Work Text:
“Which one is done cooking today?”
“Should be number three.”
The tech makes a note on her clipboard, hanging back while her partner goes to disengage the locks on the transcender door. “I think we should check the settings on this one after we get it cleaned up. I feel like it’s been melting stuff every single time for the past six months or something. Maybe the concentration is too high.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Her partner doesn’t sound interested. Typical, seemed like nobody else around here gave half a damn about their jobs.
“What’s the name?”
“Uh-” She checks the laminated sheet, tucked into a slot on the side of the machine. “Shiloh… something, last name got smudged.”
“I’ll just look it up later. Age?”
“13.”
As the pneumatic lock hisses, there’s a loud thunk as something slaps itself against the inside of the door. Her partner jumps a little, then laughs at her own surprise. “Woah, got a live one.”
“Stop fooling around and open it already.” Hopefully all their organs would still be on the inside. It was honestly kinder if they just melted into goo. Things got messy when you reached the in-betweens. Not fully dead but not wholly alive either, in infinite combinations of gore and agony. Just another one of the Starworm’s cruel little jokes. Suppose it was worth it to produce Mother’s holy Agents.
The other tech pulls the door open, stepping back as the child inside tumbles out, sprawling face-first on the floor along with a deluge of watery white fluid. Way livelier than she was used to them being; usually the kids just laid there catatonic. It did make getting them to surgery easier, at least. And another successful transcendence would mean better funding for the future, now that they had more proof the process sometimes resulted in more than a squealing pile of guts.
Not this one, though. They’re wide awake, scrabbling at the slimy floor as they struggle to get up. The process has turned their shaggy hair a pale silvery-gray, not a shade she usually saw. It was often a dark non-color, sepia or black, even if they had light hair to start with. The kid grabs the cuff of her pants, the other hand pressed to their ear, eyes wide and rolling as they hyperventilate.
“Don’t just stand there,” she snaps at her partner. “Are you going to pick them up or what?”
“I just cleaned my lab coat.”
“Fine.” She shoves the clipboard into the other tech’s hand, then crouches to pick up the Starworm’s newest little soldier. Their robe is slick with ivory afterbirth as they cling to her like a drowning victim. “I’ll do it. At least radio surgery and tell them I’m coming up.”
The floor tilts and twists beneath Shiloh’s body, wet tiles sliding away beneath their grasping hands like the deck of a ship tossed by a storm. Everything is muffled apart from their heartbeat in their skull, the voices of the two people in white and purple nothing but a faint drone. The pyramidal face of the statue mounted above the transcender seems to glower down at them.
What did He do to me?
They grasp fistfuls of the woman’s lab coat as she lifts their body, squeezing their eyes shut, feeling like they’re going to be ripped from her arms by gravity alone. Something warm is running down the sides of their head from their ears.
I prayed to Him every day, my parents prayed, my whole family. Everyone but my brother.
The only blighted spot on an otherwise perfect family. Three generations born and raised in City One, not a single sinner expelled. Only one had left home and never come back.
They said I’d be perfect, that I’d make up for his mistake. What’s happening to me?
Why would He let me suffer like this?
Fluorescent lights flicker overhead like camera flashes. It’s the last thing they see before they pass out.
When Shiloh’s eyelids flutter open, they immediately find themself face to face with their own reflection, the eyes staring back at them big and blood-red. They try to yelp, but all that comes out of their throat is a weak rasp, IV drip line tugging at their wrist as they try to raise their hand.
The reflection pulls back, revealing it to be the silvery goggles of one of the Concern’s researchers, who’d been leaning over their bed and staring them right in the face. The woman grabs something from off the table, placing it in their other hand.
No longer does the world reel and slip out from beneath their feet, but their head is still full of low buzzing, their limbs heavy, head lolling as they try to look at the object in their hand. It’s a small, circular thing with a pair of metal tines and a triangular purple piece hanging off it like an antenna. Shiloh blinks blearily at it, and the scientist mimes the act of placing something in her ear.
They do as she suggests, bringing it to the side of their head, fumbling a bit to get it into their own ear. They feel the plug’s tines scrape against something plasticky before they finally manage to snap it into place.
“Fantastic!” The researcher claps her hands together, the sudden, sharp clarity of the sound making them flinch. “Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me.”
They nod.
“Wonderful. Can you speak? Do you know where you are?”
There’s nothing familiar about the dull little recovery room they seem to be in. It’s no heavenly court of the Starworm, dull white walls and water stains blooming on the ceiling. The stale odor of ammonia and bleach hangs in the air. “…no, sorry,” they croak. “Am I supposed to know?”
“Ohh, they weren’t kidding, you are lively, already asking so many questions.” She pokes them in the forehead, once again leaning in much too close. “You, my child, have been chosen by Him for a grand and sacred duty. Pulled from the river Styx, one of the Starworm’s invulnerable warriors and defenders of His faith. You’re extremely lucky, you know.” She cups their face, tilting their head so she can better see the implant in their ear. “Usually He takes a limb or two, or the eyes, or the tongue… This time He only called home your inner ear. The rest of you seems to be working just fine.”
Shiloh frowns, trying to keep still despite the uncomfortable angle their neck is twisted at, the researcher’s thumb pressed into their cheek. “Why did He want my ear…?”
“Oh, who can say?” The researcher pulls back, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “It’s not our place to ask Him these things. What’s important is that you survived!”
They survived.
The revelation is only now trickling in, piercing the haze of anesthesia. They recall how they held their breath as the ivory crept up over their face, how it had burned their throat when they’d finally run out of air and inhaled it. “Do my… Did you tell my mom and dad?” they ask.
“Your family will be informed of your successful rebirth, don’t worry about that! I’m sure they’ll be very, very proud of you.” Pulling her goggles up onto her forehead, the researcher smiles at them, eyes crinkling above her medical mask. “Just imagine how jealous everybody in their district will be. Practically guaranteed a spot in City One forever, and bragging rights for generations to come…. Tell me, child, what’s your name?”
“It’s… Shiloh.”
“I see. Your name’s not Shiloh anymore. You are hereby reassigned the name…” She checks something on her clipboard. “Grey. As a future Agent of the One Concern, you are now a child of Mother. The person you were before no longer exists.”
“I…” Shiloh’s breath shudders in their chest, fingers tightening around the scratchy hospital blanket. “I knew about that, but I thought I’d get to go home and see them one more time.” They said they’d have a party, just before Shiloh had boarded the train to One Concern West, bigger than any birthday party they’d ever had. Everything will be just fine, they’d said. You’re so strong, our family’s faith is so strong. We’ll see you on the other side. Their mother had kissed their forehead and wiped her eyes as Shiloh watched through the foggy window while the train pulled away. “…we were going to have a party,” they murmur, hot tears beading in their eyes.
The researcher glances away. “Let me get the progenarian now that you’re feeling a little more perky. Just wait here, angel. He’ll be right in.”
She leaves them alone in the recovery room. Shiloh touches their implant again, blinking away their tears. The earpiece is hard, bulky, their skin raw where it had been stitched up at the point their cheek met their ear.
Was it too late to change their mind?
The Starworm would never brook rejection of His gift. Just to think of doing such a thing must be a sin in and of itself. They were changed, ascended. Holy. Part of their flesh taken in exchange for this privilege.
Was it really a gift if you had to give up so much?
They want to go home.
Transcendence is rebirth. One’s original birthday no longer matters when you are pulled whole from the womb of the divine. A proper humble servant of He should ruminate on it, but not allow themselves to be tempted by pride.
Grey peels the waxy wrapper from the cupcake, setting the pastry on a plate on the dormitory kitchen table. The digital display on the microwave blinks over to 12:00 am.
Five years ago today.
The lights are off. Everybody else is asleep. Somewhere out there, their family is safe.
They have their party, just like they were promised. Even if they have to celebrate alone.