He appreciates it. He puts in more time on the artifact. He visits Chicago to drop the reassuring letter off for Legend.

And there's his extremely gorgeous house! Gosh it is so pretty.

He drops off the letter for Legend and checks that no one's trying to disturb his body in Brazil and flops in his pretty pretty house. He will probably be home by the end of the week, he doesn't really need a break. But it is nice.

And now he's sitting up, and then standing up.

- no, that was not what he meant to do - can he talk -

Absolutely.

"I swear not to move or make things until I figure out what's going on," he whispers very quietly.

There are a couple of seconds of silence and then a laugh, as a young man with a goatee playing with a knife emerges from another room.

"What an interesting side power. I wonder how much information you need before that stops working."

Legend someone's here and something's wrong.

No response.

"Still not working. Let's see, my name's Jack, I'm part of this group called Slaughterhouse Nine, a colleague of mine is a thinker with a rather interesting way of applying his power so he's sort of also a master...?"

Sadde Miss Militia I'm in my house and something's wrong.

"It's rude not to respond when addressed."

Epic is going to say he's sorry.

In English?

Yep.

"I'm sorry," he says, "but I haven't seen much reason I shouldn't be rude to you."

Jack laughs. "I suppose there isn't." He walks over to the sofa and sits on it. "Now, come on, Super, don't be shy, let's introduce to our new friend!"

From the same room Jack came comes a—he must be a person, probably, but it hurts to look at him, like there are many of him there at the same time, one on top of the other. He walks or glitches over to the sofa and sits on it.

ANYONE WHO CAN HEAR ME CALL THE CHICAGO PRT RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!

"I'm kind of involved in a lot of things already, sorry."

Super is suddenly standing, looking around uneasily.

"What is it, Super?"

    "He did something. // called someone," says Super in a superposition of voices.

"Is that so. How'd you do that, young man?" asks Jack curiously.

THIS IS EPIC. PEOPLE NAMED JACK AND SUPER ARE ATTACKING ME. CALL THE CHICAGO PRT.

"I'm older than you."

- how the fuck are you doing this? Can you hear me? I called the Chicago PRT, is this working -

"How many powers do you have?" Jack wonders.

Telepathy power, thank you for calling them, did they say they're on the way - I'm in my house -

"You keep asking me things and not giving me any reason to do them, it's kind of dumb. Or is the knife supposed to be a reason to do them? I have other bodies - I have one in Brazil right now - if anything happens to this one I'm pretty sure I wake up in one of the others."

Yeah they're coming but—kinda busy, there was an attack—can you run?

"Is that the excuse you use? I suppose it makes sense." He shrugs. "No, I'm just making conversation, wasting some time, getting to know you. Oh you can sit down," he tells Super impatiently, and a glitch later Super is sitting again. "I'm pretty sure you can't get to your other bodies right now, though, so that's one little trick out of your arsenal."

Can he teleport.

Sure.

To that spot over there two feet to the right.

No I can't. It's really urgent.

"Huh. I guess if I had met you like fifteen years ago you'd have been the scariest thing I'd ever met."