Battle Vixens! - 140

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Episode 140: Remission

"Psst. Hey. Hey."
In response to his wife pestering and poking at him, Clark just groaned annoyedly and turned over in bed.

"You do know the sun's been up a couple of hours by now, right?"
He turned over slowly, then propped himself up on an elbow to face the side of hte bed Rory was standing on. "How on Earth do you have so much energy, after all of yesterday?"
"I can only sleep so long! Anyway, you asked me the same thing last night~. Are you getting up now?"
"I suppose so." He shuffled around to sit on that side of the bed. "If we have kids, we'll have to see whether you're still so chipper after dealing with them all night."
"Whaaat, 'if'?" she said with her arms crossed—implying 'not when?'

"I only mean...we've been," he cleared his throat meaningfully, "trying...for some time now. It may be that one of us isn't actually, 'capable'?"
"It's only a convenience if so. I mean, we've had time to build successful careers and then be superheroes! And we can just adopt someone if we have to—after we kick the monsters off our world! Anyway, since you're up, I'll get some breakfast ready for you. And coffee!"
"Coffee. Yes. That should help..." With that, she bounded off toward the kitchen.

---

Simon knocked on the door (even though it was ajar), and after a long moment heard, "Come in." So he pushed it the rest of the way open and strode inside.

Cynthia was still in the process of slowly sitting up and turning around, having evidently been hunched over her sketchpad on her desk. "Oh, it's you."
"Hey now. You're really gonna hurt my ego with a response like that!" he said, coming to look at what she was working on.

"Ain't like I've had time to miss you; I've seen you every day since comin' back to life or whatever."

The sketch was another moody, shadow, scribbly work, mostly or entirely in pencil. Simon could make out two humanoid figures on opposite sides of a chasm, whose sides had a jagged and angular shape—as if it had just recently been torn open by an earthquake. "Is this one new? It looks like it's coming along well," he said.

"Hmmh. Doc said it might help me to 'draw my emotions' or whatever, when I told her 'bout the sketchbook. It's somethin' to do, at least. What'd you want again?"

He snapped a finger. "Oh, yes, right!" (Not that he'd really forgotten.) "Serra—you remember Serra right?—called me because apparently you and Dawn haven't been issued phones yet. She and Braille and some of the other amnesiacs—or, former amnesiacs, whatever—are setting up a little conference call to 'catch up on things'. I guess some of them have some good news to share. If you're at all interested?"
Cynthia shrugged. "Sure, I guess. Where's Dawn?"

He'd heard about their 'breakup' from Rowan, but it still felt a little weird for her to ask him that. Regardless, he shrugged, "Dunno, but Warp went off to find her. We agreed to meet back up in one of the lounges, and then maybe I can just put my phone on speaker for you."

"Alright." She hopped to her feet. "Lead the way, then."

"Will do!"

---

Sam was trying, once again, to hit a series of clay pidgeons out in the VI's courtyard. The latest attempt went...somewhat well.

"Alright! You got more than half of 'em!" Tora applauded.

Sam shrugged, frowning slightly. "You say that after swipin' those claws at every single one. And that still don't hold a candle to what Zeno said she does every mornin'."
"Well, we've all got different talents. I can't weave traps like you. Anyway, you're still getting used to the whole 'adjustable-length knife-flail' thing."

Their conversation was interrupted by the nearest door into the building opening, and...a plastic bag floating out through it? Tora gave Sam a confused look, and she returned a shrug. The situation made a bit more sense when a blond-haired, orange-furred vixen followed that bag outside after a few seconds, holding her right hand up as if it was carrying an invisible weight. "Hey there!" she said, waving with her 'free' hand.

"Oh, it's one of the No Evil gals. Lift, right?" Tora said, heading over toward her. "Or do you prefer Lucy?" Sam followed while they continued talking.

"Either way." She offered out a hand, and Tora grabbed it.

"Pretty sweet to meet you in person. Maaan, I felt personally cheated when they announced your diagnosis on the news, and then just—nothing. So glad you stuck it out after all!"

Lift tilted her head slightly. "You mean you knew me from before? Whenever I mention I was training for the olympics, most people just stare like, 'whaaaaat?'"

"Yeah, well, I do follow that stuff a little more closely."

"Not to be rude, but—is there somethin' we owe your visit to, miss?" Sam asked.

"Oh, right! Yes, I've got a little bit of business with your boss. But also—" she waved her right hand around a bit, and the bag floated up to right in front of Sam, where she could see some dark gray cloth inside. "—I thought I'd go on and make a little delivery along the way. That's for you!"

"Alright." Reaching inside and picking it up, Sam was faced with a similarly-designed t-shirt to the one Lift was wearing. This one's front had a 'footprint' kind of symbol with the usual red-circle-with-a-line-through-it over it, and the back said "Tread no Evil". It looked to be exactly her size.

"Don't feel like you have to wear it, but Void was dead-set on this 'honorary member' business. Not that I disagree." Lift said this while casually floating the now-empty bag back to herself.
"Well, I think I'll wear it at least once just out of appreciation," Sam said, slinging the shirt across her shoulder for now. "Thank you kindly. You sure got it made quick."
"I know a guy; printing a pattern on an already-made shirt isn't all that hard. So, going the other way, if you want spares we can do that too."

"I'll think on it.

"Say—you ever feel guilty?"
"Uh, about what?"
"Plenty of folks in the same position you were. Most of 'em didn't get...fixed, you could say."

Lucy's expression turned a little severe. "I don't have time for guilt. I'm too busy trying to help folks in that 'position'. You know, as a side gig next to fighting monsters."

"Pardon," Sam said, "Didn't mean to offend you."

"Oh, don't take me the wrong way. I know what you mean; some of our 'proper' members have dealt with similar feelings. But I've always had this belief, you know: Whatever life hands you, whether it's good or bad—wherever it comes from, for whatever reason—you use it to the fullest. So we won the Giver's dumb 'lottery' and got back our 'missing pieces', and other people didn't—so what? I used what little fame I had back then to encourage people to fund research into a cure for my condition, and I'm doing the same thing now that that fame's a lot bigger. Folks with several kinds of disabilities had less of a voice before our team formed than they do now. So if you feel bad about 'getting lucky', why not give what you can to make it so what you got isn't up to 'luck' anymore at all?"
Sam nodded. "I see what you're saying. Thanks."
Lift smiled again. "Yeah, no problem. Anyway, I really shouldn't keep a busy man like Rowan waiting, so—take care!" She turned on her heel with a gentle wave and headed straight back toward the door, raising a hand to make the door open itself for her on her way back inside.

"Yeah, so—that?" Tora said with a slight gesture toward the door. "That is why I was hoping to see that woman win the gold in gymnastics."

"You think they'll let vixens enter?"

"Hmm...I feel like 'performance-enhancing magic' is a real concern there. Maybe we'll have to have our own classification."

---

Simon sat on the opposite side of the couch from Cynthia; Dawn had taken up residence on a chair as far as possible from her, and Warp chose to remain standing. He set his phone down on the coffee table in front of him after answering the call and putting it on speakerphone. "Heeey! Okay, everyone able to hear me alright?" That was...Serra's voice, Cynthia worked out after a moment. A bunch of other voices chimed in afterward, too many to distinguish much of what any of them was saying.

"We're good on this end, too," Simon said, just when they had quieted enough for him to be understood.

"Okay—so. Nearly everyone who came back to life is in on this call. We've got a few holdouts still, but anyway. For one thing, I think we oughta have some kind of pithy, one-word name for ourselves. Not exactly an original idea—people online and on the news have used a bunch of different names, and it's only a matter of time before they agree on something we don't like. Unless, y'know, we tell them one we do."

"Well, I don't like 'former puppets'," said..that was Dr. Quinn, wasn't it? First name Rory. "For one thing, I wasn't one, and for another, it casts us as some kind of victims. We're better than that, and deserve better than that."

"Agreed, yeah," Serra said, alongside maybe three or four other voices giving similar assent at the same time. "Guess 'amnesiacs' is out too, for similar reasons. So like..'the comeback crew'?"

"That sounds really lame." Cynthia wasn't sure who'd said that.

"Well, I'm just spitballing here! You got any better ideas, Braille?"

"We were basically resurrected, right? So..?"

"Too many syllables!" That one...Cynthia didn't quite recognize either. "Hard to say without tripping over it." But whoever it was had a moderately strong accent...Asian of some sort...?

"We've been 'Reborn', then," Warp said. "That pithy enough for you?" She mostly seemed motivated by irritation at this topic and a desire to put an end to it as quickly as possible. But some scattered chatter that followed seemed to be mostly in favor of this nickname.

"I guess that'll do, for now at least," Serra concluded.

"This conversation had another point, didn't it? Some sort of good news?" Warp pressed.

"Oh, yeah—well I mean. It's more just—wanting to keep up with you all. But there's definitely some good news to go around—like how we all made it through yesterday's monster battles, and how far along we are with memory recovery...plus one other thing I can share, and I'm sure at least a couple of others of you guys can too."

Warp said: "Which is?"

"Well, I know Doc Quinn was the first, but some more of us have managed to get our human forms back! Me included."
"Yeah, me too," Braille pitched in. "Get this—I was born without sight, hence my whole name and theming...but even though this 'new' human form looks and feels just the same as it ever did—I mean, I have to take other people's word on it looking the same, but—I digress, I guess. Point is—I can see now. So I guess, 'rebuilding our bodies' or whatever, kinda fixed whatever was 'wrong' before."

"Well that's great news!" Serra said, then backpedaled slightly: "Right? Uh, I mean guess I don't know whether you wanted to be able to see or not necessarily, but..."

"No, it's pretty nice, actually. This form has an extra sense that adds on to normal sight into an annoying sensory overload, so having a body without that, but with working eyes, is great."

"I probably could, if I wanted," Warp said. "Not interested, though."
"You're not?"

"You remember what I said about my background? A clean break from my 'old self' is what I wanted in the first place. Rather not go back to where I could get...recognized," she said.

"I guess I can appreciate that," Braille said. "But, uh, weren't you also a guy before? Isn't that part at least kinda weird?"
Warp just returned a noncommital "Eh" alongside a shrug.

"I am not so far along," the one with the accent said. "Eeto...Kagee-Shibai here. I have some of my memories back, enough to identify...I am actually a teacher of English. So, it is a little embarrassing that I could not speak it before. But, may explain why I could understand it. I am still some way from feeling confident to, teach again."

"Yeah, I feel that," Rory said. "I think I've remembered or re-learend up to maybe a master's degree in my subject, so still got doctorate, post-doc, and actual professorship to go..."

"We get it, you're a genius," Serra said with some friendly sarcasm. "As for me—I'm mostly there memory-wise, in a certain sense. For me it's been almost entirely in backwards chronlogical order, so I remember most of my adult life now but not being a teenager or a kid. Kinda weird."

Cynthia spoke up for the first time: "I dunno, if remembering our past was all that great. But Dawn an' me did it anyway."

"I'm sure it wasn't pleasant, but it's better than not knowing," Rory said, her tone one of reassuring certainty.

"Yeah, you seemed pretty suspicious of basically everyone at first. 'Cept for Dawn," Serra pointed out. "You feeling a little better now?"
"I dunno. I guess I know why I wasn't feeling too trusting, but that don't make me feel a whole lot better."

"We've been hurt. All our lives," Dawn said, kind of suddenly. "Ain't no good to just bury it. Hurts bad to dig it up, but I think we had to. Can't get better without knowin' you're sick."

"It at least increases the difficulty of treatment an awful lot," Rory agreed.

"You have dealt with...more than is fair," Kagee-Shibai added. "Take your time to process. I would say, if we were not forced to fight."

"Hey now—they don't have to," Simon interjected. "Both of them continue to insist, is all."

"Eeto..sorry. I do not mean individually, but 'we' as...everyone, must fight."

"Right," Cynthia said.

"So—did you two get human forms back?" Serra asked, returning to the start of the conversation. "Just out of curiosity."

"Uh...we ain't tried, actually. In a while."

"Can't remember doin' it even once, really," Dawn said. "Guess it didn't occur to me."
"Me either."

Rory said: "Well, it's fine if you don't want to like Warp, but otherwise—why not give it a shot?"

Several of the others on the call agreed with this, using words like 'yeah' and 'go for it!'.

"Uh, you mean, right now?" Cynthia said.
"No better time than the present!" Serra answered first. "But like, no pressure or anything if you don't feel like it."

"No, I guess it's fine..."

How did that weird phrase go again? Cynthia hadn't actually said it since 'coming back to life'. But, she was able to remember: The house on fire all around her, and the pain of the night before. And right in between the two, when she had finally slept, being taught something. Which had then led to...that fire. She took a brief, sharp breath, remembering the way Donny had looked. Like she thought she'd helped—had done her a favor, by killing him.

The phrase came out easily enough, thinking about that. And it was successful in turning her back to 'normal'. She looked down at herself, and around briefly, before noticing a few tears coming out of her eyes and wiping them on a hand.

"Uh...guess it worked. Donny?"

"I dunno if uh.."
"What? You afraid to try for some reason? It worked for me."

"It's just uh..you know, before I got killed and all. My 'human form' was dyin'. You remember how I was always tired or hurtin'? They found out it was, pretty bad cancer..."

"You got rocks in your ears or somethin'? The Giver or wheover prolly fixed that, like Braille's eyes. Just do it!"

"Okay, okay.."

With that, Dawn spoke her phrase, seeming to remember it much more easily than Cynthia had. And, in a flash of blue light, she shifted back into Donald Keller—Donny. He looked...well-rested, for the first time Cynthia could remember. Not quite as gaunt, either, like he'd actually been eating properly. It wasn't too bad of a look.

Besides that, he had a nervous expression on at first, but paused, taking a deep breath, and then laughed. "H..hahah...I don't hurt. I can't remember the last time, like this, I didn't hurt. Hahaha!"

It was also, possibly, the first time in a long while that he'd actually smiled, or laughed. And it was quite real, even if it was tinged with some tears. Cynthia had...sorely missed the sight of that expression on his face.

---

Mid-explanation, Lucy suddenly interrupted herself: "...aaannd I can tell by your expression the answer's no. I can't say I'm surprised, but I am disappointed."

Rowan, sitting across from her, sighed. "Look, it's not like I don't understand what you want, and I agree with your goals, at least in spirit. But..there are a lot of problems."

"Okay, name one."

"Well first of all, it wouldn't even be my decision. You do realize I'm not in charge here, right?"

"It sure seems like you are! Literally everyone I've talked to around here calls you 'boss'."

"That's a nickname, coined specifically because I don't like it. I'm a public-facing figurehead, alright? My job is in recruitment, tactics, deployment, and...diplomacy. And that last one was not in my original contract, and I still feel like I'm stumbling around in the dark with it. The bottom line is that a large-scale organizational decision like this isn't mine to make. I'd be happy to pass your suggestion up the chain of command, along with my own positive opinion of at least the end goal."

"Uh-huh, so do that then. Or get me in touch with the decision-maker himself! But you said 'first of all', too, didn't ya?"

"Right. There are practical considerations. At this very moment, the entirety of the VI's research department, as well as most of the staffers sworn-in enough to help, are busy producing and packing up masks and other similar items to be sent throughout the world, just to give humanity as a whole a slight additional edge against our common enemy. Our 'quality control' consists of one person who can tell by looking whether or not they'll work; the only other reliable test we have is putting it on someone, which uses it up. So even if I had the authority to, what would I tell them? 'Just make a billion more, please'?"

"The VI has some notoriously deep pockets behind it, and has started turning a profit in under a month. You can hire more people."

"That has the small problem of making sure every single person is trustworthy and passes a background check, but also, again: One person. Looking at every mask. A thousand is likely to make her vision blurry. I'm not that good with numbers, Lucy, but I think the quality of her work might slip a little bit if we multiply that by an extra million? That's not even the worst objection I have, anyway."

"Okay, hit me with it."

"The VI and our partner organizations are not giving out these items to just anyone and everyone. We want people who are likely to use the power they grant for good—or, least, not for evil. What you're asking would give out powers to an essentially random population. Do you not remember how things went when the Giver did exactly that, barely a few weeks ago?"

"The world's a different place now! Plenty of more powerful people to keep them in check, right?"
"Alongside trying to defend our world from shadow monsters..."

"We can't expect to restrict who 'gets to have magic' forever, Rowan. I think within a decade—strike that, a year at this rate—having your own personal powerset will be more common than having a smartphone."

"Then what are we arguing about? You just want it done sooner?"
She leaned up and forward, halfway standing in the process and placing her hands on the desk between them to support herself—winding up looming over him. "I want to guarantee alternate forms. Healthy ones. Before the way things work shift, and the 'common' way of getting magic doesn't do that anymore!" This came with a dramatic waving-forward of her hands, then a slump back into the chair behind her. "And, you know, maybe people who are probably gonna die before that happens. Could use the help now-ish."

"Look—we don't even know how 'healthy' these alternate forms really are," Rowan said. "How much, in terms of injuries and other problems, really carries over from the 'original self' to the new one. Or whether there could be any long-term side effects. If a pharm company shoved out a 'cure' for ALS without enough testing, and then it killed people or gave them seizures for the rest of their lives or something..."
"Yeah, I'd want the execs to face a firing squad. But—this is magic we're talking about," she said, spreading her arms wide. "Not some drug."
"Going by everything I've heard the research department folks saying, that makes it more unpredictable, not less."

She exhaled a slight sigh. "I think you and I are just gonna disagree about this one forever. So, fine. Anything else?"

"There...is the fact that around, I think, eighty percent of men who use these masks gain female alternate forms? And women who use them only very rarely go the other way. I guess that isn't the worst thing, but it might have some kind of meaningful effect on entire populations if we use them in the numbers you're talking about."

"Pfft."
Rowan sighed slightly. "I'll admit, that one's pretty weak. But since you asked." His mentioning that seemed to have calmed the temper of the room somewhat; it was something they more or less could agree on.

"Look," he said, "I'll pass it up. Mention the obvious arguments about how much good it could do. Bring up my own reservations, if they want my opinion. It's all I could do anyway. I just, want you to temper your expectations a little."
"Aah, you don't have to worry about my expectations," Lucy said. "I'm just the kind of gal who thinks anything, however unlikely, is worth trying if it might help people."

"Fair enough.

"While you're here, mabye we can also talk a little bit about tactics? Make arrangements for mutual support tomorrow? Something I do have some experience with and authority over—if you don't mind helping me feel a little more useful?"
"Sure, alright," she said with a nod. "Might put me in a better mood for the drive home, at least."

Lucy thought: And yet this guy doesn't think he's any good at diplomacy...

---

Clark had, of course, been on hand to listen in on Rory's phone conversation with the others who'd come back to life. He just didn't feel it was his place to actually participate in the conversation. Considering that Simon of all people was on another end, and yet also mangaed to be relatively quiet, he felt pretty content that this was the right decision. He could comment as much as he wanted to once she hung up.

"So...the 'Reborn', huh?"
"Yep!" Rory said. "I'm glad we could all make that happen, however it did." She flopped over toward his side of the couch to pull herself over him in a hug. "I'm proud of you, by the way—did I ever tell you that? Not too many people would give up godlike powers just to bring some strangers plus one loved one back to life."

"That was..hardly even a decision," he said. "I would have given up anything and everything I ever had before that point, to get just you back."
"Awwh." His wife punctuated this with a long, impassioned kiss, before finally getting off of him again and hopping onto her feet, stepping a short way away from the couch.
"Not that I minded helping everyone else. It's just..."

"Are you still feeling bad about killing that woman?" she said.
"I really can't help it. Taking another person's life..."
"Okay, listen." she turned around. "You shouldn't feel that responsible. You reacted, more than acted. Right?"
"I suppose...but it's not as if that absolves me of responsibility. Someone died all the same."
"So you need someone to blame? What about me?" she said, gesturing to herself.

"You? She killed you."

Rory sighed. "Look—I didn't really want to bring this up, buuut. Once I started getting more of my memory back, and feeling more like myself again...I'm not really sure whether I 'remembered' or 'realized', to be honest. But I do think I understand what I was thinking when all that went down. Before the fight, when we were making plans and everything. You must know, I wouldn't make a plan that risked my life if I didn't really want to accomplish something—and didn't feel confident that I would."

"...Okay. So, what did you want to accomplish?"

"I think Light wanted revenge, and Rowan probably wanted justice. You, like poor Emma, just wanted to protect everyone. But I wasn't thinking in moral terms like that. It's simple pragmatism: A mad dog has to be put down. Because it's hurting itself, and it's hurting everyone else, and it can't be made to stop in any other way."

Clark just stared up at her quietly for a second or two. She spread out her hands. "Think about it! Tobias had some ridiculous delusion of becoming powerful enough to protect the world, all by herself. She was willing to knowingly, intentionally, hurt our current chances of survival for that. She was already at least as powerful as Espadas, which is apparently enough to keep a whole country safe alone! What more did she want? My invincibility? Why, when she could already fight very effectively from as far away from the danger as she wanted?! And after that, then what? No, she wasn't going to stop unless someone stopped her. And, I'm not optimistic enough—I guess you could say, I don't have Blake's faith in other people enough—to imagine that someone 'capturing' and 'owning' her could ever really 'redeem' that deluded person. She'd tear down the whole world if we let her. Allowing her to win wasn't an option. Letting her get away wasn't an option.

"I think—and it's not like I remember doing this, but it's the only logical conclusion, the only way things could have wound up the way they did—I must have weighed the cost, and decided that my life, and making you do the killing, was worth it, to guarantee our success. She wanted me, so I was the bait. And I knew you loved me enough to really hate anyone who hurt or especially killed me—maybe not for long, given your kind and caring nature...but long enough. So, once I felt like things were going south—like nobody else who really wanted to was gonna get to her in time before she killed someone important or got antsy and ran away—I put that plan into action.

"So, you know." Rory shrugged. "If you need to feel like someone's responsible for her death, how 'bout me? I pretty much used her, used you, and maybe used everyone else—definitely Light, at least—to make sure that she died right then, and right there. That's what they call 'premeditated', isn't it?"

He thought about it for a moment, then sighed, standing up. "You don't sound like you feel at all guilty about it."
"That's because I don't. On reflection, it seems just as necessary to me now as it would ever have to, to convince me to go through with it."
Clark took a couple of slow steps his wife's way. "And you are quite a stubborn person. I suppose, then...this is a 'greater good' situation. I definitely couldn't have made a decision like that myself. So, forcing me into it—maybe you were thinking about me, too."

"What, like I wanted to keep you from feeling guilty? Great job I did of that—if I hadn't 'come back' and explained all that to you, you'd probably never figure it out!"

He reached her, and pulled her into another hug. "Well, I appreciate it all the same. If that was the worst-thought-out part of your plan, then...you're pretty good at planning."

"Pffhaha! Just 'pretty good!?"

---

So, Lucy kind of barged her way into this episode unexpectedly. I thought first that it'd be nice to have a scene of Sam receiving the shirt, but then it probably wouldn't arrive so quickly if it was shipped, so someone should bring it in person...but then Lucy wouldn't come visit just to deliver the shirt, and the idea of what her actual business was became kind of obvious when thinking about the 'theme' of this particular episode overall. I think she's a good person, but also kind of intense, which results in her also being overall fairly abrasive.

I'm also dropping some subtle hints here about something by having the Quinns' scenes bookending this particular episode, by the way...but that 'something' will take a while in-universe to be important. So, I guess, see you in like 50 episodes for that?