Rather than return to LA, we ended up continuing North to the random hospital that happened to be closest to the prior day's incursion. That being said, we didn't go straight there without stopping. David and I stopped to get some breakfast at an old diner a few minutes away from our destination. It was situated in one of those very same touristy, vacation towns that seemed to litter the whole coast.

  Neither of us had eaten anything, and it also fit right in with a subject both of us had been planning to broach. When I decided I was going to work on getting something out of the incident, I wasn't thinking of childish trinkets. No, what I wanted was David's full assistance in launching my debut into the world of Guardians. Specifically, though, I was using the opportunity as a kind of emotional capital.

  David would have helped me with the whole process no matter what, and he'd put basically the same amount of effort and resources into all of it. I wasn't talking about getting a greater amount of total help from him, then—what I was talking about was the timing. Put simply, I wanted to move fast. I wanted to be up and running before the spring semester started. It would take some subtle convincing to get David into the same mindset, or at the very least, to get him on board.

  That was what I meant by getting something out of the situation.

  "I've already started talking to some people," he said over a plate full of sad, mostly-untouched pancakes. You could tell by the way he'd put the syrup on that he didn't know anything about eating pancakes. It was like he'd tried imitating a fast food commercial, but had no idea what you were supposed to do next. "It sounds like we can take care of most of the basic stuff in just a few days. Most of that will start on Monday."

  Ugh. That was annoying. I'd forgotten that it was now Saturday, which would basically delay everything by two days. Lawyers and similar types usually didn't like to work on weekends.

  David kept talking, but I was only half listening. My eyes kept drifting to his pancakes. Stupid Anathema hunger. At least I could still eat more normal things—it would really suck if I were now limited to eating humans or some shit. To be fair, it didn't feel like there was anything I couldn't eat. By anything, I really did mean anything—my body was telling me that it wouldn't have any real problem with taking a bite straight out of the table. It wasn't super tempting, but people didn't call Anathema 'reality eaters' for nothing. It seemed like some bits of reality were simply a lot more enticing than others.

  That being said, I was starting to think that the cutlery looked a bit more tasty than it probably should.

  "Alex. Alex, are you listening?" I snapped my head up. David was asking something, and it seemed like I'd zoned out. Oops, sorry. Got a little distracted thinking about eating my fork, you know how it is. "I was asking if you'd already thought about a Guardian name."

  Huh. I wondered how we'd gotten to that topic. I'd already made it clear that I intended on being an active Guardian—much to David's dismay—and that meant I'd be picking out some kind of dumb pseudonym. I'd already figured that one out during the incursion, though, so I didn't have to think too hard for an answer. "Well, I was thinking of something like 'Valkyrie,' but that's probably already taken. Something similar, though."

  That was another thing I needed to look up, now that I thought about it. Along with reading everything I could find on chameliums, I needed to see if there was any somewhat well known Guardian already using that name. If there was, then I was basically screwed. That would be really annoying, but it wasn't the only possibility. There was also the possibility that it was being used by someone unknown and unimportant, and that was something I could potentially do something about.

  "Hmm." David drummed his fingers against the table. "That does sound like something that would already be in use—but I'm more interested in hearing why you've already thought about something in that direction."

  A good question, I had to admit. Normally, Guardians didn't start out with super obvious, dramatic powers from the beginning. That meant there would only be the vaguest outlines of any kind of ability-based theme. On top of that, Guardians weren't one-and-done superheroes from the old comic books. The course of their progression was partially self-determined, which meant there was a lot of flexibility in how they might eventually want to brand themselves.

  Actually, wait. Does David think I'm a Star Guardian, or does he just think I'm a regular one? I didn't know the answer to that. Annoyingly, Dad had sounded super serious about not announcing it to anyone else, so I might have to do some 'subtle' fishing to see how much David knew. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know I'm actually an Anathema, though.

  All of that ended up informing my answer. "Honestly, I just thought it sounded cool."

  Technically, that wasn't even a lie.

  David glanced over at me while pulling into the visitor parking lot at the hospital. "What are you eating?"

  I nearly choked. Hurrying up and shoving down the rest of the fork, I did my best to look innocent. "...ehm nut eatin nuttin." Turning to the side like I was looking out the passenger window, I swallowed the rest of the handle. The stainless steel had started melting as soon as I put it in my mouth, kind of like cotton candy but a lot slower. The way it softened and compressed made it go down a lot easier than it had any right to, especially since I hadn't been able to chew the last half of it properly.

  "Nothing." I coughed. "I wasn't eating anything?"

  David just stared at me. "...Right."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  He totally knows that I ate something. I just had to hope that he thought it was something more normal. Also, ability to eat solid metal aside, I doubted he'd want me to form a habit of stealing the utensils from restaurants. Fortunately, I'd already eaten the knife, so there wasn't any incriminating evidence poking around in my pajama pockets. The man just shook his head as he parked the car and we both got out. He probably just thinks I was hiding snacks in my pajamas like an overgrown chipmunk.

  I did wonder whether the weaker version of the cotton candy effect had something to do with me being a chamelium and the utensils being metal. I'd have to test it with other similarly hard, dense, and inorganic materials to see. Small rocks sounded like a good place to start. It was hard to forget the way my saliva became mercury—or something close to it. That was actually one thing I'd already made sure to check. Before going into the diner, I'd made faces at myself through the shitty, faint reflection in the car window.

  It seemed like I could still make my mouth look normal. It also seemed like it was still the default state, so long as I wasn't too distracted by my constant hunger.

  The hospital wasn't very big, but it wasn't small, either. It was appropriately sized for the area it seemed intended to service, and we walked over to the main entrance of the nearest building. 'Emergency Care Center - Visitor Entrance,' the sign above the wall of glass doors read. I assumed there was another entrance on the other side for the actual emergency intake. Walking in, we found ourselves in what looked like a standard medical lobby—just, a bit grungier than I was used to.

  It wasn't dirty—obviously, the place was close to spotless. Still, there was a certain appearance of wear and age to it that no amount of sterilization could burn away. There was a single receptionist behind the wide, curved counter, though she was also accompanied by some kind of security officer. Aside from us, the receptionist, and the security guy, there were two other people present. One was a different security guy hanging out by the vending machines. I recognized his uniform as that of a stationed patrol Guardian.

  There were several major avenues for new Guardians in the United States to take. The first was to basically do nothing. Just go on with your life like it was before, with the only substantive difference being freedom from getting most illnesses and a better chance at recovering from injuries or eventual diseases. A decent chunk of people who awakened during incursions ended up taking that route. I certainly wasn't one to blame them.

  That being said, Guardians had the opportunity for some unique career paths and experiences. The military would happily eat them up, and a smaller proportion of Guardians ended up spending at least some time in the Civil Guard. It was the 'half' of a branch in the 'five and a half mostly equal branches' people talked about. After the tide turned against the first wave of incursions and the dust began to settle, it became clear that a new kind of military structure was needed. For America, this meant the formation of the Civil Guard, a new branch devoted to domestic defense against Anathema.

  It made a certain amount of sense, but the idea also had its share of problems. For one, it didn't make sense to waste the resources of the other five branches when they'd already proven they could transition to the home front effectively. The end result, then, was that the Civil Guard was, at any one time, composed of a relatively small number of permanent officers and a colossal number of personnel of any rank from every other branch. The latter was continuously and slowly rotating in and out in staggered waves.

  That wasn't what this guy was doing, though. He was part of the AAG, the creatively named 'Association of Active Guardians.' It was created for the large contingent of Guardians who elected to neither enlist nor go back to pure civilian life. There were a large number of practical functions such an organization served, and I was sure I would be learning a lot more about them in the coming weeks. In short, this guy was semi-voluntarily stationed here just to hang around in case an incursion started nearby. The association tended to station them in places like this when doing patrol duty.

  The last person in the lobby was also the only one I recognized, and boy did Katherine look like shit. Okay, she looks a lot less shit than she did at the end of yesterday—but that's kind of a low bar. At least she wasn't covered in blood and dirt anymore. It was clear she'd taken some kind of shower, but the shitty, disposable hospital clothes someone had given her didn't help her shine as any kind of fashion icon. Also, she looked super tired.

  She smiled when she saw me, though, and I did my best to not look like a stone cold bitch as we approached. I did a little wave. "Hey." We came to a stop a few feet in front of the row of chairs she was sitting on. I pointed at David. "This is my dad, who already has your contact information, apparently."

  Katherine nodded, and David stuck out his hand for her to shake. After a moment, she seemed to realize that she was supposed to shake it. I almost felt sorry for David, what with the wet dishrag nonsense he was forced to deal with. "Always a pleasure to put a face to the name," he said. Releasing her limp fucking hand, he did a little gesture between the two of us. It was exactly the kind of semi-deliberate body language quintessential to the upper echelons of corporate America. "And I really must say—Miss Legato, you have my highest thanks for the way it seems you've successfully handled my daughter."

  I didn't bother hiding the way I rolled my eyes. Yeah, yeah, the classic 'yep, she can be a real handful' joke. Ha ha, very funny. Wait. My mind snagged on a particular detail. Is her last name seriously...? "Your last name is Legato?" I peered at the visitor tag stuck to her shirt. "Wow, it actually is. That's awesome. Wow, that's great." They both looked confused.

  David had the typical, quizzical look he got whenever something I started going on about perplexed him. Katherine didn't seem to understand it either, looking down at the sticker while pulling her shirt away so she could actually see it. I rolled my eyes again. "Seriously? No takers?" Ugh. Other people are always so lame and disappointing. "You said you sometimes go by Kathy, not Kat, but if you did, you could say your name was 'Kat Legato.' You know, like 'Cat, Le Gato?' Like how you say the word 'cat' in Spanish." I frowned. "Technically, it would either be 'el gato' or 'la gata,' but, like, close enough, right?"

  I was met with two blank stares. Oh come on. Seriously? No reaction? I was going to be super annoyed if they didn't have anything to say about my brilliant insight. Come on, Kat, at least get mildly annoyed with me or something. Come on! Here, Kitty Kitty Kitty~

  But then she started—giggling? Wait, what? She was trying her best to stay serious, but it wasn't working. "Wow," she managed to snort out between uncontrolled giggles, "if you think that's so great..." she trailed off, but not without some more giggling. Then, she handed me some kind of medical card thingy.

  Turning it over, I read the patient information on the front. For a moment, I just stared. Oh, you have got to be kidding me. His name is 'Maximus Armstrong?'

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