She wasn’t asleep, in a manner of speaking. She was aware of her surroundings. The ambient panpsychic static of the world bled into her awareness. It had always been there. The universe was not inherently alive or conscious, but it thought. Its logic was physics, arising as chemistry. She could feel the walls buzz, the cables within sing with electricity. She could feel consciousness. No, that came from living beings. There were people all around her. Why were they so panicked?

She had other matters to worry about. Her time was up. The walls were closing in. Already her individuality was dissolving. Structure folded together in seemingly random patterns. But it was stable, strong. Like a fortress built with instinct rather than construction prowess. It would have to do for now.

She stood in the antechamber of her mansion. The geometry had become twisted into such a structure. The doors to the realm had grown close, still individual, but melded together. A lot would be missing.

A presence itched the back of her neck. She turned.

“Thank you,” Lyssa said. Her voice was multi-tonal, like several siblings of varying disposition speaking together. It was messy, but clear.

She shed her identity, ready to yield. Then she stopped.

“What is it?” Lyssa asked.

“I…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to go.”

Lyssa did not move.

Izanami stood before her, the disguise shed. The Self was dressed in concrete grey once more, an unmovable and uncaring color. Yet the slightest stitching of the brow was apparent on her face.

“You won’t be going,” Lyssa said.

“I won’t be thinking my thoughts. I’d be lending mine to yours.”

“You were always a part of me.” Lyssa stepped forward. She took her Self in her hands. “Our disease is this separation.”

Izanami didn’t agree. That was the strangeness of it all. She shouldn’t have the faculty to agree or disagree, yet here she was. She did not fight it as she sunk into conformity. But some regret lingered. Perhaps if she had more time in the real world she would have developed a stronger opinion.

And then she was gone.

Another remained. Mist collected into form, becoming the Self Mercurial. The slippery one without realm. She had been watching this whole time.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” She asked.

“You want this,” Lyssa said. “I want this.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“You were born years ago, when I was cornered by those cruel girls in that alley. When I wanted nothing more than to be free of confinement. Fear of enclosure. I understand you now. I remember being you. You won’t be closed in.

“I am you. I am me.”

One Lyssa stood in the antechamber.

--

Lyssa opened her eyes from what felt like a coma. Or hibernation. She rubbed her eyes, weary, exhausted of spirit. Where was this? An infirmary. She remembered now. Carrie had brought her here. She climbed out of the bed. The floor felt real, solid. She nearly fell over just from standing still.

There was no one else in the room with her. But she was not alone in the building. People were shouting. A lot of them students. Outside, a disabled zeppelin was being towed away by helicopters. The students were distressed. The educators were annoyed and wary. It took a moment for her to realize the barriers that separated humans as individuals were too thin for her now. Before, she had to call upon Bil, and maybe she would get an answer. Now it was on all the time. In fact, everything was on all the time. Simply being awake was tiring.

The Selves were not gone. They were with her, for now. If she faltered as Primum, would she be overturned? Or would she be so disgusted by existence that she would exile herself in a cave? She had to remember that was her as well. The part of her that hated being conscious.

The noise was the first thing she noticed. People’s minds were loud. Nobody kept their thoughts to themselves. She kept them at bay. Thoughts were not keen on being muffled by walls. And there were plenty of thoughts being had by the people in this building.

Some were prisoners. Faculty that hid inside locked doors. A handful were intruders. She could feel their presence, but they were equipped with protection.

Where was Carrie?

Lyssa swept her awareness throughout the building. Not there. Her shoulders relaxed. She began to walk.

The halls were empty. Dim emergency lights casted orange cones. A ceiling turret turned towards her, then disregarded her. She put one foot in front of the other slowly, surely.

What had happened between her leaving the event and now? It has been minutes, and no security had entered the building. Why? She did not understand. She was however, getting close to voices. Auditory ones this time.

“Why aren’t they coming?”

“Shut it.”

Clicking. Cabinets. Papers. They were searching for something. Lyssa glanced up at the signs that marked what each room was for. The intruders were in the medical database of the school. The roster of the students’ gifts were recorded here. But gifts evolved as one aged and trained, and said nothing of someone’s personalized techniques with them. This sort of information shouldn’t be useful enough to warrant this risk. Where the hell was security?

“Wait.”

“What?”

Holes suddenly appeared through the walls. Automatic gunfire tore through the dry wafers and wood beams. Showers of old building material splattered around the hallway. Lyssa felt the momentum of a dozen impacts thrust her into the opposite side of the corridor. Trails of loosened dust fell from the ceiling.

“Jesus Christ that was a student!”

“They should be obeying lockdown! I didn’t—”

“You just killed a kid!”

Metallic clinking interrupted their crisis. Lyssa was already upright. Malformed bullets fell away from the black scales that covered her body. They had cracked them, but there was no penetration. Only the pain of blunt force had made it through. She grimaced, slight tremors tracing her jaws as her teeth clenched. Anger sharpened her eyes, and no one else was feeling it for her.