Perennial

Chapter 29 -- Vex

He's still breathing, and he still has a pulse, but he's also still unconscious. 
 
I wonder how long it will be before Aether wakes up. What should I do with him in the meantime? 
 
A good Overlord would do something to make sure he'd never interfere with our business again, or at least make him think twice about it. If Jason was here, he’d probably break Aether’s legs. 
 
But as I look at the prone form of my friend, I just… I can’t. I don't want to. 
 
If we weren't in an alleyway, I'd tie him to a chair or something until we decided what to do with him, but we’re here, and I don't exactly have a chair. Or rope. (And I suppose even if I did have either of those things, Aether could still escape pretty easily. Density shifting, after all.) 
 
I shake my head. Why am I thinking about something that will never happen? There is a boy with a concussion knocked out right in front of me, and I'm worried about what will happen if I tie him to an imaginary chair with imaginary rope. 
 
Maybe I should just throw him in a dumpster and hope he'll turn out okay. 
 
Or maybe throw him in the dumpster and call an ambulance myself. 
 
But... when you call emergency services, don't they ask for your name? What am I going to say? 
 
"Hey, Vex here. Just wanted to let you guys know that one of my victims is suffering from a concussion in an alleyway, right outside the DSHA Offices, which I have recently wrecked. LOL bye!" 
 
It's as this thought is crossing my mind when he begins to regain consciousness. 
 
I jump back. 
 
He blinks groggily and rubs his head, trying to sit upright. 
 
I rise to my feet, desperate to not have been caught trying to see if he was okay.
 
I'm an Overlord, I remind myself. I am an Overlord, and he is my enemy. We do not sympathize with enemies. We do not tolerate rivalry. I am an Overlord, and we do not tolerate weakness. 
 
And he is making me weak.
 
I need to burn this bridge. 
 
I steel myself, and then kick him in the stomach as hard as I can. He cries out in pain and crumples into a ball. I may not have a long reach or a lot of upper body strength, so it's not like I can punch someone's eyes out, but kicking people while they're down? That is very doable. 
 
"Your father has faced the Overlords before, hasn't he? You should know better than to take one of us on by yourself." I spit the words out like acid I used to destroy all those files, and with far more hate than I actually feel. 
 
Aether glares up at me and grits his teeth. 
 
"So then why... don't you... just... kill me.... and get it over with? The original... Overlords would have." he half-slurs.
 
His words sting. 
 
I stare down at him and say in an almost-whisper, "Do I look like a murderer to you?" 
 
"I hope... that question was... rhetorical," he groans. “You’ve got some… blood. It’s on your face.”
 
I kick him in the stomach again. This time, I think I knock the air out of him. 
 
He gasps for breath. 
 
"If the Overlords killed everyone who tried to stop them, I don't think you would have been born. Besides, if we didn't let some people go, who would let other people know to fear us?" 
 
"So you're not going to kill me?" He coughs. 
 
I smile. "No." 
 
I won't kill him. No. Not today. Leaving him half-dead in an alleyway and calling an ambulance under a fake name where he can't see me, however, is not beneath me. 
 
I start to back away from him. I need to get out of here, call emergency services, and not have to worry about Aether following me back home. 
 
"Vex. I was wondering if I would find you here." 
 
I tense at the voice. It's Digit. 
 
Imp is here. 
 
There are two “Imps” in the ranks of the Overlords. The first one is retired, and was none other than my Tante Virginie. Since in folklore imps are often said to be immortal, it has fallen to Digit to carry on her name and legacy. 
 
"What are you doing here?" I mutter tiredly at him. 
 
"I was asked to find you. There's been some... developments." 
 
Which is code for "something important has happened, but it's either secret Overlord business, or it has to do with your civilian identity so I can't say exactly what at the moment". 
 
He comes up to stand beside me, staring down at Aether. "I see what's taking so long. You found a new toy." 
 
Aether glares up at us. I don't have to be able to telepathically read him in order to see the waves of hurt and betrayal and... hate coming off of him, directed at me. 
 
It makes me want to run to his side and tell him... something. Something to fix this. I don't want him to hate me. 
 
But this is necessary. It is. 
 
I nod to my cousin. "I did." 
 
"You really need to treat people nicer. This is why you don't have any friends," Imp says. 
 
I regard him with a flat look. 
 
In his Overlord gear, he looks a lot less like "that hot guy with the cute hair" (as I once heard him described when visiting him at his school) and more like "that hot guy who's probably a serial killer" (according to a post I read on the internet). 
 
To me, he just looks like some idiot who put on a plague doctor’s mask and a suit like mine, except he’s covered from head to toe. Add to that combat boots and the fact that he’s visibly armed to the teeth, and you might have a good idea of what he looks like. 
 
Unlike Jason and me, Digit is trained in how to use firearms; it's one of the few things Uncle Archie had time to teach his son before he died, so no one has tried to make him adopt a more traditional Overlord look. 
 
"Not now, okay?" I hiss at him. 
 
"But... it's still true." Aether agrees, still slurring, and still curled up on the ground, trying to look defiant as he clutches his ribs. 
 
"Et tu, Aether?" 
 
He shrugs and closes his eyes. 
 
It's been a while since I took first aid, but I'm pretty sure allowing someone with a concussion to fall asleep is a bad thing, so I kick him again. 
 
As Aether groans out a long "Wwwhhhyyyy?" I turn to Digit and ask, "What kind of developments?" 
 
Digit leans in close to my ear and says in a low tone so that Aether isn’t able to overhear us, “The Overlord and the Wyvern are back. They want to see you. Preferably right now.” 
 
My eyes widen. Maman and Dad are home. 
 
I nod. When the Overlord says "right now" what he really means is "yesterday". 
 
“I guess I should be on my way, then. I'll call an ambulance on my way out. Can you handle Aether until it arrives?” I murmur back. 
 
“Aether?” Digit raises an eyebrow. “That guy from your Hero School? Did he stalk you here? Is he your secret boyfriend?” 
 
“No!” I glare at him. 
 
He raises his hands in an innocent gesture. 
 
Aether groans. (Again.) 
 
We both look back down at him. 
 
"Get a room," he says in an irritable voice.
 
We don’t need to see each other’s faces to know that we’re both looking disgusted at each other. Ew. We're cousins! 
 
"Hey, what happened to your face?" Digit asks, suddenly. 
 
My face? He means the blood, doesn’t he? 
 
I reach up and gingerly feel my right cheek. My skin still feels wet, and when I pull my hand away, there’s fresh blood on it. 
 
Well, that's slightly alarming. Still, I shake it off. "I'll be fine." 
 
Even as I say that, I begin to notice the stinging pain on the side of my face. I shove the discomfort to the back of my mind. It’s the last thing that matters right now. 
 
"If you insist." Digit shrugs, looking back at Aether. "Might want to clean up before you head back to... you know where." 
 
He means Jason's apartment. 
 
I nod. Right. That’s what I should be doing. "I'll go do that right now. Take care of him." 
 
I slip back into the shadows and pull out my phone. 
 
Feeling slightly more level headed now that I'm not looking at Aether, I call emergency services and list my name as Annabelle Johnson, then worriedly tell them about a body I've found in an alleyway. I also list the address, and then hang up before there are any more questions. 
 
Afterward, I stumble my way through the city until I find the hidden entrance to a hidden Overlord bunker. 
 
Once inside, I wilt. The weariness and fatigue are catching up to me. I make it down the steps of the entryway, only to collapse on the ceramic tile floor at the bottom. It's not comfortable, but I don't want to be comfortable right now. 
 
Not after what I just did. 
 
I dig my fingers into the floor as I angrily shove myself to my feet. 
 
No pity. I will not pity myself. 
 
I force myself to the lockers, shedding my uniform layer by layer. 
 
Gloves. Boots. 
 
I reach up to unzip the suit itself. My fingers brush something hard and rectangular under my collar. 
 
The perception filter. 
 
I unclip it, not caring if I prick my fingers in the process. Why did I think it would be a good idea to wear it? 
 
In disgust, I let it fall to the ground and stomp on it. 
 
The pin digs into the heel of my socked foot. I gasp in pain, tears stinging my eyes. I reach down and grab the filter and hurl it across the room with all my might. It smacks into the wall opposite me, scratching the white paint. 
 
But the perception filter itself is unharmed. 
 
I want to scream. I want to stomp my feet and shout and cry smash that stupid... stupid... 
 
Hot, fat tears spill down my cheeks, mingling with the blood on my face and seeping into my cut, exacerbating the stinging pain. 
 
My body shakes. 
 
I crumble to the floor and curl up into a tight ball, my knees to my chest and my arms wrapped around them, letting the sobs take me. When I move to rub the tears away, I finally remember the blood on my right cheek. 
 
Ah, yes. I have a head injury. 
 
It's with all my willpower that I control my urge to telekinetically snap the filter in half as I walk by on my way to the medical kit. 
 
I know if I destroy that name tag, I'll regret it later. 
 
I am an Overlord. I will not let my anger control me. I will control it. 
 
When I see myself in the mirror – a sixteen year old girl with messy brown hair, wet eyes, and a gash in her face the size of the Loretta River – I get a grim sense of satisfaction. 
 
I look exactly as wretched as I feel. 
 
I clean myself up, washing and placing a bandage over the cut, tying my hair back, putting my gear away (even the undamaged filter), and slipping on civilian clothes (a black jacket, plain red shirt, skinny jeans and my favorite pair of faded converse). 
 
With one last, cleansing breath to gain control of myself, I set out for Jason's apartment. 
 
I make it back in record time. 
 
Anticipation and anxiety churn in my stomach as I make my way up the spiral fire escape staircase. What's going on? Why do Maman and Dad want to see me? If they just got back, wouldn't they rather be resting? 
 
Am I in trouble? What did I do? 
 
Cool night air surrounds me and only seems to get colder the closer I get to the fifth floor. I don't know what to expect, and I don't like not knowing. 
 
I reach the sliding glass door and pull the handle. Warm air spills out, greeting my hands and face. The warmth is a welcome sensation. 
 
I pull the door open wider, push past the curtains, and step into the small living room. 
 
My jaw hangs loose. 
 
Just as like Digit said, Maman and Dad are here. 
 
But other people are here too. Some I recognize. (Megan? Sueña?!) Others, I do not. 
 
"Welcome home, Elaine." 
 
I focus on the man who's greeting me. He's a sight for sore eyes. 
 
"Good to see you again, too, Dad."