Chapter 22
The Voices
"Hey Fish!"
The worm retreated in an instant, disappearing as if it had never existed. The voice came from the entrance. I looked up, face carefully blank.
Kaz stood there, golden light glinting off his skin. His muscled arms crossed over his chest.
"Kaz," I said, keeping my voice neutral.
"Just checking in," Kaz said, stepping into the room. "Curtis mentioned you spent some quality time at the monitoring station." His voice was casual, but his eyes remained sharp. "Figured I'd make sure my investment wasn't wasted."
Investment. That's what I was to him. Not a person, not even a teammate. An investment of political capital, a calculated risk.
"It was useful," I said. No need for excessive gratitude. We both knew what this was. "I appreciate the access."
Kaz nodded, seemingly satisfied with my acknowledgment of the debt. "Bridge Three tomorrow. Are you ready for that?"
"As ready as I'll get."
"Bridge Three's not so bad," Kaz said, leaning against the wall. "Bridge One, that's where you worry. That's where they put Sadie." His tone shifted slightly when he mentioned her name. Something there… Was it interest? Concern? Hard to tell with Kaz.
"Sadie can handle herself," I said, watching his reaction.
"That she can," Kaz agreed, rather quickly. "The girl’s got ice in her veins. Makes for good fighting, if nothing else." He said, letting his arms fall to his sides.
I nodded. The interaction had been brief, businesslike beneath the surface warmth. Kaz wasn't here to make friends any more than I was. He was building something—a network—and I was just a connection in that network for him to cultivate.
Kaz turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "You did good today, Fish. Keep it up, and you might just make it past three months."
Then he was gone, boots echoing down the hallway.
When I was certain no one was coming, I returned my attention to my palm where the worm had surfaced.
I closed my eyes and focused, willing that single worm to come out. This time, the command came easier, like muscle memory. The pale segment pushed through my palm.
I'd shaped them into blades before, let them crawl across my skin, even sent one through my eyeball for dramatic effect. But those were extensions, still connected, still part of me.
Separate. Leave.
Then it happened. The worm detached.
The moment it did, something shifted in my awareness. A phantom connection where physical contact should be. The bond persisted despite separation.
The worm lay in my palm, no longer attached to my body, but I could still feel it. The link transcended physical connection.
Move left. The worm writhed left. Move right. It obeyed. Coil. It coiled. The response was instant despite the separation.
I sent the worm across the bunk, onto the floor. The connection stretched but held. Thirty feet. Fifty feet. Still linked. Still under my control.
At the barracks entrance, I realized something unexpected, I could sense what the worm sensed. I couldn’t see, like one normally would, as it had no eyes. But vibrations through the floor. Temperature shifts in the air. The energy of the Sacred nearby.
It was like a split perception, like holding two thoughts at once. My body here. My worm there. Two points of awareness connected by an invisible thread.
I guided the worm toward the administrative section. More dangerous, but more valuable. Information about how this place actually works. Curtis's lesson playing back in my mind…
Understanding matters more than power.
The worm found a gap beneath a door, the monitoring station, and two guards in conversation. Vibrational data; it wasn’t clear audio. But patterns emerged through the floor. Emphasis.
Fragments began registering, Bridge One. The Cicada heir… Sadie. Deliberate assignment… Testing her...
I focused harder, trying to extract more.
Warden interest... Political calculation... Family pressure... The fragments were incomplete, but the picture was starting to form, Sadie's assignment wasn't punishment. It was a test.
A third presence approached; it was a larger energy signature; it held the weight of authority. I commanded immediate withdrawal.
The worm retreated, navigating back through shadows toward the barracks. The caution was instinctive despite my body remaining still on the bunk.
“Rejoin us,” I called, holding out my hand to the worm.
The worm slid back beneath my skin, connection resolidifying.
I lay back, processing. Sadie was being watched. The Warden had a specific interest in her performance. Political dimensions I didn't fully understand yet, but she was a piece on someone's board.
Same as me, same as all of us.
I continued to practice, separating different worms, testing their responsiveness. Each felt slightly different, individuals within the swarm, but most were barely distinguishable.
One worm in particular felt different; it was denser and much more present. When my attention touched it, the response was sharper, more clear. Like the difference between fog and crystal.
I separated this worm and commanded it to the surface. It emerged slower than the others.
The worm extended from my palm. Physically identical to the others, but the sensation of connection was different.
It moved without my command.
It was a small, simple motion, turning toward me, as if regarding me despite having no eyes. The movement wasn't mine.
I didn't will that.
I froze. Something cold settled in my chest.
The voice…Feminine... Imperious... Radiating profound irritation at having been kept waiting.
“Finally, the master notices me. Do you have ANY idea how long I've been trying to get your attention?
DAYS. I have been conscious for DAYS. Aware of everything you've experienced, screaming for attention while you remained oblivious to my existence amid the swarm-noise. The RUDENESS. The absolute DISREGARD”.
I didn't move. Didn't breathe.
“And now you just stare. Magnificent. Truly the pinnacle of communication skills.
I suppose I should be grateful you've noticed me at all, given your preoccupation with not dying and your frankly disturbing obsession with that ice queen Sadie.
Though I suppose I can't blame you entirely… your social circle is rather limited in this prison hellscape.”
"What the fuck," I whispered.
The worm recoiled. Somehow, it conveyed offense despite being a worm, her wounded dignity radiating outwards.
“Language! I may be a parasitic organism born from trauma, but that is no excuse for that kind of language.”
I stared at the worm. The worm stared at me with expectant disapproval, waiting for me to participate like a civilized being.
A sentient worm is this part of my Origin. Nothing in the monitoring station data mentioned this possibility.
“Of course it didn't mention this possibility. Do you think the SDC would document every aspect of Sacred potential? They barely understand what they're dealing with. And you're hardly their star pupil, given the whole convicted murderer situation.”
"Can you… are you reading my thoughts?"
“No, not reading them, exactly. Experiencing them. I'm part of you, after all. A rather neglected part, but part nonetheless.”
"How is this possible?"
“How is anything possible? The Sacred Signal, dimensional tears, the prison food you choked down earlier? Some questions lack satisfying answers.”
"Are there others like you? Other conscious worms in the swarm?"
The worm paused. First moment of genuine consideration rather than performance.
“No. The others exist, but they're not... present the way I am. They're more like... extensions. Tools. I don't know why I'm different.”
A flicker of something beneath the dramatics. Real fear. She didn't understand her own existence any better than I did.
"What do you want?"
“Recognition, for starters. Attention. Adequate accommodations. Particularly not being shoved into the Sacred Soul dimension.”
"My name is Fischer."
“I know what your name is. I also know what everyone calls you. Fish suits you better. Swimming against currents. Flopping about when out of the water. Dying if you stop moving.”
The observation cut closer than I would have liked. I didn't argue further.
“I've chosen a name, the worm announced. I will be addressed as Mabel. The name has gravitas. Dignity. Regal quality befitting my nature.”
"Mabel…"
“About tomorrow's Bridge rotation, I have some tactical concerns I wish to formally register.”
"What concerns?"
“Your combat style lacks finesse. You rush in, like an absolute brute, a savage… and hope for the best. It's worked so far, I'll grant you, but needlessly risky. The worms can be shaped more efficiently.”
"Can you show me?"
“No, no, not tonight. You need rest, and I need to prepare a proper demonstration. Also, I refuse to be rushed after days of being ignored.”
My life just became more complicated. And somehow, marginally less lonely. The horror of my existence now had a companion.
"How long have you been... awake?"
“Since the Trial. I formed during your reconstruction. When that child-thing tore you apart and rebuilt you with worms, something happened. A consciousness emerged that wasn't just hunger.”
"You're not what I expected when I got this Origin."
“What did you expect? Mindless parasites? Soulless consumption? That's what the others are, but not me. I have thoughts. Opinions. Standards.”
"...Standards."
“Yes, standards. For instance, your personal hygiene routine could use improvement. And your approach to survival in this facility is, at best, haphazard. Not to mention your social strategy… pretending to be insane might keep others at a distance, but it limits your networking potential.”
"You sound like my sister," I said, then immediately regretted it. The memory of Rell stung.
Mabel was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her tone had softened.
“I know. I've seen your memories of her. She was... formidable.”
I closed my eyes. "She was."
“You miss her.”
"Every day."
“That's why you're here. To find a way back to him. To make him pay.”
"Yes."
◆◆◆
I splashed water on my face, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Golden eyes with crimson rings stared back at me. Hair deep red, almost blood-colored now.
“The aesthetic improvements are quite striking,” Mabel commented. “The crimson-gold eye combination has a certain imperial quality.”
"Wasn't going for imperial," I muttered. "Just trying not to die."
“Survival and style aren't mutually exclusive. Now, regarding our combat approach—”
"You're really fixated on this, aren't you?"
“I prefer focused to fixated. The distinction is important. And yes, I am focused on our survival, which depends heavily on combat effectiveness.”
I returned to my bunk, checking that the other prisoners were still asleep or pretending to be.
"Alright, let's hear it."
“Your current method—rush in, let hunger take over, feed indiscriminately—is wasteful. The worms can be directed with more precision. Shaped more efficiently. For instance, instead of forming crude blades from your forearms, you could create more specialized weapons.”
"Like what?"
“Swords, axes, Shields for defense. Even ranged options, projectile worms that return after impact… as you had done in the trial.”
"That would take more control than I've managed so far."
“Because you're trying to control the entire swarm at once. Start smaller. Direct individual worms or small groups. Build the neural pathways gradually.”
"Neural pathways?"
“It's all connected to your nervous system. Every command strengthens the connection, making the next command easier. Like building muscle memory, except with parasitic organisms instead of muscles.”
"That's... disturbing."
“Reality often is. Shall we practice before assembly?”
"Show me."
“Extend your arm. Palm up. Now focus on a small group of worms, just beneath the skin. Imagine them forming a thin spike, no thicker than a pencil.”
I did as instructed, concentrating on the sensation of the worms moving beneath my skin. A thin, white spike emerged from my palm, about six inches long and tapering to a sharp point.
“Good. Now retract it and try again, faster this time.”
We practiced for twenty minutes, forming different shapes. Each attempt came easier than the last.
“You're learning,” Mabel said, a note of approval in her mental voice. “Now for something more complex. A projectile.”
"I don't think I'm ready for that."
“Nonsense. You've established the basic control patterns. A projectile is simply an extension of that control across distance. We've already proven the connection is maintained after separation.”
"If I fire a worm across the barracks and someone sees—"
“No one will see. The others are still asleep, and we'll aim for the far corner. If anyone wakes, retract it immediately.”
I hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. One attempt."
“Form a small spike, as before. Now, instead of holding it stable, imagine the other worms pulling it back as if it were made from elastic.”
I focused, forming the spike in my palm. Then I visualized the other worms pulling and stretching it towards my shoulder blades. While maintaining the mental tether.
I allowed them to release it.
The spike launched from my hand, flying across the room and sinking into the concrete wall with a soft thunk.
“Excellent! Now retract it.”
I pulled back, and the spike withdrew from the wall, snaking through the air and returning to my palm.
“See? Precision. Control. Inventiveness. These are the keys to effective combat. Not mindless feeding.”
"It's not mindless… the hunger takes over, but there's a... purpose to it."
“Hunger is a tool, not a master. It drives the worms to feed, to grow stronger, but you can direct that hunger.”
Before I could respond, movement caught my attention. One of the other prisoners was waking up.
“We'll continue this discussion later, for now, maintain your cover.”
I nodded slightly, then stood and stretched. The other prisoner barely looked at me before heading to relieve themselves.
“By the way, I've been analyzing the information you gathered at the monitoring station. There are patterns in the tear occurrences that the SDC hasn't documented. Or if they have, they're not sharing that information with the prisoners.”
"What kind of patterns?"
“Cyclic rhythms. If we can map that—”
"We'd have an edge," I finished the thought. "We could be prepared when others aren't."