Chapter Text
Another year. Another batch of recruits - the best and brightest new psychics from around the world, gathered in the Motherlobe like nervous students in a lecture hall.
Truman Zanotto stood at center stage of the Motherlobe’s amphitheater, eyes alighting on each and every face. How many, he wondered, would leave them? How many would shrink from what was required, from how familiar they would need to become with the darkest recesses of their own mind?
Worse yet - how many would embrace that darkness?
Still, he put on a proud face and prepared for his speech - the same speech he said every year, tailor made to impress upon them the necessity of their work and ensure that their time in the Motherlobe would carry with it few surprises.
“Welcome, welcome,” he began, satisfied by how the tittering of the crowd ceased immediately. “Each of you have been chosen specifically to join the ranks of our senior agents. Around your previous fellow psychics, you may have been savants, overachievers - but here you are among equals. Don’t let it discourage you, let your fellows uplift and inspire you to reach new heights.” Truman paused, glancing around the crowd to see what effect his words enacted on the newcomers.
Some seemed annoyed - there were always a few, suffering from the curse of ego. Those ones either washed out earliest or became their very best, competitive natures driving them to push their limits and succeed. Others smiled, the prospect of mutual cooperation welcome indeed. Not always the best sign, for work as a Psychonaut was heavy on the mind as well as the heart. Burn out was frequent. Burn out was why each year their organization grew very little.
“You’ve all heard the stories,” he continued. “Saving the world, preventing wars, negotiating trade disputes. Our work is glamorous, but it’s also mundane. Sometimes the most important work is offering a shoulder to cry on. An ear to listen. We help grow as much as we help eliminate. If you keep these two principles in mind, you’ll rise to great heights in our organization.”
Truman paced up and down the stage, still not entirely comfortable with being at the center of so much attention. In his own role he relished making plans, constructing manners of approach - to be a leader was an architect’s work as much as a public speaker’s. “You’ll be directed to the wing containing your living quarters. There you’ll find a list of your names next to your assigned partners - if you were part of our international intern program, you know the concept.”
A few recruits couldn’t stifle their groans. Truman managed to hide his smile. The intern program was invaluable, but he knew as much as any that it wasn’t exactly fun. “Unlike the intern program, these are your partners, not mentors. They’re senior agents, as all of you hope to be. This will be an education for them as much as it will be for you. You’re encouraged to ask questions and to introduce new ideas.” That set the groaning at ease. “Time and time again, since the Psychic 6 themselves, we have seen that the best way to ensure safety and success is to work with the right partner. Not everyone is suited for having a partner, but those who are will benefit immensely.”
Truman was one of them - one of few who operated best on his own. It became even easier, as a parent. Easier to hold himself accountable, to step outside of his own desires and needs, to look frankly and honestly into himself. He supposed he had his uncle to thank for it, and his chest gave a painful twinge at the thought. Bob had proven to him that even the very best were flawed, and that even the very best needed to admit when they weren’t at their best.
He took in a deep breath, clearing his mind of those painful stray thoughts. “We’ve done our best to select appropriate partners for you based on your psychological profiles. Partner relationships develop in many different ways - some are best friends. Some are like siblings.”
Some are lovers, he thought in the safety of his mind’s confines. The double-sided coin of the highest heights and lowest pits.
“A few turn out as rivals. The one constant is that they know you better than you know yourself. They know you without ego getting in the way. An outside perspective is vital to ensure that we don’t overstep our bounds.”
Truman stopped his pacing. “If we see that your partner isn’t working out, we’ll reconsider our method of approach. Whether that’s realizing in practice that a different person would work best with you, or that you’re better on your own - it depends. But -” He smiled playfully. “- don’t think you can trick us into letting you be a free agent. We’ve been at this longer than you have, though I’m always surprised with how clever you can be.” Truman’s chuckle was echoed by a few recruits in the crowd.
“Well,” he clapped his hands together. “You’ll be hearing plenty more from me, and I’m sure everyone’s jet lagged from the flight in. Follow the lights on the floor to your wing and get some sleep. Welcome to the Psychonauts.”
The recruits rose from their chairs and started down the theater steps, trailing in a line out to the labyrinth of chambers and halls making up the Motherlobe’s complex. As the mental feedback faded, Truman was aware of another presence in the room. It was unique in how banal it was, noticeable in its subtlety. Like the vague awareness of having a wall at your back, a non-psychic’s own innate knowledge of something near but unseen.
“Agent Nein.” Truman stated, turning to see a familiar and lanky figure lingering by the curtain leading to backstage. Sasha Nein, the prodigy - who’d been fought over by not one but two mentors, favored pupil of Compton Boole and Otto Mentallis. Clever and quiet (mercifully quiet, Compton had said every chance he could) and far older in mind than his young years would suggest. To speak to Agent Nein was to rely on one’s eyes alone, for his mind was an impenetrable wall.
Thankfully, Agent Nein’s ability to mask his body language wasn’t quite as well exercised as his ability to mask his thoughts.
“Grand Head.” Agent Nein began, dipping his head slightly in respect. “I believe there’s been a mistake.”
Truman raised a brow and scratched at his beard thoughtfully, trying to discern just what he was referring to. “It can’t be in our mission parameters, or you wouldn’t be saying you believe. What’s the matter?”
Agent Nein took in a short breath and pushed up his glasses. A self-soothing gesture, trying to center himself. He was worried, then, or nervous. “I’ve been assigned a partner.”
A smile bloomed in full across Truman’s face, when the mystery was unveiled. Agent Nein had thought himself like Truman, unsuited to work with a partner. To tell the truth, Truman had believed the same for Nein’s first year in the ranks of the senior agents. Nein was effective, a veritable wunderkind, but as mission after mission went by Truman couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something was missing. Nein was competent, as effective at his work as any average agent. That was the problem.
Truman knew Nein wasn’t average.
Deciding what to do about it was difficult, however. A partner seemed like the best solution, but last year’s recruits were at odds with his psychological profile. In fact, it was impossible to find anyone in their ranks who would complement Nein’s psyche - until that year. A recruit with as much potential as Nein had when he first joined, who had a background as a figure of order and authority - yet who was the opposite of him in nearly every conceivable way.
It all made sense. A forest thrived when filled with plants that thrived on the light and in the dark, a working ecosystem of extremes. People had a lot in common with plants. Those with similar needs could get along, but it was those with the opposite that could truly thrive.
“Ah, yes. I expected I’d be hearing from you about that.” Truman answered, realizing he’d let the silence linger long enough to visibly unsettle Sasha. The lad was adjusting his gloves, making sure there was no risk of touching anything with his bare skin. “No, there hasn’t been a mistake. Your partner was picked for the benefit of you both.”
“But what about the others?” Nein asked, unable to keep the exasperation from his tone. The others - a flurry of partners, none lasting over a week, some lasting only a few hours. All unable to handle a partner that was a mental brick wall, whose attitude toward his fellow human beings bordered on the clinical. As robotic as Nein appeared to be, however, Truman knew that each rejection stung. He was as human as the rest of them. “What’s different this time?”
“You are, for one.” Truman smiled as reassuringly as he could, projecting mental waves of calm. “You have more experience than you did when you first came to us - and so do I. Our leadership’s discussed it, and I believe she’s the one.”
“She?” Nein’s eyes went wide behind his glasses, brows lifting over the frames.
Truman blinked at him. “You didn’t bother to learn who it was?”
“I thought it was a mistake.” His voice went a little quiet, and Truman was reminded of his uncle in the way Nein’s shoulders gently slumped. He was afraid. Afraid of having another name hurt.
It was enough to get Truman to send out another subtle ripple of encouragement. “Well, you’d better run along to the senior agents’ wing.” He tilted his head to the door, where the recruits had filed out of only minutes before. “You might beat them to the list sheet and make a good impression.”
“Mein gott.” Nein muttered in exasperation, shaking his head - and then he was off, levitating a few feet off the ground at a speed slightly faster than a full blown sprint. The breeze left in his wake ruffled Truman’s beard.
The Grand Head hoped he and the rest of the ruling body of the Psychonauts were correct.
If not for the organization’s sake, then for Sasha’s.
--
As orderly as the line of recruits was on their way to the senior agent’s wing, chaos broke out when they entered the lobby and saw the cork board with their assignment lists tacked on.
Milla was jostled as her fellow psychics rushed forward in excitement, some levitating to try and peer over the throng. She huffed, blowing a strand of hair up and out of her face. Patience was a virtue - one that her colleagues seemed to lack when it came to who they just might be spending the rest of their career with.
“Oooh, I hope I get Agent Nein.” Lori - one of the American recruits Milla had exchanged a few words with on the bus in - exclaimed.
“Don’t be stupid.” Sherri, her sister, said with a swift elbow to the ribs. “He’s one of the lone wolves. I hope I’m one.”
“No you don’t.” Lori giggled. “You hope you get someone dreamy.”
Milla hung back, snickering a little at the exchange. Typical that some would treat the entire program as a dating show - though she supposed ‘partner’ didn’t always exclude romance. With a sigh she sat down on one of the lobby couches, deciding it was better to wait for the crowd to thin instead of elbowing her way to the lists. They’d be there for the new few hours, at least, and it wasn’t like she was eager to get to sleep.
Sleeping in unfamiliar quarters was always stressful. Sleeping in unfamiliar quarters that shared a wall with others was doubly stressful. The thoughts of others were always running in and out of her mind - she’d managed to keep them turned down to nothing much more than white noise for her own sanity, but it made falling unconscious difficult.
Let alone what happened when her nightmares struck - but Milla reassured herself that it’d been years since her last major one, and if anyone was familiar with the phenomenon it’d certainly be the Psychonauts.
“... Vodello?”
It wasn’t a stray thought - it was a stray spoken word, from somewhere in the crowd - standing out purely by virtue of it being her name. It snapped Milla to attention, gaze diverted away from the coffee table’s spread of fashion magazines. She looked over and saw Lori pointing a man in her direction - and Sherri looking thoroughly stunned.
Milla straightened her posture and smoothed out her skirt as the man approached her. His own clothes were well tailored, if plain - dark slacks and a jacket, shades over his eyes even indoors at such a late hour. For a moment she thought he must have been terribly into himself, trying to look like someone out of a spy movie - but the sweater he wore beneath his coat looked downright snuggly, which gave her pause. His lips were pressed together, parted and sleek hair swaying ever so gently with each step he took, and she realized belatedly that she couldn’t hear his thoughts.
Even curiouser, she couldn’t feel his emotions. Not even a ripple. For an empath like her, the sensation was both terrifying and strangely calming.
“Ah, hello.” The man greeted once he stood across the coffee table from her. His accent was strange, his tone as emotionless as his aura. “Camilla Vodello?”
At first she thought her name must have been printed wrong, the way he pronounced it. Cah-mee-yah, the lovely echo of double-Ls in her first and last name gone. But on consideration she supposed it must have been his accent, and she had to admit there was something pleasant about hearing her name in a new way. Or maybe it was the slight quiver in his brow and the way he leaned forward so earnestly that had her unwilling to correct him and risk embarrassing him. It was cute.
“That’s me!” she chirped in reply, rising to her feet and extending her hand, bangle bracelets clinking together as she did so. Everywhere she walked Milla wanted music, a rhythm, a beat - anything to drown out unwanted sound. “Pleasure to meet you. Are you new here, too? I didn’t see you on the bus.”
The man stared down at her hand, letting it hang for far too long. Milla felt awkward (a rarity, for her) and was about to draw it back before he jolted out a gloved hand and gave hers a brief shake - if you could call it that. He managed to do it in a way that had as little physical contact as possible. “No.” he answered her question, then cleared his throat. “Agent Nein. I’m your assigned partner.”
Milla blinked at him, lashes fluttering. Agent Nein? His reputation preceded him, if not his appearance - and she wondered if Truman’s mention of partners being rivals was directed at her. Agent Nein the machine. A quick once-over of him had her certain he hadn’t danced a day in his life. But he wasn’t as cold as she thought - he seemed to be trying his best to smile, even if he was doing a bad job of it. It was endearing.
“Oh! That saves me some bruises. It’s a zoo over there.” she laughed, tilting her head toward the crowd still jostling to read the lists. “You’d think we were kids again!” Milla decided it was best not to mention that it seemed to be common knowledge (according to Sherri, at least) that the man wasn’t the type to have a partner. Briefly she wondered if that meant something was wrong with her - if she was the last, the leftover, given whoever was available as an option.
“Don’t worry. I’m just as confused as you are.” Agent Nein said, as if able to read her thoughts - and with horror she realized she must have been projecting her emotions again. “But I can assure you that you’re in safe hands. Mental combat is my area of expertise.”
“Empathy is mine, though I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Milla laughed again, picking up on a thread of curiosity reverberating through the air. Following it, she caught Sherri staring at her - and gave a cheerful wave. The thread of curiosity turned to embarrassment, and Milla turned her gaze back to her new partner. “You’re in safe hands there, too,” she said, her smile turning a little playful. “I can’t seem to get a read on you, Agent Nein.”
Agent Nein gave his head a little shake to move his hair out of his eyes and back into place. "Most can't, Agent Vodello. I'm told my mental barriers are some of the strongest."
Milla frowned a little - not at what might have been a humblebrag (though she was starting to get the impression that he wasn't completely aware of how his phrasing came off) - but at the use of her surname. It was something she'd have to get used to, working as a senior agent, but Miss Vodello had been her name in a place she desperately wanted to forget. “I… know Truman said that partners come in all kinds, but if it’s alright with you, I’d like to operate a little less professionally.” Her smile returned, and she noted how Agent Nein seemed to relax at the sight of it. She’d have to use her eyes with him, not her mind - but Milla was a practiced hand at that from the years before her powers manifested.
Those wonderful, wonderful years.
Don’t think about them here, she told herself. Don’t start the first night with a nightmare.
“Oh.” Agent Nein answered, looking as if for the life of him he didn’t know what ‘casual’ meant. His best effort was to put a single hand in his pocket. “Yes. We can do that.”
Milla exhaled slowly. Truman was right - she was going to have to introduce some new ideas. “Well, for a start - your first name isn’t Agent, is it?”
“Oh!” he exclaimed, realizing what it was she was really asking about. “No, it is not. Sasha. Sasha Nein.”
“Sasha.” she hummed - she knew that, but it was only good manners to get his permission to use it. “That’s a good start, d-” Milla caught herself just in time, playing it off as a yawn. She was fairly certain that her casual use of the word darling would be a bridge too far for Sasha as far as first impressions went. “Excuse me. That bus trip took a lot out of me.”
“Four hours of trees would put anyone to sleep.” Sasha replied, taking a step back. “I should let you get settled. There is a meeting in the amphitheater at nine a.m. tomorrow. We’ll meet again then.”
“I can’t remember the last time I woke up before noon.” she mused - grinning a little at the abject horror it wrought on Sasha’s face. “I hope the coffee here is good!”
“It is not.”
“Then perhaps I will ask Grand Head Truman about finding a proper supplier.” Milla grinned.
“Good luck. I’ve been asking him for months for decent cigarettes.” At the mention of them, his hand fished one from a pack in his jacket pocket. He held it artfully between his long fingers, unlit. “Gute nacht, Agent Camilla.”
Agent Camilla. It wasn’t exactly casual, but she supposed she’d have to take it for the moment. “Good night.” she replied, before jumping up onto her levitation ball and rolling off toward the hallway to the sleeping quarters, past the crowd of her fellow recruits. “Enjoy your smoke break.” she sang over her shoulder, mind already feeling lighter at the prospect of a change of scenery.
Sasha raised his cigarette a foot higher in a farewell salute.