Theoretically, that was how last night played out: our first hunt as the Eightfold Office, a reencounter, forbidden information, and a tragedy barely averted through implausible means. Grimm revealing her intentions. Hints of something else going on. The first time I felt like I belonged somewhere, that I could really make a difference in the world.

When I came to, there was a contradiction on the windowsill.

Between billowing blue curtains and a frozen evening sky, a girl slept with one eye open. A harsh gust of wind blew in through the open windows and scattered the petals of a delicate blue flower, but failed to move a single strand of her inky black hair. Her lips parted, and from her came a hauntingly familiar sound:

“I can’t tell whether I should pity or mock you. Really, what the hell have you been doing?”

A voice like a windchime. Skin like snow.

Dead blue eyes brimming with bygone summer.

“You’re making the both of us look terrible, you know? I can’t believe I tolerated you for so long. Gods be damned and Hells rise, you really are pathetic, aren’t you?”

Sitting across the room and speaking with my voice was none other than myself.

I tried getting to my stubby little feet and slipped to the floor. Skidding several feet on a thin layer of ice that had taken over the room, I scrambled onto all fours and deployed my plasma weaponry — only to meet a bored yawn from the me that wasn’t me.

“Because that’s worked so well before. Keep hitting your problems without thinking about them at all, real smart, real smooth.” The apparition tenderly placed a palm on her cheek and smiled, unphased by the guns pointed at her. “What are you planning next? Holding hands with everybody and singing songs until the world saves itself? Get real.”

Grimm and Owl were passed out on the latter’s bed with no visible wounds. Infact, they were neatly tucked into the sheets and unperturbed by my sudden moving about; had the image of Grimm’s murderous expression and her attempt to devour my existence burned into my memory — on top of everything else that had already happened — I could’ve could’ve mistaken them for siblings.

“—This is between you and me. Don’t try to drag others into this.”

In a single second, the me that wasn’t moved from the window to the spot I had fallen from and took a seat on the quilts. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” she continued, “Why are you so afraid of using all this knowledge you’ve collected? You seem to be quite proficient at collecting information, but terrible at using it. What a shame.” She paused for a moment, then a black, tar-like spilled out of her mouth, stretching and straining until half her face was covered with a black shadow. “Ah. Maybe you’ve already figured it out and are desperately trying to reject it. That makes it easier.”

Somewhere in my mechanical and stone body, I felt a twinge of absolute disgust.

I don’t know what Grimm or Owl or any of the others did to me while I was out — I didn’t really understand anything going on around me, but I knew one thing for certain. It looked and spoke like me, but it wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been me.

I simply couldn’t understand what the apparition in front of me was saying.

Furthermore, this didn’t make any sense. None of what she was saying made any sense. Nothing here made sense.

“—But it does. You just refused to connect the dots.”

“What the hell do you know?” I snapped, turning on the hallucination. “Who do you think you are? You don’t know anything about me!”

“Really? Are you really going to do this? You beg and cry and scream for somebody to explain for hundreds of years, then, when somebody tries, you throw another tantrum? Of course I know all about you — I am you.”

I summoned a crushing wind and concentrated on her head. It went straight through.

“I’m here because you’re quite literally afraid of your own shadow. The more time you spend repressing something, be it desires or nightmares, the denser it grows.” She raised a finger. “I know we spent a long time in sensory deprivation. That broke your mind.”

With her raised finger, a crushing eternity condensed into a flash.

I collapsed, completely losing control of my mechanical body.

“In pity, somebody gave you theirs. A second chance, of sorts.”

A red smear in isolation.

“You fought to survive. Though I suppose surviving would be an exaggeration.”

A sea of blood and rotting grey flesh. A gush of agony in the present.

“Stop,” I whimpered.

“By the time you escaped, your belief in the goodness of all things was gone. Then you met her.”

Another finger.

“An equally confused soul. Compared to you, she was innocent and pure. And since it was relatively recent, I’m sure you don’t need a reminder.”

Stop.

Please stop.

Lyra—

The me who wasn’t me regarded me with a solemn expression. “Are you ready to accept me? I can do this all day — and I know how hard you’ve been exerting and straining yourself as of late. Hard enough for this to happen.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked, wearily.

“I want you to stop lying to yourself in earnest,” she said. “You’ve already admitted that you’ve been lying to yourself. Now it’s time for a little truth.”

I was going insane. That was the only reasonable way to explain what was going on; seeing hallucinations and talking to oneself are sure signs of mental illness. Yet at the same time, I couldn’t deny my desire to hear more. How long had it been since I was able to get a straight answer from anybody at all?

The truth. After everything, I was desperate enough to be willing to indulge with a person that may or may not have been a mere delusion.

“You’ve already stumbled upon why you can’t think clearly,” she said. “There’s a seal on your memories and mind. As of this moment, you have the cognitive abilities of a child — an early teenager, if I were to be generous.”

An imitation of the cobalt blade appeared in her hands.

“This is the seal keeping you from remembering everything that you were. A thorn in both of our sides.”

I flinched at the mere sight of it. The last time I dared touch that blade, I was overwhelmed with memory and emotions that nearly destroyed me.

“As nice as it would be to regain all that power, I don’t think either of us could handle the full burden. Not yet, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “How is that even possible?”

She ignored me and continued, “You’ve given yourself completely to your emotions and refused to think about the situation you’re in. You have a pathological avoidance to getting a clue — and I think I know why. It’s because you’re scared of what’ll happen once you regain that knowledge.”

I couldn’t deny it. Not when being physically forced to face myself. All the clues were gathered in my flawless memory, and I, for some reason, had purposely chosen to avoid them.

“So what if I am scared?” I protested. “I’m scared. I want to curl up and die. I want somebody to tell me that it’ll be alright and that I don’t have to push myself anymore. I don’t know who I am. I still don’t. Isn’t that natural?”

“Sure. You know what else is natural? For the strong to eat the weak, much like you’ve already done.”

We stared at each other until Owl began to stir. Then, stretching her arms, she stood up and walked towards the still-open window.

“Just a simple reminder: you can’t wait for a miracle. You have to make them yourself.”

I tried to stop her, the me that wasn’t me. But the moment I regained control of my body and senses, she had already vanished into nothingness.

With her eyes still closed, Grimm sat up and yawned. She looked to the left to the open window, then to the right, where Owl was still sleeping, and decided to snuggle up against the out-cold Owl for an extended nap instead of waking up — all the while without noticing the guns I pointed at her head.

By then, after some time thinking, I had no choice but to accept the merit of my earlier delusions. There were facts I was purposely avoiding. There were obvious clues that I had ignored in the name of blissful ignorance and the hope that everything would simply work out, but my other self was an omen: a sign that I was falling apart.

If I wanted to prevent another tragedy, I had to be more proactive than ever. I needed to take back control of my fate.

I hopped onto the bed and got close to Grimm’s bed. Then, taking one of my leg claws, I held it just above her pale throat and said, “I know you’re awake.”

Grimm groaned and hugged Owl harder. “Yes. Don’t want. Back to sleep.”

I pressed the claw hard enough into her neck to dent the skin. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“Got here? Don’t remember. Owl soft, quiet. Girls are nice.”

Grimm made no move to respond to the immediate threat I posed towards her. Then again, the others had spent an entire day trying to kill her with conventional means. If I really wanted to threaten her, I needed something else.

Thankfully, I had a very good memory.

The pain of being drained of my essence was one of my first vivid memories. Assuming Grimm was a spiritual entity like me, I could do the same to her.

So I did.

I stabbed my leg into Grimm’s neck and drank. Fresh Ether dripped into my reserves; hers carried not the brush of winter, but the surprising taste of warm spices and fresh fruit: a memory of a warm fireplace burning through a cold night.

“Tell me everything,” I said, “or I’ll end you right now.”

The girl pulled her hands back from Owl and turned to face me, now fully aware of the threat I posed.

Her only response was a smile.

It was then that I remembered her initial request upon her defection to the Eightfold Pact: for whatever reason, she wanted to die. I pulled my leg back and swore at myself for neglecting such a piece of information.

“Don’t remember anything,” Grimm admitted, sitting up fully. “But. I like you. Grimm likes Vivy. Can’t remember why. So. Don’t mind.”

The Grimm I was speaking with wasn’t the same Grimm that I encountered last night, if my own hallucinations were anything to go by. Was a side-effect of a Stigmata the divergence of the self? Both Lyra and Owl were caught speaking with people that only they could see; perhaps I needed to do further research in the future towards our mutual condition.

“Please leave us for a little,” I said. “I need to talk with Owl in private.”

“Grimm will comply.” She smiled and, without picking up the clothes scattered across the frozen floor, walked towards the main quarters, where I heard somebody screaming for her to get dressed.

Common decency and nudity wasn’t my problem anymore; I had bigger things to deal with. Namely, Owl’s unnatural resurrection.

No matter how I looked at it, she didn’t come back right. Her heart wasn’t beating, she wasn’t breathing, and her body didn’t give off any heat. I wasn’t sure she was still alive until she took a deep breath and exhaled.

I found myself looking around for the other me, hoping for an explanation. They didn’t come. Carefully, I maneuvered around the bed until I saw Owl’s sleeping, peaceful face, then sat at the side of her pillow.

Are you okay? I asked, quietly as I could.

One of her bloodshot eyes cracked open. She looked at me for several long seconds, then pulled the covers over her head.

Please talk to me.

“Just let me be,” came her mumbled response. “I’m tired.”

I couldn’t blame her for the cold attitude. After peering into the depths of her soul, I couldn’t blame her for anything in good faith.

We were now irrevocably linked, and through the strange connection I didn’t quite understand yet, I saw fragments of her life when I desperately pulled her back together.

I want to help you.

She was silent for a long moment. “Please go away.”

...I don’t think I can.

What was happening to Owl was a phenomenon I had already encountered several times. Owl’s very existence was hazy and rapidly decaying: if I didn’t feed her a constant stream of Ether, she would simply fall apart and vanish. The sensation I felt now was eerily similar to Lyra’s final moments — I had to push away my desire for a perfect answer and accept the situation for what it was; that I had failed to truly save her and forced her to exist in a state between life and death.

I’m not sure how much you remember, I said through our link, but I saw pieces of your life. From when you were a kid. How you grew up. I think I almost understand, Owl.

We were similar beings now, spiritual entities that seemed to function on a set of rules that neither of us were fully aware of. Our suffering wasn’t comparable, but we shared similar scars — we were playthings of an uncaring world, dolls held together by frayed string and vague delusions that masquerade as hope.

I want to know more about this world, I continued, no longer caring about my composure. I want to change. I don’t want to lose to myself. Let me fight with you. Let me stay by your side — let me taste your joy and tears. You’re the only one who can hear me right now. Please don’t leave me alone.

I wasn’t sure if it was the side effect of the other me awakening, but my thoughts were loud and my desires were clear.

Let me become somebody that can stay beside you.

There lies a thin line between love and obsession, and I could no longer tell the difference.

The other me was correct: I was no more than a desperate child, wishing for a single connection or companion. If I kept going down that path, only God knows what I could’ve done — what I would’ve done, what I’ve already done in the name of mania and despair.

“—That’s not my problem.”

However, all I received was a cold rebuff.

“Do you think you can use me for personal validation? To make yourself feel better? I don’t care what you did. Maybe you did save my life. But I know your type. You think doing things for other people will make your own life better. You think that, in giving your everything, that somebody will accept you for who you are. Really? How stupid can you be? What kind of fucking pathetic thing are you to fall for a delusion like that?”

Owl glared at me from under the covers with burning red eyes, peering into the same depths I tried to keep hidden within.

Perhaps I was mistaken to believe that dedicating oneself to another would eventually provide me with catharsis; some escape from this hell I’ve endured. But as I matched her stare, I realized I wasn’t alone in thinking that.

You’re… crying.

“...Huh?”

She touched her cheek and her hand came back wet. Owl herself may not have been aware of it, but her entire body was shivering. She quickly wiped her eyes and sat up. “Stims. Need one.”

I retrieved her bandolier and watched her pry the cap off and plunge the long, silvery needle directly into a vein on her neck. She gasped as the deep orange bled into her body.

Unlike the other times, there was no breath of relief. She frowned and looked at the syringe, then flung it away like a ruined newspaper. Then she grabbed another.

And another.

She didn’t stop until she went through her entire stash of meds. Then she grabbed her forehead and screamed.

Nia told me the exact composition of her combat serums last night. One part antipsychotics, another pain suppressant, another simulation, all pulled together with a specialized Oracle-approved meldy that destroys memory recall and ravages’ one’s ability to experience basic emotion.

For somebody as thoroughly traumatized as Owl, it was the only way she could continue to function, especially with the additional strain of her Stigmata. Without a body or brain that could actually process said drugs, all that was repressed would come crashing back down on her.

Stay calm. Don’t let your emotions overwhelm you.

My other self was right. I was a damned liar, even if it was by omission — I knew the extent of my abilities and Stigmata since I met Lyra, yet was too afraid to confirm them. But now was no time to hesitate: I reached out with my Cognesis and shouldered the burden for her.

In an instant, my mind swelled with rage and sorrow. They were familiar feelings etched into my being; an endless loneliness blotted out the motivation I had mustered, and the fresh sting of betrayal made me want to taste the nearest blade by shoving it through the roof of my mouth. They were the emotions born of a hollow life spent chasing smoke and reflections. If she felt like this all the time, no wonder a single push from the outside caused her to snap and take her own life. But this much I could handle. After all, I was nothing but a coward, and my fear of death was far greater than her wish to die.

For now, all I could do was seal the emotion away and deal with it later. There were more pressing matters at hand.

The flare-up ended shortly after my intervention. Owl stopped panicking and looked around in a bleary daze while I made my intentions clear:

I need your help. You need mine. There’s something wrong with us. Let’s try to find a solution together.

I saw her pride crumbling before my eyes. She held her head in her hands and heaved.

“Whatever. Just… whatever. I don’t fucking know anymore.”

Thank you, Owl. I’ll save you.

The stage was moving without us. Though the end goal of claiming the artifact known as Whitelight was clear, every single step leading was draped in shadow. The situation was growing more suspicious by the day, doubly so with the connection between Elias and Cassandra. The similarities between Owl, Grimm and I couldn’t have been my chance, either. None of this was a coincidence.

Our office was given a break before our next assignment, and the final goal was still nowhere in sight. But that in and of itself was an opportunity — I still had time to maneuver myself into a favorable position.

A good story reveals its secrets at the proper time for the most drama. It’s a shame that I had no intention of authoring a good story; I needed to start moving yesterday and play my moves now.

The Four Rings were clearly ahead of us in terms of research and knowledge. Instead of trying to compete with them on a level playing field, I could attempt a much simpler solution.

Now that I had Owl’s infiltration and reconnaissance on my side — I was willing to bet that she’d listen to me for at least a little while — I could do something dangerous.

Everybody has people they care about. Everything could be turned into a weapon, and I had just the target in mind. I turned to Owl and, giving her the gentlest hug with my winds, I pitched my modest proposal:

To start, how do you feel about kidnapping and blackmail?