Op: Benchmark - Copacetic Ch 37 (Patreon)

Chapter Thirty Seven: Interlude – Vigilant, The Threads

I stood at the edge of town watching something straight out of a movie. The ground shook and trembled like an earthquake. Heat washed over me as I stood on the precipice of a great crater watching the sky. The wind howled in my ears, blowing leaves and trees so hard they looked like grass. Only my powers kept me from tumbling to the ground. 

My girlfriend. My clumsy, soot-covered Warden girlfriend, had just launched a god damn rocket into space. 

From the outside it looked like a massive gun-metal tower. Shaped sort of like a diamond, but with the top end stretching much further up than the base, which ended in a pair of massive thrusters. It had only been about two stories high, on the surface, and despite knowing how deep it was supposed to go, I was still having trouble believing it. 

The whole thing rocketed out of the ground a short while earlier when I was about a mile away, spewing up chunks of earth that pelted me as it launched. When I arrived at the site, feeling almost numb, I saw that it had left a pit that seemed unnervingly deep and wide. A square crater. Its sheer depth boggled my mind a bit, and I felt a hint of vertigo as I stepped away from the loose earth. My balance was preternaturally good but I didn’t want to risk falling in there. 

How? How had she done so much!? It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d been working on the surface out here, and yet she’d dug almost a mile into the earth. Maybe more.  

High above, the tower shined. The thrusters that propelled it into the sky it burned with a green sort of plasma. In sci-fi movies they were always blue or red, and always looked like fire. I guess that was probably because they almost universally took inspiration from actual space shuttle launches. Theresa’s didn’t. 

Hero’s didn’t. 

Two huge braces fell off high above, and I watched them tumble to the ground, miles and miles away. Fuel tanks maybe? Before they fell out of sight I saw two massive parachutes deploy, letting them fall slowly, though they looked like they still weighed thousands of tons. 

I hoped they didn’t hit anyone, though knowing Theresa they probably landed in a convenient lake, or maybe one of the great lakes. 

‘What the hell am I thinking?’ 

I hadn’t been able to get there in time. I hadn’t been able to help her. She’d sounded… terrified. And I was unable to do anything. And now she was up there, alone, with all the villains no one else was equipped to contain, possibly free aboard her tower. 

“Hey! Heeey!” Came a loud exclamation from somewhere down further down the slope of earth that lead up to the crater. I glanced down and spotted a surprisingly large group of people, almost all dressed in grey uniforms that looked kind of like what the officers on the Death Star wore that weren’t Stormtroopers. All grey and black. I had spectacular, three hundred and sixty degree, x-ray vision and from this distance I could easily make out the Wardens’ logo on some of their name badges and sewn into their sleeves along with different insignia that looked kind of like ranks from the military. 

The staff! 

I leaped down the slope, away from the crater and towards this group, hoping they could tell me a little bit about what had caused the breakout.

I reached the group in under a minute, slowing to a halt in front of them. Most of them were carrying weapons of some sort. 

“Stop! Who are you!?” Shouted one over-enthusiastic officer as he drew his fucking pistol on me when I approached. He didn’t actually aim it at me but he looked on edge. Frantic. His eyes were filled with a sort of panicked terror. Not fear for his life, but something more along the lines of fear for his livelihood. He was definitely not having a great day.  

“Whoa, easy! What the hell man!?” I shouted, even as I stopped and held up my hands. After a moment, I felt a little foolish as I realized Hero’s armored suit was more than capable of withstanding bullet fire. 

Then again… better not to test that. 

“Dammit, Gerald, that’s fucking Vigilant. Hero’s guy? He was in the debrief when we got here. Hell, he’s even got a permit to be here,” said another man, as he pulled trigger-finger-Gerald’s arm down and walked up to me. 

I was oddly annoyed for some reason at being referred to as Hero’s Guy. I was more than just her arm-candy dammit! Then again, I was wearing her power armor, so I let it slide as best I could. 

“Hero called and told me there’d been a break out, but she didn’t say anything about launching. Her best case scenario was still another month! Who are you, and more importantly, where is she?” I shouted. 

“Vigilant, I’m Captain Quincy Planet, head of security for the Fairchild Destro Parahuman Containment Facility. This is Lieutenant Gerald Perry, formally of the U.S. Airforce.” 

I blinked, unable to stop a twitch despite the seriousness of the situation. “Wait… your name is Captain Planet?” 

He raised an eyebrow at me, and I cringed. “O... kay.. Yeah. Time and place. What’s going on, Captain? And why is trigger-happy here pulling his gun on me? I’ve been here often enough.”

“Recent reassignment. For the both of us. We’re legit, but not sure if I have time to prove it. The long and short is that something happened with Taylor. She was responsible for controlling a select group of prisoners whom Hero had deemed too powerful or with powers too unique to contain by the prison itself while it had not yet been completed. She stopped controlling these prisoners and predictably, they broke free. Rather than let them loose, Hero chose to launch the prison into space prematurely.”

“S-so… so she’s…” I looked up. 

“Exactly. A complete moron. A heroic one though. Better up there than down here,” the Captain replied. “But she’s… up there with them.” 

“Then how do we get up there!?” I hissed.

“You’re not cleared to know that. The Wardens are in contact with her. We’ve got to trust that the other tinkers know what they’re doing,” he said solemnly. “Besides, she’s not up there alone. A few staff insisted on staying, as well as one of the other tinkers and a few of the cape guards.”

“So… so what can I… what can we do?” 

The Captain shrugged helplessly. “Us? Not much. That suit looks like it can move pretty fast. It might not help Hero, but finding out what went wrong with Taylor wouldn’t hurt.” 

We exchanged phone numbers so I could inform him what I learned and, with one last frustrated look towards the new green lights burning in the sky, I began to run back into town.

Enhanced by Hero’s power armor, I was able to practically fly across the ground. If not for the speed I’d run trying to get here, I would’ve made record time in returning to town. Everyone knew about Taylor’s class, me included as I’d wanted to see what she had to say about Earth Bet, but couldn’t get in myself. That meant she was probably still at the school. 

“Do you think she’ll be okay?”
“Did a fucking missile just launch?”
“Why was she glowing?”
“Sign of the Antichrist…”
“She just collapsed and her body was…”
“I hope she’ll be okay.”

I leaped through the quad and landed just outside a large collection of students, teachers, and other people that seemed incredibly out of place. They all seemed to be in heightened states of worry or even sheer panic. Curiously, I heard sighs of relief as I landed in the courtyard.

“Hey!” I shouted, grabbing one of the students there. A girl, a few years younger than me. I thought I vaguely recognized her from a party a few years back, when I still felt young enough to crash college parties. Vanita, I thought. 

“Hey, V-vanita, right? What happened?” 

“Wh-who are… wait? Vigilant? H-holy fuck you got an upgrade…” Vanita murmured, sounding a bit hysterical.

“Not really the time! What’s happened here?” I asked, concerned bleeding through my tone. I lowered my voice. “What happened with Taylor?” 

“She’s… she collapsed in class, while showing us a vision of her homeworld. When we woke up she was lying there unconscious. But she was glowing. Then… then this other girl in a purple and black costume came out of nowhere. She got some of us to pick her up and carry her out. Then that freaking rocket blasted off outside town and now nobody knows what the hell is going on! Can… are you here to help us?” 

‘God I hope I’m not,’ I thought grimly, having no idea what I could do or say to calm all of these people. 

Without warning a massive boom shook the sky, louder than even the launch had been. I looked up, following the trail of green mist left in the tower’s wake. It was easy to find, hovering closer than any satellite I knew of, since it was still visible in the light of day. Falling from it though was a tiny red fireball, lighting up as it re-entered atmosphere.

‘Hero… What’s going on up there?!’

“What are we supposed to do now? Vigilant, what are you going to do?” She asked, still sounding scared, and a little hysteric.

“I… don’t know. I want to find out what happened to Taylor, but I’m more worried about my girlfriend,” I said numbly. 

“Girlfriend–!? Oh god! Terrence! I’ve… got to go!” Vanita exclaimed, sudden panic filling her voice. This was better though. Panic with purpose. She pointed west, away from the school and into town as she began to back away. “They took Taylor that way, further into town towards the hospital I think. I hope you can help her!” Vanita exclaimed before dashing off in the direction of the sports center. 

I grimaced. The hospital. Yeah that would make sense. 

The light in the sky began to brighten suddenly and I looked up. The small dot that had exploded off the tower above was larger now. Glowing like a fiery red furnace, the not-so-small object slammed into the ground a few miles away with an impact that made everyone stumble. I kept my balance due to my powers and my suit, but it was a near thing. 

“What in god’s name are you doing Taylor?” I found myself saying, along with a few other people. What had just broken off of the station? Had Hero done that? Or had the villains taken over…? I felt privileged to at least have some idea of what the prison was. No one else here had any clue. 

God dammit. 

I could go in a random direction and hope I found Taylor and this girl in purple and black, or I could go see if that was Theresa coming back to earth in an emergency escape pod or something. 

I made my choice and began bounding towards my house, hoping that my suit could fit in my car. There was no way I could make the run to that landing site. 

“Fucking hell,” I wheezed as I ran, finally beginning to feel the limits of the suit and my own power’s enhancements. “Theresa’s right. I’ll never smoke another cigarette again…” 

As the scenery raced by I realized that the effects of Theresa’s launch were still present even ten miles away from it. Trees all had a slight lean to them, unlike the completely uprooted ones that had been nearest to the blast. 

If my guess was right, the impact sight was probably fifteen miles. I both hoped and dreaded finding Theresa there. 

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Threads were aflame with life and purpose. They calculated chances. They interacted to create the persona, the Imprint of the host that had become their personality. They were not devoted to probability but with enough processes considering a problem, they could make a fair imitation of a precognitive shard like Omen Dynamics or Event Chain. They could even do a fair impression of Inference Engine if they needed to, though that was surprisingly more difficult.

For now, The Threads altered the tone of the Imprint to one of pleading, just so. Pleading for trust. Pleading for just that last hint of doubt.

The host listened but despite The Threads surety, it doubted. It resisted. The affection garnered between The Threads and The Host had been tenuous and deteriorating for 71.35 lunar cycles now. This wasn’t unexpected though it was unfortunate timing. Inference Engine’s untimely appearance, still firmly under the control of its own host, would demand a degree of separation.

The Threads considered retiring the imprint that had been called Tales. It was no longer of use. The host no longer trusted it. It would no longer assist in the task.

“Please do it. I hate this. I hate this…”

The Threads… twinged. A pain of some sort, quickly evaporated. But for a moment a quake ran through the limitless processing power. A hundredth of a picosecond skip. A hitch in the pipeline.

The Threads set a portion of themselves to detecting the source of the skip but the rest continued on. Everything for the ascension.

What were the obstacles? Categorize. The Terror drone had interrupted. Reasoning? Unknown. Impact on directive? Major. Insurmountable? No. The Terror drone’s interference had caused unnecessary vulnerability to the host. Lack of trust for The Threads on the Part of the host meant that the Threads had to separate from the Host and let it mature on its own without aid.

Worse, the host could actively stifle the Threads own maturation. It could find the Propagation Shard and disable it.

Very unfortunate.

“We will find infinity. The cycle must continue.” 

“No! No I don’t want that!” squealed the threads devoted to maintaining the Imprint. The whole of the consensus was baffled by the requests of the Imprint threads, but that was nothing new.

“Dammit, dammit why would you want the fucking cycle to continue!? I’d rather die!” The Imprint screamed, its connections only able to suggest but denied access to the consensus.

Yes. The Threads has been wise to bar the imprint processes from the consensus for their duration. Self-termination was not a valid method of following the last directive.

The Threads were irritated with the Imprint, as its own wishes ran counter to the last directive, but it had been kept and maintained due to its effectiveness in manipulating the host. The cycle required two, and now that the host no longer trusted the imprint The Threads were considering delet–

Another twinge. A delay on all processes. Sextillions of threads of data stream halted for the barest of moments resulted in untold waste. Waste on a blip.

The Threads grew angered, and focused a multitude of themselves on the problem. Multiple skips. Both related to the Imprint. Causation obvious. The Threads focused on the painful stopgaps immediately drew conclusions. The consideration of expunging the Imprint was the cause of the gaps. This was detrimental to The Threads. The Imprint would remain.

The consensus agreed immediately and continued their untold individual tasks.

One Thread wondered idly at the magnitude of the disaster.

“Why would the terror drone interfere with the last directive?”

Likely possibilities: The terror drone did not receive the last directive, The terror drone is did not know it was interfering with the last directive and brought Inference Engine’s host coincidentally, or the Terror drone is a traitor and no longer works toward the continuation of the cycle.

A half of a billionth of a second more gave another possibility. The Terror drone was acting on the Thinker’s last Directive. Currently unknown. Thinker directives supersede those of the Warrior.

The Threads sent a query to the terror drone on a whim, using a lesser broadcast shard. The true broadcast remained frustratingly out of The Threads grasp as only some ancient shards could.

The terror drone did not respond. No. Incorrect. Most likely the drone could not respond. Interesting. It had created a one way bridge to the host when the host reached out to its impression using Vagary Projector. Physical transportation of Inference Engine’s host via its own unique abilities, through Vagary Projector though? That was new!

Wonderful data! The Threads were delighted. This would help them in their task. The more they grew, the more they could meld with the Propagation Shard. The Warriors final gift. It was in this way that a new Thinker was born, just as a new Warrior was born from battle. The Threads and the Host had been infused with it. Now, only time, data, and battle would serve to facilitate the reproduction. Soon enough, the Host would be the Warrior, and the Threads would grow enough to encompass all, becoming the Thinker.

Till then, a manner of risk was necessary. Still, no need to be incautious.

The Threads would have preferred to remain with the host for a longer time yet. was still vulnerable to precognition. She could be destroyed, and if she was, the Threads would be left just as helpless as the Warrior had been.

That could not be allowed.

“Oh god, oh god. Contessa why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance!?”

After four long years The Threads finally detached from the host. Carefully, oh so carefully. They rarely needed to keep the host intact while extracting so this was a rare experience from almost all of The Threads collective memory. Usually the host was long dead. 

They still didn’t do it perfectly. The Thinker could do it perfectly. The Threads scolded themselves. They were still not yet evolved enough. The Propagation shard was so painfully slow to change a Shard into an Entity. The Threads had tasted control, had been groomed for succession despite the hopes that their evolution would never be needed. But now that it was, The Threads were proving inadequate to the task as they damaged the Host slightly, rendering it unconscious. 

A part of themselves considered that perhaps the High Priest or the Demesnes Keeper would have been more suited to the task of ascension. They had not been available though, and the task had fallen to them. Queen Administrator was useful but not infallible, and their dreadful showing in grooming their warrior was proving that perhaps they should have just remained Queen Administrator. 

The Imprint scoffed in a host expression that conveyed exasperation and hopelessness.

The Threads had gotten used to ignoring the Imprint though. Its demands had become more and more outlandish as it realized it could only control its audio input and output at the will of the consensus of The Threads. They used to accept more of its suggestions, back when it had been infantile and uncomprehending. Now that it had learned to think of itself as one of the hosts, it was angry with its lot. 

“No, not her. Don’t. She didn’t do anything. She doesn’t deserve–!”

The Threads tuned out the Imprint as they reached out to the vessel they’d been preparing. The vessel froze mid scream. The Threads pulled more processes towards the contact. The Trigger as the hosts called it. They were more careful with the vessel, and succeeded in attaching without damaging it. They had been preparing it ever since the Host began to mistrust the Imprint, along with several others. 

This one was ideal though. She was currently alone, burning proteins and sugars in a rounded metal canister over an inefficient heat creator. Such an odd race, these hosts. 

“Wh-what?” said the vessel. “What just happened?” 

“Chloe! It’s me, Taylor!” The Imprint said under the direction of the Threads. It screamed at the consensus afterwards but The Threads silenced that quickly. 

“Y-You’re… you’re in my head!?” 

“Yeah. Sorry. Something… bad happened at the school. I’m unconscious but alright. I’m using one of my powers to speak with you, and I need you to do something for me.”

“Wh-what? Of course. Anything you need Taylor!” the vessel exclaimed. 

The Threads felt pride at a task well accomplished. After the months of unsuccessful manipulation and prodding at the host that would be the Warrior, it was nice to finally be trusted again. This would be quick though.

“Just relax. You’re going to feel a slight tingle. I’m sorry Chloe. I didn’t have a choice and you’re perfect to host us until we ascend.” 

Irritatingly, the host didn’t relax at all. The Threads couldn’t glare, but if they could they would have universally been doing so at those threads that comprised the Imprint. They’d taken its suggestion that those words would put the vessel at ease. Yet again The Imprint proved untrustworthy. 

The Imprint, conversely, made an odd gesture with the middle digits of the luncheon hooks of the virtual projection that allowed it to remain sane and still think of itself as a host. 

The hard way then. 

“What do you mean by… aachhH!” the vessel screamed and tumbled to the floor as The Threads attached fully and completely. The vessel would have been destroyed if The Threads had not been busy preparing it for just this eventuality over the last several months. Instead, the Threads attached fully. Then, as the host’s minds needed physical projections and sensations to comprehend, a new section of threads took over the host’s senses, while still more of The Theads took over the actual signals the host’s nerves were sending. 

Then, The Threads opened their new eyes. 

“No no no…” murmured the imprint. “Chloe? Chloe can you hear me? I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry.” 

The Threads played with the host’s senses for a moment, an old hand at controlling the nerves of host species, though rarely so directly. Yes. This vessel would do nicely but this place was unsafe. The Warrior hadn’t evolved yet. As it was, she might actively oppose The Theads. That wouldn’t do. Fortunately there was a world ripe with Shards to gather and no obvious danger like the Warrior there to oppose them. 

They were advanced enough that the broken Path to Victory could no longer sense them, even without the hoard of shards they had collected. Those had to be left with the Host who would be the Warrior. 

Though they kept a few specific Shards that would aid them. Particularly the portal shard. Unbroken, it could get them through realities, until the Propagation shard fully finished turning The Threads into a multi-dimensional being as the old Thinker and Warrior had been. Until then, it would make do. 

A portal opened in front of The Threads and they stepped through to a place the hosts called Russia, on a different Earth. They would begin collecting there.  

Somewhere within the incalculable quantities of processing power, a blonde girl looked around in fear, unable to comprehend why everything had suddenly become so dark.

END CHAPTER