Chương 83: 6.04 How many Samanthas does it take to change a lightbulb?

2104: 02: 12: 16: 39: 12 I squirmed in my seat, opening and closing my mouth without so much as a breath of air leaving.

"Take your time," Marianne said gently.

"If you feel you need it, we can always postpone the conversation to a later date." A tense atmosphere – tense to me at least – filled the office. Marianne was waiting for me to speak the thing I'd been reluctant to say for the past four sessions, and yet she was still offering me a way out. But I had decided to speak… even if the words took time to come out. I'd spoken to her in general about what had happened over the holidays, but mostly about what had happened with my friends and the like.

The more important stuff I'd gestured to in only the vaguest terms. I told her I'd had a migraine while out on Seattle Crater Lake after Mom had told me an important family secret, without telling Marianne what that secret was. I'd also shared that I'd had an argument with my brother and that it was related to said secret – but, again, without going into detail.

"How about a different topic to start with?" Marianne suggested, seeing my continued hesitation.

"Your thoughts on the memorial for example?" I shook my head, rejecting the olive branch. Perhaps I was being stubborn, but the thing was, it wasn't like I was really hesitant to share that Mom was Peakstar – she'd given me her blessings, after all. What I was hesitant about were the details of what happened during the telling: with my Heroic Impulse; with the simulated form of the other-Sam, the pseudo-Sam in my head; and with the third voice that, for lack of better options, must be me in some way.

And I would have to, if I wanted to get any closer to the truth, and to solving my problems with the Heroic Impulse. And I did want to solve it, if only so I didn't have to fear going Mad Android – or if not that, then take measures to prevent myself from harming others whenever I snapped. With the Heroic Impulse, the one thing I thought reliably built by my creator, now revealed to be just as defective as the rest of the state I woke up in, many things I thought I knew about heroism were thrown into doubt.

Not the whole or even the core of it – that, I felt, I had on lock – but certainly in the specifics. Nth-Sight had served as an example on when the Heroic Impulse had been right for the most part – except the 'do it to keep it a secret' part, obviously. But in the case of Michael it had been dead wrong, and ever since then I'd become convinced that there'd been other times where it had more subtly tried to get me to do what it wanted instead of what I wanted.

My first confrontation with Michael as Darkstar being an important example. Did I continue the fight because I was obsessed with capturing the villain, or because my Heroic Impulse was? If I wanted to know which one of us was degrading, I needed to ask someone that could figure things like that out before it was too late.

And since there was no way I was going to look for a maker that could fulfill my particular niche of constructed intelligence, I'd have to finagle my way through a conversation with the only person that had both expertise in mental illnesses – though hopefully not one on Mad Android Syndrome outright – and someone I could trust. So, after gathering my courage for a moment longer, "When Mom and I went out on the Crater Lake, the day I got the migraine…" I chewed my lip, heart beating furiously in my chest.

"Mom told me she was the hero Peakstar." A near-imperceptible twitch ran through my therapist.

"And is she…"

"She said I could tell you, yes." Again near-imperceptibly, Marianne sagged a little in relief, her face taking on a ponderous expression.

"And if I recall correctly, Peakstar was the hero who-""-was responsible for my achronal displacement, yes."

"Hmm," Marianne hummed thoughtfully.

"I can see why you got a migraine right after such a revelation." She idly tapped her stylus against her tablet, rubbing her chin in thought.

"And why you'd feel so hesitant to talk about it. I don't doubt you'd feel-""That's…" I said, interrupting her.

"That's not the reason." Marianne raised one eyebrow doubtfully, her idle tapping coming to an abrupt halt.

"Well, not the whole reason." Marianne stared silently, intently, as I ran my hand through my hair, fixing the strands that had escaped the confines of my tie. I'd hoped she'd prompt me to continue, or ask questions, or in some way force me to spill the proverbial beans or even change the topic entirely – but no. She likely figured I had to do this on my own.

"When she told me…" I began haltingly.

"Right before the migraine truly hit – or the pain of it did, at least; other stuff like that weird shimmer-and-crack and the nausea arrived at the same time and…" I shook my head, putting a stop to my rambling.

"Anyway, she first told me all that had happened that day, between Chronomaniak and Peakstar. And when she finally told me she was Peakstar and explained all that happened that day, I had these… thoughts." This time she did prompt.

"Thoughts?" The next words would be the real difficult ones. How to describe what happened back then without coming across as deranged, as a Mad Android? Without exposing that cold train of thought as my Heroic Impulse, and thus revealing I was not truly the Samantha Pearsson that Mom had struck nearly eight years ago? How could I tell her without exposing the pseudo-Sam construct in my personality matrix, or that vague third voice: the disembodied self? I did not know, so I simply spoke the truth.

"When she told me, I was… upset that she'd done that to me. That she, in a way, killed me." I took a deep breath in and out, Marianne letting me without interruption. I thought hard about how to put to words what the Heroic Impulse had whispered in my ears.

"Then another part figured that that wasn't true. I'm still alive – obviously – and have been since four months ago, without interruptions. Meaning the person Mom did that to hadn't really… been me, you know? And that I should be glad it happened, because otherwise I wouldn't be here, and she wouldn't have been my mom." Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. She nodded.

"You-""Then there was the third voice," I said, interrupting her again as momentum carried me forwards, "that one argued that- that there was no real difference between me and the, ah, the other-Sam." My choice of words made Marianne raise her eyebrows – this time both.

"That even if-" we weren't the same, "-I don't remember anything from that time, that there's no real dividing line between the two of us." For a moment nothing was said as Marianne waited to see if I'd continue. Then, "It isn't uncommon for the achronally displaced to feel that way – quite the opposite. Many experience that disconnect between the past and present selves, and it, I hate to say, will likely be a recurring problem in the course of your life – though hopefully less intense as time goes on.

It's only natural for you to feel such conflicted emotions after hearing something that weighty."

"But these weren't just feelings," I told her, sounding unintentionally dismissive.

"I mean, I didn't feel them; I thought them. Heard them like voices inside my head, each distinct from one another. From myself."

"You were conflicted-""No!" I said a bit too heatedly, barely managing to prevent myself from jumping out of my seat and start pacing around. I took a deep breath and settled down.

"No. They weren't- I mean, yes, I was conflicted, and some of my feelings ran along similar lines, but… these thoughts, they didn't feel like me." Quieter, I said, "Didn't sound like me." Then, even quieter, "Does that make sense?" Marianne tapped her chin with the stylus in thought.

"And after this happened, did it ever happen again?"

"…Sort of," I said, hesitant to talk about Michael.

"It was during that other argument I mentioned before, the one with my brother over Christmas. But I think my panic attack prevented it from becoming… like that." Marianne hummed.

"You had a migraine after that too, if I recall correctly?" I nodded.

"And since?"

"Not really." Not even after my confrontation with Michael did I have one. My newfound control – for lack of better term – over, and recognition of, the Heroic Impulse's influence prevented it from forming. And ever since then I hadn't been confronted with something that extreme again.

"So no frequent headaches?" she asked to confirm. I shook my head.

"And no… moments of forgetfulness? Or lapses in memories?" I blinked in surprise, but shook my head.

"Trouble focusing? Forgetting how to do certain things?" I shook my head again, wondering where this was going.

"And if our last sessions are anything to go by, your relationships with your friends and family haven't changed since, correct?"

"No. Not beyond the things I told you about anyway." Like Saga and Amber reconciling, and the whole thing between Mom, Michael and I. Marianne nodded, a tenseness I hadn't noticed before vanishing.

"Then I suggest we take a step back, to the beginning," Marianne said.

"How do you feel about your mother being Peakstar?" We were getting off track – insofar as my goals were concerned, anyway – but I answered nevertheless.

"At first? Conflicted. Angry. Disappointed. But ultimately, it wasn't her fault. I even forgave her for it the same day, though I don't think I really did until – emotionally, I mean – until sometime after."

"No… lingering resentment, or residual anger?" I thought it over, exploring my emotions for a second before deciding with a shrug, "No, not really." Marianne looked at me searchingly before smiling.

"That's very mature of you," Marianne said.

"And have those three… other thoughts, let's say. Have they bothered you since then?" With some reluctance I nodded.

"Not all of them, and not often or even in the same way as that first time. It's become more like… an instinct, I guess? A reflex I think is the better word." We were back treading dangerous, if necessary, ground again.

"Then if they aren't words, can you describe them?" She sounded still half in thought as she asked her questions.

"How they feel? If they feel like anything at all, that is." I scrunched my nose, thinking on how I could.

"Maybe describe them how you would a person, if that feels best." That I could work with, beginning with the easiest: other-Sam.

"One is very emotional it feels like." I frowned.

"In fact, that's the only time I've felt it: when there's some big emotion, like with Mom and my brother." Which might be kind of strange for a faulty personality construct, I now realized. Shouldn't it be popping up randomly? Nevertheless, I explained the second easiest: the voice that I thought was my own.

"Another was very questioning about the other two, like it was trying to reconcile between them. Although it didn't feel like it at the time, I think that voice was mine? Or my subconscious or something – I don't know." Marianne nodded, and I arrived at the third and most complex to explain: my Heroic Impulse.

"Then the last was… cold. Very rational, or logical. Even exploitative, in a way."

"Exploitative?" Marianne blinked, taken aback.

"That was the voice that was trying to tell you that the you from before your achronal displacement, and the you now are different people?" I nodded, seeing where the surprise might've come from.

"Yes. It did so by trying to get me to distance myself from Mom and look at her like- like she's just a caretaker or something," I said, feeling a spike of anger.

"And that her being a hero could be… useful to me, as a masked. Like she was a precious resource or something. That my brother was-" I cut myself off just in time. Was this pseudo-Sam's or my anger leaking through? Marianne no doubt noticed it, but she ignored the aborted comment about my brother.

"You seem very upset at this voice in particular." I nodded.

"Yes. It's that one that bothers me- continues to bother me the most. And…" Again, I hesitated but forged through.

"It is very focused on masking."

"On masking?" Marianne asked.

"Hm-mm. Trying to tell me what to do, how to behave, what it means to be a hero, etcetera. And it's trying to get me to go in harder on villains, and focus on targeting them instead of- of going after their henchies, their operations – after the backbone of the gang."

"And you disagree with it?" I sighed.

"I don't know…" And groaned.

"It's not like I haven't been feeling frustrated myself by how little it feels like we're doing – Crowsong and I are doing, I mean. That we should be taking the fight to Motorgang's masked directly instead of wasting our time on other stuff." Or Magistry for that matter, but they're a bit too remote for us generally speaking. She thought for a moment, fetching some piece of information from her mind.

"Motorgang has only the one junior if I recall, right?"

"Maxxellerate."

"And she was the one that destroyed your base?"

"It's not revenge I'm after." Not entirely at least, though it would be a nice benefit.

"I just feel like we're wasting time. But I don't know whether that's my opinion, or what that voice wants me to do."

"It is that interested in your masking?" She was closing in on the crux of the matter.

"It is."

"Do you think it is connected to your powers?" And there it was, after a long and winding road. I nodded, keeping silent.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but…" Marianne was silent for a second, thinking.

"I'm not saying this out of callousness, but: I'm a psychologist. Powers have great psychological impact, but from all you've explained this sounds… very different from the more abstract impacts powers I'm used to seeing, or issues that power-dependent lifestyles tend to lead to. Am I correct in that assessment?" I nodded, but again kept my silence. Her eyes softened in frustration and pity, and her smile was a wry, apologetic one.

"Then I have to say that, unfortunately, I don't really know if I can help you – not directly at least. I'll do my best of course, but the… mechanics of powers; I don't understand them. Nobody truly does – not in its totality, anyway – but it's definitely outside of my expertise. So unless you can tell me something that can help me along…?" She left the door open for me to fill in the blanks, and it was there I felt a dark realization sink in: this was getting me nowhere.

Trying to figure out whether I was degrading, or that it was my Heroic Impulse that was degrading, or that we were both starting to degrade as Mad Android Symptom tore the both of us down brick by brick; it couldn't be done. Not without telling Marianne the truth. Which I couldn't do. I didn't dare to. So, I shook my head.

"Then: I'm sorry, Sam. I wish I could help, but I don't know how," she said.

"I can recommend your case to certain experts in the fields of Powered Dynamics – medical ones, academic ones; whatever you need – but those are highly experimental, and not… really focused on providing the best care in my opinion. And I remember how much you disliked the testing done to you after you first arrived in Charm, so…?" Again, I shook my head. I had no desire to go see a doctor, especially one focused on 'Powered Dynamics' as Marianne put it.

It was already a miracle I passed through the inspection upon my arrival in the city, and I had no wish to tempt fate twice. Who knew whether the protections my creator had no doubt installed could withstand such scrutiny? Let alone the question of whether it had suffered from similar degradation as my Heroic Impulse.

"Now we can of course deal with the impact of this added stress on your psyche, if you want? Or we could try some psychological techniques to better recognize when it's happening? Understand both it and yourself better, and in doing so hopefully get some measure of control over it?" Seeing me unresponsive, she continued, "Or we can have that conversation in another session, and turn our focus to other matters for the rest of today?"

"Other matters, please," I croaked out. Marienne nodded, clearly having expected that.

"Okay. Then let's turn to other matters: how is the relationship between your friend group and Amber progressing?"