"You've gotten completely lazy," I say, watching Lisa devour some expensive dessert. "You can't just go to cafes every time you want to eat."
"Why not?" Lisa shrugs. "Cafes exist so people can eat in them. They make food here. And I eat. Simple and logical."
"Your fridge is empty," I point accusingly. "Ice, two bottles of drinks, and that's it. What if there's a zombie apocalypse tomorrow? People like you won't survive a day. My fridge at home is full." Indeed, it's a Hebert family tradition to prepare for the zombie apocalypse in advance. Danny shops at the local supermarket once a week and strictly monitors that our family's strategic reserves don't run out. We even have a bag of grain in the closet! Danny loves telling the story of how during World War II, our great-grandfather survived only thanks to one bag of grain he'd set aside as livestock feed, but the situation turned out such that this bag became the only food available to his family for several months. So the bag of grain in the pantry is a trace of the Heberts' ancestral trauma. How to explain the two cases of beer in the same pantry, I don't know yet. Maybe some distant Hebert ancestor during Ireland's struggle for independence survived only thanks to beer? Or grandmother, who had Italian roots and was the third to spit on Mussolini's corpse, worked as a waitress in a Neapolitan beer hall, and at night pasted leaflets and crept through night streets with a garrote in one hand and a stiletto in the other?
"I'm begging you, four-eyes, leave your girlfriend alone and delta home already. I've got the new season of 'The Fearless' there." A voice in my head. Lately, the Butchers have noticeably quieted down. Each of them has internet access, some even created PHO accounts, but most just surf the web. Quarrel unexpectedly turned out to be a fan of tearjerker multi-episode Latin American series with long, hard-to-pronounce titles. "Girl Trapped in Paradise with the Devil in Her Heart," or "Juanita Who Made an Escape." The Nubian loved playing action games, even browser ones on the tablet, but she needed action. In the most popular fighters, she quite successfully conquered the top rankings. Edward finally overcame his depression and was now corresponding with his daughter. I tried not to look over his shoulder too often, but I was happy for him. Even Butcher I found an activity to his taste. Surprisingly, "busty schoolgirls," "depraved MILFs," and "lustful housewives" bored him quite quickly. Now he was hooked on series about serial killers and police investigations, could watch them for days on end. If you think about it, it's understandable. They're all forced to sit and see only what the host sees. Nothing more. Yes, they can also feel, smell, hear sounds, but ninety percent of information comes through vision. And human life generally can't compare to a TV series or movie, especially when there's no choice what to watch. This, by the way, is also the answer to the question "why does the Butcher do crazy stuff?" Simply, all these personalities locked inside need to somehow entertain themselves; information deprivation is a terrible thing. It's like tying up a dozen people, throwing them in one cramped, dark room from which only a screen is visible showing... someone's life. Ordinary life, not a movie, not a gripping plot, but all this "got up, went to the toilet, brushed teeth, washed face, dried with a towel, looked at himself in the mirror, put the kettle on." You could go crazy pretty quickly.
But now, when each of them has their own bugs controlling tablets always connected to the network, they have access to information. Movies, series, books, communication, games, learning, news—all of it. But most importantly, they have some privacy. Everyone can do their favorite thing. So they leave me alone at home when my basement with tablets lying there is within range of my abilities. And they whine when I leave home for long periods. Crazy—Butchers actually whine! Never would have thought.
However, besides the Butchers, I have another source of noise in my head. My little bug-beacon that Panacea carries in her pocket all day.
"Let me enjoy life while Panacea hasn't unleashed a biblical plague on this world or an actual zombie apocalypse. If anyone can do it, it's her. And you quarreled with her. Raped her sister."
"I didn't rape Glory!" I raise my voice, and people at neighboring tables look at us. I shrug. Oops.
"Lisa! You're asking for it," I say. "I'll whip you. With an actual whip. Leather. On your arrogant ass."
"Oh, so that's the taste of the modest schoolgirl from Winslow. That school continues to surprise me," Tattletale raises an eyebrow. "But jokes aside. Tell me what you learned."
"You know everything anyway, don't you?"
"I just build guesses and see from a person's reaction whether I'm right or not. It's called cold reading. Everyone can do it. When I 'read minds,' it's because you're straight as a stick and transparent as glass. You're easy to read like an open book. But reading Amy Dallon without even seeing her..." she shrugs. "Too much background noise, dear. She has an image, she has family, so much has been written and said about her, and she herself constantly behaves extremely contradictorily... and besides, your opinion is important to me. Tell me." She leans forward and rests her chin on her palm, elbow on the table. "Don't be such a miser, Taylor."
"Fine." I ignore her light jab. "I've been listening to her almost all day. And I'm surprised. She's the best healer in the entire country, she can perform miracles. Growing a sound membrane on a bug... I didn't think such a thing was possible in principle. What's some cancer or tumor or genetic disease to her? For her there are no incurable diseases. She's... like a deity that heals everything. Except the brain. Why—I don't know. She can do anything with the body, I know this absolutely. She has no Manton limitations, she can change nervous tissue, she did it with my beacon. Probably ethical self-limitations, most likely. But besides that—she heals everything."
"But that's not what surprises you?" Lisa half-states, half-asks, lifting her tiny coffee cup.
"What surprises me is that people in the hospital treat her... you know, somewhat dismissively. Condescendingly. No, from the outside everything looks normal, but the tone of their voices... and they whisper behind her back. In general, there are two opposite behavioral patterns regarding Panacea in the hospital. The first is the reaction of relatives and patients. Everything's clear here, everything's quite predictable—they worship her. They're literally ready to kneel and kiss her feet, and I think it slightly stresses her out. Though... it would probably stress me out too. They're straight-up fanatics. Again, it's understandable. If I or God forbid my father had an incurable disease that no one could do anything about, and here Panacea just touches with her hand and everything's fine. Yeah, I'd grovel at her feet myself and praise her like a goddess... but it stresses her out."
"Panacea fanatics. Interesting..." Lisa says thoughtfully, her marble-white fingers sliding along the cup's edge. "Continue."
"The second reaction is from doctors, nurses, orderlies. Hospital staff. It's like she's a second-class person. You know, 'we have this amusing dog, she's learned such wonderful tricks.' Exactly like that. I can't understand them. Don't they see who Panacea is? Doctors should understand. No, I can understand jealousy and even hatred—after all, a doctor studied for years, pharmaceutical companies spent incredible amounts of money on research and drug development, and it all comes easily to her. She just got such power, then touched with her hand, closed her eyes, mumbled about 'do you consent to intervention' and that's it. I can understand that, because specific doctors lose relevance—there haven't been normal oncologists in BB for five years now, judging by smoking room conversations. And yes, she smokes. Probably relieves stress."
"You can't understand why people in the hospital treat her that way? Dismissively?" Lisa tilts her head. "Despite her abilities?"
"In our crazy world, it's accepted that abilities can replace everything else," I answer. "No one cares about Alexandria's individuality and character. She's Alexandria. That is, she's her ability to throw a car at you or tie a telegraph pole in a knot, stand against an Endbringer as an equal. And Panacea... she's super even compared to Alexandria! What is Alexandria? The ability to break something, shatter and throw it away. Humanity has plenty of that kind of thing. Even Glory does well enough—that's why she's 'Alexandria lite.' But Panacea can't be replaced by anything or anyone. Alexandria won't cure cancer, won't create a new grain culture that grows everywhere and yields harvest every month, can't change a person's genes so their children won't have hereditary diseases and... my head spins from the possibilities," I admit.
"And you're easily impressed, aren't you?" Lisa smiles, and I understand she's working now. Usually she talks more than everyone, finishes your sentences, and constantly shows off herself and her ability—show-off. But now she's listening and only inserting rare phrases, directing me in the right direction. I catch myself thinking I like this Lisa better. She's pleasant to talk with. Her smile slightly twists and there it is—Tattletale's signature smirk.
"Don't get used to the good stuff so quickly, Taylor," she says. "But yes, I can be a very good girl. Continue, don't get distracted."
"No, seriously," I continue, letting her barb pass by my ears. "Just think about it. Though if anyone should understand, it's you—you definitely understand. I thought my power, my multitasking, ability to separate information streams and absorb, control such a mass of information was simply incredible. Cooler than flying and shooting lasers from your eyes—may Legend forgive me. But her abilities are... look, cure cancer—bam. Done. Create a virus that will cure all hereditary diseases? Bam. Done. Create... well, say, protein mass that eats all kinds of garbage and grows, such a meat mushroom with all necessary amino acids? Bam. Done. No more hunger anywhere, and farmers went bankrupt to hell. Change humanity's genome so everyone is young, beautiful, and lives forever? Bam. Done. Tell me, who can do such things besides her? No one. So personally, I understand those who fall at her feet and kneel, want to touch her with their fingertips. She's a Goddess, damn it. And we're all just mortals. All I can do is destroy, break, and cause people pain and injury. Death. No, maybe I would have found myself in peaceful life as a beekeeper or pest control specialist, health inspector or as a searcher and investigator, but she's a completely different level! This is what humanity has sought throughout its history! Immortality! Abundance! This is the dream of all humanity, Lisa! She's the Holy Grail!"
"Breathe, Taylor, breathe. Calm down," Lisa advises. "And sit down already, people are staring at us."
"Huh?" I didn't even notice I'd stood up and was looming over the table, breathing heavily.
"Sit. Calm down. Why did you get so worked up? Ah, right... it pisses you off when such potential is wasted, I understand," she nods. "First time, right? You'll get used to it."
"You don't understand," I grumble, sitting back down and shooting her a quick glance. "Though no. You're the one who understands. Damn."
"I don't understand, Taylor. I know," Lisa says, something flickering in her eyes as she smirks crookedly. "I know. But you—you should think. Why do you think people treat Panacea that way? Even if they don't know she's the Holy Grail and can grant immortality to all humanity, they definitely know she can cure almost any disease. So what's wrong with them?"
"People..." I clasp my hands together. "They're always like this. This is where Sophia Hess and her 'predator-prey' psychology would fit. Probably Panacea just looks like such a doormat from the outside? She's a typical sufferer, makes up problems for herself, then suffers from them. Today, for example, she went down to the cafe to grab a bite, but some patient's relatives intercepted her there and she obediently trudged to another wing to cure some fibroid. Then a doctor handed her a stack of papers—'you're going there anyway, take these along.' Seemingly nothing terrible, but it's constant. As a result, she never ate, now she's sitting and continuing to treat someone—how she hasn't fainted from low blood glucose yet. Oh, by the way—there have been cases. She doesn't spare herself, everything for others, and they don't really appreciate it. Well... that is, some appreciate too zealously, others don't appreciate at all. I don't know. Probably a combination of her age, appearance and behavior, plus the fact that she's basically taking doctors' bread away. And she does it casually, without even noticing."
"Panacea..." Lisa thinks for a second, her face suddenly lighting up with a wide smile. "Let's keep her? You need a new nakama!"
"Eh? Nakama? That sounds very perverted. I don't know what you're thinking there, Lisa Wilbourn, but I'm not a pervert. Probably."
"You? You're totally a pervert. Who wanted to whip me on the ass just now?"
"That's pedagogical necessity, Lisa. If you're not whipped every few hours, you start thinking too much of yourself. You need to be brought down to earth, and I'm just a modest heroine saving the entire Earth from the terrible supervillain MegaBrainiac!" I point at her. "And that smile on your face scares me. Remove it immediately. Stop making plans to conquer the planet. I'm not going to indulge you, I already said so."
"Can we keep her for ourselves? Please, please, please!" She folds her hands in a pleading gesture. "Just think how much she can do! Relay bugs for your power! You'll be able to control them across the entire planet! Omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient Taylor!"
"I'd go crazy—there have to be some limitations..."
"Save the world from hunger and drought, regrow forests in the Amazon and Siberia, make you a biological suit! Cure everyone of everything, especially stupidity. Just imagine—humanity gets smarter! And of course—boobs!" Lisa straightens her shoulders and pushes her bust forward.
"Boobs?"
"Yes! Any shapes and sizes! Say I want bigger ones—tense up and voila, increased. Want smaller—same thing. Uh... I mean, there's an organ that increases ten times!"
"Uh... you mean?"
"Pupils, it's pupils! And your 'uh' only increases three-four times. There are frogs and fish that inflate—why not build that in? And plastic surgery in general! We'll give you a beautiful face, Taylor! Otherwise you're scaring kids on the street now."
"Next time I'm definitely bringing a whip," I threaten. "Won't care about your image—I'll beat you right on the ass. Your impudent, arrogant, and cunning ass."
"Let's keep her! You, me, and Panacea—a team of girls who'll turn the world upside down!" Lisa triumphantly raises her finger, pointing up. "Decided! Operation 'Pan-Pan Welcome' begins! Just let me finish my coffee and..."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Whip. Rein back, hothead. How are you planning to do this? She hates me," I say. "She'll literally kill me if she touches me. I won't get within ten feet of her with a ten-foot pole."
"From love to hate is one step. So the reverse isn't such a big distance either," Lisa shrugs. "Besides, you and she have something in common."
"Yeah? And what exactly? That she and I both have one head and two ears?"
"Both she and you adore Glory Girl," Lisa points out. "And want to get in her panties."
"What?! I never... Lisa!"
"Yes, and now it's time for the whip, I know," Lisa nods. "Shall we go somewhere quiet, or will you do it right here?"
"Lisa!!"
"I've been... ahem, Lisa for seventeen years now. Almost an adult. Does that mean I can be whipped? I'll have to call Henry to clarify..."
"One of these days you're going to get it, young lady."