I let a few days go by without holding on too tight. It’s a nice change of pace.

Some things happen, but they mostly trundle through town without needing my help. I’ll tell you about them for a little while.

The inquest froze to death on the spot, just like I told it to. There was about four hours where I thought Copper Dawn and the rest of the creep squad had just blown me off, and I really was about to blow those data bombs, but thankfully they capitulated and let everyone out just as I was considering not getting on the train to reset them. I still haven’t taken them down. Just lengthened their fuses a little.

I met Em and the rest right there on the Iron Circus, squinting at the sun behind the clouds as the great monster vomited them up. I had to hug her gently. She hadn’t been in their claws for very long, but they had already started with the preliminary interrogations. She’ll have those scars on her back for as long as she doesn’t have them removed. She bled through one of her nice work shirts, but standing there, she didn’t show it. You’d think it was just paint or something. Emaphra doesn’t cry unless she chooses to, and bullying isn’t good enough, even if the bullying is sharp and merciless.

Some of the others had similar treatment. Some had been worked over more chemically than physically, and were still shaking at shadows, not entirely sure where they were. Old General Highclaw was one of them. They must have figured he’d just harden if they tried to hurt his body, so they went for his mind. I’ll admit, I don’t like the fucker, but it was disturbing seeing such a cantankerous and steely-willed old bastard quivering and confused, standing there on the concrete in the old Centurion armor they let him have like a kid who won’t take the costume off, not sure where to go or what to do with himself.

We all left as a group, and I got them to a place where the Surgeons could give once-overs and treatment to anyone that felt they needed it. Highclaw tried to fuss, but in his emotionally compromised state me and Voldzet were able to team up and browbeat him into staying.

Emaphra won’t have it, though. She says she needs to go back to work and make sure her aides haven’t burned the place down with all the kids inside. Her father (and me, to a much lesser extent) try the same tactic, but she expressionlessly manifests flames all up her arms when we try and stand in her way, and we have to let her go. They technically aren’t hers, but there is nothing Em won’t melt through if it gets between her and her kids, and that includes her father. And her lump of an ex-boyfriend.

The only reason she left in the first place is because they threatened to have the orphanage’s certifications pulled. That’s illegal, but Em doesn’t have the money for the legal costs to dispute it. And from the look on her face as she leaves the clinic, Em isn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

She’s not even done bleeding yet. But she stops to give me a kiss on the cheek as she walks out, as a thank-you. Her lips are like embers, and I can feel them there for a whole day.

The Surgeons have a lot of work to do to help out the people the Brotherhood manhandled, so I stay underground for a little bit to move boxes and make beds and stuff. Not terribly hard work, but appreciated, and I’m happy to do it. In a sense I was built for manual labor, after all, and there’s lots to do.

Deepwell comes by again and fills me in on the aftermath of what I did. Says one of the higher-ranked Exarchs and some of his goblins went to the Spire and came clean about the entire thing. Sort of. Something about a malfunctioning weapons experiment and regrettably classified under the terms of the Charter and a shame the investigation did not proceed as quickly as preferred. They put out a bullshit press release and everything, explaining in no certain detail whatsoever what happened. It’s worded so that if I do blow the story, it will kind of look like they didn’t lie about anything, while actually saying nothing at all. It’s masterful stuff, honestly. A piss tapestry of exquisite craftsmanship.

He’s smiling and shaking his head the whole time, in disbelief I was able to get them to back down. Wants to know how I was able to pull it off. And I tell him the entire truth - I didn’t. I didn’t pull anything off. All I did was walk around and talk to people while some of my friends made themselves useful. Anyone could have done it.

But I don’t know if Copper Dawn would have let anyone else win. That’s what’s scratching at me the most. Deepwell says we’ll be ready for whatever he tries next, and he’s probably wrong, but it’s a nice sentiment anyway.

Lord Rediron buries the blackened pile of briquets that used to be his son. He has been given an explanation, but he hates it almost more than the absence, because now there’s less call to be furious in front of the cameras. He still is, though. Just not publicly. And in Rediron Hall the Brotherhood have found a powerful new enemy.

Across the city, people put down their pitchforks with pouty lips and crossed arms. A few little voices cry conspiracy, like they always do, but there wasn’t enough information to form a decent theory in the first place. Janny Everyday just shrugs, puts his pitchfork in his closet, and goes back to work. There’ll be another one. A coworker comes by his station and says, Kind of an anticlimax a bit, wasn’t it? And Janny shrugs again. Sort of. But whatever, time for life to go back to the way it was. Hell, I got this cool sword and I didn’t even get to use it on anyone. How do you think I feel?

Sometimes shit doesn’t shake out the way it does in the movies. Sometimes there is no grand showdown or duel to decide the fate of the world. Sometimes it’s just some people talking in a room and then it’s over. But only sort of over, maybe three quarters of the way over, messy, with not that much closure and things left loose and confusing. We live in a confusing fucking world.

For example - after a few days hard at work in an underground workshop Voldzet was able to set up for her, Tennima completes Niner’s repairs. The shielding works, his limbs are reforged and sturdy, and his revolutionary self-healing software gradually smushes his brain back to where it ought to be, with a bit of help.

According to Tennima, he came out of a self-repair shutdown period, stood up, said “Thank you,” and left. She said she didn’t know whether it would have been right to try and stop him, so she didn’t. And I guess that’s alright. I would have liked to have talked to him - as would a lot of people around here. But he’s not a prisoner, he’s been through enough, I figure we can settle up if and when he shows up again. I go back downstairs and ask Rocky to keep an eye out for him. And also drop by a stack of halfway decent old University periodicals for him to thumb through. The old golem says he doesn’t get bored, but I think he’s just being tough.

On my birthday, it rains.

The water comes down and douses the last of the fires of old hatred still burning. Across the city, people holler and cheer. Businesses close. People dance in the streets. They forget all about the news and the violence and the chaos that’s been boiling beneath the pavement for the last six hundred years. No one knows when First Rain is going to happen, but when it does, people don’t let it past them. And boy does it come down, in beautiful raking sheets. It washes away people’s worries, people’s discontentments, their angers and fears. There’s just relief, reflected in the shimmering streetlights and the rivulets running down sheet metal shacks.

The voice in my head, the Beast, says that there’s work to be done, that there are too many enemies about to spend time relaxing. I turn the voice all the way down, and listen to the rain for a while instead. I go up on the roof and let it come down on me, for just a little. Let the warm desert downpour quench my aching mutant bones. Then I make some calls. I’m going to have a party this year, I think. Why not?

It’s time to open my door, and let a little light in again.

[END TRANSMISSION]