just so that I could switch out to 'generic tinker' armor at the last minute. She would have no part in it, which also meant no life fibers. They would have been tricky to integrate under the armor even with her help, and completely impossible without it.

It was possible that I might be able to integrate some of the armors systems into my costume's defensive plating, but that would take time and testing and Garment had waited long enough for this. She was positively fervent when I approached the workbench. Actually, a lot more eager than I anticipated. Which could mean...

"Garment?" She shifted her attention back to me. "Uh, do you know about the power that I just got?" There was a very excited motion of assent.

Well, I knew she knew about my powers from before she appeared, but I wasn't sure she had been kept up to date. Actually, she probably had a better idea of what I could do and how I worked than anyone short of my passenger. The Flocks Fleece was a serious clothing power. In addition to granting environmental resistance, durability, and perfect fit to every item of clothing I made it seriously increased my skill at tailoring and turned me into a one man textile factory. I could go from raw materials to finished products in a flash, even products that would require additional chemicals or extensive and time consuming treatments. I could only imagine what Garment's plans for a power like that would me.

I didn't have to imagine because they were impeccably documented. Garment may have had issues with text, but she could convey an incredible amount of detail through sketches including exact fabric thread counts and composition. From the moment Garment slipped her gloves over my hands I was tearing through a blitz of precise diagrams and exacting measurements. My power would let the costume fit perfectly no matter what the sewing was like, but Garment seemed to think that was no reason to get lazy.

There were aspects to her design that were pushing our combined skills and the limits of my aesthetic powers to the absolute max. The Time constellation passed by in the Celestial Forge with no connection and even less notice as we focused on completion of my costume. Tiny complex stitches in precise arrangements of threads caused seams to either vanish or be integrated into the detailed embroidery that replaced the metal plating of my old costume.

Incredibly this was even beyond the stellar quality of Garment's work. In addition to our combined skills I was using both my micromanipulators and omni-tool. I was able to achieve a level of precision that may have never been seen in the history of fashion. The equipment and techniques I was using were intended for precision alignment of technologies that altered the very fabric of the universe. I was using them for incredibly complicated stitches and the assembly of stylistic touches on a level of quality that had possibly never been seen in the history of the world.

It was subtle, but I could pick up on Garment's excitement as well. We were supporting each other, her directing the broad design choices and me handling the detail work. There was an eagerness in the way she would move materials to be exactly ready for when I needed them, or a certain flair to the way things were coming together. Everything else she had done was just dressed up conventional clothes-making. This was the first time she really got to push the limits of what was possible, and we were doing it together.

And then we were done. My costume was complete. This was a real cape costume. I had been able to do an alright job before, but this was beyond polished. I'm pretty sure there were leaders of regional Protectorate teams who didn't have this level of quality in their wardrobe. With the cowl and color scheme it looked sort of like a utilitarian mix of Alexandria and Eidolon's styles. The coat was tailored now, not that thrift shop nonsense. I still had my storage belts and bandolier, but they properly matched the design as well as now being more ergonomic and organized. There would be no more spilling reagents across the street. It took advantage of my crafting and reinforcement powers to allow lighter construction and more ease of motion than a costume of its apparent bulk should have.

Pride was absolutely radiating off Garment as she examined every facet of the construction. I don't think I'd ever seen her that satisfied. Even with the quality of work we had managed to set a serious pace. I still had time to deal with some of my other projects before my appointment.

Right, my appointment. God, I did not feel ready for this. I contemplated if there was any way I could possibly get out of it, then hated myself for the thought. This was just a check in, it would be fine. I mean, I'd have to dig into my trigger event, but...

Hey, I should really test out that potion. Don't want to leave that for the field. Nothing like the exploration of some new supernatural effect and all of its implications to distract from something I was definitely not avoiding thinking about.

I left Garment to continue admiring the costume and moved to the Alchemy Lab. There were actually some doors linking the workshop without needing to use the entry hall, possibly to facilitate transfer of materials. It would certainly make things easier once I started transmuting metals. In the center of the lab was a beaker of faintly glowing blue liquid. The brewing process had taken a little under an hour from start to finish. If this worked well I could probably set up some level of industrialization to improve production rate or volume, but I needed to get a handle on this first.

The main reason for this test was duplication of my limited reagents. Dry ice was trivial to produce with the resources of my new lab, but I had a limited supply of meteorite. Just enough for six beads. Still, that meant twelve free beads with every potion. I just had to deal with the fact that I would be duplicating myself.

That was my real concern. I didn't think my clones would turn murderous or anything, but there were some unsettling aspects to bringing someone into existence with a lifespan of seven or eight minutes. That was basically a game of 'how fast can you speedrun the stages of grief?'. Then there was the whole problem of making additional copies of myself.

I really didn't know what to expect here. I'm at least self-aware enough to acknowledge that I have some serious issues. I wouldn't be going to that appointment I'm not thinking about if that wasn't true. So here I was, about to take someone who wasn't that stable, and make two more of him. With limited lifespans. In a contained environment full of dangerous equipment.

Ok, this was silly. I trusted myself to act fairly reasonably. Shouldn't I trust my clones? Or was the fact that they were my clones the reason I shouldn't trust them? This was confusing. I wonder if Oni Lee had to deal with this kind of thing? Maybe that was why he was so grim and serious all the time.

This was turning into circular thinking and accomplishing nothing. It was a Celestial Forge power. It might have some quirks, but it's not like it would be actively dangerous to me.

Deliberately not thinking about the life fibers.

There was nothing to do but press forward. I loaded up on my vital reagents, picked up the beaker, and downed the potion in two gulps. The effect was not exactly what I had expected, though I'm not really sure what I expected the mechanism of a cloning potion to be. With each gulp there was a shifting around my limbs, like another image was superimposed on it. It was like bad clipping of a 3D model. One after the other the images stepped away from me and I was looking at a pair of copies.

So this was it. My first encounter with a duplication of myself. I didn't know what to expect. Both copies were looking around the lab, seeming to get their bearings. I waited to see how they would react. Would they have questions? Concerns? Doubts about their existence. The first copy looked over at me and opened his mouth.

"You really need a haircut."

I blinked. "What?"

"He's right." The second chimed in. "It wasn't clear before, but yeah, that's seriously past due."

"That's what you're worried about?"

The first responded flippantly. "Well it needed to be said. And it's not like I have any pressing concerns over the nature of my existence to worry about." He looked over to the second for confirmation.

"Me either. Probably some failsafe in the effect. Actually, I find it kind of freeing."

"I know, right?"

I considered things. "So all you want from your existence is for me to get a haircut?"

The first shook his head. "You don't have to do that. We're not like Garment. This is a temporary situation. There's no need to make sure we have a validating experience. That would just bog us down from what we're trying to accomplish. Actually, here, take the reagents. You need the practice with the formula, and it's not like we'll benefit from it."

"From me too" The second also handed over his dry ice and meteorites. "But I'm serious about that haircut. Actually, I bet we could manage it for you."

I stopped from my attempted combination of the formula. "Okay, that's not happening. No scissors near my head. Not by someone untrained."

The first raised a hand. "I'm pretty sure that Decadence power more than covers things. Plus, we can do a couple of test runs while you work on those formulas."

"Wait, you have all my powers? Do you have a connection to my passenger? Uh, I guess our passenger now?"

"Yeah." The second nodded to the first copy. "Hey, is he as amused by this for you guys as he seems form me?"

He was, damn it. Highly confusing situations seemed to be regarded as quality entertainment for him.

The first copy nodded as well. "Tell you what, you start on those call beads and we'll brainstorm what to do with the remaining duration." There was a grin shared between the copies that didn't make me feel that comfortable. Still, this was what I was here for. Even if I hadn't gotten obedient drone copies at least they seemed to be working towards the same objectives.

Call Up was by far the most serious formula that had been provided by Evermore Alchemy. I had only used it once and didn't really understand the significance of what was happening at the time. Other formulas could manifest healing energy, teleportation, or all kinds of energy blasts. This formula worked on a substantially higher level. It affected the very fabric of the universe.

When the formula activated it punched a hole in reality. This effectively created a tunnel to a fundamental source of magic, one that by its very nature would collapse in short order. The only thing stopping that from happening was the thin layer of blue crystal that formed over the breach like a scab. Well, it was actually a material a lot more complicated than 'crystal', but that's not worth getting into right now. All it would take was the disruption of the crystal and all the power of that conduit could be unleashed in an instant.

Unfortunately I still had nothing I could link the other end of the breach to. I knew other passengers were a possibility, as were any other sufficiently powerful forces or beings, but I hadn't encountered options that seemed like a good idea to pursue. I had seen what passengers looked like and had a decent idea of how they saw the world. That wasn't something I was going to blunder into. Until I got a better handle on that kind of thing call beads would just be compact magical batteries for my Magitek devices.

I was almost finished working my way through the copied reagents when Garment entered the room, either drawn by the sound of the formulas or just finished admiring our work on my costume. She looked at me, then at the first copy, currently measuring ingredients near the potions stand, and the second, making some notes at the ritual space. She repeatedly glanced from one to the other then back to me. She made an excited gesture, motioned for us to wait, then rushed off.

"Uh, what was that about?" I looked at the two copies.

They shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll be fine?"

"Should I really take advice on that from someone who will be gone in a few minutes?"

That got me a critical look. "I'd say we're in a better place to recognize trivial concerns. Now finish up, you need that haircut."

"Ok, this is getting really weird."

"Getting weird?" the second copy called from across the room. "You're in a pocket dimension talking to magically generated clones of yourself as part of an experiment you dove into to avoid having to think about an impending therapy session. What part of this isn't weird? Oh, and I know we think our hair is fine, but take a look at it from the back and seriously tell me you're comfortable going out like that."

The first copy turned around and I could see what they were talking about. I also recognized the shameless tactic of using my insecurities against me. When I worried about my clones using insider knowledge to subvert me I assumed it would be towards a more significant purpose than hairdressing.

I glared at them as I worked through the last of the copied reagents.

"Did everyone just feel that?"

"Yeah, missed magictech constellation again."

"Damn it, we really need more of those skills. It's been nothing since we built the motoroid."

"I know. At least we got this workshop and are no longer trying to set up a potion lab in some abandoned factory."

I really can't explain how weird it was to watch your own inner monologue being discussed externally. Also their convincing of me to sit down while they collaborated on the process of a haircut, mostly from first principles, added a whole other dimension to the meaning of 'talking yourself into something'.

Fortunately the process was fairly simple and completed well within the duration of the copies existence. Most of the barber tools were fabricated on the spot using omni-tools, which networked with copies of themselves seamlessly. There were some potential future applications to that, but I was mostly distracted by the fact that I was being picked over by copies of myself in what seemed like a demented version of self-care. Fortunately my copies at least shared my taste and were keeping the haircut fairly conservative, just cleaning things up rather than going for any crazy style.

That was the state I was in when Garment burst into the lab, three sets of clothing floating after her. I gaped at the collection. I was at a loss for how to process this. I wasn't sure how connected Garment actually was with modern culture. She had an excellent handle on fashion based aspects of it, but seemed to have some holes in her experience. Whatever the gaps were the world of cinema didn't seem to be one of them.

I didn't know Garment was fan of James Bond films. I also didn't know how she had been able to assemble three of the most famous Bond suits in so short a window. I also didn't know why she was insistently offering me the white tuxedo while my copies looked on whith amusement.

"Garment, no."

"Garment yes." I glared at the second copy and he shut his mouth.

"We have maybe two or three minutes before this wears off. That's not even enough time to get changed." Much less whatever she wanted to accomplish with this dress-up.

"But there's always next time." The first copy chirped as he examined the grey three piece suit.

"Yep, that's a promise." The second copy added, looking over the black tux.

"Okay, you can't make promises. You're not going to exist in a couple of minutes."

"Like you would actually turn her down." I looked between the first copy and Garment's excited stance. Fine, that was true, but if I admitted it I would never get out of playing dress up for her. I glared at my copies, who were clearly enjoying themselves. This was a new kind of self-hatred I was totally unfamiliar with.

"So, done here and transferring the last of my notes."

"Me too." My omni-tool pinged as it received files from its duplicates. "Last couple of minutes of existence. Any ideas?"

"External examination when one of us is in the neural interface? Maybe get started on the motoroid overhaul? Oh, and make sure this guy doesn't duck out of therapy."

"Seriously?" I looked at the first one.

The other raised a hand. "I would offer that we are you, and thus know how you feel about it."

"Easy for you to say, you're not going." I realized I had become frustrated enough that I was no longer morally conflicted about their impending end of existence. If that was their plan all along then I had to give them credit. Give me credit? God, this was confusing.

"That just makes it easier to make sure you do it." He turned to Garment. "Don't let him skip out, right?"

She gave an enthusiastic gesture as she packed away the suits. I sighed as I joined my copies for a final work blitz. The work on the motorid was actually extraordinary. We were already operating under powers that let us work blindingly fast. Combining that with three sets of hands who all had the same goal of an overhaul and that final three minutes might as well have been days of construction. One copy coordinated from things the neural interface, linking with the networked omni-tools while the other managed computer components and I rebuilt the mechanics. I knew immensely more about transforming robotics than I had when I built this thing and was able to convert the transformation process from an awkward and jerky mess to a smooth process worthy of the alien robot technology I was so familiar with.

For some reason it did produce a strange five part electric grinding sound that was oddly familiar, though I couldn't quite place it.

We didn't finish everything by the time the copies disappeared, potion duration 8 minutes 34 seconds, but it was enough that I was able to mop up the rest of the tasks myself. And duck into the neural interface quickly because the developing A.I.s were having some difficulty handling the sudden disappearance of a networked mind from their awareness. Once I got them calmed down and reviewed their development, which should now be able to handle basic language interface on Survey's part, I disconnected to find Garment standing in front of me with her laptop, a copy of my schedule, and the estimated travel time to my doctor's office.

I would be annoyed by it if I hadn't sort of been the one to put her up to this. At least this experience would help reaffirm my aversion to cloning technology. Time saver my ass, I'm not dealing with another me running around full time if this is what it's going to be like.

"Fine, fine, I'm going." I looked at Garment. "I'm going to have to seal the workshop. If you're in here you'll be cut off from the internet. Do you want to wait in the apartment?"

She seemed to consider things before making an affirmative gesture and picking up her laptop and thus the copy of Survey. I got them settled at my old desk and sealed the workshop. I'd be taking my bike which meant another trip to the secluded alley with hopes that no one had caught on to it yet.

I said my goodbyes and exited the apartment with the enthusiasm of a death march. All my concerns were flooding back and my strategy to not think about them wasn't holding water, not this close to the appointment. There was no more dancing around the issue. I had to deal with my trigger event. Really deal with it, not just lean on whatever way that my power decided to mess with my mind and hope for the best.

I retrieved my bike and started towards Dr. Campbell's office. It was weird not taking the bus there, but I knew the area well enough that there was no issue finding it. Rather than hide my bike I decided to actually park it and slowly approached the building's entrance. It was technically downtown, but closer to the college than the corporate district. As such the office had a small parking lot that was mostly empty this late on a Saturday.

That really sheds some light on things. How isolated were you during your recovery? Isolated enough that a reoccurring therapy session on Saturday evening never had any conflicts.

It wasn't something I really complained about. I was grateful that Dr. Campbell could fit me in to his schedule, though I suspected this was outside his normal hours and he held it as a concession for me. And I realized I was ruminating on past therapy to avoid facing the current situation and was literally dragging my feet to draw out the time it would take to reach the entrance.

I steeled myself and pushed forwards. I greeted the receptionist he shared with a few of the other Doctors in the building and dropped into a waiting room chair to stew in my apprehension. You know what, screw those copies who thought this was so important but knew they wouldn't have to deal with it. They got the easy way out, those bastards with their temporary existences.

I was jarred out of my moderately ridiculous chain of thought by the office door opening to reveal a short late-middle aged man with thinning hair and a beard flecked with grey. He smiled when he saw me and waved in greeting.

"Joe, it's good to see you again. Come right in."

I pushed down my anxiety and followed him into his office. He took his usual seat and I sank onto the couch, suddenly aware of the awkward placement of my motorcycle helmet. I shifted it a few times before setting it on the floor without comment from Dr. Campbell.

He picked up a notepad and turned towards me. "So, how have you been doing?"

"Good." I tried.

It didn't feel like enough detail, so I struggled for how to press on. Uh, what are some positive things in my life? I mean things that aren't cape related.

"I'm still exercising." He nodded. "I actually joined a gym as well. It's been good. One of those points of contact we talked about."

"That's excellent. Is it still helping with your sleep?"

"My sleep's been... it's been better." I didn't want to comment on that too much. "I've been getting out more. I started some new work, met some people. It's, it's been good."

He made a note. "And how's your mood?"

"Better." I felt like I was repeating myself. "not at the point of being an obstacle, at least."

"It's good to hear that. Have the mindfulness exercises helped with that? Previously you were having some trouble with them."

I took a deep breath. It was more than 'some trouble'. It was like fighting my own brain. I put the thoughts aside. "Sort of? I've been able to recognize when things are getting out of hand. It's been easier to counter negative thoughts, manage self-care, that kind of thing. Probably too easy."

"What do you mean by that?"

I struggled to come up with an explanation that wasn't 'I have an extradimensional entity serving as a moderating influence in my brain except when it arbitrarily decided to make things worse'. Said influence was still there, but seemed to be taking a back seat to allow me to deal with all the emotions of therapy in their raw state. I wasn't sure if I should be grateful or indignant at that. Instead I grasped back to the original problems I had with the concept of mindfulness.

"It's kind of like the thoughts don't feel natural, like what you're thinking and feeling is normal no matter how destructive, and it's somehow dishonest to try to go against that."

"I understand. It's a very difficult skill. Even recognizing your own mental state is an accomplishment. Taking additional steps to try to correct it takes a phenomenal amount of effort. As I said, your commitment to the process was extraordinary."

I nodded blankly. Really I hadn't gotten past the recognition step, and that mostly just served to make me aware of how bad things actually were. Well, no. Those skills had proved pretty useful at figuring out what my passenger was trying to convey. If I hadn't spent months trying to understand what was wrong with my own mind I doubt I would have been able to get half the details I'd been able to gleam from my passenger's reactions.

"It doesn't feel like it."

"What makes you say that?"

I grimaced. "It just feels like this is meaningless. No one really takes it seriously."

"Clinical depression is serious."

"I know. I mean I try to keep that in mind, but people say they're depressed when they're tired, or have had a bad day. There's not really a sense that it's something that's justified in upending your life."

"Societal perception of mental illness is difficult to deal with." He stated in a clam tone.

I was grateful for him leaving it there rather than asking about how my family was dealing with the idea. I struggled for something else to talk about that would kick that topic and the event tied to it down the road.

"I met someone." He raised an eyebrow. "Not romantically, but she's been a good friend."

"That's wonderful. How did you meet?"

Stick closest to the truth. "I ran into her after work. She's a fashion designer. Really talented as well."

Maybe it was serendipity, but when mentioning Garment I felt the Celestial Forge make a connection to the Quality constellation, and it was a mote that she would love. It was called Beauty in the Arts, and it took the quality of my aesthetics beyond even what Decadence was capable of. This was borderline divine beauty in form, and it had no impact on how functional the end product would be. The only downside was Garment would probably want to remake my entire costume from scratch.

Dr. Campbell nodded slightly and seemed to be evaluating my wardrobe. Damn it, I forgot how perceptive he was. Well, just press forward.

"She has some communication problems, but she's really nice and supportive. I've been helping her out with some of her projects."

He seemed concerned for some reason. "So she's in the fashion industry and she has trouble communicating?"

"Yes?" I couldn't figure out where he was going with this. He just looked at me flatly until it finally clicked.

"You think this is about Sabah?" I couldn't keep the tone of my voice level as I spoke.

"There are some similarities. And you've been fairly reserved about approaching people since then."

My mind spun. This was not where I thought the discussion would go. "Gar… She's nothing like Sabah. They couldn't possibly be more different." Even the association felt wrong. Last I heard Sabah was still a fashion student. The idea of her telekinetically assembling clothing like Garment was beyond ridiculous.

Besides, Garment's communication problems were nothing like the slight difficulties Sabah had with English. The idea that there could be any similarity between them… it was just insane.

"I just wanted to draw attention to the parallels. I know it still bothers you and if there's a connection we should discuss it."

I took a breath and let it out slowly. "I hate what happened with Sabah. I mean I hate the event, what I did, the situation, the aftermath. Really the aftermath."

This was seriously well trodden ground for us, but I knew he didn't mind me repeating myself. It felt like the only way I could deal with the emotions the topic brought up. It was really more of a case of venting in a safe space than any move towards progress.

"I didn't know what I was doing. I mean, that was the first time I tried to have a relationship with someone and it crashed and burned spectacularly." I shook my head. "It's all stupidly obvious looking back. All through high school what kept me going was the idea that things would be better in college, but things can't be better if you don't know how to handle them."

"We've talked about that. Do you want to..." I shook my head, cutting him off. It would be too easy to get sidetracked talking about earlier stuff.

"No, it's just." I let out a breath. "Going into a situation like that when the only advice you have for dealing with women was 'be nice to them' it's no wonder things went horribly. I thought I was expressing interest, she thought... I don't even know what she thought. That I was being pushy out of nowhere? That I was like, holding assistance hostage for something more? I didn't even realize something was wrong until that public blow up, and even then I didn't figure it out until she changed programs."

I dropped my eyes before continuing. "I mean, the first time I try to let someone know I like them I end up driving them out of the department." I shook my head. "That would be bad enough, but everyone thinks that's where all this stuff came from. That I liked a girl and she broke up with me and now I'm depressed. We didn't even have a relationship. I just did things for her and she tolerated my presence."

"Are you still getting that sentiment from your family?"

And there it was. No way to dance around it forever. "Sort of? Everyone seems to have a different idea of what's causing this, or that I'm faking it all to get attention." Thank you for that Natalia, it really makes interactions with you a treat. "I've probably convinced my mother that it wasn't the cause, but that just means she's digging into anything else to avoid admitting my home life could possibly be a contributing factor."

"But it still bothers you?" He leaned forward slightly as he asked.

"What I did bothers me, not how it ended. I'm upset that I hurt her and didn't see it happening, not that she dumped me, if you can even call it that. There wasn't enough between us for it to be any kind of loss." I shook my head again. "It was a bigger deal when my faculty advisor died."

"I know that was a big shock for you." His tone was sympathetic as he spoke.

I nodded. "She was the only teacher I had that seemed to seriously care about her students. Also the associate professor they got to replace her couldn't find his ass with a map and flashlight." I let the bitterness leak into my words. "My mother said I should have picked someone from the engineering faculty rather than my English professor." I shrugged. "Maybe things would have gone better if I had support from inside of my department. Could have put off my breakdown by two, maybe three whole months."

I let sarcasm seep into my voice, but it felt like the life was draining out of me. Therapy was wonderful, the worst parts of my life all come screaming back. I sighed.

"I talked with someone about Sabah."

Dr. Campbell gave me an encouraging look. "How did that go?"

"One of the coaches at the gym I joined asked about my time in college, what happened, if there was a girl." I grinned slightly as I remembered Doug's complete lack of tact.

"What did you say?"

"I gave him the broad points. None of the stuff around it. He pointed out what should have been obvious at the time, but he was pretty understanding."

Dr. Campbell nodded. I needed to get off this topic. It was at the point where even my family was looking like a more pleasant item of discussion.

"Would you like to talk about what happened a couple of weeks ago?"

And there it was. I took some time before I replied. I really appreciated him not mentioning how he heard about it. I knew my parents talked to him, but he had made it clear that it was one way communication, that nothing we talked about was shared in return. Still, it was more than a little stressful to deal with. At least he didn't use my family's version of events as the basis for how he approached me, which was a big step up from, well from pretty much my entire childhood.

Still, this was a path that led straight to my trigger event, and it wasn't a pleasant one. Both for the path and for what the destination could have been.

I really, really didn't want to talk about this, but I knew I needed to. My passenger might have helped me function in the aftermath, but if something happened, if that was called into question or something else came up I knew how badly things would hit me. There was nothing to be gained by ignoring this. I took a breath and started.

"My mother? She's been trying to 'help' with my depression." I didn't actually make finger quotes, but it took some effort to restrain myself. "Some of it was harmless, omega 3 supplements or a sun lamp for seasonal effects." I swallowed. "But she started reaching out to my psychiatrist."

My new psychiatrist. I'd been through four since the one at the college clinic. Too much changing of locations and health plans, and most of them weren't a good fit anyway. I had a somewhat stable medication regimen, but...

"I remember discussing it." He noted. "The change to your medication was affecting your sleep."

I nodded. "The sleep medication they added didn't help, it just left me hazy all night. Running made a difference." I had to do so much of it to get an effect that it bordered on insane. I think I was hitting seven miles a night, and at that point it was only slightly less disruptive to my schedule than the insomnia had been.

"When we last met you mentioned you were discussing another change to your medication?"

I nodded. "A different serotonin uptake inhibitor. We didn't make the change for a few weeks, and at that point..." I trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"You were with your family?" He spoke cautiously, like he was being careful of my reaction.

This was it, time to get into the trigger event. I braced myself and did my best to push forward. "It was my first day on the new medication. I didn't realize how it was affecting me, not at first."

"You had a bad reaction?"

If he had spoken to my parents he knew damn well I had a bad reaction, but I appreciated him leaving them out of it. Instead I just nodded and continued.

"One of my sisters was home for spring break, so my mom wanted to have a family dinner. I took the bus back to Captain's Hill." Family dinners were not a pleasant experience, but there was no decent excuse I could use to get out of it.

"What happened when you got there?" He leaned forward slightly, but gave me space to answer.

I let out a slow breath. "My mother acted like everything was normal. Natalia was ok, at least at the start. There were a few comments, but nothing that bad. My dad was there, but he tries to stay out of this kind of conflict."

Dr. Campbell nodded and waited for me to continue. I took a deep breath and pressed on.

"It's crazy, but sometimes I wish they were at least consistently horrible. Well, I don't mean to say horrible, but..."

"It's alright. Use whatever terms you feel work best."

"Alright. I mean, they act nice and normal seventy or eighty percent of the time, then just cut into me like it's nothing. Well, my mom and sisters. And it makes it feel so trivial. I have a major mental disorder because my family was mean to me? What kind of reason is that?"

"Emotional abuse is highly damaging and traumatic. Inconsistent environments and treatment only exacerbate things. Have you considered what we talked about earlier?"

I turned away slightly. "I'm pretty sure my mother doesn't actually have undiagnosed bipolar disorder."

He made a placating gesture with one hand. "I'm not offering a diagnosis, but some of the signs are similar enough that it's worth looking at ways to deal with it. Something like Cyclothymic disorder would be hard to diagnose, particularly when your mother was growing up."

It also felt like too convenient an excuse. But this was digging into old issues, and I knew how they could overwhelm an entire session. Instead I did my best to push on.

"Things got worse as the night went on. My sister started making comments about taking advantage of my parents and not trying to deal with my condition."

He frowned. "I thought you weren't getting any support from them anymore?"

"I'm not." And the decision had been mostly to try to stop crap like that. "She was bringing up my years in college, how they paid for everything then and supported me until I moved into the city."

"But they paid for her education as well?"

I ignored a missed connection to the Toolkits constellation. "Yeah, but she's graduating this year, not some dropout with no prospects." Exact quote. I sighed. "I wasn't taking it well because of the medication. When I tried to counter her my mother stepped in, and that made things worse. Then I got the letter."

"Letter?" He looked concerned.

"I hadn't given the college an updated address for my apartment, so my parents were holding some mail for me. It turns out my medical withdrawal had expired to a normal withdrawal, meaning I'm now a proper college dropout." I grit my teeth. "So I'd have to reapply to get back into the program. My sister saw it and started laying into me, and my mother wanted me to explain what happened and how I could fix it. And then I just realized it."

"What was it you realized?" His tone was level but he looked concerned.

I took another breath. "I realized that I was never going to beat this thing."

"I don't think..."

I waved off his response. "I mean never as in not fast enough to get my life together. Everything I'd done, it was just enough to let me know how bad things were. All that work just let me understand the magnitude of the problem and how big the issues that caused it were. How long would it take to fix? Ten years? Fifteen? Even just five years would pretty much destroy every idea I'd ever had about where my life would go. And then..."

"What happened then?"

And then I triggered. A tinker trigger. An unsolvable problem builds up over an extended period and comes to a head in a critical instant. The world peels back and you get to see the entities with all their passengers, arbitrarily picking who gets to have powers and who doesn't. And lucky me, I had a giant meat computer with my name on it.

And then it happened. The Celestial Forge. My trigger got hijacked by a passenger from outside the cycle. No memory loss for me. I got to see the entire horrible operation in action. All the mechanisms, the motivations of the shards, and how they restrict, manipulate, and alter their hosts. And I got to choose if I wanted the power or not.

I also got to see what I would have ended up with otherwise. Extended periods of isolation means control tinker. The added fun of triggering under a bad reaction to antidepressants meant a dual specialty. It was a bad joke. I always wanted to be a tinker. Fate leads me to a tinker trigger and what do I get to specialize in? Bioengineering and Neurochemistry.

I don't even like normal chemistry. The specialties came with no more mechanical knowledge than was absolutely necessary to facilitate their work. And the work in question was some of the worst tinkering imaginable.

It was like someone took the phrases 'Make Friends' and 'Change Your Mind' and decided to use them as tag lines for a horror movie. That's basically what my tinker power would have been. Nilbog meets Heartbreaker by way of Bonesaw.

And I would have gotten all those lovely powers while under the influence of drugs that seriously compromised my mental state, while in a house with people I was currently furious with, and with a passenger who would have had no intention of moderating my response.

I took the Celestial Forge and never looked back.

"I left."

He raised an eyebrow. "You just left the house?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "There were some harsh words first, but yeah. Busses weren't running that late so I just walked back."

"All the way from Captain's Hill?"

I nodded. "It gave me time to think. I had a lot to sort out. When I got back I kind of cut off contact and started trying to get my life together."

He smiled at me. "Good."

I blinked. "Good?"

"This is clearly a positive step for you. You're looking in better form than I've ever remember seeing you, and you took a sensible action in a highly stressful situation. That's excellent progress."

I let out a slow breath. "I doubt my family will see things that way."

"You need to focus on your own care and what's right for you." His words were measured, but his expression implied some much stronger denouncements for my family and that raised my spirits.

"I'm glad you see it like that. I've been worried about what I did." I flinched. "You know, how it came across."

"From the sound of things you've been handling yourself very well. New connections and opportunities, a positive outlook, and a serious attempt to move on. All of that is a very good indication."

It was mostly the same kind of affirmations that I'd heard throughout my therapy, but this seemed a little more sincere. Or maybe I was just able to believe it now? My passenger was still holding himself back, but what little I could pick up from him seemed supportive. None of this was easy to believe, not with my history, but maybe I could do it.

"Thank you." The words felt like a bad underservice, but from Dr. Campbell's expression he seemed to appreciate them. He smiled and nodded.

"Is there anything else you would like to talk about?"

Yes, but cape stuff is pretty much off the table, so probably not.

"I think I'm alright..." I cut myself off at the sound of a distant rumbling. It wasn't thunder. I knew too much about the mechanics of these kind of things. That was an explosion. More than that, it was a series of explosions.

Dr. Campbell looked towards the window. "What was that?" Suddenly the lights cut out and the office dropped into darkness. The full implication of what was happening hit me.

"Fuck." The word echoed around the darkened room.

"It's alright, I have a light." He fished out a cellphone and activated the flashlight.

"Fuck, it wasn't supposed to happen this early." I rose to my feet. "Lung isn't being moved until next week."

"What are you talking about?" He looked up at me with confusion.

"It's the ABB. Baukda started a bombing spree!" All calm had left my voice as the implications raced through my mind.

Dr. Campbell's face was grim in the dim light. "Are you sure?"

"Those were explosions. This was in the works since Lung was captured." I grabbed my helmet. "I've got to go."

"Joe? Where are you going?" His voice was thick with concern.

Crap, what do I say here? "I have to leave."

"That's not a good idea." He spoke levelly, but his expression was morose. "If there is a bombing spree going on you need to stay off the roads. You can wait here until its safe, or at least until the power comes back on. It won't be safe on the streets until then."

"No, I have to go, now." The anxiety I was feeling was badly creeping into my voice, and it wasn't helped by my passenger reinforcing all of my concerns.

He gave me a hard look. "Joe, I never believed you were a risk to yourself, but as a doctor I can't condone you entering into a situation like this."

I grit my teeth. There would be a potential liability issue if he let a patient enter a dangerous situation. I didn't think that was the main reason, but he was clearly willing to use it if it would keep me safe. I appreciated the sentiment as much as I hated the action.

What the hell could I do here? My options were massively limited. I doubted he would stop me if I just ran out, but that would damage our relationship. It might also require him to report things which could cause a whole host of problems for me in the future.

There was one option that would get me out. Did I trust him enough for it? Well, it would be his job at the very least if he tried anything with it, and I couldn't afford to let this delay me any longer.

"Dr. Campbell." I spoke slowly and clearly. "That night with my family was the worst night of my life. I can say it was a specific Event that was particularly bad. But that's behind me. I've changed, my life has changed, and now the city is being attacked by a supervillain and. I. Have. To. Go." I looked him dead in the eyes. "Do you understand me?"

I watched as comprehension slowly dawned across his face. "Oh." There was a pause and he seemed to realize that wasn't enough. "I see."

I nodded. "So, can I leave?" I edged towards the door.

"Uh, yes. Of course." I started to go before he added. "I'll see you next week."

I stopped dead in my tracks. "Excuse me?"

"With everything you've dealt with, and everything you're going to be dealing with I'm not going to leave you without support. I'd like to meet with you once a week to make sure you're doing alright."

I was stunned by his suggestion and the idea that anyone could be 'alright' in this type of work. "I don't think my coverage..."

"It'll be off the books. No records." He ran a hand over his beard. "I know you'll want to make a difference out there. Let me help you this way. You might be managing things for now, but I cannot overstate how stressful this new… business is. Once a week, just to check in."

I nodded. "I can handle that, but for now..."

"Go. Do what you can. Officially our session has ended before the power outage." He smiled at me. "There's no record of this."

"Thank you." I nodded and rushed out the door before his reply. If my passengers foresight was any indication the city was about to burn and I had to do everything in my power to stop it.

I just hoped I it would be enough.

Jumpchain abilities this chapter:

Beauty in the Arts (God of War) 200:

The Greeks and their gods have an eye for the aesthetics of their surroundings. Whether it is the statues around them, or the floors they walk upon, or the things they carry and wield, it is better if it is appealing. Your ability to design any of your crafts has increased with this knowledge, able to appeal to form without sacrificing function. Regardless of what you create, it's going to look good enough that the gods might take notice... might. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing is for you to decide.