“Have a drink, Yurik. My wife kept some of her single bottle ration for you.” Igor offers. The sound of cap being spun off a glass bottle fills the shortwave followed by delicate, but somehow voluminous and liberal, pouring.

Yurik sighs deeply like his prayers have been answered. “I fear your Polina might be too good for you, Igor.”

“The glass is obviously for you.” Igor retorts quickly. “You cannot have the bottle.”

“Obviously I can!” Yurik shoots back. “Why else would she keep it for me.”

“Enough, Yurik. We have somber matters to update our listeners on.” Igor says, sounding stone faced.

“Yes. The disappearances. I believe the latest news is that the children are still missing. They originally left their apartments to go play in their blocks yards. Is that right, Igor?”

“That’s how the story goes. Four small volunteer search parties have been following any traces or sightings of children roaming Topraks streets the last few days. Many of the volunteers are starting to suspect the worst and calls for turning Toprak’s Recreational Gardens upside down in wake of the homeless infestation are beginning to be heard.” Igor reports sounding doubtful.

“And you don’t think that’s the right move, Igor?” Yurik prompts.

“Not with the latest developments. This news, Yurik, comes from the residents of Toprak that I speak to on a daily basis, my neighbors, cashiers at the store near me, the regular sellers I sometimes chat to on The People’s Main. The talk is about missing homeless. Galya, who’s been seen around the town for years, has been missing for the last two days.”

“Galya?” Yurik interrupts.

“You must have seen him around, Yurik. He’s known for his chequered orange blanket and is often seen hanging around one of the populated blocks yards if not walking to the closest liquor store. Most of the homeless are not tolerated in the blocks yards, but Galya, the sweet old man, was. Apparently he used to sleep underneath stairs of one of the abandoned blocks, sheltered from the elements. One of the local cashiers told me it was her children who noticed him missing first.”

“I think I remember seeing him around, Igor. Always polite and well behaved.”

“That sounds like him. His disappearance is why I think the calls for cleaning up the park are pointless. Because the park cannot explain Galya going missing.”

“I see your point now, Igor. I understand it, but I don’t think the missing children’s parents will listen.”

“I agree. There is nothing the two of us here can do to change their minds. But we can help them.”

“Yes.” Yurik quickly agrees. “To all of our listeners, make sure to keep your eyes and ears open for anything out of the ordinary in our town of Toprak. But do this as you look out your windows or travel only as needed in groups. Experts still advise remaining with loved ones in face of the Minor-Mass Delusions which are reportedly spreading. So while you keep you and your loved ones safe, be on the lookout for foreigners passing through, crying children, vandalism, even asking your children if they know or have seen anything strange in these last few days.”

“Someone must have seen something.” Igor echoes. “The parents of the missing children deserve answers.”

The shortwave quiets for several seconds before the crisp sound of the bottom of a glass smartly hitting the table is heard.

“Thank Polina for me, Igor. Normally I don’t enjoy it, but her lemon infused vodka hit the spot this time.”

“I will.”

“No, I’m serious.” Yurik You must tell your wife how thankful I am.

“Yes.” Igor sounds strained like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing. “I will give her your thanks when she asks me tonight who stole her alcohol reserves.”

“Igor!” Yurik shouts in shock before breaking into laughter.

-

Crying is physically painful for men.

Your body stops you because it is a physically painful act. Similar to cutting off your finger or biting on your tongue. It fights you all the way. From aching tear ducts and a raw throat to a throbbing chest, the pain is physical. When you see a man crying you know the object of his sorrows has defeated his body's reaction. It has overcome him not only emotionally, but physically. And right now I can’t cry and it’s fucking pathetic. I feel like I should but my body won’t let me. It’s not enough, it tells me. I can feel tears welling but the pain of the act pushes them away.

I’m not enough. I’m just one person. Look how easily I was forced and restricted and threatened. I’m not enough.

Look how easily my body broke. My arm snapping like dry wood.

Would it have gone any differently if I didn’t use my greater power, if I wasn’t drained when they closed in? Yes. It would have been worse. I would have been beaten more. I might have gotten a few of my own punches in, but I still would have ended up beaten into submission.

I’m not enough. I was wrong. I was naive. Sometimes you forget that you are all alone and have no one else to rely on but yourself.

When Delusion asked which minor power I wanted, no real thought was given on my end. No considerations made. I went with my gut, which told me to hurry up because I had low blood sugar from missing meals.

It’s wrong. It’s the wrong minor power. I wasn’t thinking clearing down in the tunnels when I chose it.

I am alone. I am not together or part of something more. I have no friends. I am part of no group. No one will help me if I ask. No one will look out for me because they care. I have only what my hand can grasp, and that isn’t much.

There is no one to help me when I make mistakes. To check I’m okay when I take a bad fall. I chose a minor power that doesn’t help me in any way, not when it matters.

I was a fool and these are the consequences.

Violence. It works so well not even I can stop it.

“Delusion?” I poke at the contact earphone.

I want to change my minor power. But maybe I’m not using this earphone right.

At least the whole thing with Radovan is over. I’ve been dreading being found by him for days on end. I’ve been found, and it happened and now it’s done. Cathartic in a sense after how it’s been wearing me down like an abrasive wet cloak. No more looking over my shoulder or hiding. I feel free even if I feel like a fool.

“Mghh.” A muted grunt escapes me as I try set the sticks in the right position.

I’m in the basement at home. There’s a thin little booklet down here that gives basic information on how to set a splint for broken arms and legs. It shows other things too like where to cut off blood flow when there’s a lot of bleeding from a wound. But I’m on the splint page now.

I’m a sweaty mess from the strain and agony it took to get my arm properly aligned. Now it’s the pain of keeping everything in place as I wrap it. Broken hangers and a long roll of bandage. The hard part is trying to make it work with only one arm while you repeatedly flinch from the pain of a fresh break.

I’ll have to replace the bandage before mom notices it’s missing.

Don’t want her to see my arm either. Don’t want her to know. Maybe it’s shame.

Breaks normally take months to heal. Feels like mom finding out will be a coin toss.

I bite down onto one end of the bandage and try to pull it taught with my only working arm. My swollen forearm pulses with pain unhappily. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I don’t know.

Fear of crippling my one arm because I’m doing this all alone stalks the back of my mind. Paranoia, I’m sure.

“Delusion?” I say to the empty basement.

Almost a minute goes by with no response while I check my splint over.

-Sanity?- comes Delusion’s late reply.

Ugh. I forgot about that.

-What do you need?-

“My splint.” I say lifting my broken arm up and immediately regretting it. “Is it going to be okay?”

-The splint is… Acceptable for today and tonight. When you sleep, lie on your back.-

“What’s wrong with it?” I can’t help but whine. It’s taken me hours to do this.

-The splint is not tight or durable enough to last the time it will take for the bones to knit. A new, sturdier, splint will need to be made-

“I’ll have to see if there’s anything I can buy. Was thinking of getting batteries and a few other things tomorrow from the neighbouring city, Chervoryska, if I feel okay.”

No chance I can shop around here in Toprak and have word get back to Radovan that I’m spending more money than I should be able to.

-I offer services too, Sanity-

Grinds on my nerves every time he says that.

-Medicine that will reduce the time your body will take to heal a broken arm. But I don’t offer miracles. Instead of two full months in a splint to heal your arm, medicine traded for with your accumulated Ambit completions will reduce the healing time down to one month or three weeks-

“Do I have enough? Halving the time to heal my broken arm sounds worth it.” Two months of living like an old man. I don’t think I can handle that.

-The first use is considered a free demonstration. Let the results gain your trust rather than my words. I know you, Sanity. Let the ends justify the means-

I expected nothing but some help with not crippling myself. How does Delusion keep coming through for me.

“How do I, uh, receive it?” It’s as weird to say as it is to think of.

My mind goes back to the strange metal scales that Delusion calls a helmet. I still need to figure out how to use that.

-A small container, otherwise your basin will do. You must drink the bottle's entire contents. You cannot save some of this medicine to try and repeat the effect when you break another bone.-

I move to the kitchen quickly - then gingerly after a hard reminder. The amount of jostling my arm receives even from normal movement is a shocking reminder conveyed in pain every time.

Containers, containers. Searching for them in the bottom cupboards leads nowhere.

“How about a bowl?” I say feeling sheepish.

-A bowl will suffice. Fill the bowl with water to the brim and your bottle will appear-

There’s a dirty bowl in the sink from mom’s breakfast. That will have to do.

I spin the tap on for a few seconds and pull the bowl away to the counter.

A small bottle is already there. It looks almost the same as the tiny bottle used to contain that citrus scented liquid and the neon pink nub. Except, this one is completely filled with brown liquid.

Water drips down the side of the bowl; displaced water from when the bottle appeared and to cause a small overflow.

“I just drink it?”

-All of it-

Unease begins to settle on me as I place the bottle down on the table and stare at it. This is about trust. How much do I trust Delusion? He can be an asshole sometimes but I don’t think he’s ever led me astray or given me bad advice. Even the pink nub I baked into an earphone is fine, and I was uncertain about it too.

Reminds me of what Delusion said just over a week ago.

Aleks, you have nothing I don’t have, nothing I can’t take, nothing I want. There is no purpose to deceiving you when you have nothing to offer and, I, nothing to gain.

Words that would suit a deceiver well. But…

It’s hard to argue against Delusion based on our interactions. The promise of my arm healing in only three weeks to a month is too much to pass up. While Delusions doesn’t exude trustworthiness, and can be unfair on occasion, he’s never wronged me.

The glass bottle feels cool to the touch as my one hand grapples with it, trying to pop the cork without spilling the contents everywhere. A good fifteen minutes of patience releases it. I bit it in the end, once my fingers had pulled the cork out enough. Biting it was a mistake.

A foul taste spreads through my mouth from tongue to palate as though I have an entire mouthful of the liquid sloshing around. But I only felt a single drop roll from the cork to my lip and then taste buds. It’s oily and cloying, sticking to my throat like I’m breathing it in. It tastes of old apples, soft brown mushy ones.

I begin coughing, trying to clear the cloying feeling in my throat.

-You must drink it all- Delusion insists.

“Why does it taste so disgusting?” I say with tears in my eyes.

-Medicine will be abused if it is appetising-

Logical, sure. But practical? I don’t know.

The sooner I drink this the better. I only have to drink it once.

I grab the bottle and gulp it down, gagging minimally. My stomach heaves once, twice, three times and I realise the medicine isn’t going to stay down. But it must. I can’t vomit this stuff up and have to wait an extra month for my arm to heal. I close up my throat to fight my contracting stomach. I can’t throw this up. Three weeks to a month, I can’t throw it up.

-Let your body work. Obstructing it is no help-

Muscles I can’t control flex in synchronised bursts, jerking my stomach around. I fight it for a few more moments before giving way as Delusion said.

My abdomen tenses and I expel the brown liquid of rotting apples down the sink. Passing it through my mouth again forces me to dry heave several times.

-Your arm will heal well, once you set it with a more robust splint tomorrow. As for the medicine, this is how it must be. You cannot purposely let your body be wounded or broken because of a reliance at the back of your mind-

I gather myself up after the dry heaving and manage to say “So it’s still going to work?”

-Yes-

I hate Delusion sometimes. Always the hard way, always a lesson to learn. Now I have to stand here rinsing some kind of rotten apple oil from my mouth.

Good thing I didn’t drink it in the basement or I would be no better than Lera. Come to think of it…

“What medicine do you have for detoxing drug addicts or dealing with withdrawals?”

-Nothing you have enough Ambit completions for. Medicine must be expensive and revolting to stop abuse-

I’m not really sure how to say I want to kill Radovan and his goons then kidnap my sister and help her recover from her addiction.

“My sister is a drug addict.” I can’t help but spit more of the phantom rotten apple oil out. “I want to help her detox and get through her withdrawals.”

-An interesting motivation, Sanity. These challenges can be faced with more traditional methods, surely? Seeking medicine of a similar calibre to your bone knitting remedy is excessive without strenuous circumstances-

“I want to know the possibilities, keep all my options open.”

-The least troublesome method will be to find someone who’s greater power allows them to deal with detoxing and withdrawals, or convince someone to take a greater power that would have that capability-

“The least troublesome, are you sure?”

-Yes. But let me explain greater powers a little more. These gifts are meant for conflict, for combat. There’s no greater power out there for healing. To heal is not an act of aggression. You cannot heal someone's wounds and expect the result of killing them. But there are still ways to achieve useful, non-aggressive, acts with greater powers. The simplest example being the burnt man you ran into. He could warm himself or cook his food solely using his greater power. These are comitants. So out there in the world, you could find somebody who’s greater powers comitant is healing in some form. Meaning there could also be a comitant capable of dealing with detoxing and even withdrawal-

Delusion doesn’t seem to grasp the practicality of what he’s suggesting. In order to find someone with that comitant we would have to be on good terms and they would have to willing share information on their comitant. That’s ignoring running into them in the first place. Working off of this advice of Delusions’ seems like a dream for someone of incredible naivety.

But convincing someone to pick that kind of a power… That holds promise.

Most likely not for me though. I don’t have anyone to convince.

“Going to brush my teeth after that medicine.” There’s only so much rinsing and spitting you can do. “Thanks, Delusion.”

-Sanity-

Uggh. It gets worse every time.

-Your helmet. I must still tell you how it works-

“Right.” I say grabbing my toothbrush. “Give me five minutes.”

Talking with Delusion has helped calm me down. The disgusting medicine also changed my train of thought. When I was trying to get the splint to work earlier I felt half on the brink of throwing Lera’s packed boxes around and trying to kill Radovan. Neither actions would have helped. It’s the anger and frustration. Helplessness too I guess.

I need more distractions to keep me busy before I sleep. The helmet will work.

Can’t even remember where I put it. Feels like so much has happened since those large packaged chrome plates appeared in the basin and I was too tired to bother with it. Delusion has been patient with me I guess.

“Do you know where the Helmet is, Delusion? Would save me from looking for it. The basement or my bedroom?”

-You stored the pieces underneath your bed. I’m surprised you would use your hard earned Ambit completions this way, Sanity-

Delusion’s laughing at me. He isn’t showing it, but I can tell.

“Why did you let me? I forgot.” I grouch. “I’m delirious with pain from a broken arm.”

Under my bed. I half expect to pull out a wad of Kruna when I stick my hand under.

Man made scales, silver plates of spherical curves asymmetrical in design . It’s all coming back to me. But I still don’t understand how this is a helmet. A dozen separate pieces and none in the shape of a skull cap. Each sliver of polished silver has a set of holes that don’t pierce all the way through and hooks of a similar size on one side, making me think of hinges.

“I have no idea how this works.” I say while putting the pieces on my bed. “Are you still sure it’s a helmet?”

-A concussion prevention helmet. The pieces interlock so you can start assembling it from any point and continue until there are no pieces left-

I set to work awkwardly with only one arm.

One polished silver scale becomes two. Two polished silver scales become three. Occasionally two scales hinges and edges don’t line up so I set one of them to the side and carry on. It takes some switching back and forth between them but soon I’ve linked four then six then eight of the polished silver scales. They form a chain reminding me of a centipede’s armoured segments. Only a few more pieces and they should all be linked. But I still can’t tell how it’s meant to be a helmet. I add the last few silver scales and… I still don’t know what it is or how it works. The chain of segments is longer, sure.

“Now what?”

-You’ve never enjoyed puzzling out a mystery, Sanity?-

I let out a sigh. No, I never have.

-Pick the helmet up and turn it over so its smooth shell is against the bed. Can you feel how the linked segments can only bend a certain way?-

“Yes.” Wish he would just get on with it.

-Pick up one end and roll it to the other. Do you see how it takes on the shape of a sphere? It offers total protection except for that hole, which is for your neck-

It’s like a silver ball, well almost.

“How am I going to see?!” I can’t help but say in exasperation. “There are no holes for my face. I probably can’t even breathe with it on. Look how small the hole for my neck is. I can’t fit my head through there.”

-Think of a snake or a worm. These linked scales coil around themselves until one end reaches the other and a sphere is formed. That is how you put the helmet on, Sanity. You coil it around your head.-

Ooh, he’s looking down on me now. Like I’m a little kid who can’t put his clothes on.

-As for breathing or vision, once you’ve tried the helmet on you will understand-

I kneel down and prepare to press my face onto the inside of the scales. Putting this thing on is going to feel so dumb.

-Not that way or you could end up guillotining yourself. Yes, like that. Now press your face into the centre of the chain, that’s the front. Where the first scale and the last scale join is the back. You’ve got your shirt caught in it. This part can be difficult but you must try to link the first scale and the last together-

Ten minutes of struggling later, with only one hand, and I manage to link the last scales up.

“I still can’t see. I told you I wouldn’t be able to see, Delusion. I can’t see through metal.”

-You must still tighten the helmet into place. Feel around inside the back of it. A small lever is made available once all the scales are linked. Your helmet is a feat of exact precisions-

“Getting this thing off is going to be hell.” I grumble

-Yes, that’s it. The lever will be stiff at first, but the more you push it to tighten the easier it will become. Like a pendulum, open and closed is all it knows. The lever wants to be either, but never in the middle-

“I get it.” I only have one arm, dammit.

The lever is small and hidden away inside, but just in reach of my fingers. I never noticed it on any of the scales I handled while linking everything together. Though Delusion did say it would be made available once all the scales are linked. Some mechanism must trigger it.

I prod the lever gently with a single finger. It’s tight. I push all three fingers up there so I can and begin pulling at it.

I can feel the silver scales shift slightly, a tiny degree of movement here and there. It’s as though they’re trying to conform to the shape of my skull and become a single object. Suddenly my fingers push past the crescent of the lever’s swing and the lever begins pulling my fingers rather than them pulling the lever. The pull ends as suddenly as it started. The lever wants to reverberate, so taught and exact is its ending point.

Remarkable.

Curious fingers prod at it again but eventually retreat to flash in front of my eyes and make sure my vision isn’t some kind of a trick in the darkness of this bucket.

“How can I see? Before I couldn’t, now I can. I don’t understand it.”

-Thousands of microscopic holes in the front of the helmet. The lever tightening the helmet has perfectly aligned and angled the face plates so the light that enters goes straight to your pupil. But that’s not all it did. Feel your helmet. No longer is it a thing of linked plates-

Delusion is right. The helmet feels like a perfectly smooth sphere against my hand. No join or hinge or overlap of scales. One single smooth surface.

The most amazing part is still the vision. I’ve lost some of my peripheral vision, but very little. Though there is still a vague sense that my eyes are staring at the inside of a pot. I guess it’s similar to how your brain ignores your nose. It’s kind of there if you concentrate on it, but you never do because there are other things to look at.

“What's the point of it going all smooth? Being properly fixed to my head is good but I’m not sure what the point of being a smooth sphere is.”

-Difficult to hold onto. Awkward to strike when not in an optimal position. Blows easily slide, wasting force-

The Helmet is heavy. I wonder if Delusion took that into consideration.

“It’s so shiny and reflective. I’ve been planning to use it at night mostly. Now I’m not sure how I’ll manage.”

-The problems you face are terrifying, Sanity-

What an asshole. Why did I even want to talk to him again?

Oh right.

“Delusion, I want to change my minor power. The speed stuff I chose, the being faster, I’m not sure if it does anything and also it’s not for me. It would help me much more if I was tougher.”

-You are unsure as to what it does?-

I almost think Delusion’s gone on one of his silent spells when he starts talking again.

-Aleks, think back to the first Mortiferous Slug you encountered. It surprised you, practically an ambush, as it dropped from the ceiling down onto you. But you managed to move out of the way. Then there’s your most recent skirmish yesterday. You were ambushed again by someone appearing from the shadows with the intention of harming you. You reacted first and came to no harm. To be faster means improved reaction times and heightened speed when you put your will into it-

Came to no harm.

What a joke. My arm being broken afterwards sure is harm. But I guess Delusion means from what Lubov had in mind.

“I thought that was just me normally-”

-That is you normally, now-

“I get it. But, it’s not enough for me.” I try to explain. “For someone else it would be more than enough, I’m sure, and they would be really happy about it.”

-Is that rapacity I hear in your voice?-

“What?” I ask in confusion.

-Greed-

Oh.

“No. I’m not asking for more. I was hoping I could trade the speed for toughness that grows, like my greater power. Everything has happened pretty suddenly, you know?”

-With growth, additional minor powers are earned-

“How? I was thinking of swapping mine out, but I wouldn’t mind earning another then.”

-The answer to this question will drain the remaining Ambit completions you have managed to accumulate. Are you sure?-

Oh.

Either I'll need to enter the next Ambit in a week with this broken arm, or I can somehow put it off. Maybe sell mine while I’m injured and then collect at a later date. That still feels like I’m losing out though.

“What do you think? If obtaining another minor power is in my grasp then I would like to know.”

-That is another question, Sanity-

“Tell me then.” I sigh. “I can always do more Ambits.”

-You must reach the limits of the human body. The limit of its strength, speed and toughness-

The limits of the human body. According to what Delusion has said in the past, I should be partially on my way to that. Something about my greater power growing as I use it more often and as I complete Ambits, which should intern affect my body.

“The more I use my greater power and the more Ambits I complete will help me with that, right?”

-I am afraid you have depleted your stores of Ambit completions, Sanity. You are free to contact me in the future, though my answers will not satisfy you. As a show of goodwill, I will leave you with one last piece of advice. Wait a few weeks to recover before entering your own personal Ambit. Having both your arms will aid you, but that choice is yours to make. Your next personal Ambit will not be like the others-

No Ambit this week and maybe the next week too is what Delusions is saying. The danger they pose will increase with me missing a few weeks, but I guess he’s saying going in so soon after having an arm broken is an even greater risk.

“Delusion?”

He doesn’t answer.

I’ll take it slow for the rest of the day and keep my homemade splint in good condition until I can go to the shops tomorrow. I’m going to need to buy a few things first before I start following Radovan.