[Can’t Opt Out]

Olivier’s Censor burned. It wasn’t something he had much experience with, having rarely pushed his Censor or the abilities and functions it was running past the point that the hardware could handle. It wasn’t exactly a secret that low- and non-devs actually needed better quality Censors to use their abilities to their full extent. Usually, this wasn’t an issue for the simple fact that they weren’t at war.

War pushed innovation faster and faster until it was a spiralling, uncontrollable thing, leaving bodies that could never be pieces back together and secrets that could never be taken back in its wake. In war, Censor hardware became more resilient, more cooling, more of everything because it was required to keep Baalphorians safe. Currently, they weren’t at war and such innovations were unnecessary. So, just as the industry that pushed out new skills and functions and Censor Systems in general had long been dead, even if it was slowly regaining a heartbeat under the influence of Halen and Hail, the need for better Censor hardware was also a flat line of innovation.

Axelle had babbled about a new piece of hardware several months ago, but it was rare for anyone to bother upgrading. The new hardware would be installed into new Censor owners, would replace the occasional damaged Censor, and perhaps some law enforcement—and criminals—would have it installed. Such upgrades were not a pleasant experience, and although Axelle was interested it having her own Censor upgraded, after hearing Halen talk about his own experience recovering from the upgrade and adjusting to having a new Censor…

Well, she had sidelined the intention to upgrade for the time being. Olivier had listened to all of this with mild interest. At the time, he had held no intention of upgrading his own Censor—his awareness that he could make use of a more powerful Censor didn’t mean he wanted to, nor even that he would, after all—but he had still catalogued this information. Mostly, he thought it interesting that Halen—then still Halen Mhrina within his mind—had bothered upgrading his Censor. He had wondered, in a passive sort of way, whether the young man actually made use of the increased resources.

Only knowing of the man through stories and the increasingly common news articles on him, Olivier had assumed it would be a toss up as to whether he would actually utilize the upgrade, or if it would become something of a bragging right. Such things were unfortunately common within the sphere of lawyers. The number of times lawyers bragged about attending some lecture or another, about reading some long-winded court opinion, about knowing such-and-such obscure precedent, was astounding. It wasn’t that many of them would ever make use of such odd mashes of information—instead, they just wanted to claim they had such information*.*

Having now met Halen, as well as Emilia, Olivier thought it more likely that they were actually using their upgraded Censors—at least, Olivier was assuming Emilia had upgraded her. In his mind, there was this tangle of thoughts that said maybe she had told him she had, or maybe he had overheard her mention it to someone else?

Had he mentioned his Censor was burning? It was burning and aching and the moment he was back in Baalphoria he was arranging to have it upgraded and then begging someone—anyone—to teach him combat skills.

The clones.

Halen.

Fuck—he would get down on his knees and beg Emilia to teach him if he had to. He would offer himself up to her as a sex slave if it would lead to him never feeling this helpless again—although, there was a good chance that once his brain was functioning properly again, he would have no intention of offering her any such thing.

“Can you figure out who they are?” Porsq asked from where he had been tucked into Olivier’s chest while they hid.

Fortunately, the place they had been able to sequester themselves—themselves being himself, Porsq, Xavier, and the little nameless girl—had a cool metal for him to lean his head against, trying to eke out even the smallest bit of cooling for his Censor. It wasn’t working well, the metal unfortunately being something with high thermal conductivity. As a result, he kept having to shift their group about a little, every twitch of his body a horrible question upon the world and their current predicament because what was worse: whoever was lingering just outside of Cheska’s range noticing they were there, or his Censor giving up on its attempts to more concretely locate the person and figure out who it was.

Porsq had felt the person as they moved through the open courtyard. They were still a ways off—far enough off that unless the person were in a near-perfect position to see between buildings and the metal sculptures that dotted the area, it was unlikely they had seen their group. It didn’t matter, and they had all stilled, the few of them who were in more precarious and visible locations slinking off into the shadows. Cheska had been carrying the little girl, while Porsq had been travelling with Izurial. Not wanting either to find themselves in the middle of a sudden battle, they had been sent back to Olivier, while Cheska and Izurial had ended up hiding together.

Unfortunately, while his own combat and defensive skills would be questionable at best, Olivier was still potentially the safest person for the children to be with. If needed, he could carry both of the smaller children at once—and really, he could probably throw Porsq over his shoulder and run with all three for a while as well—while the fact that Emilia might be able to find him eventually meant backup was more likely to show up for him than anyone else.

Who knew when that backup might come, however.

So far, they didn’t need backup, but the reality that Porsq had pinpointed someone who might be searching for them wasn’t ideal. That might was the unfortunate part of the preteen’s abilities: while he could feel and manipulate mental states, and to some extent, glean emotions from whatever he felt, he could only identify people he knew well based on what he felt.

“There are some people who are so unique I can recognize them after meeting them only once,” the boy had explained, shortly after they had hidden from the woman within the holding cells, this Rayleen apparently having one of the most unique minds either Porsq or Cheska had ever felt.

Cheska had added her own experience into the mix, saying it was similar for her, but as most thoughts tasted different, she had a slightly easier time recognizing people after feeling their thoughts only once. The young woman had also agreed that Rayleen’s mind was a singularly unique thing. “Vtraní’s is pretty unique as well?” the girl had stated, Porsq agreeing that they were one of the people he had been able to identify after only meet them once.

Olivier had been quite interested in that, and after some questioning, the boy had agreed that Vtraní was mostly just sad. “I don’t think they like it here—and, so…”

Porsq had been silent for a while, Cheska snickering to herself that his brain was a flood of thoughts as he tried to pull his words together. While there had been a few people in their then-still-huge group who had looked liable to tell her not to laugh at the preteen for having the sense to think through what he wanted to say, rather than simply blurt his disordered thoughts out, it had been Xavier who said something.

The little boy was already adorable, but him telling Cheska not to be mean, and that thinking was important and no one should be reprimanded for thinking, had just cemented the boy into Olivier’s heart even further. That connection he had to so many of the children was perhaps another of the reasons he had ended up as babysitter for the younger members of their group, save their still unnamed teenager, who was too far away to make coming back to him a sensible decision at the moment. The teenager had been told that, if she could get back to his group safely, she should do so. For the moment, she remained with Cravena, tucked far across the courtyard.

The reality remained, however, that everyone trusted him to do his best to keep the children safe, something they would all do, but that some of them were better suited for than others.

Eventually, Porsq had quietly told him that Vtraní was both sad and just sort of empty. “They don’t like it here, and they do these small things to help people out? It isn’t a lot, but they do what they can? I don’t even think most people notice them doing it—which I think is part of the point. If they aren’t actively causing ripples, Fräthk doesn’t care too much.” Hesitating a moment, the boy had admitted that he thought the biggest thing Vtraní did was make it clear that while they were around, none of Fräthk’s people were to touch Izurial. “They can’t completely stop it—and I get the feeling sometimes that Vtraní spends little of their time at their actual apartment. Instead, I think they go between the holding cells where the- the sex slaves are, trying to make sure they feel safe even just a few days a month. They can’t stop Fräthk from giving them out to allies as payment or bribery, but Vtraní is scary enough that no one who works for Fräthk will touch them, at least while they’re around.”

The reality that Porsq was fully aware of what sorts of things Izurial—and other captives of Fräthk—were made to do had been horrifying for Olivier. It had been even more horrifying to reality that neither of the younger children seemed surprised by Porsq’s words.

There was no wondering what he meant. No question of what a sex slave was. Instead, there was just acceptance and a terrible knowledge of how cruel people could be in their eyes as they listened.

Then, of course, Xavier had whispered into his chest—this had been at one of the points where Olivier had been left holding the little boy while his now gone caretaker helped open a door—that his mother had once told him that if he ever needed help—but it had to be big help—to ask Vtraní. Porsq had agreed with that sentiment, stating that while a lot of the adults were afraid of them—and for good reason, given how powerful they were—it was well known Vtraní didn’t hurt children.

“Plus, they really aren’t that scary,” Porsq had insisted. More than a few of the adults had immediately told the boy he was crazy, the woman holding the little nameless girl telling the child not to not listen to Porsq on this topic. According to both her and many of the other adults, Vtraní was a terrible, terrifying being who was not to be trusted, ever.

At the time, Olivier had been glad for the conversation, something settling within him at the reality that this person he had only met once and didn’t know—might never see again—wasn’t such a terrible person that a boy who could glean information about their mental state was afraid of them. The reality that they also tried to help as they could as well…

Olivier’s thoughts snapped taut as an image filtered through his brain, screaming and tearing itself apart as his genetics were pulled as far as they could. The person really was on the very edge of his range—an indication that out of all the things that might be going around inside Porsq’s own genetic code, he likely had at least a few Perfect Categories—and that seemed… odd.

What were the chances this person that Porsq recognized as familiar, but not familiar enough to identify, had stopped right where their groups would have difficulty feeling one another out? The fact that the person wasn’t moving, and that from what Olivier could make out through the static that was filling his brain and the scattered noise of his recon skill reaching its absolute limit, the person was also facing their way, seemed a tad too coincidental.

Long blonde hair—or maybe it had a reddish tint?—fluttered in some sort of wind. No wind down here—an oddity within the cavern’s perpetually dead air. Scruffy—a beard? Not long. Not short. They were short—tiny, even. Four feet? Maybe shorter.

A shudder racketed through Olivier because he had been told about the people to look out for, and while the opinion of so much of the group that Vtraní was dangerous definitely left a taste in his soul that his allies might not be the best judges of character, in this case, Porsq had also agreed with everyone’s assessment.

“The one time I escaped, Hwris was the one to find me. They passed me off to someone else so fast, once I was caught. I didn’t even put up a fight. All I wanted was to be gone from that man and the blackness within him, even if it meant having to come back here.” Porsq had shuddered then, Izurial already there and wrapping his arms around the boy.

“They aren’t a good person,” the silverstrain had stated, the blankness in his eyes telling Olivier all he needed to know about Izurial’s own relationship with this Hwris. “If we run into him, run. Don’t try and fight him. Just run, and hope he doesn’t catch up.”