Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Milla Vodello had seen many terrible things in her life and career as a Psychonaut, and witnessed many horrors possible only in the minds of the deranged or truly depraved, but that didn't make seeing the brown-haired girl lying on the cot any easier.

She looked over the pale face with a small sigh. "How is she, Sasha?"

Sasha Nein delicately replaced the IV that the girl was hooked up to. "Physically, she's recovering quite well. Surprisingly so, given how we found her. The infections in her injuries seem to be receding, and she may have a minor case of dehydration. Once she wakes up, I'd recommend regular meals and a few cups of water throughout the day, but she'll probably be back on her feet in a week or so." He finished his task and looked to Milla. "Mentally..."

Even behind his shades, his expression was grim.

Milla let out a low breath. "The nightmares?"

"They haven't abated. I don't know if they're getting worse, but they're certainly not helping her." Sasha ran a finger along his forelock, a nervous tic Milla was quite familiar with. "She should be waking up any moment now, but whether or not she's lucid..."

She acknowledged his point with a sad nod. "The poor darling... If I ever find out who did this to her, I will make sure they can never do it again."

"Mmm." Sasha's nod was brief and level, a simple agreement that hid the rage likewise smouldering behind his stoic facade. "For the moment, however, we should focus on helping her, instead of avenging her."

"Of course. How long do you think--?"

The girl began to stir even as Milla asked.

Sasha immediately levitated a cup of water to his hand as Milla sat down on the air next to the cot, gently holding the girl's hand. "Easy, darling. You're safe now. You've been asleep for a while."

The girl's eyes fluttered open painfully, looking around the room. "W...?" she rasped, painfully.

"You're at the Whispering Valley Trauma Center," Sasha explained, holding the cup near her mouth. "Here, drink this."

The girl looked at him for a moment, hesitantly lifting her hand to take the cup. She was--thankfully--able to keep the water down. "...thn..."

"I can get you another if you wish. You'll need to drink fluids regularly for a bit."

The girl huffed--or she tried to, it came out more like a cough. "Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense." Her voice was still rough and weak. "Have you... called my dad?"

Sasha and Milla shared a glance.

The woman held her hand tighter. "Darling... we found you on the side of the road," she told her carefully.

"...What?"

"Whatever happened to you, whoever's responsible, we suspect they tried to toss the evidence somewhere nobody would find it," Sasha explained.

"Oh. Fuck, that makes sense."

Milla hid her flinch very well. "Do you want us to call your father?" she offered. "If you know his number--"

"1-617-846-3043."

Sasha quirked a brow. A Massachusetts number, he thought as he brought another cup of water over.

The other side of the country? Milla thought back, though she kept her worry off her face. "Thank you, darling. We'll call him as soon as we can."

"Do you mind if we ask a few things?" Sasha gave the girl the cup of water. "To fill out the paperwork, I mean. You don't have to talk about whatever happened if you don't want to."

"I..." The girl looked from him to Milla. "You don't want to... know what--?"

"What we want is not as important as what you need," Milla said firmly. "Frankly, I want to track down whoever it was that did all that to you, lock them in a room, and then--" She took a breath and regained her gentle smile. "But helping you recover, that's more important right now."

She filed away the way the girl avoided her gaze.

"Although... if you do want to tell us what happened, we do have some pull with the government," Sasha offered.

The girl blinked at him. "...aren't you doctors?"

"Well, I am. Milla was the one driving when we found you."

"Oh... uh, Milla?"

"Oh! I'm sorry darling, we've been so rude." Milla smiled down at the girl. "I'm Camilla Vodello, but you can call me Milla. And this is Sasha Nein."

"Uh... Taylor Hebert."

"It's good to meet you, Taylor."

"Uh... it's... nice to meet you too...?"

Sasha picked a clipboard off a nearby desk. "Now I'll just need to know a few things for the files. What's your date of birth?"

"June eleventh, 1995."

Milla's brows rose for a moment, but she kept her surprise to herself.

"I see. And if you don't mind me asking how old you are?"

Taylor sighed. "Fifteen. And my address is 229 Ash Road, Brockton Bay. If that's important."

"It might be," Sasha conceded, writing some things down. "Hmm. Any pre-existing conditions?"

"I... need glasses?"

"Well, you're in good company there. I'll see about scheduling a meeting with the local optometrist." Sasha put the clipboard aside. "The most important thing for you now is to rest and recover."

Milla stood up, patting Taylor's hand gently. "I'll go see if I can call your father, and then I'll bring you something to eat. If the good doctor thinks that's appropriate," she added, sending a teasing smile Sasha's way.

"Of course. Simple foods for now." Sasha nodded to his patient. "If you'll excuse us?"

"...I... can't really do anything else," Taylor pointed out. "Uh... where's the bathroom?"

"It's that door there," Sasha said, pointing. "If you need help getting up, you can use the call button."

"Oh. Yeah, I... well. Thanks. I guess..."

Sasha nodded to her formally, following Milla out of the room. The moment they were out of earshot, he glanced at Milla. "Well, this just became complicated."

"Complicated?" The woman shook her head. "Sasha, that girl told us she's not supposed to be born for another thirteen years!"

"And that she's from nearly thirty years in the future," Sasha agreed. "And the other side of the country. She seems to believe it too, which can only mean one of two things."

Milla gave him a look. "Sasha, darling, it's obvious somebody has messed with her mind."

"That is the most likely explanation," Sasha agreed. "There's also possibility that she has actually been sent here from the future. As a scientist, I cannot dismiss that option."

"Well, whatever the case, Taylor genuinely believed what she was saying." Milla sighed. "We should look into her mind, see if we can find any sign of psychic tampering, but... you saw it as well as I did, didn't you? The girl has serious trust issues."

"She certainly does. I doubt she'd just believe us if we told her the full truth, let alone ask her permission for a psychic analysis." Sasha adjusted his glasses. "We'll have to ease her into it."

"That... might be best," Milla agreed sadly. "The poor dear..."

"There is also the... other matter to consider."

Milla frowned at her partner. "She can tell us about that when she's ready."

"Milla, you know as well as I do that young psychics need delicate care--"

"Yes. They do. And this young psychic has trust issues, survived whatever hell did that to her, and is going to find out she's apparently been sent twenty eight years into the past." Milla put a hand on her hip. "We are not going to force the issue unless we absolutely need to. Let her open up on her own terms."

Sasha sighed. "You're right, of course. Still... with the way she controlled all those arthropods, even while unconscious..."

"...It may not have been a direct control," Milla pointed out. "If it weren't for those bugs, we would never have found her. Sometimes the mind will do what it needs to survive."

"And yet, that still indicates a worrying amount of psychic power, in the hands of a traumatized teenager."

Milla acknowledged the point with a concerned hum. "...We shouldn't force the issue. But... maybe we could invite her to Whispering Rock?"

"...Assuming she recovers quickly enough, that might be for the best," Sasha agreed.

"Well, then, let's plan on that. After she's recovered," Milla said firmly. "For now, let's just see about building her trust up." She swung her hand around as they entered the cafeteria. "We can start by getting her something to eat."

"A very good idea. I would recommend something simple..."

Chapter Text

"And there we go, young miss!" The optometrist smiled as he handed Taylor her new glasses. "I think these will do the trick."

The girl put the glasses on, turning to thank the man--and balked. "Are--wow. Uh..."

"I know, blurry vision doesn't do me justice." The man chuckled, stroking his blue beard. "Ah, but seriously, is something wrong with them?"

"I, uh..." Taylor looked around the room, blinking as she saw Milla, before checking the chart of letters. "No. Just. Been a bit since I had a new prescription."

"Well, you can always come back to get a new set." The optometrist tapped his own glasses, the right lens much larger than the left. "I work with all kinds of eyes, you know."

"Yes, I can see that. Uh. Thank you. I will just... be going now."

Milla quirked a brow as Taylor walked out of the room with them. "Is something wrong, darling?"

"Uh..." Taylor shook her head. "...no. No, nothing's... wrong, exactly, I just... I must have been really out of it," she offered hesitantly. "I didn't notice..."

Her eyes drifted toward Milla for a moment.

"Yes?"

"Uh... you're tall," Taylor blurted out. "I mean, uh--"

"Seven foot two, darling! And that's without the heels," Milla added with a wink.

"Right. Uh. Well." Taylor cleared her throat, clearly trying to change the subject. "So... about calling my Dad..."

Milla shook her head. "I've tried, multiple times. The phone number just won't connect. Maybe I'm entering it wrong, you could try calling yourself--"

"No. No, I... guess something happened to him," Taylor muttered. "One of the gangs got to him, maybe."

Milla's heart ached at her solemn and matter-of-fact tone. The idea of living in a city where people going missing was so regular that even children were used to the idea...

"It... may not be that," she offered gently. "There are certain other things about the situation that are suspicious."

The teenager scoffed. "Yeah, I know. This definitely isn't the east coast."

"No, it isn't."

"Girl cross country, left to die on the side of the road?" Taylor rubbed her arm. "Human trafficking gone wrong. What the hell did they drug me with...?"

It was, unfortunately, a reasonable assumption. That the poor girl came to it on her own did not please Milla at all, but she had to admit that her and Sasha had come to quite a similar conclusion... with a slightly more complicated addition. There would never be a good time to breach the subject, but... well, it had been a few days since she'd finally woken up.

"That's not quite what I was talking about," Milla said carefully.

"You don't have to hide it."

"I'm not, but..." Milla sighed. "I'm sorry, darling, there's no easy well to tell you this. Do you want to get something to eat?"

Taylor looked up at her suspiciously. After a moment, she shrugged. "Sure. Something light, I guess."

It wasn't long before the two of them had a table at a local Noodle Bowl. The fresh cilantro on Milla's own meal smelt heavenly and she took a moment to savor it. Taylor, on the other hand, prodded her order with a chopstick.

Nothing for it, then. Milla braced herself for anything.

"Taylor... what year do you think it is?"

The girl stopped moving for a moment. Carefully, she put her chopsticks down.

"...it can't be 2011. Because you wouldn't open with that if it was the year I thought it was. And... well, there are a few things I've noticed that you don't seem to acknowledge at all, so... I'm going to assume at least a decade has passed--"

"Things?"

The girl waved vaguely. "That guy over there has purple skin. I've never seen that before. Is that normal now?"

Milla looked over to the man in question--a perfectly ordinary man, with perfectly normal purple skin--and turned back to Taylor. "It's far from unheard of," she replied diplomatically. "But you are... not quite on the right track there."

"What do you mean?"

"Taylor... the year is 1982."

Taylor looked up at Milla. Shock, disbelief, desperation, all mixing in together. "You're--!"

She cut herself off.

"...lying?" Milla finished sadly. "I understand why you'd think that. Especially if," she flicked her eyes toward the purple man, "some things are more different than you'd think. But--"

"This is another Earth," Taylor murmured to herself. "That's why you haven't been able to--"

The older woman blinked. "Another Earth?"

Taylor looked up at her again, and then she sighed. "Right. Yeah, you wouldn't have Tinkers, would you. Hell, you wouldn't have parahumans... I think." Her eyes drifted toward the purple man briefly, but she shook her head. "The short story is that a while back a mad scientist managed to open up a portal to another version of Earth. So we know the multiverse exists now."

Milla hummed thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "Well, I'll admit I didn't consider that possibility. Sasha will be very interested in hearing about your world."

"You, uh... you didn't actually think I was from the future, did you?"

"No, we thought your memories had been... altered," Milla said, carefully.

Taylor fell quiet, for a moment or two.

"...Altered," she said carefully, looking over the idea like it was the edge of a precipice. "Like... false memories. Brainwashing. That's... even more ridiculous then me being from another world," she insisted.

Milla took her trembling hand gently. "I know the possibility can be very frightening, darling. To not be sure of your own mind, it is an anguish I would not wish even on my worst enemy. But... this wouldn't be the first time I've seen an altered mind."

Taylor glanced at her dress for a moment, for some reason. "Somehow, I'm not surprised." She sagged into her chair with a sigh. "Fake memories. That's... you realize I can't just accept that, right? That everything I remember, my whole life, is a lie? That's not something I'm just going to take."

"I don't expect you to," Milla assured her. "You should have time to figure yourself out, whether or not your identity is constructed. And it's unlikely all your memories are false--it's much easier to hypnotically alter a few key details than it is to construct an entire lifetime full cloth."

"Right... yeah, that makes sense, I guess..."

Milla's heart ached as she watched Taylor stare at her meal listlessly.

"...You'll need time and help," she told her, gently. "Help to figure out how much of your mind is, well, your mind, and time to process it all."

The girl didn't respond verbally, though the shift in her shoulders told Milla she was listening.

"And fortunately for you," she continued as she pulled a pamphlet out of her purse, "I happen to know a place where you find both of those things." She gently pushed it across the table for Taylor to read.

"...Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp?"

"I think it'll be good for you," Milla told her. "You don't have to go if you don't want to, of course--"

Taylor shook her head. "No, that's not it. It's just... psychics aren't real."

Milla's smile was tinged with faint sadness. "But they are, darling. I'm a psychic... and so are you."

"What?"

"The night Sasha and I found you--it wasn't as though we just saw you in our headlights," Milla explained. "There was a swarm of insects and other bugs crossing the road. Extremely unusual behavior. We followed it to the source, and, well, there you were." Milla allowed herself a wry smile. "A heavily injured teenage girl in the middle of the woods, with bugs of all kinds just crawling on her... I won't deny, it was a little eerie."

"I was..." Taylor stared at her in disbelief. "I was controlling bugs?"

"Yes you were. I don't know if you remember it, but you woke up just enough for us to tell you we were taking you somewhere safe, and the bugs all... stopped. They went back to acting like ordinary bugs."

"...let's... say I believe you," Taylor said, warily. "What does that have to do with being psychic? I mean, it's... that's not the same thing at all, right?"

Milla shook her head. "Different psychics have different specialties. Mine is levitation, and Sasha can make wonderful mental constructs. The Zanattos are famous for their herbophony--ability to psychically connect with plants. A connection with insects and other arthropods is well within the realm of psychic ability."

"But I've never controlled bugs... before..."

"Then that's another reason to visit Whispering Rock. You can learn more about your psychic ability, how to feel it, how to control it." Milla grinned. "I hear the counselors are quite adept at assisting young psychics."

Taylor gave her a flat look. "You wouldn't happen to be one of those counselors, would you?"

Milla smiled shamelessly. "Guilty as charged. Sasha is too, though he... well, he handles some of the more specialized courses. And of course there's Morceau Oleander, who teaches basic braining--"

"You have a combat class?"

"Mmm... more of an acclimation to the mental world class. And it's not the only thing we teach... The point is that Whispering Rock can help you with your abilities, your memories, and... to be quite frank, it's a place for you to stay while Sasha and I figure out the paperwork to get you actually moved in somewhere."

Taylor shut her eyes. "I... I really don't have a choice, do I?"

The utter resignation, the despair in her tone...

Milla gripped her hand firmly. "Darling, you always have a choice. Sometimes you don't have any good choices, true, and sometimes there's only one way forward, but how you take that path is up to you. You could opt to stay at the hospital, or try to find a foster home; you could even run away and try to make it on your own, but I wouldn't recommend it. And even if you do come to Whispering Rock, you can choose how to spend your time--trying to figure yourself out on your own, talking with the other campers, taking a canoe ride... we're here to help you on your journey, not determine it for you."

After a moment, Taylor picked up the pamphlet, idly flicking through it.

"...Somebody has a flair for the dramatic."

"Yes, Morceau tends to hyperbolize," Milla agreed.

Taylor huffed a laugh, flipping through the pamphlet a bit more, before putting it down. "What the hell. Count me in."

Chapter Text

"Now, Whispering Rock is aimed at a slightly younger demographic than you," Milla said as she looked through a series of papers. "Mostly seven to ten, though we do have a few... problem cases that come back even when they're older."

"Problem cases?"

"Kitty Bubai is an unfortunately entitled young girl. Her father is... a little too permissive," Milla explained. "She's already qualified for basic psychic safety, but keeps coming back because her girlfriend is here. Bobby Zilch has rather the opposite issue, trying to control his peers through show of force--"

Taylor frowned. "They're bullies, aren't they."

"...Yes," Milla admitted sadly. "We do our best to train them out of it here, but we can only provide a brief reprieve from their home life. Maybe you could provide them with some guidance?" she suggested.

Ah, now that was a face she didn't need to be a psychic to read. The disgust flashed by quickly, covered by a polite expression that didn't want to start a confrontation.

"Or maybe you can impress upon them that as a teenager you are stronger, tougher, and more experienced than they are," Milla offered instead.

The look of bemused shock on Taylor's face was quite amusing. "Wait, are you telling me to beat up kids?"

"Of course not, darling. I'm telling you to intimidate them." Milla allowed herself a dry smile. "I don't like the fact that some children need a firmer hand, but I cannot deny that mere love and kindness isn't... universally reasonable. That's why we have multiple counselors; sometimes Morry can handle the kids I can't, and Sasha can take the ones neither of us can quite reach."

"Well, that's... not what I expected," Taylor admitted. "I mean... you're so... nice."

"I used to work at an orphanage, darling. I know quite well that some children process pain by inflicting it, and some are just cruel for its own sake." Milla frowned sternly. "That said, if I find out you have been deliberately provoking them into finding you, or antagonizing the other campers, I will levitate you up to the lodge's roof and leave you there."

"Right... yeah, that's... fair."

Milla's smile returned. "Well, I'm sure that's not going to happen. Let's see... ah. Yes, I suppose I should warn you about Nils as well."

"Nils?"

"Children learn what is appropriate by observation, and... well... his parents let him watch R-rated movies."

Taylor blanched a bit. "Wait, what? They let a--how old is he?"

"Ten."

"A ten-year-old watch gorefests?!"

"No," Milla informed her with amusement.

Taylor processed that for a few minutes, before her face scrunched up again. "Oh god, he's going to hit on me. A ten-year-old is going to hit on me."

"To be fair, he does understand 'no means no,'" Milla assured her. "Just be firm and direct and he'll move on."

"Thank god for small favors, I guess," Taylor muttered, sagging into her seat. "Is there anything else weird I should know about this camp?"

"Well, it is a camp for psychics, so there may be some casual levitation or pyrokinesis."

"You teach kids to set things on fire?!"

"Well how else are we going to teach them psychic safety?" Milla asked rhetorically. "Better to have them learn in a controlled environment than accidentally burn their house down with an emotional outburst. And fire is easy, really, just a basic excitation of air particles for a quick burst of heat."

"...I'm... really not sure how I feel about that," Taylor admitted. "I mean, I guess I can see the logic, but... what's stopping them from just doing that anywhere?"

"Oh, most of the children don't have enough psychic strength to do it outside of Whispering Rock."

"...what's so special about Whispering Rock?"

"It's built over the largest psitanium deposit in the world." Milla noted Taylor's confusion. "Ah, Psitanium is a psychoreactive quartz. It resonates with and amplifies brainwaves. Good for a power boost, though... there is a risk of exacerbating preexisting mental conditions."

"What, like schizophrenia?"

"And some forms of trauma. Hmm." Milla frowned to herself. "Well, I was going to suggest you attend therapy anyway, but now I think I'm going to have to insist on it."

"What, because I believe I'm from another world?"

"No, darling. Well, yes, but that's only part of it." She reached out, putting a hand on Taylor's shoulder. "Whatever happened to you, you haven't had a chance to properly process it. Whether or not your memories have been altered you still have... scars, lingering issues. That much was clear even before you woke up."

Taylor glanced away, not meeting her eyes.

"...A short exposure to Psitanium shouldn't harm you too much," Milla decided. "And we can see about finding you a psychiatrist after the camp."

"Mnf."

"...Is there something you'd like to say?"

"It's... not important."

Milla quirked an eyebrow, saying nothing with words and everything with her face.

Taylor threw up her hands. "I'm either in another world or I've had my mind fucked over hard, and if I don't know which one it is therapy's going to make things worse! What if I get convinced that I am from another world and it turns out no, I was psychically brainwashed? What if I decide my dad was a delusion and he's stuck back home worrying about me? I--"

She took a breath.

"...I can't, Milla. Not until I know for certain."

Milla nodded slowly. "I see. Well, Sasha is talking with Otto Mentalis about the possibility of building a machine to scan for traces of..." She waved a hand vaguely. "other-worldliness. If anybody can do it, it's Otto."

"I'm sure that would be very impressive if I had any idea who you were talking about."

A small smile crossed Milla's face. "Of course. He's a member of the Psychic six, the founders of the psychonauts--and the one responsible for designing most of our technology."

"...so he's a Tinker?" Taylor asked hesitantly.

"Well, I suppose that's one word for it."

"No, I mean--" Taylor paused for a moment. "...never mind. It's... complicated."

"Something from your world?"

"You don't even believe I'm from another world."

Milla hummed. "I know you do," she said, gently. "And I know this is important to you. Everything we think of, every part of our mind and soul... it matters, Taylor."

Taylor pondered those words, turning them over in her head.

"...There are people called parahumans. People with... powers." She bit her lip. "Superheros, basically. Or supervillains. We call them capes. Brockton Bay has a lot of them, but they're... pretty much everywhere, these days. Tinkers are a kind of cape, they... make things. Things nobody else can make, or even understand. Like, I don't know how to make a car, but I could study a car and theoretically figure it out. Studying a tinker's stuff... doesn't work. Even tinkers can't say how their stuff works, it just... does."

"And none of them are psychic?" Milla asked.

"Not that I know of. But, well, I don't know everything psychics can do. Setting things on fire, some capes can do that..." Taylor shrugged. "Maybe they're all very limited psychics and don't know it?"

"Maybe..." Milla hummed. "Well, Sasha can understand everything that Otto makes, so he's not a Tinker. Not in that way. Whatever he comes up with, it will work on principles anybody with the right education can understand."

Taylor sighed. "Well, there's that at least." She looked at the papers on Milla's desk. "And that's... the application form for Whispering Rock?"

"Yes, darling. Name, age, date of--well, we can waive that last one for now. And a signature..."

Taylor huffed a bit while she filled out the form. "You know, the last time I went to summer camp... it was right before my life started going downhill." She smiled, faintly. "Maybe this time things will start getting better."

Milla's answering smile was warm and encouraging. "I have no doubt that it will, darling."

Chapter Text

"...huh. That jeep has some... ridiculously big tires."

"Yes, Morry does like his wheels," Milla agreed. "I suppose I'm not one to talk, though, my own car is fabulous."

"Your car doesn't look like it could crush others," Taylor snarked as she looked around. "This place is... uh..."

She gestured at the ten-foot wide log nestled on its side right in the middle of the parking lot.

"...let's go with rustic. Rustic seems like a safe word."

"Oh believe me, darling, there's far more hidden around here than you'd expect," Milla assured her. "Even aside from the psitanium deposit, there's a few psychic secrets stashed away here and there."

"Yeah, I guess there'd be a lot of... mental... remnants rubbing off everywhere--okay, I don't know anything about psychics and I should stop pretending I do." Taylor sighed sadly. "God I'm going to be even more clueless then the kids here..."

"Not to worry, darling, psychic training is rather difficult. Most who come to Whispering Rock don't earn their first badge until they've been around a few times, and earning two or three in a single go is incredibly rare."

“…badges.”

“It is a summer camp, Taylor.”

"So... what, like the Psychic scouts? Or wait, do you even have girl scouts--"

"Milla, glad to see you're here." A short man with a broad mustache marched over, adjusting his helmet with a scowl. "A few of the tykes are already causing trouble in the lodge."

"I'm sure Ford has it well in hand. Oh! Morry, I'd like you to meet Taylor Hebert." Milla put a friendly hand on the teen's shoulder. "She'll be joining us for a little bit."

The scar running over the man's glass eye and down the right side of his face emphasized his sudden focus. "Really now."

"Taylor, this is Coach Morceau Oleander. He's a little rough around the edges, but I have met few souls braver than him."

Taylor waved a little awkwardly. "...Hello, sir."

"Mmm." Oleander raised his gloved hand, putting two fingers to his temple--

"Morry, no." Milla grabbed his hand. "She's a ward of the Psychonauts. You know we have rules about that."

"A ward? Agent Vodello, what are you talking about?"

Taylor blinked. "Agent?"

"Sasha hasn't told you?"

The man frowned for a moment. "...he did pass me some paperwork..."

Milla sighed. "I suppose I should explain things. Taylor, will you be alright on your own? The campers should be meeting up in the main lodge over there."

"Why did he call you agent?" Taylor asked.

Oleander's suspicion visibly grew. "You've never heard of the Psychonauts?"

"...I mean, Milla's mentioned them a couple of times?"

"A couple of--"

"Morry."

The stern tone Milla took was apparently enough to get the man's attention. He walked off with her, giving Taylor one last very suspicious look as they stepped to the side of the parking lot.

"I'll just..." Taylor jerked a thumb awkwardly back. "...head to the lodge then..."

She headed for the big building, experimentally reaching out with her new... psychic sense? Her bug sense. She could feel... bugs. They were definitely bugs, and she could definitely sort of control them. It was a little weird to think about, really. Taylor had dreamed about becoming a cape--what kid didn't?--but her imagination provided whole dramatic scenarios of flying and dropkicking nazis, not playing around with tiny animals.

Then again, she'd never actually expected to become a parahuman. Not seriously. It was always a passing fancy at best, and...

Taylor shook her head, banishing the thoughts of her past. For all she knew, they weren't even real. And wasn't that just terrifying to think about.

As she entered the lodge, she was greeted by the sound of chatter and children staking claims on valuable table territory. Her eyes drifted across the room, picking up on some social dynamics; a boy helping a green girl set up a music set on the stage while studiously ignoring the cheerful pair trying to cheer them on, two girls chatting away while painting each other's nails, a gangly blue boy with an overbite glowering while a kid with the largest purple ears she had ever seen simpered on his every word...

"Not the most impressive bunch, huh?"

Taylor glanced to her side, quirking an eyebrow at the girl leaning against the wall.

"Don't get me wrong, I get that they're kids and all." She ran a hand down one of her pigtails. "Still, you'd expect more obvious psychic practice at a psychic summer camp. I mean Phoebe and Quentin aren't even using telekinesis to set up their drums."

"Uh... I guess they aren't...?"

The girl looked up at her for a moment, before shaking her head. "Sorry, I'm used to everyone knowing who I am. Lili Zanotto."

"Taylor Hebert."

Lili's eyes widened--briefly, and only a little bit, but they were certainly big enough for her to notice. "You're the bug girl, aren't you?"

"I, uh--" She glanced away, adjusting her glasses. "I guess I am, yeah. You've... heard of me?"

"People at the Motherlobe loves to gossip." The girl shrugged with extreme nonchalance. "Natural zoolepaths are pretty rare. Think you could impress most of the kids here if you can convince the bugs to dance."

Taylor considered her words. She focused for a moment, and a few butterflies fluttered through the door, flying in careful loops.

"Whoa." Lili pushed herself off the wall, eyes widening. "I can't believe it! How'd you convince them to do that?"

"It's not that difficult to control them, really."

Lili looked at her strangely. "Wait. Control? What do you--?"

"Oh look, the entertainment has arrived! I didn't know we were getting a clown for the camp!"

The irritating, nasally voice belonged to the gangly blue boy who'd just walked up. His head came up to just under Taylor's chest, and his hair rose further to be at eye level. Somehow, despite his terrible oral hygiene, he managed to smirk and sneer all at once. It was a comical exaggeration of an expression Taylor was all too familiar with.

"Are you here to do party tricks?" he taunted gleefully. "I guess a little baby might think butterflies are cool."

She considered, briefly, just letting the words slough off her without reacting. She could ignore the quite literally juvenile behavior and move on, spend her time on more important things like learning how to be a psychic. She could be a mature, reasonable young woman and let the situation breeze past her.

Just like she'd done with Emma, and look where that had ended up.

"Sure, a baby might," she agreed dangerously. "But a big boy like you?" A dangerous buzzing heralded the arrival of a dozen wasps, orbiting around her other hand. "I'm sure you'd prefer something a touch more pointed."

"Ooo, a few bugs, that's not really scary."

"Really?" Taylor stepped aside and gestured toward the door. "Maybe you want to head outside, then. Take a dip in the lake and let a few dozen crabs nip at your toes. Walk through the forest, watched by hundreds of bees. Stand out in the grass where thousands of ants are just waiting. I wonder if there are any scorpions here? Or poisonous spiders?"

The boy glared at her for a few seconds more. Then he huffed, stalking away.

"Huh." Lili put a hand on her hip. "...I'd give it an eight out of ten."

"What?"

"Came on a little strong there at the end, with the scorpions and spiders thing. You want to sound dismissively confident, go for something like 'but yeah, bugs aren't scary' and don't show your whole hand. Still," she continued, smiling a bit, "you've got a talent there. Maybe you'll be a public speaker some day."

Taylor scoffed. "Me? Nah." She let the bugs fly out and released her hold on them. "That was... Bobby Zilch, right? Milla warned me about him."

"Makes sense. Come on, let's get you something to eat. Oh, and don't worry," Lili added, "Ford's a little kooky, but he's totally harmless. Unless you try to take his bacon."

Chapter Text

It was somewhat depressing, Taylor realized, that her first real friendly conversation was with a child five years younger than her. Or twenty three years older than her, depending on how you looked at it. Not that she was going to share that aspect of her past with Lili, she already seemed sassy enough knowing she was the Bug Girl, but it still niggled at the back of her mind.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but uh... you don't sound like you're ten years old."

Lili rolled her eyes as another few kids wandered in. "It comes with being psychic. You know how most adults try to protect their kids from the darker things in the world? Let them have a few years of innocence and all that crap?"

Taylor cringed. "Ah. Yeah, I guess mind reading would mess that up."

"Not mind reading, not usually, but we're really good at picking up vibes. Mom and dad fighting behind closed doors? They'll smile when you step in but you can feel the tension. Bills getting a little too high? You can literally sense the worry when they're going for the cheaper cereal at the grocery store. Heck, there's this one horror story I heard about a girl whose older sister was sexually assaulted, and she tried to pretend everything was fine around her little sis. Whole family was a wreck in three days."

"Jesus christ!"

Lili smiled wryly. "I heard that f-bomb. You didn't say it, I didn't read your mind, but I heard it all the same. That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"No wonder you kids need a summer camp," Taylor breathed. "Living every day with that has got to screw with your head. Even in a healthy home, there's problems. And having powers on top of it all..."

"Yeah." Lili shrugged. "Doesn't help that we are still ten. Some of us are just... really immature." She sat up straighter. "Not me, though. I'm very mature for my age."

Taylor quirked an eyebrow. "That sounds wrong, but I don't know enough about child psychology to debate it."

Lili frowned, about to say something but was interrupted by the door slamming open.

"Alright, soldiers!" Oleander bellowed. "Line up and march out! We are going to have our first mission debriefing!"

Taylor quirked a brow as all the kids stood. "He really gets into this, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, it's this whole thing with him." Lili led her out after the crowd. "He really respects the military. Tried to apply for every branch."

"Macho man, huh?"

Lili snorted. "Sure, that's one way to put it."

It wasn't long before the children (and Taylor) were all situated on rows of logs, facing a stage carved out of a giant tree. Oleander gave one last glance to Sasha and Milla, standing off to one side, before stepping up onto the stage himself. With a singe gesture he turned on a projector, nodding at the image of a brain that appeared behind him. "The human mind. Six hundred miles of synaptic fiber, five and a half ounces of cranial fluid, fifteen hundred grams of complex neural matter..." The coach brushed his hand across the image. "...a three-pound pile of dreams."

He turned to the watching children with a stern expression. "But I'll tell you what it really is. It is the ultimate battlefield--and, the ultimate weapon. The wars of this modern age--the Psychic Age--are fought somewhere between these damp, curvaceous undulations." Oleander marched across the stage, raising a finger in emphasis. "From this day forward, you are all Psychic Soldiers. Paranormal Paratroopers! Mental Marines who are about to ship out on the adventure of their lives! This," his crop hit the diagram, "is our beachhead! And this," the crop jumped to his helmet, "is your landing craft. You shall engage the enemy in his own mentality! You shall chase his dreams, you shall fight his demons, you shall live his nightmares! And those of you who fight well, you will find yourselves on the path to becoming international secret agents. In other words... Psychonauts!!"

The coach glanced at the other two adults for a moment.

"The rest of you," he declared as he turned back to the children, "WILL DIE."

Sasha facepalmed as one of the kids began to wail in fear.

"Children, you are not going to die," Milla assured the kids with a comforting smile.

"Well, if you're not a Psychonaut, you might as well be dead!" Oleander huffed.

Taylor glared at the man, her knuckles tightening. "I thought this was a summer camp, not a boot camp."

"Don't worry about ol' Coach Oleander," Lili assured her. "I've been coming here for years, and trust me--nothing ever happens." She smirked a bit, elbowing the teen. "Well, almost nothing."

"That doesn't mean he should get away with saying that sort of--"

Something thumped into the bushes behind them. Taylor spun around, putting herself between the kids screaming about a lake monster and the rustling leaves. She frowned for a moment, trying to get a read on the odd form flailing her beetles away...

"Uh..." Lili looked up at her. "Taylor?"

Taylor, with an exaggerated sigh, reached into the bushes and pulled out a boy wearing some sort of leather helmet with goggles. "Let me guess: You wanted to prank your fellow campers."

"What?" The boy shook his head. "No! I'm here to become a psychonaut--"

"Ahuh, sure." Dangling the boy by his backpack, Taylor very calmly strode through the slightly less panicking crowd of children, putting him down on the front log. "Okay, caught the troublemaker, let's not cause a scene."

"I'm not a--"

Taylor crossed her arms and scowled at the boy, who cut off his objection with a gulp.

"Miss Hebert, I appreciate and applaud your swift intervention," Sasha said coolly. "However, I personally filed all the paperwork for all the campers, and he is not one of them."

"He's not a camper?" Oleander growled. "Well then, who is he?"

The boy stood up, clearing his throat. "My name," he intoned dramatically, "is Razputin. But everybody calls me... Raz."

Taylor rolled her eyes, giving Lili a glance--and then rolled her eyes again at how the younger girl was staring at the boy.

"Sorry I'm late," the boy continued casually, sitting back down. "I really didn't mean to disrupt your briefing, agent Oleander. Please, continue."

"I don't think that's how it works," Taylor said flatly. "There's forms and paperwork you need to do before you come to camp."

"You've broken into a highly-classified, remote government training facility," Sasha agreed, some modicum of annoyance tinging his voice.

"I know! Isn't it great?"

Taylor cradled her forehead at the boy's genuine enthusiasm. "Definitely a troublemaker..."

"We need to have this young man taken from here immediately," Sasha declared.

"I'll call his parents," Milla agreed.

"What?" Raz recoiled in shock. "But, don't you train Psychonauts here?"

"Yes, darling, but--"

"To soar across the astral plane? To wage psychic warfare against the enemies of free thought?"

Oleander rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "That is what I wrote on the front of the pamphlet...

"Those words are why I'm here, Coach Oleander," Raz declared. "Do you remember what you wrote on the inside of that pamphlet?" His voice, his very stance, took on a somber tone. "'You were born with a special gift. But the people around you treat it like a curse. Your mother was afraid of you, and your father looks at you with shame in his eyes.'"

Taylor bit her lip, glancing around at the other children. From what she could see, those words hit hard--hard enough that even the adults were pulling back, rethinking things. Memories of her treatment in Winslow rose up, treacherously drawing comparisons before she could shunt them away.

"'Come to Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp, and you can show them all!'" the boy continued with a gesture. "'Back home, your powers make you a loner, an outcast, a circus freak. But in this dojo, in this psychic dojo, they make you a hero.'"

It was cheesy, and ridiculous, and frankly as a speech it had a number of flaws, but Taylor was mature enough to admit she was... moved. A little bit. And she could see Oleander agreed, since he took a moment to gather himself, before pointing his crop out.

"Get that soldier a bunk!"

Chapter Text

Taylor opened the outhouse door and... stared.

There was a card. Like a playing card, in a way, with a stylized brain on the back and a crude star on a green field marking the front. And it was hovering in place, flapping wildly around some unknown connection point.

She closed the outhouse door slowly. "Yeah," she said to herself, "I think I'll use the bathroom in the main lodge."

"That might not be a good idea."

"How do you figure?" Taylor asked, turning to Lili.

"You're going to Basic Braining, right?" At Taylor's hesitant nod, she grinned. "You know what happens if you die in somebody else's mind?"

Taylor blinked. "You... become a brain dead zombie?" she suggested.

"Nah, somebody'd have to deliberately break your identity complex for that to happen. No, the sudden jolt of your astral projection being forced back into your body makes your bladder involuntarily contract."

"...If I die in somebody else's mind, I piss myself?"

"Yep."

"...Please tell me this is some sort of juvenile prank."

"Nope," Lili smirked. "Hard psychic science. Well-known fact, even."

"Well, then I guess I'd better head for the lodge," Taylor said, turning--

"You really think you can make it and come back in time?" Lili asked, hands on her hips. "It's a pretty long bridge."

"Quick jog and back. It'll be good exercise."

Lili shrugged. "If you say so." She glanced over her shoulder. "I'm going to stay here, make sure the other campers don't do anything too stupid."

"Makes sense. Somebody has to keep watch on all the troublemakers." Taylor smirked a bit. "No matter how cute they are."

"Wha--HEY!" Lili cried, stomping her foot. "It's not like that--!"

Taylor was already jogging down the bridge. She had to admit, the view was rather scenic... even if the construction of the bridge didn't really make sense. The entire camp seemed rather haphazard in how it was laid out, with paths that meandered toward their destination rather than taking straight routes. She wondered how the Health and Safety board had ever approved it... and then she remembered it was 1982, so the Health and Safety commission might not even exist yet. Which brought up other questions, questions that made her slow down as she approached the lodge.

A few minutes later, Milla found her sitting at a table, directing insects in idle circles around her fingers. "What's wrong, Taylor?"

"Does OSHA exist yet?"

Milla sat next to her, concerned. "OSHA?"

"The Operational Safety and Health Administration. They're supposed to... make sure workplaces, like factories, aren't deathtraps."

"I'll admit, that's more Hollis's field than my own. But it does seem like a reasonably good idea."

"I don't know how the Health and Safety board would react to this place." Taylor gestured around. "Then again, I don't know when they were made, exactly. Or what standards a summer camp would need." She made the flies buzz in a small globe above the palm of her hand. "I'm not even supposed to be born for another thirteen years, you know? But... here I am. In the past, on another world. Or my mind's been screwed with. One or the other."

The older woman put a gentle hand on Taylor's own, sympathy radiating off her.

"...I..." Taylor sighed. "I'm a little worried about going to Basic Braining. I mean..." The flies began to spin around her forearm. "This? This could just be a parahuman power, here. And if I'm 'just' a cape, I might not be able to do that astral projection thing Lili was talking about. But if I'm... psychic... if I can actually do all that, then..."

She shut her eyes for a moment, fighting back tears.

"...then my... memories, my life... isn't real, is it? And what does that mean, Milla? Who would give me those sort of memories--who would let me believe that Emma would betray me like that?"

Milla tilted her head. "Emma?"

Taylor flinched. "She... she was my best friend. My sister in all but blood. We grew up together, and after Mom died she... helped me through it. And then, two years ago, I went to summer camp, and when I came back, she'd... changed. Got a new friend, didn't need me anymore... spent all her time at school spreading rumors about me. Hurting me. Stealing my mom's flute, letting her friend beat me up, and... and she, they--"

She stiffened as Milla's arms wrapped around her.

"...Those memories hurt you," she said, softly. "They are still hurting you, real or not. But you don't deserve to be hurt like that, Taylor."

"...what if I do, though?"

"No." Milla shook her head. "No, Taylor. Never believe that."

"But what if... what if I was some sort of monster, and this is the punishment for--"

"What matters is who you are now," Milla told her firmly. "Who you choose to be, Taylor. And right now, you are a very worried, very wounded girl who has been put through too much too fast."

Taylor sighed, unconsciously leaning into her. "...Either Emma betrayed me, and I should hate her... or... she didn't, and this pain is--"

"Is somebody else hurting you."

"But I don't know who, Milla! I don't know who did this to me! Was it Emma, or somebody else? I don't--...I don't know anymore."

Milla held her closer. "Taylor, I promise you this: I will find out who did this to you, and I will find out why."

"...okay." Taylor took a deep breath. "Thanks."

She let Milla run her fingers through her hair.

"...I'm still... worried about the Basic Braining thing."

Milla hummed. "Well... you know, there is a third possibility. You could be a parahuman and a psychic."

"Right." Taylor chuckled weakly. "Well, I'd have more tools in my kit, then."

"Ah. Speaking of which." Milla gently released her, palming a small object from her sleeves. "I thought I might give you a little bit of a head start on something."

Taylor dried her eyes quickly, adjusting her glasses. "Is... that an arrowhead?"

"The local tribes made them from psitainium deposits, before they realized what psitanium did." Milla put the purple wedge in Taylor's grasp. "They buried them all around here, and we've been using them as a camp currency."

"Huh. So... wait, do you hear something?"

"Very pure psitanium stimulates responses in the brain, commonly manifesting as audible hallucinations. We don't call this place Whispering Rock for no reason."

"So this is... a psychic rock."

"Well, a psychoreactive rock. Actual psychic rocks are much rarer."

Taylor gaped at her. "...you're not serious. You have--no, you're saying you have actual full on intelligent rocks here? You're not serious, are you?"

"...No, I'm not serious," Milla admitted with a small grin. "Just pulling your leg."

"Oh, thank god." Taylor slumped on the table. "I was questioning my sanity enough as it is."

"It's actually healthy to do so every once in a while. So long as you don't overdo it."

Taylor pocketed the arrowhead. "Right. Well... thanks for the spending money, I guess." She stood. "I should probably head back. Basic Braining should begin soon... ish... and I don't want the troublemakers making a mess of Oleander's head. Or vice versa."

Milla smiled as she stood up herself. "I'm sure you'll do fine. And Taylor... if you ever want to talk--"

"I'll... let you know. I just... need time." She headed for the door... pausing on the threshold. "...Seriously though. Thanks for... well... everything."

Chapter Text

The jog back across the bridge felt... better, in a way. More cleansing. Taylor let out a low breath as she stepped off the last board, looking around the cabin area--and then jolted with shock when she saw Razputin, of all people, jumping from a ridiculously tall tree to broken ladder hanging off a cliff forty feet above the ground.

"Shit shit shit--"

Without even thinking, she rushed toward the cliff face, before stopping herself. She wasn't a rock climber by any metric. So, if Raz fell, he'd--he'd need a soft landing! She charged into a cabin and lifted a mattress off a bunk, shoving it out the door and placing it on the ground below the ladder--

Raz lunged off the platform, spinning around a trapeze (who the hell put a trapeze in a tree?!), briefly landing on a tight rope before launching off (what the hell was a tightrope doing there?!), rebounding off a net like a trampoline (why the hell did that even exist?!), and dropping down to the ground with a roll. "Hey there... uh... Taylor, right?" He tilted his head. "Why are you carrying that mattress--?"

"What the HELL were you thinking with that stunt?!"

"...what?"

"You could have broken your legs--no, your head!"

"I have a helmet," Raz pointed out.

"A--?! You think this is a joke?! What, are you some sort of acrobat?!"

"Yes."

"BULL."

"No really!" The boy reached into his backpack, pulling out a poster and unrolling it. "The Aquato family circus, we're acrobats. See? That's... that's my mom, that's my dad, and there's my brothers and sisters and that's me."

Taylor stared at the poster. There was a familiar face on it, yes, and Razputin's name was written in rather theatrical font, among many others. She adjusted her glasses, taking a deep breath.

"BE. That. As it may..." She gestured up toward the broken ladder. "What, exactly, were you doing up there?"

"Just getting one of the PSI challenge markers."

"The wha--? No, that's not important right now," Taylor corrected herself. "You might be an acrobat, Raz, but the other kids aren't. What would happen if one of them tried to mimic you? What if they fell down and got themselves hurt?"

Raz rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, uh... it's something that campers are supposed to collect, and it was up there, so I think they were supposed to figure out a way up themselves? And a safe way down," he added at her disbelieving stare.

"That is--that's not the point, you shouldn't--it's not--you need to think about stuff like this! Not just, just, just jump in and..."

Taylor sighed, dragging a hand down her face.

"...sorry?" Raz offered, in the confused tone of children everywhere who didn't understand what exactly they did wrong.

"Just... get going. Basic Braining is going to start soon, I think..."

"Right!" Raz nodded, rushing off toward the awkwardly rickety ramp built around a large tree.

Taylor groaned quietly, rubbing the arms of her glasses. "He's a damned acrobat," she muttered to nobody in particular. "What even is this world...?"

She started toward the ramp herself, but an odd mumbling caught her attention.

"I'm telling you for the last time no! I would never do that I could never... kill everyone..."

"What the fuck?" Taylor muttered under her breath.

She turned around to see a small blue child with a tin foil hat, of all things, surrounded by... those were squirrels, right? They looked like squirrels, aside from the heads...

The boy belatedly noticed her. "Oh. Hi... uh..."

"Taylor. My name's Taylor."

"I'm Dogen."

Introductions done, the two stood staring at each other. Awkwardly.

Then one of the probably-squirrels chittered, and Dogen glared at it. "Shut up..."

"You, uh... having problems there?"

"They're liars is all," Dogen insisted. "Whatever they tell you, it's a lie!"

Taylor schooled her face very carefully as a few bugs buzzed warily. "I don't have much experience talking to squirrels," she admitted carefully. "But I do know some people like to bully others to feel strong. And... I mean... compared to them, you're kind of big. Maybe they want to get a rise out of you just to feel a little powerful?"

"...huh." Dogen frowned. "You think so?"

"Trust me, I know the type." Taylor glanced at the squirrels. "These are small fry. Somebody's telling them to say these things." She grinned wryly. "A squirrel godfather, maybe, who hoards all the nuts for himself."

"Yeah.... I guess that kinda makes sense." Dogen rubbed his neck. "Still mean, though."

"Yeah, I know." Taylor looked at the animals for a bit, before shrugging to herself. They were just squirrels, after all. "Want me to get rid of them for you?"

"Sure, if you want."

With a nod, Taylor concentrated on the area around them. Soon enough a dangerous buzzing noise began to emenate from the grass, as tiny forms in a myriad of colors surrounded each of the squirrels. With a final terrified chirp they skittered away, rushing into the trees.

"Huh. That works." Dogen shrugged, waddling toward the rickety ramp. "Thanks Taylor."

"Not a problem..."

Taylor watched him hop up the creaking planks for a few seconds. Her gaze went up, up to the strange circular treehouse lodged in the branches of an old... oak? It was probably an oak tree. Maybe.

And there was a trapeze in the nearby pines. And a tightrope. And camp collectibles halfway up the cliff.

With an exasperated huff, Taylor made her way up the spiral of planks herself, wincing with every creak they made. When she reached the top she was greeted with an image unlike anything she'd ever seen; the campers sat around with flickering eyelids, gyrating in place as though they were losing their balance.

"Uh..."

"Basic braining, private." Coach Oleander didn't open his eyes as he answered her unasked question. "Their focus is on their astral projection, in here." He tapped his helmet meaningfully.

"Oh." Taylor nodded slowly. "Okay. So... do I just...?" She sidled around the students and sat down on a cushioned bench, awkwardly lifting her hands and making rings with her thumbs and middle fingers.

The man opened his eyes briefly, scoffing a bit at her pose. "Yeah, that's one way to do it." He hummed thoughtfully. "Milla told me your story. You ever fight any wars where you come from?"

"I avoided the gang fights. Between the crazy druggies, the literal nazis, and the rage dragon, it always seemed smarter to keep your head down."

"Ha!" The man actually smirked a bit. "Sounds like a hell of a place. Maybe you'll survive after all."

Taylor tensed. "Survive?"

"Private, if you're going to take this class, I'm going to have to pull you into my mind. Which means you'll have to experience every battle, every wartorn memory, that I have ever lived. And you won't be able to keep your head down in here."

Taylor looked at the short man. At his ridiculous helmet, his riding crop... and his visible facial scar.

Then she looked at all the kids sitting in front of her.

"...I think you're bluffing."

"Really?"

"It can't be that bad," she insisted. "You've got children taking this class."

"Well, if you think it'll be that easy..." Oleander pulled off his helmet, revealing what looked to be a minature door, of all things, atop his head. "Get in here and give me twenty!"

Taylor focused on the door...

...deeply, intently...

...screwing up her face...

...before, eventually, awkwardly, clearing her throat. "Um... how?"

"Huh. You having trouble astrally projecting yourself?"

"...apparently?"

"No shame in it, private. Otto Mentalis himself had issues at first. Chloe," he said over his shoulder, "open the left drawer there, will you?"

Taylor blinked, noticing the girl in an astronaut helmet sitting at the desk. "Uh--"

"She likes fiddling with the radio," Oleander explained, reaching toward the desk. An object plucked itself out of the drawer--or, more likely, he was lifting it telekinetically--and floated toward her. "Here. A projection pendant. You just hang that around your neck and focus on it, and I'll do the rest."

Taylor took the small square, examining its swirling pattern for a moment. "...sure, why not."

She looped the string around her head, letting her gaze rest on the object now hanging from her neck. Two hemispherical panels folded back like eyelids, revealing a jewel that glittered like the night sky. It drew her in inexplicably, bringing her closer even as she sat entirely still, the world becoming naught but stars; the minor pains and sensations of her body faded away as her world became glimmering sparkles of light--

Something grabbed Taylor out of her peaceful repose, dragging her harshly through the air. She saw, briefly, a massive door swing open in front of her--then she was through, and the door slammed shut.

Chapter Text

Taylor took in the ridiculously chaotic warzone around her, noting that--for all the distant sound of gunfire and explosions--the area around her seemed relatively safe.

Ish.

There were signs that this was a battlefield. The chain wire. The craters. The constant smell of smoke. And yet, for all of that, there were no actual soldiers, yet.

It made sense, she reassured herself. This wasn't a real battlefield, it was a training ground for children. Oleander was just making it feel realistic, without actually threatening the kids. It was his mind, after all.

The way part of the stone bridge shattered as she approached it did not quite help her own self-assurance.

"GET YOUR FEET MOVING, SOLDIER!" Oleander commanded from the flickering image projected on... was that a giant machete? "You have to be prepared to face any change of mind when it comes up!"

"You know I grew up in a gang-infested city!" she shouted, jumping over the gap. "That is NOT what real gunfire sounds like!"

"Would you like your experience to be more realistic?"

"Hell no!"

"Heh," Oleander sneered. "Didn't think so."

Taylor ran across a few more gaps, growling as she did so. "You know I got out of the hospital a week ago, right? You want me to run an obstacle course right after that?"

"Two things, private. First: your astral projection is based on your self-image, not your actual body, so your pain only slows you down if you believe it will."

"Oh just push through it, huh?"

"And that's the second thing. You are pushing through it. You've made it to the first marker and you aren't even out of breath."

Taylor paused, looking back. The broken stone bridges... they were longer than she'd felt they'd been. "Huh."

"Speaking of: Turn around," Oleander ordered. "Gotta show you something."

Taylor looked behind her, quirking an eyebrow. "Huh. That's a mean-looking... whatever it is."

"That's a figment of my imagination. Not really even a full thought, just an imprint of my thought process. Still, it's a decent source of psychic energy and can be used to boister your mental health."

"I guess it makes sense that the mental world would be metaphorical." Taylor waved a hand at the neon outline of a growling troll. "So how do I--?"

The moment her hand passed through the figment, it slurped itself into her skin. She didn't even have time to blink before it vanished, leaving her feeling... slightly fuller, in a strange way.

"Uh. Wow. That... wasn't a lot, but I felt it."

"Figments aren't much, but they add up over time," Oleander lectured. "Whenever you see a figment--suck it up, soldier!"

"...did you set this all up just for that pun?"

"You'll find that puns have power in the mental world. Serious power. It's all about the metaphor. Now... LESS WAITING MORE MOTIVATING!"

Taylor rolled her eyes, continuing to hop over small gaps. "Right, so what's the next--oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Oleander huffed. "Listen here, kid, everyone has some emotional baggage--"

"That is a sobbing suitcase."

"Steamer trunk, actually. Why don't you make yourself useful and sort it out? There should be a tag around here somewhere."

Taylor held up a hand, glaring at the green plaid bag. "Okay, so I get this is a metaphor. Fine. But adding a tag to a bag somehow helping with emotional baggage? It can't possibly be that easy!"

"Do you even know what emotional baggage is, private?" Oleander growled.

"Unresolved trauma?"

"Trauma we don't process," the coach corrected. "Some people have a lot of it, sure, but they focus on working through it all. The little things? Missing your favorite TV show, losing a book your mom gave ya? That's what winds up in those bags. Once you tag 'em, the mind knows where they come from, and it starts unpacking the issues."

"So what?" Taylor gestured at the sobbing steamer trunk. "Is this... I don't know, your pain at being rejected by a date?"

"Ha! No. Social pains like that are usually purses. Steamer trunks, those usually represent things related to home. Unpaid bills, not liking the creaking in the pipes, that sort of stress."

Taylor gestured across a nearby pit, where she could see the matching tag waiting. "And you can't come down here and pick it up yourself because...?"

"Do you know what the hardest issues for a psychonaut to handle are? Their own." Oleander smirked wryly. "Or do you just sit down and think through your issues regularly?"

"...yeah, okay, that's fair." Taylor shrugged, jumping across the gap and grabbing the tag. "So I just hook this onto the bag?"

"Yep."

Taylor did so, shrugging as the trunk vanished. "So, that's it? I'd have thought resolving mental problems would be harder."

"Small things like that, it's easy. Bigger things, like an identity crisis or PTSD? Stuff that weaves itself into the very fabric of your personality? That's a lot harder to handle." Oleander snorted. "Not like you're going to find out anytime soon, the way you're just STANDING AROUND WAITING FOR SOMETHING TO HIT YOU!"

With a scoff, Taylor continued running through the farcical battlefield. Now that she was looking for them, she could see neon outlines of soldiers running around the battlefield in monotonous patterns, while reddish piles of wood turned out to be two-dimensional and ineffectual barriers she absorbed with the lightest brush. Some of them hung from a rickety ladder leading up to a watchtower, one she climbed with surprising ease. The other side of the tower also had a ladder...

...and a few flamethrower jets.

"Well that just seems like impractical design," Taylor deadpanned, looking down at them.

"Are you whining about a little heat, soldier?"

"No sir." Taylor reluctantly began climbing down the ladder. "I'm just acknowledging how consistent you are, sir."

"HA! There's a reason for all this, private. But I'm not going to tell ya what it is," Oleander sneered. "No, you're going to have to EARN an explanation!"

"Well, at least you're honest about that," Taylor muttered. "Can't believe a literal drill sergeant is kinder than the teachers back at Winslow..."

Her eyes fell on the wooden bridge, and the enormous missle smashed through it.

"Oh come on! That's not even realistic!"

Chapter Text

"...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--!"

Taylor slammed into the snowbank hard enough to send the helmeted rabbits around her flying.

"Crossing the Delaware--Airplanes didn't exist back then!" she shouted at the sky. "God damned military nutjob..."

"Heeeeey new kid!" cheered a voice.

"Yaaaaay new kid!" echoed another.

Taylor blinked, catching sight of the two broadly smiling children cheerfully staring at her. "Uh... hi. What's up?"

"Oh, we're kinda stuck here," said the boy casually. "There's this whole punching game we need to win to unlock the gate, but we're not good at that."

"We're really good at cheering people on!" the girl added quickly. "Maybe you can win the game and we can come up with some cheers while you're doing it!"

"...How old are you again?"

"I'm ten!" said the boy.

"I'm nine!" said the girl.

"I'm fifteen," said Taylor. "Also, I'm Taylor Hebert."

"I'm Clem Foote!"

"And I'm Crystal Flower Snagrash! Yaaaaaay!" The girl hopped into the air. "Now we're all friends!"

"...Huh." Taylor nodded. "I suppose we are..."

Was friendship really so easy? Had she been overcomplicating things in her head? Could it be that, without the poisonous influence of Emma (or at least those memories) she could finally expand and grow into herself?

"Now, new friend, let's work together to beat up all those bad guys!" Clem cheered.

"FRIENDSHIP IS AWESOME!" Crystal shrieked happily.

Or maybe these were just particularly enthusiastic kids.

Taylor dismissed her concerns with a shake of her head. Real friendship or not, they were children, and she could help them. "Right, how does this work?"

"You just slam that big red button and the bad guys start popping up!" Crystal explained helpful.

"And then you punch them!" Clem added. "Like they were whining skanks!"

Taylor blinked. "Like--like what?!"

"Whining skanks. It's what my dad always says, they're only good for beating up."

"...Clem," Taylor asked carefully, "do you know what a skank is?"

"I think it's some kind of bird," Clem offered. "Dad always says those birds are good for nothing." He shrugged lightly. "I'm sure he's exaggerating."

Taylor, after a moment of careful deliberation, decided that she would unpack that statement later. Instead she turned toward the button surrounded by wooden mechanisms, quirking a brow at the big handprint on it. She looked at her own relatively small hands.

Then she lifted a leg and stomped on the button, hard. She didn't know how to throw a punch, but she'd survived long enough in Winslow to know how to shouldercheck her way out of a rough crowd. All she had to do was apply that knowledge aggressively here and smash every wooden soldier that popped out of the ground.

Crystal flinched as the first standee splintered. "Uh, Taylor? I think--"

Smash!

"--that you--"

Smash!

"--might be--"

SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!

"--doing it... wrong?"

Taylor grit her teeth as the standees started to come up faster. "I'm using what I've got," she muttered fiercely.

"O-oh!" Crystal chuckled awkwardly. "Well, you do you! Goooo Taylor!"

"YEAH TAYLOR, YOU ROCK!" Clem belted out. "WOOHOO!"

The teen smashing through standees smiled to herself. Sure, they were a couple of over-enthusiastic kids, but it was a lot more positive reinforcement than she'd received for the past couple of years. She could grow to like these two. Before she knew it a buzzer sounded, and the standees stopped jumping up from the ground.

"Hmm." Oleander's gruff voice growled from a nearby projection. "You did achieve the objective, but you failed to understand the purpose of this little test. Tell me, soldier, do you think the human mind is safe?"

Taylor adjusted her glasses. "No. No I do not. I know that from my own mind, let alone," she gestured at the wintery warzone, "all this."

"This entire course is an introductory one. No censors running around to attack bad thoughts or foreign intruders. No personal demons waiting to explode in your face. Tell me, soldier, do you really want to fight those sort of things with the hand-to-hand you just demonstrated?"

"...do the psychonauts offer martial arts training?"

"Hrmmm. I'll give it a pass... FOR NOW." The coach gestured toward a chain-link gate. "You can go on, soldier, but I'll be marking this on your record. As for you two," he growled at Clem and Crystal, "you need to learn to stand up for yourselves. You aren't getting out of here without showing me YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES!"

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Think of it like... like a cheer routine," she suggested to the pair. "You know, how cheerleaders do all the hopping up on each other and... stuff? Just... do cheer stuff that... uh... breaks... the standees."

"What, beat them in the face with pompoms?" Crystal asked.

"It's a mental world," Taylor pointed out. "If you believe it hard enough... maybe it'll work?"

"Or maybe they should take remedial courses with Sasha," Oleander suggested flatly.

Taylor gave him a flat look. "Well, it is a summer camp for psychics. Offering lessons should be expected."

"Whatever." The chain-link gate jerked open. "Go on ahead, soldier. Got something I need to show you."

"Ahuh." Taylor walked toward the gate, patting Clem and Crystal on the head as she passed. "Keep at it, you two. I believe in you."

"...you do?"

Something in Clem's voice made her pause. The faintest hint of surprise.

"...Well, yeah. We're friends, aren't we?" she asked, awkwardly.

"...Yeah. Yeah, we are." Clem stared at her, his expression... contemplative. Then he nodded. "Well! Let's try this again, Crystal!"

"Plan psychic pompoms is a go!" Crystal cheered gleefully. There was a hint of... something, in her eyes, but she turned away too quickly for Taylor to interpret it. She hesitated a moment longer, watching the pair of them try to psyche each other up.

With an awkward shrug, she walked through the chain-link gate. A blue-green something was running around in a shallow crater, something that looked for all the world like a safe with stubby square legs and googly eyes.

"Most people," the coach growled, "they got something to hide. They store away their shame, their dirty little secrets, in these tiny vaults in their minds. But the enemy is not allowed any secrets in wartime, are they soldier?" he added knowingly. "So go ahead and bust open this vault. I got nothin' to hide!"

Taylor watched the mental abstraction run by. "So I just... catch it and open it?"

"Yep."

"There's a lock on its... face," Taylor pointed out. "Where am I supposed to get the code?"

"You don't. You just punch it open. Oh wait," the coach realized sarcastically, "you didn't punch anything in the training course, did you?"

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Where there's a will..."

She tackled the vault and lifted it up high, before smashing it into the ground and slamming her feet into its underside. The door popped open and the vault hacked up a spray of images--literally, from the teeth and tongue that were visible behind it.

"Well, I suppose that works..."

"Thanks." Taylor looked over the pictures for a moment, raising an eyebrow as she saw Oleander performing an array of ridiculously badass stunts. "How accurate are these vaults?"

"Very accurate. Unless the mind in question is delusional."

"Okay. So... why are these memories in a vault? I don't see anything shameful or anything that should be a secret."

Oleander huffed. "Memory vaults exist to protect memories from outside scrutiny, kid. Most of the time it's bad, but sometimes it's just precious. Or... well, intimate," he admitted, awkwardly. "I wouldn't explain that to kids, but I'm guessing you're old enough to figure out what I mean."

Taylor blushed a bit, quickly stuffing the pictures back into the vault. "Right. Thanks for the head's up." She slammed the vault shut and tossed it aside, looking around quickly before shoulderchecking another standee; this one didn't shatter, but fell down across a chasm to form a makeshift bridge.

And across that bridge, at the end of a snowy field filled with helmeted rabbits, she saw a military emplacement with what looked to be a minigun sticking out of it.

"...This is supposed to be basic braining," she growled.

"Yes, everything here is relatively easy to understand," the coach agreed. "Trust me, there's minds that are far more byzantine than this."

"Of course there are." Grumbling to herself, Taylor cautiously trekked on.

Chapter Text

Taylor stared at the wall of random gun emplacements and sudden bouts of fire in front of her.

"...And I'm supposed to climb that?" she asked dryly.

"Yep."

"Joy."

"Then you hop up a few steel ropes."

"Of course."

"Then there's the airplane trapeze," Oleander added, "and then the rail, and then--well. I think I'll keep that last one a surprise."

"You're a sadist, aren't you."

"One should always take pride in one's work!" the coach replied with a smug grin.

"...well at least you're honest," Taylor muttered to herself. "Right. Okay. Think psychic. I'm in a mindscape. I am a force of mental will. I can figure this out."

What was her psychic specialty? Bugs. Controlling... bugs. Alright, so where were the bugs in this mindscape?

Taylor reached out and found... nothing. She stared at the environment for a moment, before facepalming. Right, she was in the mental world where everything was a metaphor and didn't have to follow real-world ecology. Maybe she could... literally think bugs into existence if she focused, or something. She concentrated on what she'd felt with insects before, the sensation of their bodies...

"What exactly are you doing, soldier?" Oleander's voice ground out. "If you just stand there doing nothing--"

Strange clumps of dark light started to form around Taylor's fingers, pouring out into writhing gloves.

"...Hm." Oleander frowned to himself. "I suppose we all have our specialties. So long as you can apply them, you might as well use them."

Taylor nodded, looking at the dark cloud of specks around her hands. With some careful thought, she reached out toward the wall, setting them up into little footholds and hand grips as she carefully clambered to one gun emplacement. Sweat dripped down her brow as she repeated the process again, and again, until she was finally at the top of the wall of guns.

"Spiderclimbing, eh? Not the worst effort I've seen," the coach allowed. "Think you can do that in the real world?"

"...Actually... maybe," Taylor admitted. "I'd need a lot of bugs, but... yeah, I might just be able to pull it off."

"Well, nobody said power was pretty. And speaking of things that aren't pretty, you see that thing right in front of you?"

"You mean the spiderweb made of purple neon?"

"That's a mental cobweb. Sort of a buildup of thought-flow energy, gathering in places people forget about for a long time despite being part of their mind. You can collect them with a specialized piece of equipment, once you get checked out on it." The coach chuckled. "Or maybe you in particular will figure out how to pull the spectral energy with your bug trick. Either way, you should steer clear of 'em until you can figure it out."

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Right. More literal metaphor. Do you think we pick our names for these phenomena based on what they are, or do they form in shapes based on how we think about mental processes?"

"That's advanced Psychonaut business. This is basic braining. Now, there are going to be times when there are no walls to climb. So for this next bit, you're going to have to THINK ON YOUR FEET, SOLDIER!"

Gallons of oil started pouring down the cement, leaving only thick steel ropes for Taylor to grab. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Okay... so I'm going to have to jump in midair somehow, or grab something that... isn't... there." She facepalmed. "Spiders. I always forget about spiders. There's literally a cobweb right there, and I forgot about spiders."

A small swarm of black specks flew up to one of the steel ropes, descending and ascending repeatedly. In but a few moments, a silken line was stretched from the ground and around the ropes to the ledge above.

"You're really going for a theme here, aren't you," Oleander groused. "I suppose I should acknowledge your creativity."

Taylor huffed as she pulled herself up. "Thank god I'm not doing this in real life," she muttered. "Otherwise my arms would definitely be tired."

"You should get some exercise," Oleander warned. "Your astral projection is based on your perception of yourself, and it's a rare person who can perceive themselves as an entirely separate and different being than their body. Bulk up in the real world, you'll be getting gains in the mental one too."

"That... sounds... wonderful." Taylor heaved herself further up. "Just... peachy."

"Listen, soldier: Respect starts with self-respect! You want people to take you seriously, you gotta take yourself seriously! And that means taking your health seriously--physical and mental. I don't care how much you lazed on your couch back home, here we want you to GET UP AND FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT!"

"Does that include punching you in the face?"

"Yes, actually." Oleander's amusement was audible. "You got here too late, missed that part."

Taylor pulled herself to the top of the silken rope, resting on the final platform for a moment. Then she stood up, looked around... and groaned when she saw the airplanes fixed in midair just a short cliff hop away.

"Do you really think there'll be a clear path every step of the way, soldier?" Oleander's sadistic glee was palpable. "You'd better learn acrobatics fast if you want to--"

"Fuck it, I'm grapplehooking this."

"You don't have a--"

A swarm of black spots formed around her arm, swiftly making a strong--if thin--silken rope. One end was tied securely around her wrist while the other was carried by buzzing spots to a distant platform.

"...I'm going to put this in your record too, you know," Oleander grumbled as the rope tightened. "Too creative to follow rules, and, luckily for you, creative enough that you don't need to."

"Better to figure things out here than hurt myself in the real world," Taylor pointed out, psyching herself up. "Okay, here we go, here we goooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa--!"

The air was forced out of her lungs as she swung into the abyss and jerked to a stop under the floating platform. She carefully adjusted her glasses and began pulling herself up hand over hand, gasping as she managed to drag herself onto a platform.

"You know, maybe I should add dogfighters to this part of the course," Oleander mused. "Encourage the kids to keep on moving."

"Do it and I'll have a swarm of bugs pluck your mustache off," Taylor growled, getting back up and plotting her path across the platforms.

"Ha!" Oleander cackled as she generated and threw out another rope. "You really think something like that could scare me? I've seen some of the worst things humanity has to offer--nightmares that thankfully never made it outside of the twisted imaginations of their creators, abuses of the psyche that would leave entire asylums struggling to keep up. A little threat of torture isn't enough to frighten me."

Taylor grunted as she stopped swinging, pulling herself up again. "That's not exactly... something to be proud of."

"No, you're right. What I'm proud of is the fact that I survived it all!"

Taylor heaved herself up onto the broken concrete, took a deep breath, and looked down. "...Is this a fucking train rail?"

"More of a guard rail. You're supposed to grind down it. Like on a skateboard." The coach's voice was gleeful. "And there are stands in the way, so you'll have to hop between this one and two others."

With a long-suffering sigh, Taylor gathered a swarm under her feet, flipped a single finger skyward, and stepped onto the rail. The black specks helped her keep her balance--

...more than that. She could... sense through them. It wasn't just an extension for her to step on, but an extension of herself.

It was still a quietly panicking twenty seconds before she reached the end of the rail, slipping into another odd gate. "So... what next."

"The old floating logs in a rolling tunnel bit," Oleander replied.

Taylor looked at the assemblage floating in the middle of circles of razor blades. "...Yeah, I'm going to punch you in the face when I get through this."

"Ha! I'd like to see you try."

With a quick adjustment of her glasses, Taylor strode forward. "Oh you will, you sadist. You will."

Chapter Text

Taylor entered what looked like a command center with some trepidation. The various screens and bronze metal certainly gave that impression. Though it seemed, for the moment, that the coach was--

"Hey!" Coach Oleander shouted as he came out of her peripheral vision. "What are you doing there?" he continued, walking past her and reaching out to a door. "That is classified information!"

Taylor quirked a brow as Razputin flew out of the door. "I was just looking for a way out!" he insisted.

"Oh." Oleander rotated him in midair, putting him down. "I didn't expect you to make it here so fast. Dang, I didn't expect you to make it here at all!" He turned to Taylor. "And you, well. You really didn't live up to my expectations."

"So sorry to disappoint," Taylor deadpanned, glowering down at him.

"You'd be surprised at what can disappoint me. But that's beside the point. I've kept my eye on you--both of you--and I think you both have some real potential."

"To be, what did you say? Mental marines?" Taylor glanced over her shoulder. "I seriously hope not all minds are as... violent as yours."

The coach scoffed. "You know, kids, when people talk about the military they think--Soldiers. Soldiers are what make armies. A bunch of men and women, all broken down in boot camp and rebuilt into the kind of people that will willingly face the terrors of the battlefield. Good or bad, they're soldiers--forged by routine and tradition into machines in the brutal calculus of war. Soldiers. Soldiers are what make armies. And you know something, kid?"

Oleander shook his head.

"They're dead wrong."

Razputin lifted his goggles. "I'm pretty sure that soldiers are kinda important to armies, coach."

"Don't misunderstand me, soldiers make up armies. Armies are made of soldiers. And being willing to put your life on the line to defend your country is one of the bravest and most honorable things you can do on this little rock we call home. But the best armies aren't made by soldiers, no. The best armies are made by officers." The coach slammed his crop into his hand. "A bad soldier might just be a well-armed hooligan, but a bad officer can make or break a battle--and every battle counts in a war! There are no throwaway conflicts, people live or die by their commander's split-second decisions! A bad officer can bring their squad to ruin! But a good officer?"

He straightened up, four and a half feet of imposing dignity.

"A good officer can make use of every resource they have and some they don't to accomplish their goals. A good officer will come up with brilliant plans and adapt when the battlefield changes. A good officer knows how to not only win the battle, not only win the war, but make it worth the effort. A good officer... won't always bring their troops home alive," Oleander admitted, "the universe is too unpredictable for that, but they will damn well try."

He pointed at Raz. "You, kid, are a strong and talented psychic. You're quick on your feet, both when it comes to thinking and when it comes to doing. Granted, you're inexperenced, but you're ten--you're going to rock the world as time goes on, I can feel it in my bones. If you play your cards right, learn the best lessons, you can work your way up the ranks and become somebody with experience and authority. Maybe a squad leader, maybe something more."

"Thank you, coach."

Oleander hummed in acknowledgement. "And you!"

The riding crop shot out, stopping just inches from Taylor's glasses. She managed, barely, to avoid flinching.

"You are one stubborn, griping, snarky jackass," he declared. "You constantly insisted on pointing out the flaws of the course, refused to play by the rules, and pulled off insane stunts instead of ever once thinking you needed to learn something more. If I wanted to make you into a soldier, I would have thrown you into solitary a thousand times over. But for all that the Psychonauts need soldiers, I'm able to recognize talent when it comes along. You're observant--even if you waste it on pointing out flaws. You're creative--even if you stick to only minimal force. And you're determined." He chuckled. "Damn, you're determined. I thought I'd have to kick your astral projection out five different times, and every time you proved me wrong. You're not a good officer yet, but you've got the makings of one."

Oleander gestured, and a pair of green badges glided out from behind the screens, hovering in front of Taylor and Raz. "Here's your Basic Braining merit badges, kids. Wear them with pride. Wear them with honor."

"We will," Raz declared, levitating the badge onto his backpack. "Right, Taylor?"

Taylor examined the badge thoroughly, looking over the stylized brain embossed on it.

"Marceau Oleander," she finally said, "you are, by far, the best teacher that I have ever hated." She saluted him in a sarcastic, yet somehow respectful, manner.

The coach saluted back. "That is the greatest praise any drill sergeant could ask for."

The three of them stood there for a moment or two.

"...So, uh..." Raz cleared his throat. "I have smelling salts to get out of here, do I just use them or...?"

"Oh. Right, I do need to kick you both out," Oleander realized. "Especially since Taylor's using a projection pendant. Let me just work that out for you."

Taylor suddenly felt like she was tasting cinnamon with her entire skin all at once, and the world became a confounding blur of sparkles and stars--

--and then she was back in Whispering Rock, blinking as the pendant on her neck snapped shut.

"...That--that's definitely an experience," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Seemed perfectly fine to me," Raz mused.

"Some people react differently to astral projection," Oleander pointed out. "The human mind is infinitely diverse. Also she's using a projection pendant, that's always a little different."

"Oh, right." Raz glanced at the pendant curiously. "I read about those in True Psychic Tales! They amplify psychic waves to define an astral self, right?"

"That's more Sasha's field than mine," the coach muttered. "Maybe you should ask him about it. I need to head back in--I lost some good men out there."

Taylor quirked an eyebrow as the man started to stare off into the distance, carefully checking to make sure there weren't any kids stuck in trances... no, the campers all seemed to have left.

Maybe Oleander was just insane.

Chapter Text

"You better watch yourself, new kid," sneered the purple boy with enormous ears. "You made us look bad in there! Bobby Zilch ain't happy--"

He was shoved aside by the blue boy with a dentist's nightmare of teeth, who sneered at the unamused Razputin. "You better watch yourself, goggalicious!"

"You know," Taylor deadpanned, "there are more mature ways to work out your anger at the world than flailing at small children to try to make yourself look big." She ignored the boy's glare, raising her eyes to look behind him. "Isn't that right, mister Nein?"

"Indeed," Sasha intoned as the children turned to look at him. "The control and release of negative emotions is one of many abilities a Psychonaut must master."

Bobby Zilch scowled, walking past him with a snort. "Pfeh, whatever."

Sasha shook his head as the purple boy scrambled after the bully. "A few one-on-one sessions with that boy would do wonders for everyone... if only I could get him to agree to them. Still, there are other things to discuss." He turned to Raz and Taylor. "I was monitoring your progress through basic braining, and I must say your performance was extraordinary."

"Really?" Raz asked, looking up to him with an expression of childish awe.

"Indeed. Between miss Hebert's creativity and your own exceptional talent, I was quite impressed." He took a drag of his cigarette. "I'd like you to report to my lab for some special tests."

Taylor frowned, crossing her arms. "Is that something you're legally allowed to do?"

"In your case, I am allowed to request your presence, since you are of age. I am technically not authorized to run the tests on children, though, so I can't actually ask Raz." Sasha shrugged idly. "But if he were to make his way to my lab, well, what could I do. Let me just give you this."

A small red button floated out of his pocket to the boy. Taylor couldn't help quirking an eyebrow at the odd little thing.

"Your talent will always set you apart, Razputin. Sometimes isolation is a good thing. It can lead to... important discoveries." Sasha turned away, stepping off the wooden platform. "Miss Hebert, if you'd come with me."

Taylor watched as he drifted toward the ground, almost falling in slow motion. "And of course he can fly," she muttered to herself, opting for the relatively safer rickety planks down.

Sasha was waiting for her, next to a tree stump, of all things. He took a long, slow, draw of his cigarette. "I take it you have questions."

"You just suggested doing some sort of test on a child. Of course I have questions!"

"The 'test' is mostly using a device to allow Razputin to explore his own psyche, much in the same way a psiportal allows one to explore the psyche of another." Sasha turned to Taylor, quickly smoothing out a forelock of hair. "If he were an ordinary child, I would of course not even suggest the test. But not only is he a psychic, he is an exceptionally talented one, which would make him valuable to the sort of person that cares only about skills and not the individual. Furthering his understanding of his own psyche will allow him to defend against..."

He paused for a moment.

"...against such things as we suspect happened to you," he finally finished, his tone ever so subtly stiffer than before."

Taylor winced, for a moment, before drawing herself up. "These tests... you're sure they're safe?"

"As safe as a delve into a mindscape can be. And I will be constantly monitoring them." He gestured toward the tree trunk. "You can examine the equipment yourself, if you like."

"...it's in the tree trunk?"

"No. That would be quite ridiculous. The underground rail system that connects various locations around camp opens up through these tree trunks."

Taylor rose a finger--

"Which is only slightly less ridiculous."

--before lowering it with a huff. "Right. Is there any rhyme or reason to how this camp is laid out?"

"By hiding 'a secret laboratory' and other such facilities, we mentally engage the eight to ten year old target audience with the pseudo fiction that they are being directly trained by the psychonauts, in hopes of raising interest in their own psychic potential and the organization as a whole."

"...so they're not actually being trained to be psychonauts?"

"Eh." Sasha waggled a hand. "They're getting a basic foundation and skillset that all psychonauts are expected to have. And we do regularly let them tour the Motherlobe. Mostly, though, we're trying to engender a sense of community and responsibility in the younger generation." He shook his head. "The psychonauts as an organization is barely over twenty years old."

"That's still longer than the PRT's been around." Taylor shrugged. "Relatively speaking. You know, assuming my... memories are accurate."

"Interesting," Sasha mused. "Perhaps we can discuss that more fully at a later date. For now, I was actually quite serious about performing some tests with you. If you're amenable, that is."

Taylor crossed her arms. "What sort of 'tests', exactly?"

"I have a device known as a Brain Tumbler in my lab, which allows access to the collective unconscious. Through it, you can enter any mind you have formed a connection with--including your own. That might allow you to accurately determine what alterations may or may not exist within your psyche."

"...And you can't use one of those mind-doors to look in my head yourself?"

"Section 3, Paragraph 1 of the Young Minds Protection Act states that any device created for the purpose of invasive psychic procedure must have built-in safeguards which make its use upon anyone under the age of eighteen impossible," Sasha explained. "Psycho-portals facilitate astral projection, so they do fall under that law."

"And the Brain Tumbler doesn't?"

"It connects you to the the collective unconscious, not to any mind, and furthermore you can only access minds you have already accessed, thereby restricting you from accessing an underaged individual's mind with it." Sasha's recitation was rote and routine, as though it had been given many times before.

Taylor frowned, thinking it through. "...so it's a loophole."

"Yes."

"You're just going to admit it?"

"Lying to you wouldn't help anyone," Sasha replied blandly. "Not you, not me, not the psychonauts, and certainly not the government." He took another draft of his cigarette. "I see no reason to violate your trust."

That got Taylor to lower her arms, looking at the suspicious tree stump while she considered her options.

"...how dangerous is it?" she asked eventually.

"The only danger to yourself is yourself. Don't worry, I'll be monitoring the process constantly, and I'll shut it off if anything goes wrong."

She mulled it over for a long moment.

"...If I die, Milla will avenge me. You do know that, right?"

"I wouldn't expect anything less of her. Which is one of the many reasons I will do my best to ensure you come to no harm."

Taylor sighed and looked up at him. "Alright, might as well try this thing out. Lead the way, Doctor Nein."

Chapter Text

"Step up to the brain tumbler when you're ready."

Taylor eyed the large machine warily. "Are you sure there aren't going to be any side effects?"

"You will be entering your own mind and exploring its environs," Sasha informed her dryly. "Knowing what you do about your life, do you expect it to be a walk in the park?"

"...no."

"Well, aside from that, you should be alright." He paused for a moment, before turning around. "Confronting one's own demons is one of the most difficult things a person can do, but unfortunately it is also one of the most necessary. Whatever you find, it will be difficult... but it will be your own difficulty. Nobody else's."

"...Right. So... I just stick my head in this, or...?"

"You put the back of your head against the operative end of the device."

Taylor took a deep, bracing breath, following the command. "So, uh, how is this going to--"

--the world spiraled out and away and everything was nothing was something chains of energy around the self the patterns an ocean infinity within a single sphere--

She was standing. What she was standing on was incomprehensible, and yet so familiar she couldn't help feeling she'd always known it. Her mind translated it as a path of runic circuits, but she knew in her heart it was more and less than that. That it existed only as a metaphor, to comprehend the incomprehensible.

"Taylor. Can you hear me?"

"I..." Taylor swallowed. "Yes, Sasha. I can hear you."

"What do you see?"

"I'm... in a liminal space with..." Taylor peered. "What looks like a bunch of doors."

"Good. You're in the collective unconscious, and those doors are the psychic connections you have to other minds. Right now, there should be two doors open--one to Coach Oleander, and one to your own mind. It's the second one that we're interested in for the moment."

Taylor swallowed, walking toward the door in question. It swung open easily at her touch, and she stepped through--

--a focusing spiral--

--and found herself in a large version of her bedroom.

"Ooooookaaaaaay..."

"Taylor, what do you see?"

"I'm in my bedroom. Only it's... bigger."

"Bigger? How much bigger?"

"I mean, I can still reach the top of my desk and my bed, but they're... at chest height, instead of waist height."

"Ah. Would you say this is your bedroom as you perceived it as a child?"

Taylor blinked. "Huh. Yeah, actually. What, am I getting in touch with my inner child?"

"Possibly, though I'm not sure we want to make that presumption just yet," Sasha replied. "Is there anything important or unusual about your room? Aside from its relative size."

"Uh..." Taylor took a look around. "Not that I can--wait." She walked over to the window, grabbing the sill and pushing herself up. "Well, my window isn't looking out to my backyard."

"Oh?"

"It's... some sort of cozy village. Made of bookshelves and blankets, if that makes any sense. And in the center of the village, there's..." Taylor swallowed. "There's a statue of my mom. It--it's a little rundown, but it really does look like her."

"Fascinating. Do you think you can get out of your room and enter the village proper?"

Taylor nodded, heading for her door. "Yeah, I'll do that--whoa!"

"Taylor?"

"It's--I'm sorry. I opened my bedroom door and... it leads right into the village," Taylor reported, looking around with some confusion. "Not into the hall, but I'm... looking around the central square now."

"Spacial linkages in the mind are not always as... limited as they are in reality," Sasha explained. "The village is a representation of something you associate with your childhood--a feeling, or perhaps a person. And your bedroom links to it, since it is associated with that thing."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense. There's a lot of my, uh, old dolls walking around, and—"

She choked when she saw a familiar head of red hair. Emma… but not the Emma she knew. No, this… this was the younger Emma, the child… her sister in all but blood.

"Taylor?"

"...I'm--it's... I'm seeing a childhood friend," she awkwardly managed. "I mean, she's not the only one, but she is... uh... she seems to be directing the dolls, kind of? Like a town leader. Is any of this making sense?"

"The mind often uses familiar objects and people as constructs to represent various things. Perhaps you should talk with her."

"I--I don't think I want to," Taylor objected, carefully backing into her bedroom.

"Taylor," Sasha said gently, "sometimes there are aspects of our past that we must address. Is there anything stopping you from talking with her?"

"...would the spontaineously manifesting purple sludge monsters count?"

"Ah. Do they have eyes like fiery pits and gaping mouths that scowl at you?"

"Yes."

"Then they would be your doubts, yes. And... hm. I don't think anybody's taught you pyrokinesis yet, have they?"

"...no," Taylor replied, backing up slowly from the sludge monsters. "No, they have not."

"In that case, I'm pulling you out of there."

Taylor blinked, just managing to shut her bedroom door before a sudden straightening of reality snapped her through a forest of pinkish red crystals that watched with a million faceted eyes--

--and she stumbled forward, blinking and holding her head as she stepped away from the Brain Tumbler.

"...is... is it always going to be that much of a jolt using that thing?" she asked, shaking her head.

"Unfortunately, yes. At least with this model." Sasha patted the machinery softly. "Technology is always advancing, of course, and it won't necessarily be long before we have something smoother, but for the moment this is what we have to work with."

"Great. Uh... so... doubt looks like sludge monsters, huh?"

"They do tend to slow down one's thoughts," Sasha pointed out. "And it wouldn't be wrong to say that your... situation has generated a lot of doubts, even beyond those of an ordinary teenager's."

"Ah."

"That said, I believe you'll require some significant training in psychic combat before we continue. And for that, I would request you talk with Ford Cruller."

"...The chef?"

"No. The psychonaut." Sasha gestured toward the stump inexplicably in the corner of his lab. "You can take that to his 'secret underground lair.'"

Taylor blinked, staring at the tree stump for a moment.

"...What the hell," she muttered as she hopped into it. "Might as well see how deep the rabbit hole goes."

Chapter Text

"Huh." Taylor looked around the small cavern, intrigued at the technology and rotating holoscreens. "And I thought Sasha's lab was high tech."

"Oh it is," a creaky voice informed her. "Not as high tech as his lab back in the motherlobe, but it's built for experiments and research. This place here's more of an intel setup."

Taylor spun around quickly, almost backing off the floating platform when she realized just how close the man behind her was. "You--you're..."

She blinked, adjusting her glasses as she peered at the fringe of white hair encircling the old man's head like a demented bird's nest around a bald box.

"...You're the camp chef?"

The old man sighed. "I wear many hats around this camp, young lady. A chef's hat is only one of them. Another one," he continued sternly, "is awarding merit badges and learner's permits."

"Yeah, uh, Sasha sent me down here to learn... pyrokinesis, I think?"

"Hmmm." The man rubbed his chin, peering at her with his mismatched eyes. "Now ordinarily I only award merit badges when a camper has a high enough psi-ranking. Encourages them to work their psychic muscles, you understand, as well as teaching lessons in creativity and dedication. But, hmm... you're a special case aren't you?" He narrowed his eyes, as though peering into her soul... which he may very well have actually been doing, given where she was. "Show me what you can do."

Taylor swallowed, but complied, summoning a few insects and forcing them to dance a few inches above her hand.

"Ah. Yes... aaaaah. Now, that is... Hm." The old man frowned for a moment. "Well now, this is going to be interesting, isn't it?" he murmured, almost to himself.

The tone in his voice instantly put her on edge. "What do you mean by that?"

"Hmm? Oh, well, teenage minds are different from children's minds," the man replied simply. "Hormones, experiences... should still be safe enough for some basic lessons. Come on, then, if we're going to have this training session you'd best be sitting down."

"...why would I need to--?"

"Because you haven't mastered the art of going into a trance while standing up."

Taylor conceded the point with a shrug, following him across the gantry to the central platform. The giant purple rock under the glass floor seemed to shimmer oddly as she crossed, but... maybe that was normal for glowing purple rocks? The chairs, though, were decidedly not normal, each attached by their backs to one of the six overhanging lights and with strange dark blue-green plating forming the back and the arms in two thick metals strips.

"..So, I just... sit in that?"

"That you do, young lady."

"And it's not going to wrap around my arms and trap me or anything."

"What kind of whacked up conspiracy magazines have you been reading, young lady?" the old man scoffed. "The psychonauts don't have automatic trapping chairs! At least, they didn't last time I checked. If they do, well, they're certainly not these ones!"

"That's... not very reassuring."

The old man rolled his eyes. "You can lay down on this cold glass floor if you'd prefer."

Taylor sighed, sitting in the chair and leaning back with resignation. "Alright, get on with it."

"Now, what I need you to do is focus on that light there."

"The light attached to the chair?"

"Yep. It's a hypnotic aid, helps clear the mind of the world's distractions so you can fall into a trance much more easily."

Taylor hummed thoughtfully as she peered into the glowing orb. "Alright... so, uh, how long does this take?"

"It depends, really. For some people it's faster than others. Seeing as we're already in your mindscape, though, I'd say you're on the speedy side of things."

Taylor blinked, looking around. She was, once again, in her overly-large bedroom, complete with the view to the weird village. "That... was quick."

"Yes. A little too quick," the old man mused quietly.

"Wha--?!"

"Oh well, we're here now, time to teach you how to set things on fire with your mind."

"Wait, hold on, what did you mean too quick?" Taylor demanded.

"Eh, probably something wrong with your psyche," the old man replied casually. "That was the whole reason you went through the brain tumbler experiment in the first place, right? To figure out what's going on in your noggin?"

"Yes, but--"

"And you got stopped because you don't know how to set things on fire."

"That's true, I just--"

"So let's teach you how to burn things with your mind, and you can go back to unraveling your problems," he finished decisively.

"You can't just brush past--"

"I can and I am," the old man said bluntly. "Now, picture something you really want to burn, hmmm?"

Taylor boggled at him for a bit. Then, with a sigh, she focused on her memories of Winslow.

"Hmm. Yes, high school is always stressful," the old man muttered as desks and chalkboards manifested. "But there's a little more to it than that, I'd wager."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Heh, fair enough. We all heal at our own rate." The old man gestured toward the desks. "Now, Pyrokinesis is all about exciting the air with your psychic energy. One of the most basic applications, really, just radiate out your psychic energy at a target and blammo! Instant fire."

"It's that easy?"

"Easy?" The old man scoffed. "Nah. It's that simple, but that's not the same thing. You've been talking to bugs, right?"

"Uh..." Taylor rubbed the back of her head. "I more control them then talk to them..."

The old man nodded slowly. "Well... might be easier for you, then. Or could be harder, either way. Your psychic energy is extending beyond yourself, sure enough, which means you can affect the world outside your mind with it. But if you've been only connecting with bugs..."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "...maybe we need a different approach. Just for now. What you need to do is reach out with your mind and burn these. Focus on the sensation that causes the fire."

"...but I don't know how to set things on fire."

"We are quite literally in your own mind," the old man said bluntly. "If you can't imagine things being on fire in here, I don't know if you can imagine things being on fire in the physical world." He waved a vague hand at the assmbled targets. "Everyone has a different way to activate their psychic powers, because everyone's mind is different. Pyrokinesis is usually initially triggered by some sort of energetic feeling--anger, love, hatred, excitement--and figuring out what feeling that is for you will help you channel and radiate your psychic energy in the real world."

Taylor blinked for a moment, letting that sink in. "So... I'm matching what I imagine in here to what I can feel in the physical world?"

"Yep."

"And that's why psychic training takes place inside the mind?"

"Exactly. Well, that, and there's less risk of an accident."

Taylor conceded the point quietly, turning back to the desks. Her eyes focused tightly on them, on every scratched-in curse and every rusty screw. She adjusted her glasses, raising a hand.

A wave of burning specks flew out from her wrist, slicing through one of the desks. It creaked and groaned ominously, before falling in two, flames crawling up from the edge of the severeance.

"...Young lady," the old man said sternly, "you are not allowed to use pyrokinesis in the physical world until after you're finished with your brain tumbler experiment. And you'll need to talk to me before you do."

Taylor winced.

"That said," he continued, "you can keep using it in mindscapes. Just be careful where you aim it, you hear?"

Chapter Text

"So," Taylor said as she clambered back up out of the stump (which was still a weird as hell thing to do), "Ford said I should and that's Razputin in the brain tumbler. Why is he--no, you explained this."

"You don't approve," Sasha observed.

"I... don't know, hooking up a child's brain to advanced machinery--even perfectly safe advanced machinery--strikes me as a very dangerous idea. I mean, even if nothing goes wrong he's still exploring his own psyche. Isn't that dangerous?"

"Perhaps, but--one moment." Sasha turned back to the control panel, tapping a few buttons while his hand was on a glowing purple panel. "...Hmm. Alright, Razputin, I'm pulling you out."

The boy stumbled away from the machinery the moment Sasha shut it down, shaking his head. "What was that? Oh, hello Taylor," he added as an afterthought. "Where did you come from?"

"That tree stump. What was what?"

"There was a flaming-eyed demon in the mental world, for some reason." Razputin shook his head. "I don't think I need to be in the tumbler with those guys anymore."

"Suit yourself." Sasha turned back to the control panel. "You know, in many tribal societies, learning to defeat the monsters you see in your dreams is considered a rite of passage. I can train you to fight."

Taylor stared at him. "Wait, hold on, isn't that... I was going to say isn't that dangerous, but then I remembered the basic braining course. Still, I thought you sent me down to that agent Cruller guy to learn pyrokinesis!"

Sasha hummed thoughtfully. "You raise a good point. I suppose if Agent Cruller does not give Razputin a marksmanship learner's permit, then my hands are tied."

"Then I guess I have to get a marksmanship learner's permit!" Razputin declared, heading for the stump.

"Wait wait wait, you're just going to do that?" Taylor asked, dumbfounded. "Just try to learn to fight--?"

"Well yeah. If I can't deal with my own inner demons, how am I ever supposed to help anybody else?" Razputin gave her a cocky grin. "You can have the brain tumbler while I'm training! See ya later!" He casually backflipped into the stump, and a moment later Taylor heard the automated car trundle off.

"...huh." Sasha frowned thoughtfully. "Usually kids are scared off when I tell them they need training to fight."

"...what kind of kids have you brought down here?!"

"The sort that can blossom into exceptional individuals if they have exceptional training. Speaking of which," he turned to her with a slightly quirked brow, "how did your pyrokinesis training go?"

Taylor quirked a brow at the blatant subject change, but decided to let it pass. "Ford says that I'm only allowed to use my pyrokinesis in the mental world until after we complete the brain tumbler experiment."

"Hmm. Intriguing... still, you should be able to burn through those doubts now and properly explore your mindscape." Sasha turned back to the control panel. "Step up to the brain tumbler when you're ready."

Taylor stared at him for a moment longer. Then, shaking her head quietly, she moved up to the big machine. "There's not going to be a problem with switching users, is there? No... psychic residue or whatever?"

"No, that sort of thing only happens when two minds are in direct contact. Although..." Sasha frowned. "...there seemed to be some interference when Razputin was using the tumbler. I'm not sure what that was about. If you see any deviation from your previous experience in your mindscape, please let me know immediately."

"...I'll do that," Taylor stated flatly, carefully lining her head up against the machine.

One more jaunt through the collective unconscious and she was, once again, back in her overly large bedroom. She took a few moments to look around, confirming that everything was exactly the same as it had been the last time she saw it, before opening the door. Surprisingly, there was a lack of purple sludge monsters to greet her. Hesitantly, Taylor stepped out and looked around.

"Taylor?"

"Just back where I started, no doubts in sight. I'll go explore the childhood village now. Talk to the inhabitants, you know."

"Very well," Sasha said. "If you have any questions or concerns, let me know."

Taylor hummed her agreement, walking around the small village square and looking at the houses. Bookshelves for walls and blankets for rooves... there was a feeling of nostalgia flowing through her as she recalled such structures serving as small neighborhoods in the games of pretend she would play with Emma, long long ago.

Speaking of which, the younger version of Emma was still there, commanding her dolls to do various tasks. And, oh yes, there were the doubts rising up and waddling toward her with ominious intent. It would make sense, after all--

With a deep breath, Taylor unleased a flurry of sparks at her enemies, slicing them to burning shreds.

"It's not really Emma," she muttered to herself. "It's a memory and a metaphor my mind is concocting. I can handle this."

Taking one last breath to brace herself, she approached the redheaded child. The closer she got, the more she realized there was something off about her--the face was the same as she remembered, she could never forget it, but her clothes had patches that were almost thin, as if something acidic had eaten away at them. And now that she'd seen it, Taylor realized that the dolls walking around were similarly patchy and threadbare. Given the blatant metaphor she was striding through, that wasn't a good sign.

"And make sure the blankets are the extra fluffy kind!" the girl insisted to a group of dolls, who saluted and marched off. "Alright, so now all that's left is--Taylor? Is that you?!"

Taylor didn't even have time to blink before Emma charged forward and hugged her tightly. "Uuuuh..."

"It's been so long!" the girl said cheerfully, leaning back. "Wow you got biiiiiig. How'd you get so big?"

"I grew... up?"

"But you're the same age as me...?" Emma shook her head, grabbing her wrist. "Whatever. We can still play games and have fun!"

"Can we?" Taylor gestured at her sleeves. "Emma, you look like you've been roughed up!"

"Hmm?" Emma glanced at her arms. "Oh, that's just from the swamp monsters."

"The swamp monsters?"

"Yeah, there's a big swamp aaaaall around us," Emma explained with an expansive wave of her hand. "It's dark and goopy and sometimes it spits out swamp monsters, but the knight and the angels deal with them really quickly."

"Knights?" Taylor asked, confused. "Angels?"

"Yeah! Look, Aunt Annette has a few angels in her hand right now!"

Taylor followed Emma's pointing finger to the hand of Annette's statue. A small number of red-scaled women were perched in the statue's hand, membranous wings and spiked tails shifting in constant tenstion. Faces like skulls kept watch over the village, the flames atop them glowing and flickering in an invisible wind.

"...Um." Taylor cleared her throat. "Sasha?"

"What is it Taylor?"

"You know how Raz mentioned demons in his mind?"

"Ah. Yes, demons are a common mental archetype, often used by the subconscious to represent fears. Is there a demon attacking you?"

"No, they're just standing on the statue and watching."

"They? Hmm. Could you describe them to me?"

"Red, feminine, skull-like facial features, and their heads are on fire."

"...I see." Sasha's tone, and his sigh, was very somber. "Those, I believe, are Furies."

"...As in anger," Taylor asked, "or as in the mythological gods of vengeance?"

"Somewhat both, if I'm honest. They are manifestations of what some might call righteous anger, specifically wrath at whatever the person in question considers a failing in people or society. Furies can be formed by religious belief, political indoctrination, or... as a result of extreme trauma."

"Ah. And they're dangerous?"

"Well, yes and no. Furies are certainly very powerful and dangerous for psychonauts to face, but they're also very focused on what specifically the person sees as 'wrong'. As such, they should ignore you unless you manage to do exactly whatever it is that triggers them. Which, seeing as these are your Furies, you are very unlikely to do."

"Who are you talking to?" Emma asked.

"Oh, uh, some guy I have... on the phone," Taylor explained quickly. "Hey, why don't you take me to see these knights?"

Chapter Text

"It's so good to have you back!" Emma said cheerfully as she skipped along. "I mean I've been playing a lot with everyone else, but you're my best friend! We're always going to have the most fun together!"

Taylor cringed a bit. "Yeah... fun..."

"Is... is something wrong, Taylor? You seem a little distracted."

"There's..." Taylor swallowed, shaking her head. "Sorry, just caught up in my own head."

...Literally, even...

"Oh, are you still worried about your homework? I know you can do it! You're the smartest girl in class!" Emma declared brightly.

"Huh? Oh. Homework. Yeah. I can handle homework easy." Taking a breath, Taylor looked down at her. "So, this swamp, what... what's it like?"

"Oh it's dark and goopy and biiiiiig. You can barely see the other villages!"

"Other villages?"

"Ahuh! We're in Annette's Alcove right now, but there are three others--Danny's Docks are over that way, then there's Blackwell's Bastion in that direction, and waaaaaay off that way is Armsmaster's Armory."

"...How very alliterative," Taylor deadpanned.

"I didn't name them," Emma replied with a shrug. "Oh look, there's a gate to the swamp! And one of the knights!"

Taylor's gaze followed her pointing finger, then slowly rose up and up until it met the eye slit of the ten-foot-tall suit of armor that seemed to shine from within.

"...Sasha?"

"What is it Taylor?"

"Giant plate mail armor with internal glows and swords as long as I'm tall."

"Are they guarding a location or a gateway?"

"Yeah. Should I be concerned?"

"Possibly," Sasha allowed. "Those sound like Ideals. It's interesting that you have both them and Furies."

"Interesting?"

"Yes. Ideals are similar to Censors, in that they protect the mind from unwanted thoughts. But while Censors hunt down and destroy their targets, Ideals protect specific things of importance to the mind. For instance, they can protect the concept of life being sacrosanct, so that an individual will be fundamentally incapable of killing, even when faced with a dangerous serial killer that is threatening everything they love."

"...ah," said Taylor. "So... Ideals aren't good?"

"Ideals are morally neutral," Sasha replied. "A bigot can have Ideals that enforce their belief in a master race, true, but a philanthropist can have Ideals that make them believe in the fundamental good of everybody if given a proper chance. Furies are similarly morally neutral, even if they are based in anger instead of ethical concerns. However... the fact that you have both--"

"I'd be a zealot if my Ideals and Furies aligned," Taylor finished.

"...You'd certainly be driven," Sasha allowed. "On a more pertinent note, Ideals are some of the strongest mental functions a psychonaut can face. It's probably for the best that you do not provoke them. Thankfully, they are guardians, so as long as they recognize you as being 'allowed' to cross, there shouldn't be a problem."

Emma put her hands on her hips. "Who's this guy on the phone anyway?" she demanded. "He can't be that important!"

Taylor gave her a flat look.

"...I just wanna play with my best friend again," Emma grumbled. "Not have some stranger constantly butt in."

"...god this is so fucked up," Taylor muttered to herself.

Emma gasped. "UMMMMmummumum-mum-mum, you said a bad wooooord!"

"THE INNOCENT SHALL NOT BE HARMED," boomed the pair of Ideals disapprovingly.

"That's not--! I didn't--!" Taylor gestured from Emma, to the swamp, to herself, before hanging her head with a sigh. "...sorry."

Emma looked at her with some confusion, before shrugging. "Just don't do it again or aunt Annette will put us in time out."

"...got it."

Taylor peered through the gate, trying to get a read on the distant villages Emma had indicated. One looked a lot like a collection of docks, and off in the distance she could see something that looked almost like the oil rig that the Protectorate ENE used as a headquarters. And then... well... there was a settlement that looked like Winslow would if Sauron was the principal, complete with fountains of doubt goop pouring into the brackish swamp that seemed to consume the world.

"...Sasha, is a big swamp of doubt goop normal?"

"No. No it is not. That is very concerning."

"Ahuh. And if I say I can see the source?"

"I would advice you to investigate it, although I suggest you find some means of transport first."

"Right... how do you know there's going to be anything like that?"

"Despite the presence of such a concerning amount of doubt, you have acted decisively when required. Therefore, you have a great strength of will and, as the mental landscape is a metaphor, there is most likely something representing that willpower which will allow you to--"

"Taylor," Emma asked suspiciously, "is the guy on the phone your boyfriend?"

Taylor blinked. "What--? No! He's more of aaaaaa scientist. Yeah. I'm... doing a science experiment with a professor from... Mom's university."

"...A science experiment where you have to be on the phone all the time?"

"It's a weird science experiment," Taylor admitted. "Very weird."

"...Uhuh, sure."

"Apropros of nothing, is there any sort of boat or hovercraft that can cross this swamp you know of?"

"I'll have to ask around. I know aunt Annette used to drive us everywhere, but..."

Emma frowned, as though trying to remember something important. And Taylor remembered that this Emma, at least, wasn't exactly Emma. No, she was... Emma as she used to be. Before her personal world fell apart. She was a crystalized image of that time, and she couldn't understand that Annette was dead, even if she knew it.

"Maybe I'll find a bike or something," Taylor suggested. "Or maybe I'll learn to fly!"

Emma snapped out of her trance with a giggle. "You're not a cape, Taylor! ...are you?" she added, curiously.

"No comment," Taylor replied, her eyes darting left and right dramatically.

Emma stared up at her.

Taylor smirked.

"...Pffffhahahaha! You really had me going!" Emma grabbed Taylor's hand and dragged her away. "Come on, let's go to the toybox!"

Chapter Text

The toybox, as it turned out, was as big as a warehouse.

Because of course it was. Taylor knew that most everything in here was packed away in a few boxes back home, but here she could see her old plushies as life-sized animals, chess pieces and cards combined to form furniture, and... well, the place was arranged like a bistro, or a bar, or... some sort of cafe. Cozy and relaxed, with knicknacks everywhere. She could practically smell the food from the kitchen.

No, wait, she actually could smell the food from the kitchen. She'd never forget the scent of her mother's cooking, after all.

A teddy bear rose a cup in greeting as they passed, Emma waving cheerfully back and Taylor awkwardly following suit a moment after. "Uh, Emma, why are we here?"

"Cause the Toybox is the place where everyone gathers, and that means the people who know how to cross the swamp will come here for a drink!" Emma nodded decisively. "This is what they do in all the fantasy novels, right?"

"It's... a trope, sure, but that doesn't mean--"

"Oh look!" Emma pointed at a table. "There's a fisherman now!"

Taylor looked and, indeed, there was a rougher adult man, playing cards with an Alexandria action figure and a stuffed dragon, who seemed wildly out of place in the childish environment. "...how do you know he's a fisherman?"

"Cause he's winning at go fish, duh."

Taylor almost, ALMOST, pointed out that it was poker--then she remembered that this Emma was a literal child and swallowed her words. "Right. Of course. Silly me."

The man glanced up as the two of them walked up to the table. "Well hello there, young ladies. What can old Erwin do for ya?"

"Of course you're Erwin," Taylor muttered. "I, uh, need something to get across the swamp. Like a boat, or--"

"Boat'll rot."

"Excuse me?"

"That swamp's acidic enough to burn wood and melt plastic. Most hulls go down in a matter of seconds. One of the big reasons I'm stuck here." Erwin leaned back, scratching his beard. "But... I've heard of a vehicle tough enough to resist the most powerful of that dark goop."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Thing is, it's supposed to be in the upper shelves around here, behind some of the bigger books." The fisherman jerked a thumb out a nearby window. "You see that big cover?"

"The one labeled 'the complete works of Roald Dahl'?"

"That's the one. You get up there, and you'll get your drive."

"Huh." Emma looked out the window. "It's really high, though."

"We'd need a really big ladder," Taylor agreed.

"But we aren't allowed on ladders," Emma pointed out.

Taylor rose a finger, blinked, and lowered it with a sigh. "I was going to debate that point, but then I remembered we don't have any ladders that size. Maybe I can use the skills I picked up in basic braining to get up there?"

"Basic braining?"

"Uh... something I learned at summer camp."

"Ooooooh." Emma nodded. "That makes sense. Ugh, this would be so much easier if we could fly!"

"Yeah, but we..."

Taylor trailed off, the memory of Sasha casually drifting to ground level floating back up.

"...actually, I might have an idea there."

"Taylor, you can't fly," Emma pointed out bluntly.

"Not yet, no." Taylor cleared her throat. "Hey Sasha?"

"Yes Taylor?"

"Do you know how I can learn to levitate myself?"

"I do. Would you like me to pull you out of there?"

"Yes please." Taylor glanced down at Emma. "I'll be back soon, I promise."

"...okay...?"

Taylor smiled before suddenly

why did this all seem so familiar

finding herself back in Sasha's lab, stumbling away from the brain tumbler.

"You're sure that thing is safe?" she asked him as she regained her balance. "I mean, there's a major shock to the system, both going in and coming out."

"That is simply a result of the enforced disconnect of the brain from the physiological systems of the body," Sasha explained. "A necessary step in inverting the psyche to connect with the collective unconscious. The exit reverts the process, which is just as much of a shock."

"...enforced disconnect," Taylor repeated warily. "As in, my brain is no longer in control of my body."

"Yes."

"...Like... autonomic functions?"

"Technically yes, but part of the startup sequence is having the brain tumbler take over control of those for you. On a related note, it is not suggested to use the machine if you have a pacemaker. Or if you are pregnant."

Taylor's jaw dropped in slowly dawning horror.

"In any case, I believe you were interested in learning levitation, correct?" Sasha continued as if he hadn't just casually admitted to hijacking the basic functions of her body. "Milla should be starting a class on the subject shortly, she'll be out on the lake. Are familiar with the telekinetic operation of canoes?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Hmm. In that case, I suggest you find one of the children who is. Perhaps young miss Zanatto."

"Can't I just use oars and row the canoe?"

"I don't believe we have oars, if I'm honest."

Taylor adjusted her glasses. "You have canoes, but you don't have oars. Because your psychic kids push around the canoes with their mind."

"It's an excellent exercise in control. And, if I'm entirely honest, the Psychonauts as an organization is having some... financial issues."

Taylor turned her gaze to the massive machine that was the brain tumbler. "Somehow, I can believe that. Alright, fine, I'll go find Lili."

"Very well. I would suggest you take the stairs this time; they lead to a ladder that opens up into main Geodasic Psycoisolation Chamber, which is much closer to the beach than the tree trunk exit you've been using."

"...Geodasic Psychoisolation Chamber?"

"All of us sometimes require a way to cut ourselves off from the general world on occasion, in order to contemplate and process things at our own pace."

"...and this isn't some sort of confinement for troublesome children?"

"The GPC hasn't been used in that manner since the fifties," Sasha assured her.

"...of course not." With a sigh, Taylor began climbing the glass panes making up the staircase.

Chapter Text

Taylor rolled her shoulders as she approached the pair of children by the river. "Hey there, you two. Either of you see Lili anywhere?"

"Not seen small angry girl," said the taller one, his accent undeniably russian.

"She was looking at one of the camp speaker systems near the lodge earlier," the smaller boy said, not diverting his focus from the fish that was suspended in midair. "So she's probably somewhere between there and the docks."

"Good to know. Unrelated... what are you doing with the fish?"

"Practicing."

Taylor frowned. "Practicing... for what, exactly?"

"For if Bobby Zilch decides to try bullying me again," the boy replied with a grin a little too dark for his face.

"Ah." Taylor looked at the fish again, noticing how it seemed to be struggling. "Well... just... don't hurt anybody or anything that doesn't deserve it, right? Otherwise you might find yourself being worse then Bobby some day."

"Would that really be so bad?"

Taylor sighed, sitting down cross-legged. "I was bullied too, you know? They did horrible things. Poured juice in my hair, stole my mother's flute, made everyone think I was... not a good person." She sighed. "I didn't stand up to them. I almost died because of it. And then... Camilla Vodello saved me. That's what made things better--somebody helping me rebuild myself." She put a hand on his shoulder. "You should stand up to your bullies, I mean that. But you are more than just a force for destruction. You can be better then the little kid who tortures fish. You can be... a protector. A guardian. Somebody that kids will look up to someday. You can be a hero."

The boy looked at the fish. Then at her. Then at the other boy, who shrugged. "Strength is power. Using strength needs wisdom. Babushka said that many times. Usually after wrestling bear."

"...Ugh, fine." The fish dropped into the river. "I'll keep my hands... relatively clean. For now."

"Good." Taylor stood up, stretching out her legs, before peering at the larger boy. "...did you just say your grandmother wrestled a bear?"

"Yes. Is common back in home country. Babushka very good at it."

"...Oooookaaaaay..."

Shaking her head, Taylor headed toward the lodge. Bear-wrestling grandmothers. Runaway child acrobats. Super spy camp counselors. Whatever the hell was going on with Ford Cruller. What was next, mad scientist dentists?

...then again, Earth Bet was filled with literal superheroes, so maybe she wasn't one to judge. What was normal, anyway? Nothing more than a social construct meant to placate and control the masses from whatever unethical thing was going on in the background and WOW, where the hell did that come from? Oh, right, her mother used to say stuff like that, back when she was very young and worried about being seen as weird for liking to read a lot. Huh, that brain tumbler was... certainly dragging up old memories.

Like Erwin. Gods, the stories she heard about that old fisherman. All fake, she knew that now, but little Taylor would eat up the increasingly ridiculous tales of the old man's adventures with the CIA or fighting gigantic sea monsters. The guy was probably just another washed up victim of Brockton Bay's economy, but boy could he spin a yarn.

Well, he could if he was real. Which he might be. The memory version of Erwin in her head seemed pretty coherent, anyway, so he... probably wasn't a fake memory?

"This camp just keeps making me question things," Taylor muttered to herself as she looked up. "Case in point," she added dryly as she spotted a helmeted girl hanging off the radio antennae on the roof. "Hey! What are you doing up there?"

"I am modifying this transmission device so that I can contact extra-terrestrial individuals."

The girl's voice was calm, level, and focused. The kind of rational tone that made Taylor believe she genuinely thought she could get in contact with aliens. Her experiences with Razputin had made her realize that the children here would likely not respect any concern about their safety, so just telling the girl that she could seriously injure herself wouldn't fly. But how could she convince her to come down...?

"I didn't think you could make radio waves travel faster than light," she said instead. "I mean, they travel at the speed of light, sure, they're part of the electromagnetic spectrum, but that's still years to the nearest star. You probably need a specialized spacetime warping device to get anything anywhere within a reasonable frame of time, and I'm pretty sure you're not going to be able to do that with a basic antennae."

The girl stopped her modifications, considering her words carefully. "...I suppose you are correct. Orienting the radio waves through a substrate of spacetime is difficult even with the proper equipment, let alone this primitive communication device."

"Yeah, so maybe you should NOT JUST DROP oh you can fly." Taylor let out a low breath as the girl descended slowly to the ground. "God, don't scare me like that!"

"I must apologize. Space travel is inherently dangerous, even with the most advanced equipment, and I have taken up training to ensure that I can operate safely in zero gravity, which in turn allows me to act safely in atmo. As I have conducted most of my training here, I tend to operate under the assumption that the locals will always be aware of said training."

"Well, that... yeah, that makes about as much sense as anything else here," Taylor admitted reluctantly.

"Also, it is levitation, not flight. Although flight can be achieved as an application of levitation."

"So I gather. Speaking of which," Taylor glanced down at the docks, "I'm actually planning on joining Milla's levitation class, but I... don't think I can push the canoes along telekinetically. I was going to ask Lili to give me a lift, if you know where she is."

"I believe it may be too late for that, as she has already made her way to the class herself. However, I am capable of propelling the watercraft myself, and would be willing to escort you to the training platform."

"Oh, uh, thanks." Taylor followed the girl down to the docks. "I appreciate it, really."

"Any potential member of the galactic federation is worth assisting."

"Potential member...?"

"Of course," the girl confirmed. "It is quite apparent that you have been in communication with a nonhuman intelligence."

Right, Taylor had babbled out some sci-fi sounding nonsense about the antennae...

"Well, uh... I'll do my best to bring the galaxy together!" she offered.

"I suspect you are already on that path."

...what a strange little girl.

Chapter Text

"And that's Bobby Zilch and his... friend are torturing fish," Taylor grumbled. "Is torturing fish with telekinesis just a tradition here?"

"No," Chloe assured her. "I can obtain a canoe while you intervene, if you would like."

"...I'd appreciate that," Taylor admitted. "Thanks." As Chloe headed toward the canoes, Taylor straightened her shoulders, marching up to the snaggle-toothed boy.

"Ooo, hey, it's the big bad bug girl!" Bobby sneered. "What, come to tell us not to mess with the poor little fishies?"

Taylor pinched the brow of her nose. "You know, I just wonder... how small do you have to feel, if you need to torment a creature that can't even fight back just to make yourself feel important?"

"Sm--small?!" the boy stammered--then growled, as if annoyed, and drew himself up. "You're one to talk! You get bugs to do your bidding! Tiny little insects! Like, who even wants to talk to bugs? All they know is dirt and the stuff that happens in dirt! You talk to worms, cause you are a--!"

"I have acquired a vessel for us, Taylor," Chloe said as she walked up. "Hello, Bobby."

"Uh--" Bobby blinked, rubbing the back of his head. "Oh. Uh. Hi, Chloe, how, uh, how're things?"

"The planets are still spiraling endlessly through the cold and cruel void," Chloe replied casually.

"Oh, uh, that's... that's good..." Bobby cleared his throat. "So, uh, you're getting a canoe for Taylor?"

"Yes. We plan on joining Milla's levitation class. It promises to be an interesting example of the local culture."

"Oh! Well, that, uh, that sounds great!" Bobby absentmindedly dropped the fish he was tormenting back into the lake. "You know, I've got the fastest record in Milla's mental racing track."

"I am aware of that fact. Still, Taylor does have an age, and height, advantage. Your record may be in peril."

"Wha--no it isn't! I'll prove it!"

Bobby rushed down the dock with greater energy then Taylor had ever seen him with before. His big-eared lacky jolted, quickly running after him, though he shot a considering look at Taylor as he passed.

"...what just happened?" Taylor asked, baffled.

"Nothing important," Chloe replied, unhelpfully. "Please enter the canoe. I want to make sure it doesn't tip over."

The teenage complied, though she did send an annoyed frown at Chloe. "I'm not that heavy."

"Any vessel requires precise mass distribution," Chloe replied as she stepped in after her. "This is as true in water, and in the air, as it is in space."

"I... suppose you have a point," Taylor muttered, clutching at the sides of the canoe as it suddenly jolted through the somewhat murky water toward the floating platform just off the edge of the shore. She took in the platform's occupants as the canoe drew to a stop next to one of the small piers, quirking an eyebrow at the way Milla was literally sitting on thin air. "Isn't she worried she'll fall into the water?"

"Not at all, darling," Milla replied without opening her eyes. "I am an expert at keeping my mind and body balanced. And soon, I think, you will be too."

Taylor cleared her throat, rubbing her arm a little awkwardly. "I don't know, I... might have some issues there."

"Admitting you have a problem is the first step to finding a solution, Taylor. And I think you've taken more than a few steps toward solving yours. This is just another step--one that I am quite well equipped to help you with." Milla smiled as she gestured with a single gloved hand. "Now, you're going to want to sit down, I believe. Oh, and focus on your projection pendent."

"Wait, you already know why I'm here?"

"Well, I am teaching levitation right now, and Sasha did tell me you were having trouble getting through your mindscape..."

"Right." Taylor crossed her legs, letting her mind begin to drift as she locked her gaze on the odd, spectral gem hanging from her neck. The swirling sparkles grew in her gaze, drowning out the light of the sun, the rhythm of the waves, the sound of the birds around her...

She felt herself lifted, brought forward, toward a great door in psychedelic colors. It snapped shut behind her--

--and she was in... an entry hall? A massive one, granted, and one that had tiered floors and floating... television screens... with dancing people on it.

"...Okay, first Oleander and his battlefield, now you have a nightclub. Does anybody at this camp have a mindscape that is child-appropriate?"

"Oh don't be so dramatic, darling!" Milla said, from the TV, because of course she was one of the dancing people. "We are professionals. We keep all the dangerous and saucy stuff outside the training area. And speaking of training, it's time for you to start levitating!"

"Alright. How do I do that, exactly?" Taylor awkwardly raised her hands above her head. "Do I just... jump?"

Milla hummed. "Well, no. Psychic powers are generated by various forms of thought. With levitation, you gather up your thoughts and let them lift you up."

"Thoughts that lift me up," Taylor muttered. "Real Peter Pan stuff, huh? Faith, trust, and pixie dust."

"I did star as Peter Pan when I was younger," Milla offered in an amused tone. "Much younger. Around your age, actually! That was quite the production--oh, sorry, I suppose I got lost in my memories. What about you? You have to have a few happy memories."

"I..." Taylor swallowed. She did have a few happy memories, but... they were all tainted by betrayal and loss. She didn't know if they could lift her heart anymore, let alone her body. And that was if they were real...

"Hmm." Milla was on the TV again, but she wasn't dancing anymore. "Maybe that's not the right way to view things, not for you at least." She leaned forward with a gentle smile. "You know, when you hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up."

"So... what, I should think about how things are going to get better?" Taylor asked.

"And how you're going to make them better," Milla confirmed. "You've seen the inside of your mind, you know the problems you're facing... and you're still facing them. You aren't running away. You're equipping yourself to tackle them, in any way you can. That tells me that you've got a will of iron. All you need is the tools to put that will to good use. Once you have those, you will work wonders, I guarantee it."

Taylor huffed a bit, looking away with a faint blush.

"Why, look at you now! You're already floating."

"I am?" Taylor looked down, and--yes, there was an orb under her feet. An orb that... felt a lot like it was made of spiders, for some reason. "Huh. That's strange..."

"Well, whatever works for you, darling. We all have our own ways of thinking and handling problems. And if you come meet me at the end of the party, I can give you your levitation badge!"