2103:12:26:03:02:48

  Our trip to the Aberdeen Zoo was as fruitful as the last – more, even, now that Amber and I knew I couldn’t die in mimicked form. Meaning that, as long as the approach was gentle and unobstructed, the animal freaking out after was no problem. Aside from the fact that it was mean to freak an animal out, of course.

  All in all, I got another snowy owl, a few more rabbits from the petting zoo, sparrows, swallows, parrots, a hummingbird because why not, a peregrine form plus backups, a few of the tiniest mice we found, a goat-looking thing neither of us knew the name of, three alpacas of different color, and a variety of differently-sized cats to top it off – though not big cats; that was still too dangerous.

  We wanted to get some penguins as well, but the area was more secure than most so we decided to abandon that idea. We also didn’t want to get wet, but that was beside the point. Another failure was the gazelle, who managed to dodge and run nimbly enough to avoid me getting close, and neither of us wanted to wrestle and pin down the skittish animal.

  But above all, there were two real winners. For one reason or the other, a gorilla – the iconic western lowland gorilla, or gorilla gorilla gorilla – had been put in a separate, isolated enclosure. Since he’d been asleep, and there was no one but us to potentially wake him up, we went ahead and tried. It was nerve-wracking to just stand there and pray the being wouldn’t wake up and punch me into oblivion, but I succeeded without waking the guy up.

  Also, continuing on the primate trend, I managed to get a spider monkey form. Unlike the gorilla I had no clear idea what I would use it for – my ferret, rabbits and cats were agile and quick enough for the ground, and my many birds to get everywhere else – but it was easy enough to get. That, and it seemed like it would be fun swinging around with arms, legs and tail.

  But that was not the second winner. That honor belonged to the elephant. It was more difficult than the gorilla since other elephants kept watch and were skittish around us, but after the third try – with the first two ending up with me turning into a cat and dodging their slow warning charges – I finally managed to find one calm enough for me to copy. When I turned into it, it didn’t even cause a fuss! All it did was harrumph and walk away.

  Either way, great success all around, and a great distraction as well. We left the zoo warehouse just before one o’clock at night. On the way back home, we found an old yet alright looking sofa waiting outside for bulk waste pick-up, which we decided take with us, with me carrying it under my arm as a gorilla.

  When my internal cluck struck two, we were back in the warehouse and hung out for an hour more. It was perhaps the latest moment in time Amber and I had hung out together, but since neither of us were too tired, we decided to clean the rest of our new base – the little we still could, anyway – and just spend some time together, talking about nothing in particular.

  Or so I thought, but apparently Amber had something in mind for the rest of the evening.

  “Sam?” she began after the conversation about our Christmas presents wrapped up. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Hm?”

  “At the risk of sounding weird…” she said. “I want you to shift into me.”

  I blinked at that, taken aback by the directness. Amber knew I could change into other people; the man I’d copied near Evergreen’s Periodically Appropriate Dresses was a known form of mine, if one neither Amber or I liked seeing.

  But what surprised me was that, “You remember I don’t copy, you know… all of it?” I gestured to Amber – more specifically, her Crowsong costume. More more specifically, at her clothes.

  “Yes, I remember,” she said dryly. “But I want to know just as much as you do.”

  Yes, the holy grail of powers, and of shifter powers in particular: power copying. It was rare. Extremely, impossibly rare. So rare that it was doubtful any true-and-full power copiers existed, or even had ever existed at all in the at least 140-year-long history of superpowers. Those known to have something similar always carried restrictions and limitations: theme, method, range, limits on number, uses or duration, etcetera. Those that did have the ability were more on the level of a Soliloquy, or a Mantellan or any other multifaceted alter, caster, maker or caller; powerful, but not too powerful. Never the pinnacle of superpowered might a ‘true’ power copier could be.

  But speculation on one or more existing were always floating about. Told and retold in urban legend, and even regular myth and legend surrounding powered from the old days of the Dark, Silver and Golden Ages. The 1980s hero Paragon was the most notable – a man whose existence was as dubious as the quality of the films, novels, shows, comic books and fanfiction written about him.

  Another was the definitely-existing Eskaton Geranos, one of the initial Triumphants and the only one of that initial known to be still alive. But for as much as the fearsome executioner was the most well-known of the Twelve, his powers were poorly understood; he – if they even were a he, but I could not recall anyone addressing them as anything other than he – went in, people died, and left without a trace, and without obvious clue as to his powers. So of course some people assumed he just had every power in existence, because why not.

  The possibility that I might be able to copy powers – even if I already knew I couldn’t be a ‘true’ copier with the way my shifter forms worked – had always been tantalizing. I was, after all, built with the capacity for many powers, and my shifter power copied the attributes of an object, animal or person completely. Add to that the weird stuff with the inanimate forms getting abilities and it seemed like it could be possible. A distant one, yes, but still a possibility.

  But the reason I hadn’t tried was simple: I couldn’t. Trying meant copying a person and taking their forms, which on its own was already morally dubious – so Amber hammered into me after she first found out – but to copy a masked without being able to copy their costume as well?

  Bringing it up to Amber and Millie was something I hadn’t wanted to do. I mean, they were my friends; I really didn’t want to steal my friends’ identities, even if it was only a theoretical stealing. It’s just weird, especially since I didn’t copy clothes. The thought made me feel icky.

  Yet nevertheless, the temptation was there. And now it wasn’t me asking something weird, but Amber offering me an opportunity.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “To be honest? No, I’m not sure,” Amber said. “I mean, it’s kinda…”

  “Icky?” I suggested.

  “I’d say fucked up, but yeah, basically.”

  “We could just not, you know?” I said. “I’m not exactly comfortable with it either. Don’t take it the wrong way, but I kinda don’t want access to a copy of your naked body in my power’s archives.”

  “Yeah,” Amber returned, shuddering. “But still…”

  “You want to know,” I finished for her.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I do, but…” I sighed. “I don’t know. What if it turns out I can? It’s not like I can go around and copy other heroes and villains; that’s basically a death sentence, carrying a copy of their face and body and all.”

  “You’ll at least have me, and Millie will… probably do it? And maybe you could get others to agree as well, like Marching Orders or Mantellan. Hell, with your ability to heal between shifts and the way Mantellan’s power works, you could basically become a better version of him.” Even in her own argument she sounded unsure. “I mean, with the speed of your quick-shifts, and after getting a lot of training and additional experience, you’d basically be a write-in for a Triumphant. And for the next one to be a hero; who wouldn’t want that?”

  Many people, and villains most of all. But instead, I asked, “Do you really think Millie, March and the Sentinels, let alone other heroes, would just… allow me?” Amber’s silence was telling. “Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  I’d hoped that would be the end, but, “I still want to know,” Amber said, voice like steel. “Even if all you get is another Crowsong and another LieSpy, it would be invaluable.”

  I let the silence hang for a moment, thinking it over. It still made me uncomfortable, but the possibilities… My dream was still to rid the world of villainy, even if I now understood that would be all but impossible to do with how the Jannacht incursion turned out. Hell, I was even starting to doubt whether this dream of mine was really a part of me to begin with, or another thing imposed by the Heroic Impulse. How those two differed considering both came from my creator, I didn’t know, but it certainly felt like an important distinction.

  Either way, being able to copy powers would bring me one step closer, and could become the thing that set the ball rolling. So ultimately, I relented.

  “Alright. Turn around.”

  “It’s literally my body,” Amber deadpanned.

  I had no counter to that. “Fine.” I took a deep breath in. “Here goes nothing.”

  A moment to catch her form, an instant to shift, and I was Amber’s long-lost twin sister.

  Amber stared at me, eyes roving up and down with a grimace. “God that’s weird,” she said.

  “You’re telling me,” I returned with her own voice, undisguised by voice changer.

  “Ew,” Amber ew-ed. “That’s even weirder.”

  I shrugged. Not like I could do anything about it.

  Amber retrieved one of her knives from a hidden pocket inside her sleeve and flipped it over, handing it to me hilt first. Heart beating in anticipation, with nervous sweat starting to form and a shaky hand, I grabbed it and-

  “Anything?” Amber asked.

  -found no rush of information, no instinctual knowledge, no thousand-and-one ridiculous and fantastical uses for this thin metal stick.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Really?” Amber said. “Try moving about with it?”

  I tried and, well, “Nope. Nothing.”

  “Huh.” Amber sighed. Whether that was one of relief or disappointment, I couldn’t tell.

  Nor could I tell what my own thoughts about it were. Was there some in-between point of hopes dashed and fears removed? Or a feeling that was a mix between a weight lifting off your shoulder, and finding your struggle for a villain-free world grow that much more difficult? If so, I didn’t know the word for it.

  I made to shift back into myself, ready to forget this form ever existed, until I got a great idea. “Hey, question: would you mind if you, ah…” I clamped my mouth shut; the idea wasn’t so great after all.

  I shifted back.

  “What were you planning to ask?” Amber said.

  “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  She crossed her arms and stared me down.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “I wanted to ask if you could… you know, help me get, ah, rid of that form?” I cringed as I said it.

  “You wanted to ask me to kill myself?” Amber deadpanned.

  Crudely put, but yeah, that was basically what I was planning to ask. “I’ll just do it myself later.” I shifted back into myself.

  “God, Sam,” she groaned, “this is all kinds of messed up.”

  “That’s why I didn’t want to do it!” I protested. “Like, do you want me to have a backup of your body in my mind at all times?”

  “No! That’s even worse!”

  “Well, then I’m going to have to kill you myself!”

  A moment of silence before we both burst out laughing.

  It wasn’t even that funny, and certainly not enough for how long on we went, but we just couldn’t stop. The situation was just too absurd. Add to that the stressful couple of weeks- hell, the stressful day we’d both had, and I expected that the tension we both carried just happened to snap at the exact same time.

  Eventually, after our laughter slowly died down, Amber said, “God, I needed that.” She removed her mask, a red-faced Amber revealing herself.

  “Merry Christmas,” I said with a smile. It was nice to have a face to talk to. “Should’ve brought a present or something.”

  Amber nodded. “Should’ve stolen the tree in my living room.” She chuckled. “My home doesn’t exactly use it for the cheer and this place could use a bit of livening up.” Despite the bitter meaning of the words, they held no edge.

  “Could’ve brought some leftovers,” I added. “Or at least dessert; I never got to finish mine.”

  Amber snorted, but her expression turned more thoughtful after. “You feeling better at least?”

  “Hm-mmm,” I hummed affirmatively. “I looked that bad?”

  “Yep,” she said cheerily, and I repressed the urge to flip her off. “You looked like you’d been through the ringer – a bit like after Soliloquy and Nth-Sight, even.” She paused for a moment. “You really can’t tell me anything about what happened?” There was a rare, uncharacteristic vulnerability to it that made my heart ache and my breath short.

  Facing such an all-too-powerful attack, I relented. “I can’t go into specifics, but… I got told some information. About the, ah, circumstances surrounding my displacement.”

  “I thought you knew that already? I mean, you told Nth-Sight as much.”

  I shrugged but kept my mouth shut.

  “Sorry, go on,” she said.

  “There’s not much to tell,” I said. “I got some other information over the weekend and… I don’t know, I felt really sick after – a stress-induced migraine, the doctor called it. And today, something similar happened and I kind of had a panic attack? I quick-shifted into a crow and crashed my head into a window beak-first.” I laughed lightly, though even I could tell my heart wasn’t in it.

  “Jesus,” Amber muttered. “That’s- wait, you did that in front of your family?”

  I nodded.

  “So…”

  “Yep. They know.”

  She took a moment to process that. “And they’re… fine with it?”

  “Haven’t reaaally gotten to talk about it much,” I said, thinking on how to put it without revealing too much. “But, well, Mom’s a rescue worker – USAR, you know? – so she’s got a bit of that hero-blood in her as well.” Skirting a bit close there. “And she knows Treaty stuff, and basically said she couldn’t exactly stop me, so… eh?”

  “Wow,” she said. “I think most parents would freak the fuck out – I know mine would. But good for you, I suppose.”

  She looked a bit dubious or suspicious about it, but she accepted it well enough. At least it seemed I’d satisfied her curiosity enough for her to not question things further.

  I, however, wasn’t. “Would your parents really be that mad about it?”

  “Yes,” she said tersely, angrily, before sighing. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too negative, but I’m not holding my breath; lots of negativity to go around in this lovely family of mine.” Rarely had I seen her so bitter.

  I hesitated, but ultimately decided to ask, “What happened?”

  It seemed she had expected it, because she replied near-instantly.

  “My sister killed someone,” Amber said. I froze like death at the sentence. “Her boyfriend, though we didn’t know it at the time. Stabbed to death, right in our home at the time – when no one else was there, for better or worse. They got to him in time to resurrect him thankfully, but… Obviously my family’s never been the same since.”

  “That’s… I’m sorry. That must’ve- how do you even…” I didn’t know what to say.

  “Don’t be,” she said bluntly. “Sooner or later something was bound to happen. My sister was genuinely insane – or psychopathic or whatever; I don’t give a fuck. A trouble child or troubled child or whatever, right down to the core. Bunch of crimes, caught and released, then caught again and released again; a classic revolving door type case. Intimately known by the police, social services, the works; all with nothing to show for it.” She made a fist, her fingers cracking as she did. “System failed her. Failed her boyfriend. Failed our families.”

  We both sat silently in the dark.

  “Man, way to kill the mood,” Amber snarked. “Did you really have to ask today.”

  “You asked first,” I countered. “Quid pro quo.”

  “You barely told me anything.”

  “That’s business; someone always gets the short end of the stick.” She snorted at my retort. “I’m sorry though.”

  “About what?”

  “Not being able to tell you mine,” I said. “And asking you these personal questions in spite of that.”

  “It’s fine,” Amber said. “You’re not the first person I told, and it’s practically ancient history to me, even if its effects are not. Five years…” she said, an odd kind of wonder in her voice. “God, it’s been that long since I’ve seen her.”

  Maybe it was cold of me, or inconsiderate at least, but I asked, “Do you… want to see her?” But in my thoughts was not the vague shape of my friend’s sister, but the image of Michael flickering between him-as-brother and him-as-Darkstar. I was asking my mentor for advice, even if she didn’t know it.

  “No.” Again, instant reply. “Bitch ruined everything, and my older brother inherited her worst charact- well, okay, not the worst, but I blame her for the way he turned out. And for the people my parents turned into, after. The only good result of it was me getting my powers, but that’s a bitter pill at best.”

  And that was that; there was nothing more to be said on that front.

  “Wait,” I said, frowning. Something just occurred to me. “It happened five years ago?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh.” I scratched my cheek. “I thought this would be, like, sooner.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” I said, blushing. “I thought this was somehow connected to the… problem between you and Saga.”

  She blinked and leaned back in surprise at that. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

  “I’m not?”

  “Fine; yes, you are wrong.” I made to punch her shoulder, but she blocked it. “But it is related.” This time, she became awkward. “It’s kind of embarrassing, really.”

  “How so?”

  “I, ah, a school friend of mine made a… misplaced comment about my sister after we had an argument,” she said. “In response, I broke her nose.” She smiled with a strange sort of grim satisfaction.

  I snort-gasped, sounding like something had gone down the wrong pipe. “Really? I mean, I can see you doing it, but really?”

  “Yeah. My sister’s still, ah… it’s a sore topic.” So not-so-ancient history, then. “And my friend knew it, and still made that comment. So, you know, she deserved it, but I got… God, what’s the word. Not expelled, but...?”

  “Suspended?”

  “Yeah, that. And when I came back, the bitch had started spreading rumors about it. So, I went to confront her. Shouted at her right in front of the entire cafeteria. Told everyone what really happened, how she’s a liar and a shit friend. Called her a bitch, she called me a whore and we eventually got into a real fight. Like, a physical one I mean.

  “That’s where Saga comes in. The bitch- uh, not Saga, but my bitch-friend; she went for a knife. It was a butter knife, so no biggy, and I already had my powers and was apprenticed under Blackhawk, so I disarmed her so easily that I couldn’t help but laugh at her straight in the face.

  “Well, she didn’t like that, so while I was busy laughing, she clocked me right on the nose.” She touched where, presumably, she’d been hit. “She broke it like I broke hers, though I later found out she also broke her finger. Dumbass.” She snorted. “But at the time I was really angry and prepared to really start wailing on her while still holding the butter knife. Not that I had planned on using that, but… Either way, Saga grabbed me and put me in a hold. I struggled of course, and was real confident that I could break out of her grip easily. Turns out: nope.”

  “Ah,” I said. “She does sambo.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know that at the time,” she grumbled. “So I was already angry and then this – I mean, no offense to Saga, but at the time I thought: ‘this nobody is fucking with me!’ and so I started shouting at her, throwing elbows and stuff. Now that was a real struggle, and we only broke up after police pulled us apart.” She chuckled sheepishly. “Got us both suspended though mine was obviously far, far worse – though my ex-friend got expelled, thank God. But anyway, that’s how me and Saga got some… let’s say ‘bad blood’ between us.”

  “Okay…” I said dubiously. “I’ll be honest, I don’t really see it.”

  She blinked at that. “What do you mean ‘you don’t see it’?”

  “I mean, you and Saga fought a bit; so what? I know Saga and while she can definitely hold a grudge – obviously – I don’t think she would hold a grudge over something like that. You were out-of-your-mind angry at the time; it was basically an accident.” I shook my head. “I just don’t see why she wouldn’t accept your apology.”

  Suspiciously, Amber looked away, and I instantly knew the problem.

  “You did apologize, right?”

  “I mean…”

  “What do you mean?” I said, faux-angry. To be honest, I thought it was kind of funny to see my friend-mentor on the backfoot for once. “Someone tries to help you, you fight them, you apologize; what’s there not to get?”

  She mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

  “Didn’t the police try to make you? Or the school staff at least?”

  She sighed. “No. They decided it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.” She chuckled. “Which is funny considering they did put the two of us in the same class after.”

  “Hm,” I said, though my mind was elsewhere, brewing a genius plan. “Know what: the first chance I get, I’m going to get you and Saga in the same room or something, and you’ll apologize.” I smiled. “Then you’ll sit with us at lunch – one time at least!” I said when I saw her open her mouth to complain. “And then we’ll all be friends.”

  “That sounds like a horrible idea,” Amber complained, but I could tell she’d already deemed struggle futile.

  I smiled. “Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

  At the very least, it’d be good to try and fix something other than myself – after ‘fixing’ my Amber form that is, which I promptly did that same night. A sour note to end on for a day that already hadn't started off that well, but you can’t win ‘em all.