So, what are your goals? Where do you want to see yourself, in a year?
"I want to survive."
That's it?
"I... I don't know what's happening anymore. I don't have control of my life. I'm scared in the morning, when I wake up, because I can't remember anything. Not even my dreams, not a single one. I just want to make my life long enough... to piece together something. Some sort of next step."
What would that look like?
"Finding some sort of... purpose, maybe."
Your purpose is to find a purpose. I'm not criticizing you, but that seems a bit circular.
"Maybe. I just want to have a goal, something to focus on. Something worth putting effort into."
Dreams come and go like ocean waves. There for a moment, gone in the next, dissipating into a vast emptiness.
White stars in the cold night sky. A game of connect-the-dots, abstract and immense.
A constellation shaped like a face. Vague attempts to identify it, but each result is different from the last.
For a second it's a man's face, middle-aged but weary. Then a woman's, stoic, calm... a girl's, cold, dispassionate. Distant memories, or blurry fantasies.
The stars swirl and combine, pulling towards each other from across the galaxy to form a brilliant white mirror. It reveals a girl with her arms crossed, ashen gray skin, spools of curly hair. Eyes closed, but staring straight ahead.
Dreaming. Always dreaming.
She opens her eyes, but isn't sure whether this is real life or another vision. The room is mundane enough: a bookshelf littered with miscellaneous trinkets, a plain chair pressed up against a pair of beige curtains, her bed positioned directly across from the door.
At some point, she pulls herself out of bed, dressing with clothes hidden in a dresser beside the bookshelf. They don't fit her perfectly, but she isn't particularly concerned with fashion. A mirror provides an unfortunate perspective. She attempts to fix her hair, but doesn't find much success.
"It is nice to meet you."
The man had met her in the hallway, apparently on the way to her room. He's tall and - well, large. His appearance reminds her of something, like she should know who he is, but that knowledge is just a bit out of reach. Hopefully she'd recognize him if they'd met before; she tries to avoid staring at his translucent skin.
"Hello." Is that an acceptable response? She isn't sure.
He doesn't seem to mind, just nodding and turning away. "Come with me. I will find you something to eat."
A lull in conversation allows her time to formulate a question. "What's next?"
They're sitting around a small table; Gregor is eating some kind of cereal, while Sarah seems to be considering a slice of toast. She puts it down to respond: "We'll need to get an idea of what your abilities are. If you're willing, we'll start on that within the next few days. Unless you'd like some more time to get adjusted?"
No. "That's okay."
Sarah looks at her a bit strangely. "Are you feeling all right? You look a little... paler than than you did on Monday."
Monday? She resists a slight urge to ask what day it is. "I'm fine."
Experimentation begins just a few hours later, Gregor acting as her mentor.
"What do you know about your powers?"
They're looking at, well, her. It's a bit disorienting looking at your own body from the third person. Not nearly as much like looking into a mirror as she might have expected.
The fact that the body was decomposing (abnormally fast, according to Gregor) probably had something to do with that. It smelled like death, but Sarah had said it might be useful, so they'd brought it with them to the 'training room'.
Coincidentally, Sarah had also declined to join them.
The training - if that was what it was - did not really go as planned. Although, she hadn't been privy to a plan of any sort in the first place, so maybe this was what Gregor had intended after all. Mostly, it consisted of the two of them talking: he'd ask her a question about her experiences or what she was capable of; she'd think for a few seconds, and then respond that she had no idea.
"Okay. Are you all right if we move to another line of conversation?"
"Yes."
He'd brought her tea. It's very nice, better than the coffee that Sarah had all but forced her to try. A light hint of blueberry with some other fruit mixed in.
"According to," he pauses. "Ah, Sarah. According to Sarah, you have mentioned that you were previously on Earth Aleph?"
Earth Aleph?
Another Earth, she recalls distantly. An alternate dimension, a world broken into by - some mad scientist, a 'tinker', they would be called. Thinking about it, she does remember something, but it's just a hint. Nothing more than a faint semblance of a memory.
Gregor is looking at her expectantly.
"I'm not sure."
"You do not know if you were in another dimension?"
"No, I... I just don't remember."
"That is inconvenient." He shifts his head, slightly. It's hard to tell if he's thinking, or just adjusting his neck. She tries to not stare too much at his skin. "Do you remember what your life was like prior to being here? Please excuse me if that is a personal question. You do not have to tell me about it, I just want to know if you remember."
"I'm from here." A bay, Sarah had said. She can't quite recall the name, but she does remember that sense of familiarity. "I think."
"My question was unclear, I apologize. Do you remember your childhood? Your family?"
She looks at the dead copy of her body. Proof that she's a parahuman, someone special. It looks just like her, apparently; other than the gray skin and foul stench, it could be her identical twin.
It's only barely recognizable.
"No."
Gregor doesn't reply; instead, he contorts his body, twisting to display a mark on his skin. It's like a stylized 'C', except rotated ninety degrees counterclockwise. It looks like a tattoo, but she can't imagine why anyone would get one; while it's not particularly ugly, it doesn't look nice either, just a weird blemish on his - admittedly already rather weird- skin.
"Do you recognize this symbol?"
"No."
"Are you sure? Have you seen it anywhere on your body?"
"No."
He shifts his body again, meeting her eyes. "This information may be important. Would you be comfortable with Sarah searching your body for this symbol? Your back?"
No. She doesn't say it out loud, but the thought makes her uneasy. It's hard to place a finger on why, exactly. But it's not something she wants to do, not now.
He seems to notice her hesitation. "That was too personal. I am sorry. We can investigate this later, perhaps. When you are more comfortable with us."
She feels bad, for a moment. It's the first real thing anyone here has asked of her, and her reluctance feels like a strike against her. But then she realizes: "We could look at that."
Gregor follows her outstretched arm, pointing behind him towards the wall. The copy. "That is a good idea. Would you like to do that now? I can give you some privacy."
The smell is the worst part of that experience, psychological trauma coming in at a distant second. All, ultimately, for nothing: "No tattoo."
"Nothing?"
"No."
"This is all right." Gregor sits down on a bench. "It was just a hunch."
"Why?"
"Are you asking why I thought there might be a tattoo? Newter and I both have one. Many call us monsters, but we are more professionally referred to as 'case fifty-threes'. Parahumans with physical deformities, generally accompanied by that tattoo. And neither of us have any memories of our lives previous to being... like we are now."
He stops, looking at her. If there's any emotion involved in talking about such sensitive topics, it doesn't show.
"I don't have any," she searches for the right word, "physical deformities. As you said."
Gregor nods. "And you do not have the tattoo, either. You are not one of us. I am sorry for presuming otherwise."
"It's okay. You thought that was the case, because I can't remember anything?"
Not quite everything, a little voice in her head says. There are still some memories left.
"Yes. It does not matter. I have more questions for you about your power."
Unsurprisingly, she has very few answers.