Chương 12: Refraction

Shrike stands in a massive room of white ceramic tiles, lit only by the sunlight that flows through the windows that hang along the upper edge of the walls like a gymnasium. Above her is an observation deck with a one way mirror, where she knows Martin is currently observing her, along with a half-dozen MBR scientists. Directly in front of Shrike, two soldiers, a researcher in contact with the observation deck, and a myriad of weapons and gear.

After the incident with Iguana, she has been instructed by MBR to "provide greater understanding of sapient moon-rank partners" via what amounts to using her projections as target practice while hooked up to a half-dozen measuring devices. She agreed on two conditions. First, she will always have clearance to leave the military base at will. Second, Martin is allowed to supervise to ensure she is not being harmed. Easy, simple terms that they agreed to after an hour of debate.

Humans are frustrating, and researchers are bastards. A voice crackles over an intercom system, the multiple speakers not quite in sync, causing the announcement to echo with a tiny delay.

"All tests conducted at 10 meters unless otherwise specified. Test one, nine millimeter pistol." The researcher fires a bullet into a row of ten hexagonal projections she created. They are of varying strength, designed to test the limits of her capability. The 9mm round is caught by the first of the ten. Judging by how large the checklist the researcher marks is, she imagines this will take some time.

"Test twenty-two, fifty caliber rifle sealed with Imbalance sigil." She watches the bullet shatter through six of the layers, cringing as she feels the energy being broken. It's deeply uncomfortable to have her projections broken, especially so many at once.

"Test thirty-seven, 20 mm anti-materiel." One of the soldiers fires, and Shrike watches as it shatters eight of the ten barriers. The brutal tearing away of energy feels like being shot as she collapses to her hands and knees, almost vomiting from the strain. Her forearms shaking, she slowly pushes herself back up and gives a thumbs up to the one-way glass. There can't be too many more.

"Finally, last one. Test forty-one, 9mm handgun sealed with 'Refract' sigil." Shrike maintains the ten layers, as silly as it feels. The most a 9mm has done so far was two. Humans love to waste time on every tiny detail, she thinks. The bullets flies forward. Within a tenth of a second, every single barrier Shrike created is carved through, and are no longer bound by the hexagonal shape she keeps them in.

Before blinking out, they explode outward in sharp, violent blades of hardened light that shatter windows and tear through the floor, ceiling, and walls, leaving thin gashes no thicker than paper. The sturdier layers of her barriers radiate photon-thin shards and needles like a sea urchin, piercing hundreds of feet throughout the building.

One of the soldiers on guard catches a thin beam of condensed light through the eye, killing him instantly and unceremoniously, the event concluding before he can so much as hit the ground. The observation deck's mirrored window is smashed by one of the extending spires, barely missing a researcher and the intern giving her the coffee she ordered.

A chunk of ceiling on the other end of the large room is carved away, and slowly sinks downward before collapsing down on the floors below it exposing the bright blue sky above, setting off several different alarms and sirens. The others on the ground escape with only small lacerations and punctures, except Shrike. She remains perfectly whole as her eyes go dim gray. She collapses to the ground like a dropped rope, her heart rate monitor tanking from its usual 200 beats per minute to barely over 10.

Martin stands perfectly still, bleeding lightly from where his cheek was nicked by a fragment of broken glass. He desperately tries to overpower his shock, finally breaking free of it and rushing down to the testing floor. What the fuck just happened? Dr. Stolatz and several of his colleagues sit inside a temporary meeting room off-site, the research building still too damaged to be used safely. Fortunately, on-site storage was undamaged, so there wasn't a massive release of captured magical beasts.

That's the only upside in the situation. The research and military heads yell and curse at each other, until they eventually settle on a single catalyst for the disaster: whoever decided on developing a new sigil to refract light and sending it into the barriers made of solid light. Three deaths, twelve injuries, a hundred million dollars in damages, and repairs that will take months to complete.

Caused by recklessness with a highly dangerous magical beast who is now presumed brain-dead, and also happened to be one of the most effective agents in the state. Dr. Stolatz tries to defend himself and his thought processes. It is far, far too late.

"Hey, Shrike." Martin sits in the infirmary's makeshift hot room, set up just like last time. Thankfully it was far enough away from the testing room that it remained undamaged. He doesn't notice the sweat dripping off him, as he sits down on the bed.

"Sorry I'm late, got caught in traffic." It's been a week, he thinks. She still has a faint heartbeat, while her brain activity has slowed to only include the most basic functions. Martin believes it to be some kind of temporary hibernation, hoping against hope that she'll recover. He's the only one who does. Still, Martin stays with her in twenty minute intervals, broken up by drinking a few bottles of cool water outside the room and waiting for his own temperature to go back to normal.

For eight to ten hours a day, for the entire week.

"Jesus..." Ferret looks at Martin. A sweaty, soaking, unshaven, unwashed mess.

"You have to take a break. I'll take over for you here. Go home, take an actual shower, sleep in an actual bed. This is going to kill you." Martin grunts, though Ferret can't tell what its supposed to mean. Too much light. Too much light. Too much light. A singular thought that has coalesced in her brief consciousness. Shrike stumbles out of the hospital bed, onto the floor, nearly passing out as the IV is ripped from her arm. Too much light. She bats the curtains in her room closed, the sun is too bright.

Still too much light. She slowly half crawls, half walks to the lightswitch, turning off the blacklight in the room, before collapsing on the floor. It's another full day before Shrike wakes up in bed again, this time, the room is entirely dark. No machines, no sound. She would believe it was a dream if she wasn't in so much pain. She's like a deep wound that ran out of blood, veins pumping futility. It's a nauseating feeling that leaves her disoriented and vulnerable. Where is she? What is she laying on?

Her eyes are covered with something, is she dead? No, the dead do not feel pain. Her closest friend taught her that. A man walks in. He starts speaking in a confusing tongue, saying 'Shrike' a lot, as if it were her name. Her name is Achiq, not Shrike.

"Yaku?" She asks. She's so thirsty, she thinks, as she drifts off to sleep again. After another two full days, she lurches up with a start. What the hell? Where is she? She rips off the sleep mask, and still sees only blackness, beyond a tiny, faint red dot of something plugged in off in the corner. Her eyes burn looking at it, as she puts the mask back on. The first thing she realizes is that she can't sense temperatures, maybe because everything in the room is too hot? What was the last thing she remembered?

The fireplace. Martin. Someone shooting guns at her barriers. Maybe they tried something so powerful it knocked her out for a few hours? Likely, explains her status, she thinks. Best to just stay put, wait it out until someone comes in to check. There's a painful void in her where she usually stores her light, like a used toothpaste tube rolled tight to squeeze every last drop out. Even the idea of light makes her nauseous. After an hour or so, Martin enters. She can tell from the way he knocks on doors.

One long, then two short. He enters with a polite "Achiq?" She gets a strange burst of a duplicated memory, something Martin called 'deja vu.' She's surprised he remembers her telling him the name all those months ago.

"Hello, Martin," she responds.

"Sh-shrike?!" His voice is surprised, the exhaustion dyed bright with relief.

"Yes, that is me. I would have assumed my voice was familiar enough by now to recognize in the dark..." She's somewhat hurt by the fact he didn't recognize her voice. They had been working together for some time, as such he should know her voice, correct? She believed they were closer friends. She is hugged tightly, desperately, Martin clinging on to her like she's falling off a cliff. She awkwardly returns the hug, reminding herself it is rude to tell people they have a foul smell.

Though usually she doesn't particularly enjoy physical contact, right now, with Martin, she's very happy for the hug. He maintains his hold on her.

"I thought you were gone, you were out for so long, and then you started speaking in another language, and..." He finishes the sentence with an even tighter squeeze. It pops something in her back, which she notes feels surprisingly good.

"Martin, please tell me what happened." So many specifics she wants to know, but the general picture must come first. A thread to branch from. Her thought processes are distorted, sluggishly moving from one to the next, bleeding into each other on the edges. She stays in her current one: interpersonal, for the sake of staying fully alert. Far from the most efficient at the moment, but it will have to do. Martin, breaking the hug but refusing to let go of her hands, explains.

A 'refract' sigil causing a catastrophe, three dead, more wounded. She's been unconscious for a week before moving at all, and was assumed brain dead. All the information writhes around her head like a sidewalk-stranded earthworm. People died from that testing? The building collapsed in part? Oh, he's been staying with her for hours every day despite the heat. A part of her wants to chastise him for putting himself at risk when his presence could not have a healing effect, but another part makes her feel...

what is the emotion for happy and sad and cared for? She does not know, and does not ask. Right now, she thinks, he needs more help than she does. Once allowed to leave on condition she remains in her house and yard until further notice, Shrike is taken back home by Martin. Everything feels slightly different, as though her blankets are rougher, the carpet softer, her phone louder, food more bitter. She takes tiny peeks at the fire, each one a searing pain.

She tries the same with the December sun, but can't even manage to look at the sky without immense pain, let alone the giant ball of fire hanging above. Martin has been pacing the room. Shrike is unsure why he needs to do that now that she has been home for several hours. Is the situation not resolved? No, it must not be. She is not herself. Or perhaps it is simply that he has lasting trauma from the event. It is hard to tell over the span of a few hours since she woke up again.

He insists in sleeping on the couch only a few feet from her. She does not complain. It is nice to have him nearby. She feels very vulnerable without any type of barrier, and Martin is protective. It is also nice to hear his voice, and his snoring, though that reasoning too evades her. Is it accidental music, resonating in her? Regardless, it is comforting. Once he is sound asleep, she stumbles to the back door, opening it as quietly as possible, and tries to look at the moon, a fraction of reflected sunlight.

Nope, still too bright. She looks up at the stars. It's somewhat cloudy, so they are all masked, most entirely missing. This much, she notes, is tolerable for now. She looks up at the stars for barely half an hour until a panicked Martin scoops her up like a lost child and places her back in front of the fire, pleading with her to stay put when he's asleep. A typical Martin action, she thinks. Overly protective yet gentle and caring.

Something she has appreciated more lately, though has found slightly condescending. She cycles through her thought processes, noting that they've mostly differentiated themselves again, but seem changed in a way she can't pinpoint. Less rigid, maybe? She dreams of something new that night. No hot sand, no cold forest. She dreams of nothing. Perfect blackness, until she wakes up to more of the same. She resolves to force herself through the pain light causes her. It may be like a balloon, she thinks.

Difficult to inflate at first, but easier the further she gets. If she can get past the initial roughness...

"Martin, I will be in the backyard." He gives her a quick hug. He smells better now.

"Okay. If you need me, I'll be right here. Be careful." Be careful? She lets it go. He meant no harm, though it stung her somewhat. She has some level of pride in herself, as a capable person, one who doesn't need to be babied when simply walking outside. She intends to prove it, partly to herself, as she rips off the sleep mask that was covering her face and stares into the sun. Martin looks out the window as Shrike walks outside, trying not to stress himself any more than he already is. She's okay.

She's just in the yard. She's... why is she taking off the blindfold?! He runs outside, trying to cover her eyes, but Shrike pushes him back with an angry, wordless yell as she stares into the sun. Tears stream down her eyes as she pries them open with her fingers, a resolved grimace fighting against herself. Her entire body is shaking. Shrike feels pain that invades every single nerve ending, every cell. Burning alive, eyes melting, bones disintegrating.

Everything is agony, a slight breeze on her skin like a thousand hornet stings. The sky turns yellow, then red, then crimson... before snapping back to blue when she lets herself blink once. After what must have only been thirty seconds, she lets go of her eyelids. They stay open on their own now, blinking away the tears. She looks at Martin, her eyes completely bloodshot with brilliant golden irises, not a drop of white to be seen. Shrike sees in his expression a mix of care and understanding.

The things she prefers to see in him. She stumbles over to him, collapsing into his arms, the pain gone but the memory lingering. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"That was the single most unpleasant thing I have done in my entire memory... please do not let MBR do more tests."

"I'd whisk you away before I let them try anything again." There's no humor in his voice.

"Good." She closes her eyes, more to relieve the faintly lingering dry pain than to avoid light now. He holds her for a little longer in the grass, before bringing her inside. Shrike wakes up, unsure of the time. She feels around for her phone, failing to find it. Her heat sensing still seems to be damaged. No, more than damaged. Its as though it never existed in the first place. She peeks open an eye, and with seeing only sunlight and firelight, she gets up. She walks to the bathroom, looking in the mirror.

Her eyes are still pools of blood, only her pupil and irises breaking up the solid red. That's not ideal, she thinks. She goes to shut the blinds in the bathroom, but realizes they already are. Her mind is missing a step, as she looks up at the incandescent lightbulb. So that's what they look like when lit, she thinks. Wait. Her first thought upon the realization is how to tell Martin. Or rather, how to not tell him. Humans enjoy surprises, and this is a large one.

"Martin, can you assist me with something?" She asks from beside the fireplace, only slightly louder than her regular speaking tone. He half-jogs down the stairs after a few seconds.

"Yeah, of course. You okay?" She nods, pulling out her phone.

"Which of these squares leads to the message archive?" He looks at her phone.

"Shrike, it's the one that says 'Messages.' Are you sure you're okay?"

"I am. How do you turn up the brightness?" Martin tries not to be rude. How does she not know this after having a phone for so long? He turns up the brightness, before instinctively covering her eyes, as cogs and gears grate against each other in his mind.

"Hang on..." Shrike softly pushes his hand from her eyes, smirking widely as she passively starts reading messages. He can't understand what she's saying half the time, but her smile says what she means. They embrace again.

"This is... disturbing..." She looks around as Martin drives through the Salt Lake City at night, all the lights barely illuminating the streets.

"Oh?"

"I... expected more lights, in truth. Also, I tested the limits of my new tolerance. A flashlight held to my eye is still deeply uncomfortable. I believe there is a limit somewhere."

"Humans don't like someone sticking a flashlight in their eyes either. I'm still lost on how this even happened. It doesn't make any sense. You nearly die, you wake up unable to look at light at all, then you stare at the sun like you always do and now artificial light doesn't bother you?"

"I have begun theorizing. My light reserves are not in physical spaces, they are in a place that cannot be seen or touched, other than specific circumstances."

"Like that black portal thing when you evaporated the ground?"

"Yes. I theorize that somehow, the test which refracted my barriers someone reached into that pocket, which explains why there was so much more power than I can otherwise use. Perhaps a segment that I had lost access to during hibernation, or something similar. Regardless, I can assume the pocket is cycling out artificial light into the air around me, the same invisible particles that I use to put up barriers.

This is all speculation, but perhaps the section for artificial light was full, sealed over when I entered hibernation last, and forcibly ripped open during the incident." Martin nods along, not understanding what she's saying. She clearly has no idea how her own abilities function, and is coming to an absurd conclusion with incomplete information. Her mind must still be a bit scrambled.

"Makes sense to me." After a few more days of taking it slow and experimenting with light absorption, Shrike is restless. She hasn't tried using her abilities since the 'Refraction' as it has come to be known by the MBR. Martin drops her off in the desert before taking the Jeep about a quarter mile away, faintly honking the horn to let Shrike know she can start. Shrike starts with the basics. A simple hexagonal projection. Easy enough, though it feels... askew, somehow.

Unaligned with herself, like its on a slant despite being perfectly level. Next, a spike, thrown down with force. Easy. She summons a few platforms and hops up onto each, almost slipping twice. She feels good. Refreshed. She takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes. May as well make sure she can do everything. The central trunk of the Tree. It grows taller and wider as the first iteration cracks out. Even larger on the second. The third is starting to drain her slightly, so she stops and admires the handiwork.

It's huge, easily thirty feet tall. She dismisses it easily, though her eyes start to burn a bit. Maybe that's the price, she thinks. More storage at the expense of pain. She releases a beam of light into the sky, and as expected, her eyes hurt more. She wonders about the limits as she starts walking back to the Jeep. If she destroyed a third of a building after several dozen tests already drained her... what could she do with everything in her arsenal?

Since they were already out in the desert, they decided to have a little moonlit camping trip. Nothing fancy, just a fire and smores to celebrate Shrike being back to mostly normal. After assembling all the fire wood and tinder, Martin dramatically brushes his hands together.

"Alright Shrike, light 'er up!" Shrike nods, snapping her fingers for effect. She blinks a couple times, snapping her fingers again and again. Nothing. She forgets the theatrics, and concentrates on summoning a small flame in her palm.

"This... explains the lack of my thermal sense." Shrike notes.

"I hope you have brought a firestarter." Martin bites his lip.

"Are you saying..."

"What is the phrase? You win and lose some?"

"You don't seem that bothered." Martin looks more concerned than she does.

"This should not significantly hamper my combat effectiveness. Heat was always secondary, and in exchange I received a higher capacity for what I find more useful."

"I guess... Damn it, though, I stopped packing lighters since you could always light things for me." Take it as she does, he thinks. No reason to panic if she isn't. You'll just stress her out, like with the scar on her palm.

"I suggest your birthday present of an oil lamp." He breathes a sigh of relief.

"What would I do without you?"

"Freeze to death, evidently." Both of them crack a smile. Shrike is happy to be back to their usual dynamic. Something in Martin stirs against the routine, though. Like it isn't what its supposed to be, despite being as it was before.

"It is incredibly irritating and illogical." She blinks a few times before speaking again.

"That sounded odd when I spoke it."

"Lots of 'i' words. What's bothering you?" Shrike gestures to the fireplace, to her clothes, and to the blankets.

"Why is it I still require high heat if I am unable to manipulate it?" He thinks, and can't come up with a satisfactory explanation. She has a point.

"Maybe you don't. Have you tried letting yourself get cold? Fighting through the pain and all that?"

"No, but I shall." She unplugs the battery from her somewhat scuffed heated clothing, and steps outside into the backyard. 45° weather, Martin thinks. Within a half-hour, Shrike's teeth are chattering as she plugs the battery back in, setting her clothing to the previously untouched option of 80°. She waits for fifteen minutes before she curses and sets it back to maximum, crawling under her heated blanket and quilts while stoking the fire.

"As I s-said, irritating and ill-llogical." As they pull into the military base, they are directed to use a side lot that was repurposed for testing temporarily. It's nothing but the snow-flecked desert ground, since the expensive lab setting complete with sensors and equipment was destroyed. The researcher adjusts her glasses. She was at the Refraction, and would have died had she not turned to take her coffee from an intern. The only trace now is a thin scar where the spike grazed her neck.

She takes a deep breath.

"Okay. With Stolatz out of the picture-"" What?" Shrike asks, leaning forward slightly. The researcher shudders.

"I... did you not..." Were they friends? How will she take the news?

"I was not informed!" The source of the refraction smiles widely.

"This is extremely pleasing news for me. I hope he is dead and not simply relocated."

"Jesus, Shrike." Her partner says, flicking the kynde in the forehead. The researcher calms herself with a breath. At least Martin has control of the situation.

"We've reorganized a lot. Instead of one head of Magical Beast Research, we've split duties to be more focused along specific lines. I am Doctor Ximena Torres, currently the head of the Sapient Non-Human Persons Division. Or, put simply, people like kyndes or other magical creatures that aren't out to cause havoc. Not to be confused with Sapient Non-Human Beasts Division, which is things like kumihos."

"This is appreciated. I am happy to be separated from multi-headed lizards." Ximena's hands start moving as she enthusiastically describes the change.

"That's what we're trying to do! It's ridiculous that everything remotely magical in origin gets lumped into one big pile where there's... sorry, I'm preaching to the choir." She blushes slightly, clearing her throat.

"I'm happy to hear that too," Martin says.

"It's been a huge pain to explain to people. Way easier to use 'non-human person' over 'magical beast'. We appreciate it, Doctor Torres."

"Please, call me Ximena. I'd like to be a resource more than a researcher. I think you've been researched enough for now, Shrike." She cracks an awkward smile. Shrike returns the smile, much more naturally.

"I am ready to begin, Ximena." Ximena checks her clipboard, starting on the first page.

"Okay... so this test is designed to see if you're fit to reenter the field after a severe injury left you unable to work for at least two weeks." She flips through a few pages.

"Alright, test one, see if agent can communicate... I'm going to skip ahead a bit, if you don't mind." Shrike shares a pleased glance with Martin.

"Okay, test six of ten. Test if agent is in control of their magic abilities. Shrike, you have heat and light based powers, correct?"

"Light alone now, as far as I am currently aware." Ximena writes something down on the clipboard. She seems to have accepted a major change like that fairly quickly.

"Okay... Shrike, I am going to stand very far away. We don't know if your ability is stable yet." Shrike considers projecting something immediately, but decides it is better to waste a little time than to scare the only researcher she's met that isn't proving the 'researchers are bastards' rule. It's strange, she thinks, how flexible her mind feels at the moment. Able to process more and better interpersonal information. Likely from consistent usage, she thinks.

After Ximena stands far enough away, with Martin standing a few feet to the side of Shrike, the kynde summons a few simple spikes, platforms, walls, and barriers. Ximena walks back, sweating in her heavy coat, checking off something on her clipboard.

"Okay, great job. Test 7 is to evaluate your mental state, which is... yeah. Test 8 is to see if you can work in tandem with your partner. Could you both talk us through how you would handle a dangerous beast, like an urayuli?" Martin thinks.

"Do we know where it is?"

"Yes. It is twenty five feet away, and closing distance."

"Well, we'd be in a forest, so I'd have brought a machete. I'd take the machete, and using my years of training, point to the urayuli so Shrike could handle it instead." Martin chuckles under his breath.

"How about you, Shrike? What's your next move?" Shrike releases an intense beam of light that is angled slightly down from above her head, which angrily rips a line into the dirt with a piercing hum, leaving a blackened smokey trail behind.

"I would do that, and it would be dead. Your experience has saved us both, Martin." Ximena adjusts her glasses again, and writes something else down as the pair exchange soft giggles.

"Test 9 is threat detection, we can skip that. Test 10 is a what-if. Imagine Martin is killed by a monster that escapes. What do you do?"

"I object to the premise. You are describing an implausible scenario," she says.

"What do you mean?"

"I will naturally protect Martin with my life, as is my purpose that keeps me awake. Should I fail in that task, I swear upon every last nerve and sinew I possess that the killer will never, never escape me. After I kill it, if I remain alive, I would likely report it here out of obligation and then return to hibernation." Ximena shivers slightly as she makes a note.

"Yep... Okay, you're good to go, but may I make a suggestion?" Shrike nods.

"Try not to overexert yourself. You seem... really intense right now, compared to when I last saw you. More active and present in the moment. I'm going to keep you two assigned with other teams for a couple jobs, to make sure everything's okay in the field." A simple "I understand," is all Shrike says in response.

"Opie!" Martin says brightly, rubbing the hoar hound's eye around its head like a joystick.

"How's Opie? Is Opie good?" He pats him on the slick folds of flesh on his neck. It's a beautiful day for a hunt, the thin snow on the ground and trees is gorgeous.

"Yeah, sure, pretend I'm not here." Possum jokes.

"Did you guys see the HQ? Something blew it up." Shrike looks over.

"Yes, I am responsible, albeit due to researcher negligence and not my own volition." Possum glances at Martin who dourly half-smiles.

"Yikes. Hope you're okay, at least, Shrike."

"I am." Opie suddenly extends his inflexible syringe-like proboscis in Shrike's direction, and after a moment, starts dripping venom and smoking more heavily, taking an aggressive stance, eyes fixed on Shrike. Opie looses an approximation of a growl, holding his ground. Possum rushes over to him, petting him, confused.

"He's never forgotten a scent, or acted like this to something that isn't actively dangerous..." Possum stands up, and gives a command to Opie, who guardedly walks backwards until in line with Possum.

"This is so weird..." Shrike frowns.

"I have changed much recently, but Opie's concern is contagious..."

"It's fine, it's fine. Opie will cool off. Don't we have a grafter to catch?" she adds, feigning enthusiasm.

"It'll be fun to work in the forest for once instead of the desert." As the Grafter's body splits apart into the dozens and dozens of pieces of tree bark it had added to itself, Shrike sits down against a normal pine tree. What an annoying hunt. Chasing it down for four hours, trying to find it without heat sense... She suddenly feels a cold breath of air against her ear. She slowly turns her eyes to see Opie, proboscis slick with venom, staring intently at her.

She stays very still, feeling her heart start to race. She didn't sense Opie getting this close with her emittance, usually heat sense would do it. Hoar hound specific..? What to do, she thinks, he's an inch away from burning a hole through my head, and if he decides to punch through my skull... Opie's proboscis retracts a bit, before laying down next to her, nozzle facing away. His eyes still stay fixed on her, but they seem more intrigued than scared now.

"Possum, is touching Opie's back dangerous?" Possum turns to look at the two of them. Finally, he calmed down.

"Mostly harmless, but it's only semi-solid. Stick to the eyes and top of the head and you'll be safe. I'm glad Opie figured out what happened. You should have just told me, by the way."

"What was I supposed to inform you of?" Possum recoils in surprise.

"Wait... you don't know? Martin, come here! I think I can answer a lot of questions neither of you knew you needed to ask." Martin dutifully comes over and sits next to Shrike.

"What's up? Still more trees to look at?"

"No, I'm about to give Shrike a crash course on what happened to her." Possum thinks for a moment.

"Do you think that old monsters who mess with electrical cables always had that ability, and just waited for the cables to be invented? Do you think that Bigfoot was blurry before cameras existed? Obviously not. Magical beasts can sometimes undergo a metamorphosis. Let's just call it 'adapting.' With a significant enough stressor, a magical beast can undergo a rapid adaptation to the stressor over a period of a week or two. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

After the Patterson-Gimlin film, Bigfoot was constantly surrounded by asshats with cameras. In a stress-induced panic, she ran off to a cave for a few weeks, and became the blurry creature we know and love today. It's not common, and only happens during periods of intense stress. Not to mention the usually unpleasant side effects. Bigfoot got motion sick from looking at herself for weeks."

"Why do you know so much about Bigfoot?" Martin asks. Of course he would hone in on that.

"Stay on topic. Shrike adapted. I imagine whatever caused the military base to collapse was pretty stressful, either physically or emotionally. Most likely both."

"Alright... how do we get her back to normal?"

"You don't. Adapting is a good thing ninety-nine percent of the time. It can come with downsides, but it's largely positives. Shrike, have you lost anything significant?" Shrike nods.

"Both my ability to externalize heat, and my ability to sense heat signatures nearby."

"Okay, and what did you gain? Let me guess, something that makes those redundant." Shrike thinks it over.

"I can see in artificial light now. I additionally have a much greater capacity for light projection."

"If you had to choose, do you prefer the before, or the after?"

"After, without question. I am no longer functionally blind in crowded spaces. It is of great value."

"Exactly."

"Incidentally, why can I not detect Opie near me with the faint light I emit?"

"Because he doesn't reflect light. You never noticed that he looks the same no matter how bright or dark it is?"

"I did not... Thank you, Possum. This has been highly instructional, and assuages some fears we shared." Shrike grabs Martin's hand to illustrate unity. Possums looks between the two for a moment.

"Wait..."

"No. We're not." Martin interrupts, pulling his hand away quickly and trying hard not to blush.

"How about you tell us about you and Bigfoot?"

"We're just good friends!" The drive home is spent in comfortable silence, a playlist titled 'Compromise' alternating through folk and hard rock music, only briefly interrupted by scattered conversations.

"Martin."

"Shrike."

"I believe the adaptation changed me in other ways."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I have felt more connected. As though you... follow clearer mental paths, I suppose. I can understand your internal logic better, such as why you were sitting on my bed in high temperatures, or your concern over me looking at the sun previously. Much of humanity remains beyond my grasp, but the majority of your actions as an individual follow a process I can understand." Martin bites his cheek.

"I don't think that's from the adaptation. You've been learning and changing this whole time. Remember when we first met, and you thought I was going to kill you, and you were going to let it happen?"

"Yes."

"What would you do now?"

"... not that, I believe." Shrike shifts from side to side, clearly embarrassed.

"Exactly. You're growing as a person. It's normal. You don't need to ascribe it to some magical transformation." Shrike looks out the window again. She definitely feels some rarer emotions more frequently, but maybe they are merely the result of more wholly understanding the intentions of humans and having time to reflect on herself. Still, he's right. She's felt a unique connection to him from the start.