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What happens when the human body can't properly handle the recently discovered force known as anima?
It was a question researchers had been asking ever since Vital Instruments became a thing.
Which, admittedly, was basically forever.
But that's beside the point.
Follo had always struggled with his Vital Instrument.
Sometimes his hammer would lose power halfway through a fight. Other times it'd pull in far too much anima at once, leaving him dealing with some pretty nasty side effects afterward.
And don't even get him started on control.
That was the worst part.
Whenever he finally got the damn thing working, it felt like it had a mind of its own. It refused to shut off when he wanted it to. Refused to listen. Countless training sessions had ended with bruises, cuts, and a few injuries he'd rather not talk about.
Still.
Today was supposed to be different.
Zanka had volunteered to help him train!
Totally not because he enjoyed ‘teaching’ someone older than him.
Definitely not.
Not even a little.
"Hehe."
"Come on!" Zanka called, easily weaving around another wild swing. “Dat all you got…? Hah. You really think that’s enough?”
Follo growled.
The hammer smashed into the ground where Zanka had been standing moments before.
Missed again.
The younger Cleaner practically danced out of reach.
Poor Follo was already irritated.
The weapon was acting up.
His attacks weren't landing.
Nothing was working.
And Zanka's constant remarks weren't helping.
If anything, they made it worse.
Made him feel smaller.
Inferior.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair that Rudo seemed to understand this stuff almost immediately!
It wasn't fair that everyone else made progress while he was still struggling with the basics.
It wasn't fair.
All he could feel was hate.
Hot. Bitter. Bile like in his damn mouth.
Rudo can do anything he fucking dreams of! Like it was nothing. Like the thing Follo had spent hours fighting with had simply decided to cooperate the moment it touched Rudo's hands!
Why?
The question dug into him harder than any insult ever could.
Why him?
What did Rudo have that he didn't?
Follo's fingers curled into a fist.
Was he smarter?
Stronger?
Luckier?
What was it?
Because there had to be something.
There had to be.
Otherwise the only answer left was one Follo couldn't stand looking at.
Rudo moved forward while he stayed behind.
Rudo understood while he struggled.
Rudo reached heights Follo couldn't even touch his damn fingertips on!!!
And the worst part?
Rudo wasn't even trying to rub it in.
He just did it.
Naturally.
Effortlessly!?
As if the world itself bent a little easier for him than it did for everyone else!
It wasn't fair!
A sharp ache twisted in Follo's chest.
He would've killed for scraps of that talent.
Just scraps.
A fraction of it.
Enough to stop feeling like every step forward cost him ten times more than everybody else.
And Rudo had it in abundance.
Had it before he was even fully grown.
Had it before he'd had the chance to earn it.
How the fuck was that fair?
How did that make any sense?
Follo's jaw tightened until it hurt.
The hatred sat ugly and heavy in his stomach.
Not just toward Rudo.
Toward himself.
Toward his own useless hands.
Toward every failed attempt that proved, again and again, that no matter how badly he wanted it, wanting wasn't enough.
Why?
The question echoed through his skull.
Why him?
Why not me?
The thought dug deeper.
And deeper.
And deeper.
As bile began to collect at the back of his throat.
Then… Something snapped.
A violent surge of anima exploded through his body.
Follo's entire frame locked up.
His back arched.
Every muscle seized.
It felt like electricity was being forced through his veins.
Not pain.
Not exactly.
Something worse.
Something wrong.
He hated this feeling.
He would've taken a broken bone over this.
At least pain made sense.
This didn't.
His lungs drew in air. He knew they did. His chest rose. His throat burned. Another breath. Then another.
None of it felt real.
It was like breathing through swiss paper. Like the air kept falling apart before it reached where it was supposed to go.
Follo sucked in a sharp breath.
Nothing.
Another.
Nothing.
The feeling only grew worse.
His fingers curled against his arms.
His heart hammered violently against his ribs. Each of every fucking beat hit hard enough to hurt, hard enough that he was sure something inside his chest should've burst by now. He was sure it had already exploded and nobody had bothered to tell the rest of him.
The pounding spread through his entire body.
His throat tightened.
His stomach twisted.
His vision blurred around the edges.
Breathe.
He was breathing.
Wasn't he?
The thought felt distant.
His body had forgotten how? But.. that just didn't make sense???? What was going on!?
Another desperate gulp of air tore into his lungs. It should've helped.
It didn't.
The pressure kept building.
Growing.
Swelling.
Until it felt like there wasn't enough room inside his chest to contain it anymore.
His hands started shaking.
He couldn't think.
Couldn't focus.
Couldn't—
He...
He…
His hammer twisted violently in his grip.
"Uh..."
Zanka's grin disappeared.
"Follo?"
Follo couldn't answer.
His eyes widened.
The world suddenly felt... fucked. Horribly, impossibly fucked. The edges of Follo's vision darkened first, black creeping inward like ink spilled across paper, slowly swallowing everything in its path. No mattered if it was colored or not. The hammer slipped from his fingers without resistance, striking the ground with a dull clatter that he couldn't put his mind to even if he tired. His knees buckled beneath him, folding as if they could no longer remember their purpose. He tried to speak, tried to force out a word, a curse, anything, but his mouth only parted uselessly.
Nothing came. There wasn't even a thought left in his head to grab onto. Just empty noise and the violent pounding of his heart. Was he dead? The question drifted through him, slow and detached. Then everything else followed. The room. The sounds. Zanka. All of it dragging itself through thick syrup as the world lurched into a terrible, unnatural slow motion.
…
Zanka watched him stand there.
At first, he didn't think much of it.
Maybe Follo was catching his breath..?
Maybe he was trying to calm down after getting worked up!
It sounded good enough for him.
But…
It wasn't like Zanka had been going that hard on him. He'd mostly just been messing with him.
Right?
But then Follo's grip loosened.
The hammer slipped from his fingers.
A knot formed in Zanka's stomach.
Something wasn't right.
"Follo...?"
The uneasiness only grew.
And then Follo collapsed.
"FOLLO!"
Zanka lunged forward.
Instinct.
Panic.
Anything.
He just had to do something.
Why did this always happen?
Why was it always when he was the one in charge!?
His heart stumbled painfully in his chest as he watched Follo fall. The entire scene seemed to stretch out before him, moving agonizingly slow. Just a little farther. Just a little faster. His fingers barely missed him…
Follo hit the ground hard.
"Follo!? Follo, can you hear me?!"
Zanka dropped to his knees beside him.
Think.
Come on.
Think.
What was he supposed to do?
What was wrong with him?
The questions piled up so fast they drowned everything else out.
For several terrifying seconds, he didn't notice.
Didn't notice the foam gathering at the corner of Follo's mouth.
Didn't notice his eyes rolling back.
Didn't notice his entire body locking rigid.
The older boys fingers curled inward so tightly they looked painful.
Then came the sound.
A wet, choking gurgle.
Zanka froze.
The fog in his head cleared all at once.
And he finally looked.
Really looked.
"Oh."
His stomach dropped.
"Shit."
Follo's body jerked violently.
Another convulsion.
Another.
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..."
The words spilled out before he could stop them.
His brain refused to process what he was seeing.
Refused to accept it.
But his body moved anyway.
He grabbed Follo and struggled to turn him onto his side.
It wasn't easy.
The larger man was convulsing so hard that Zanka nearly lost his grip.
No.
No, no, no.
This couldn't be happening!! Haha! No. No, this had to be a dream! A bad dream. Oh??? Maybe even a sick joke! Wow, hilarious… Anything but this! He must have known this was his worst fucking nightmare! And he would get up any moment now? Right!
Zanka's eyes stayed locked on Follo as his mind desperately searched for another answer, any answer, one that made sense! This wasn't supposed to happen. Because it's actually not happening! It's just make believe. Oh..! Maybe he's just on another acid trip with that fucked crackhead! Going down a nightmare road! Huh??! Haha! Because! Not here. Not now. Not when he was standing right there. That would be silly…
A strained laugh almost bubbled up his throat.
Almost.
Because the sound died before it could escape.
For one horrible moment, his thoughts simply stopped.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Like a machine forced to run past its limits until something inside finally snapped. The panic, the confusion, the denial, all of it crashed together at once and overloaded whatever part of him was supposed to process this.
The result was nothing.
Just empty static.
The world became farther than his finger tips could ever reach. His ears rang. His vision tunneled. He stared at Follo's twitching form and felt himself slipping away with it.
No.
No.
Move.
Do something!
Anything!
Please..?
He'd rather die than beg… but there's always a first for everything! Huh???
His hand flew to his communicator.
"En..."
His voice cracked.
"Enjin!"
The name came out louder this time.
Desperate.
Why was he panicking so much?
He wasn't the one seizing.
He wasn't the one who looked like he was dying after all! So, he should just stop this overreaction! But.. why did it feel like the ground was disappearing beneath him? Why couldn't he think? Why couldn't he fix this?
….
Huh?
A bitter thought forced its way into his head.
Because you're a terrible mentor.
Because Enjin trusted you with this.
And look what happened.
Zanka clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.
"Enjin..."
His voice came out smaller this time.
Almost pleading.
"Please answer.”
…
Gris had been in the middle of driving a thoroughly, undeniably fucked-up Enjin home.
Honestly, he'd always taken Enjin for more of a smoker than a drinker.
Which, to be fair, he was.
But apparently that hadn't stopped him from trying to outdrink Semiu.
A terrible idea.
A catastrophically terrible idea.
Gris strongly suspected the only reason Enjin had agreed was because the drinks were free and the company was paying, sooo it was on their dime! Win-win scenario!
The dedication was almost admirable.
Almost.
It would've been a lot more inspiring if Gris wasn't the one stuck hauling the drunk bastard home afterward.
At least it earned him boyfriend points.
Still.
The drive had been quiet.
Enjin was dead asleep in the passenger seat, slumped against the window and snoring softly.
Then his collar started going off.
Gris frowned.
The kids weren't supposed to be on a mission today.
So why…—
"Enjin!"
The communicator crackled violently.
The voice that came through wasn't just loud.
It was panicked.
Gris's stomach dropped.
The car screeched as he slammed on the brakes.
That was Zanka.
And he did not like the sound of that.
Not one bit.
"What the hell..."
The line dissolved into static.
Gris immediately grabbed Enjin's wrist and used the sleeping man's thumb to fumble the communicator fully on.
"Sorry, babe."
The unconscious grunt he received was not forgiveness.
"Zanka?"
Nothing.
For a second, all he heard was breathing.
Then the communicator came alive again.
"Gris?"
The relief in Zanka's voice was immediate.
Painful.
“...Nev'r mind. Please…”
His breath hitched.
“Jus'... help us.”
Gris's chest tightened.
The car lurched forward as he slammed his foot back onto the gas.
The engine roared.
"What's wrong?!"
One hand gripped the steering wheel.
The other planted itself against Enjin's shoulder to stop him from being thrown around by the sudden acceleration.
"What happened?!"
…
On the other end, Zanka sounded like he was trying not to fall apart.
"Follo..."
Silence.
A shaky breath.
“'E's…”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Gris could hear chaos in the background.
"Zanka."
His voice hardened. It was clear he was not angry, and better yet he was steady.
"You got this."
Another turn.
The tires screamed against the pavement.
"Talk to me."
No answer.
Only ragged breathing.
"Zanka."
Gris tightened his grip on the wheel.
"Look at me."
A pointless thing to say over a communicator, but instinct won out.
"Take a breath and tell me what happened."
Several agonizing seconds passed.
Then Zanka finally spoke.
Small. Ultimately Shaky.
He couldn't quite believe the words himself.
“We were trainin'... tha's all. We were jus' trainin'.”
Gris felt his stomach sink.
"We..."
The sentence broke apart halfway through.
And somehow that scared Gris more than if Zanka had been screaming.
…
Gris had been trying to keep Zanka talking through the communicator.
Trying being the important word.
No matter how hard Zanka tried to answer, his body wouldn't cooperate. Every response came out broken and breathy, barely more than fragments of words. The communicator was no match to picking it up.
He wanted to tell Gris how long it had been.
Wanted to tell him exactly what was happening.
But he couldn't.
His thoughts were moving too fast.
Panic almost subduing all of his rational thoughts. He couldn't even count the seconds anymore. The numbers kept slipping away. Zanka knew seizure first aid.
Every Cleaner did.
Working around civilians meant learning how to respond to emergencies. Seizures, cardiac events, allergic reactions, heat stroke, choking, severe injuries, panic attacks, shock, poisonings. They'd all sat through the classes. Memorized the procedures. Practiced the drills until they could perform them half asleep. Every possible disaster had been covered, broken down into steps and protocols meant to keep people alive until help arrived.
But nobody ever talked about what it felt like when it was your teammate.
When it was someone you knew.
Someone you we're helping trained with.
Someone who'd been talking to you less than a minute ago.
That kind of fear was different.
It dug its claws in deeper.
Eventually, the violent convulsions began to slow.
The jerking weakened into smaller twitches.
Then smaller still.
Zanka felt himself finally breathe.
Just a little.
His shoulders sagged.
"Fff..."
His voice cracked.
He couldn't even get Follo's name out.
He just stared.
The communicator.
Gris.
Everything else faded away.
For a moment, it looked like it was over.
Follo's eyelids fluttered.
Slowly.
Weakly.
His eyes cracked open.
Dazed.
Confused.
The familiar glow inside them had faded.
"Follo..."
Relief flooded through Zanka.
Then Follo's eyes rolled upward.
His heart stopped.
No.
No.
No.
Not again.
Please not again.
His training came rushing back all at once.
Back-to-back seizures.
No recovery period.
Status epilepticus.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"No..."
The word escaped before he realized he'd spoken.
Follo's jaw trembled.
Fresh foam gathered at the corners of his mouth.
His lips were beginning to turn a pale blue.
"No. No, no, no, no!"
Zanka buried both hands in his hair.
His breathing became ragged.
His thoughts were spiraling.
He should've done something.
Should've noticed sooner.
Should've stopped the training.
Should've been better.
Then the door burst open.
…
SLAM.
Zanka nearly jumped.
Gris rushed in first.
Eisha was right behind him.
For a split second, Zanka just stared.
Shit.
In all the chaos, he'd forgotten to call her.
How could he forget her?
How could he forget the one person who might know what was happening?
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid fucking mentor.
"Follo!?"
Both Gris and Eisha spoke at the same time.
Gris immediately rushed to his side.
The look on his face made Zanka's stomach twist.
Heartbreak.
Pure heartbreak.
"Eisha..."
Zanka stepped aside without meeting her eyes.
He couldn't.
The guilt was too heavy.
He moved to let her through.
But she didn't move.
"What are you...?"
Zanka looked up.
Eisha was frozen.
Not from fear.
From thought.
Then… realization.
"If it's what I think it is..."
Her voice shook.
"If he absorbed too much anima, it could be causing abnormal electrical activity in his brain."
Everyone went silent.
Eisha swallowed hard.
"If I use my Vital Instrument to stop it..."
She looked at Follo.
Then away.
"It'll make things worse."
Zanka felt cold.
"What?"
"My anima would enter his body too."
Her hands curled into fists.
"If the problem is anima overload, adding more anima could intensify it."
Gris slowly lifted his head.
The question on his face looked almost painful.
"So..."
His voice came out barely above a whisper.
"You're saying the only thing we can do..."
Nobody answered.
"...is watch?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
…
After what felt like forever, Follo finally went limp.
Nobody moved or even try to speak. The only sound was everyone's breathing. Waiting. Watching. Praying.
Then, after an even longer stretch of silence, Follo's eyelids twitched.
Slowly.
Painfully.
They opened.
His gaze was unfocused. Half-lidded. Empty.
The sight nearly made Gris sag with relief.
"Rise and shine, Follo."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"You feeling alright?"
Gris carefully checked his pupils.
They were still blown wide.
Not a great sign.
"Coooyyyllldddnnn'ttt beeerrrttteerrr..."
Or at least that's what it sounded like. Nobody was entirely sure. Follo wasn't sure either. The words felt wrong in his mouth. Everything sounded wrong.
The voices around him blended together into meaningless noise. Japanese.. He knew it was Japanese. He should understand it. But it felt foreign. His stomach twisted. The people around him looked familiar. Didn't they? Maybe. No. He couldn't tell.
Panic flashed across his face.
Follo immediately tried to sit up.
Bad idea.
The moment he moved, agony exploded through his skull.
He doubled over with a groan, clutching his head.
"Wheeerrrrssss..."
His voice cracked.
"Alannn...?"
His fingers dug into the grass beneath him.
"Where's Alan...?"
The fear in his voice made everyone's stomach sink.
"Where's..."
He squeezed his eyes shut.
His head hurt.
Everything hurt.
Who was Alan?
Zanka exchanged a confused look with Gris. Neither of them had the slightest clue. But nobody wanted to interrupt him. They didn't want to make things worse.
Eisha stepped forward.
Her heart was pounding.
She forced the gentlest smile she could manage and knelt beside him.
"Hey, Follo."
His eyes slowly drifted toward her.
Or at least in her direction.
"You're postictal right now."
The word clearly didn't register.
"Let's get you somewhere safe, okay?"
Follo blinked.
"Poss... tical...?"
Eisha nodded.
"It's what happens after a seizure."
She kept her voice calm and slow.
"Your brain just worked very, very hard."
Follo stared at her.
Not understanding.
But listening.
"Things might seem confusing right now. You might have trouble talking, remembering things, recognizing people, or understanding what's being said."
Her smile softened.
"That's normal."
A lie, partly.
Normal wasn't the word she'd use.
But it was common.
And right now, common sounded much less terrifying.
"You don't have to force yourself to understand everything."
She carefully reached for his shoulder.
"We're here."
Follo's eyes flickered between the faces surrounding him.
Still uncertain with short reactions of fear. But the death grip he had on the grass loosened. Just a little.
“Let's get you to the recovery center, okay?”
…
The room was unusually quiet.
Nobody seemed eager to be the first one to speak.
The events of the previous day were still fresh in everyone's mind.
Eisha stood at the front of the room with a clipboard clutched tightly against her chest. Her hands were shaking. She didn't look at anyone. Instead, her eyes remained firmly fixed on her notes.
"After reviewing the EEG results and the other tests..."
Her voice faltered.
She swallowed.
"It can be concluded that Follo has developed generalized epilepsy due to the sudden anima surge that occurred in his body."
Nobody interrupted or wanted to.
Eisha decided to continued reading.
"It's... never been documented before."
She shifted nervously.
"Not in someone his age receiving a Vital Instrument."
Her grip tightened around the clipboard.
"The amount of anima that entered his body appears to have overwhelmed his nervous system."
She took a breath.
"The current theory is that because the instrument was a failed one inherited from a previous owner, it may still contain residual premature anima from that individual. Normally that shouldn't happen. Most anima dissipates after enough time passes. But because the instrument was damaged and considered a failed Vital Instrument, some of that anima appears to have remained trapped inside it." She rubbed at her eyes. "Which means when Follo uses the hammer, it might not just be his anima flowing through it.”
Eisha looked back down at her report.
"The best comparison I can make is forcing two different electrical currents through the same wire. One belongs there. The other doesn't. Eventually something overloads.”
She let out a slow breath.
"When Follo got frustrated during training, he released a much larger amount of anima than usual. The hammer responded. The residual anima responded too. Both surged through his body at the same time and his nervous system couldn't compensate fast enough.”
Eisha quickly looked down again. She regretted making eye contact with the room.
"When Follo activated it, both anima signatures may have reacted simultaneously."
A heavy silence followed.
Nobody looked particularly happy with that explanation.
But nobody had a better one either.
"The seizures appear to be a side effect of excessive Vital Instrument usage."
She hurried on before she could lose her nerve.
"They shouldn't significantly affect everyday activities. At least, not based on what we've observed so far. The seizures seem directly linked to anima overuse. They don't appear to happen spontaneously. As long as Follo isn't constantly pushing his instrument beyond its limits, he should still be able to function normally. He can still work, and most importantly he can still fight with his instrument if absolutely necessary. And, he can still do everyday things."
Gris visibly relaxed.
Not completely.
But rather just enough to finally exhale.
She hesitated.
"He just can't keep treating his Vital Instrument the way he has been."
That earned a few uncomfortable looks.
"If he continues forcing large amounts of anima through his body, another seizure could happen. Maybe worse than the last one."
Eisha lowered the clipboard.
"If Follo limits his anima output and primarily serves in a support role, the likelihood of another severe episode should be reduced."
Should.
The word lingered in the room.
Eisha hated it.
"Still..."
Her voice became smaller.
"His Vital Instrument should only be used when absolutely necessary."
She looked down at the reports.
"If he pushes himself too hard..."
Her voice cracked.
"It could happen again."
Nobody missed the tremor in her words.
"I've already contacted my mother."
Eisha cleared her throat.
"She's helping arrange emergency seizure medication. A nasal spray that can be administered during prolonged episodes."
She glanced around the room.
Trying to gauge reactions.
"If another event occurs, it should help stop the seizure much faster."
Corvus calmly set his teacup onto the table.
He gave a small nod.
A gesture of approval.
And gratitude.
"Thank you, Eisha."
The young healer visibly stiffened.
Then slowly lowered her clipboard.
The praise should have felt reassuring.
But rather… The total opposite.
…
Explaining it to Follo had not gone smoothly.
Gris wouldn't have thought it would.
“You mean to tell me… I just got a vital instrument and I can’t even FUCKING USE IT?!”
Gris had seen a lot of crash outs before.
Follo’s, though, felt especially loud.
The anger wasn’t just frustration. It was disbelief mixed with humiliation, as if the world had handed him something meant to change his life and then immediately told him he wasn’t allowed to touch it.
Gris had never seen him like this before. Not even close.
Eisha had quietly slipped out mid-outburst, already on the phone with Alice, stepping into the hallway so she could explain everything without getting buried alive in emotions.
Inside the room, Follo kept going.
“What’s the point then?!” he snapped, pacing hard enough that the floor practically complained under him. “I train with it, I bleed for it, I deal with that shit happening to me, and now I’m just supposed to what? Sit there and not use it?!”
Gris didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t even try.
Because for once, there wasn’t anything useful to say.
Eventually, Follo ran out of breath more than anger, standing there with his fists clenched so tight his arms shook.
That’s when Eisha came back in.
She paused in the doorway.
Looked at him.
Immediately regretted being there.
“I… uhm…” she started, then cleared her throat. “I came back with… good news. Depending on how you look at it.”
Follo snapped his head up instantly.
“Yes?” His voice came out faster than he meant it to. Almost desperate. Like he needed there to be an answer that fixed everything.
Eisha hesitated.
That hesitation alone made Gris wary.
“So,” she began slowly, eyes drifting anywhere but Follo, “because you share anima compatibility with the original user, there’s a possibility to stabilize the reaction if you… maintain contact with the source of the residual anima.”
Silence.
Follo blinked.
Gris blinked harder.
Eisha rushed the rest out like ripping off a bandage.
“I mean, if you take the instrument to the previous user and expose it to their anima environment again, it might help balance the interference. It could calm the residual imprint and reduce the instability over time.”
Another beat of silence.
Then Follo, very slowly:
“So what you’re saying…”
His eye twitched.
“…is I have to co-parent my fucking vital Instrument?”
Gris made a noise he absolutely should not have made in that moment. Something halfway between a cough and a laugh.
Eisha turned bright red.
“That is NOT how I phrased it— I mean— it’s not alive, it just responds better to familiar anima patterns—!!”
Follo looked like he was seconds away from combusting.
“You’re telling me my weapon has attachment issues.”
“It’s not—”
“It misses its ex-owner.”
“That’s not—”
“And I have to babysit it.”
Eisha hid half her face behind her clipboard now, fully regretting every life choice that led to this sentence.
“It could… help you gain better control,” she muttered weakly. “That’s the point.”
Follo stood there completely frozen.
Then slowly, very slowly, his ears went red.
Then his face.
Then his entire expression looked like it was overheating in real time.
Gris finally lost it, turning away to cough into his hand so he wouldn’t fully laugh.
Eisha sank lower behind the clipboard.
And Follo just stood there, silently processing the fact that his life had somehow reached a point where his weapon needed emotional support from his EX.
…
Eisha visibly shrank into herself the moment Follo kept staring at her, fingers tightening around her clipboard.
“O-okay, I think I need to explain this better,” she said quickly, voice softer now, less certain. “Because it sounds worse when I say it like that and I don’t mean it in a weird way, I really don’t!!!.”
She swallowed and glanced at the floor.
“What I mean is… the residual anima isn’t alive. It’s not thinking. It’s not a person. It’s not even really a memory in the way we understand it. It’s just… structure. Pattern. A kind of imprint left behind when someone uses a Vital Instrument for a long time.”
She hesitated, then rushed on before she could lose the thread.
“But the problem is that those patterns can behave consistently enough that they look like preference. Like, if you expose it to certain conditions, it reacts in a way that seems familiar. And if you don’t, it reacts unpredictably. So it ends up feeling like it has a ‘comfort zone,’ even though it doesn’t actually feel anything.”
Eisha’s voice dipped lower.
“It’s like… a tool that only ever learned one way of being used, and now it’s confused because something about that changed.”
She flinched slightly as Gris shifted, then kept going anyway.
“So when I said it ‘misses’ the original user, that was… not the right wording. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
A pause.
“I just meant that the residual anima signature is still strongly aligned to the original calibration source. And Follo’s anima is trying to overwrite it, but it hasn’t fully succeeded, so the two are constantly… negotiating, I guess.”
That word sounded wrong as soon as she said it.
She winced.
“I don’t mean negotiating like it’s conscious. I mean like two overlapping systems trying to stabilize without a proper reset point.”
Her grip on the clipboard tightened again.
“And because of that, when Follo uses it, the instability spikes. But when it’s near that original reference signature, the system becomes more predictable. Less conflict. Less strain.”
Eisha finally risked looking up, but only briefly, and only at Gris.
“I’m not saying it has feelings,” she added quickly, almost defensively, she was worried she’d already messed up too much. “It doesn’t. It really doesn’t!!! It just behaves in a way that can be mistaken for familiarity because of how the anima imprint works.”
Her voice dropped again, smaller.
…
A trip to Alan's is in Follo's pathetic future then.