As they drove over to Tex's, Fly leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His jaw was too tight for him to even think about sleeping. Hopefully the newly minted junior grade was working through his own internal process.
Flash pulled into the familiar driveway of the two-story colonial, its white siding and blue shutters looking picture-perfect in the afternoon sun. Nora's flower beds were in full bloom, and a couple of kids' bikes lay scattered on the front lawn. The normalcy of it hit Flash hard after everything they'd been through.
Tex was already waiting on the front porch, having beaten them there in his truck. He'd changed out of his uniform into jeans and a Navy T-shirt, but his expression was all business.
"Nora's taken the kids to her sister's for the afternoon," he said as they climbed out of their vehicles. "We've got the house to ourselves." When Flash met his eyes, they were full of acknowledgment of everything Flash had told him about the battle. Those flinty blue eyes immediately shifted to Fly and North, his assessment quick and decisive.
North helped Fly out of the passenger seat, the kid moving like every step took conscious effort. He shook off his hands and lifted his chin, planting his feet. The contrast between this quiet residential street and the supernatural battlefield they'd left behind felt like stepping between different worlds.
"What the fuck is going on?" Fly ground out, his voice rough as gravel. "Someone explain this shit to me now before I lose my fucking mind." His tone had more grit in it than Flash would expect. He might be struggling, but those bars fit him to a T.
"Come on," Tex said, holding the front door open. "Let's get some answers."
The living room was filled to capacity. Tex's voice was strong and precise as he explained everything that had happened since that shimmering Veil energy had washed over Fly and North at Black's Beach.
"So let me get this straight," Fly interrupted, his eyes narrowed. "You're telling me that North and I have been pulled into this battle by accident?"
"We can't be sure what Chaos knows about you two," Tex replied evenly. "But he laid the trap for the Guardian, and he reacted to save life as we know it."
"Chaos?" Fly laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Fuck me." His face shuttered, and he closed down.
"Fly—" Flash started.
North held up a hand. "Wait. Give him time for his Gallagher logic, or we'll lose him to madness."
"Two views. Scientific and mythological..." Fly trailed off, then started muttering low and distinct. "He arose as a consequence of the universe's evolution. Real. Fucking real. Big Bang, hot and dense, uniform energy...complex interactions, right...gravity, electromagnetism, moving fluids created chaotic, unpredictable systems. Law of nature...second law of thermodynamics dictates the universe naturally progressestoward higher entropy, making chaos inherent, ever-present law of nature." He took a breath, his fingers rubbing at his temples, a lock of unruly hair falling over his forehead. He frowned. "Mythological...primordial void? Considered the starting point of everything. Hesiod's Theogony...a yawning formless abyss or void that preexisted the gods of the ordered cosmos. They ordered the cosmos."
Flash wasn't sure if it was their brotherhood bond, but he could feel the kid processing hard. It was clear his IQ was off the charts. He was having a profound cognitive crisis, not struggling exactly with rigid thoughts, but the erasure of the understanding he used to process the world.
If he wasn't a Navy SEAL, an officer at that, Flash wasn't sure he could even adapt to this, and would slip into a catatonic, complete mental breakdown. They had to let him process.
Time wore on and Fly started to mutter again. "He's unmaking the world...destroying my operating system. A no longer leads to B. He would sever the link between cause and effect. Need a new operating system...yeah...or...the death of meaning." He gasped and swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. "Physics has gotta go...but to replace it...hmm. No. Wait...pataphysics...elegant. The science of imaginary solutions." He nodded. "I don't have to solve the bastard but experience him. Makes me a Zen Fool—" He made a disgusted sound in his throat. "A non-conformist. Ha! Everything is possible, because nothing is certain."
He leaned back, his eyes closed, color returning to his face. His chest heaved, releasing a huge breath. Then he opened his eyes. "I need to sleep," he rose and left the room, slipping into Tex's master bedroom.
All heads turned to North. "I feel like his interpreter," he said with a weary shrug. "He needs sleep. We could plan without it, but Fly knows his limitations. We should all rest."
Tex nodded. "North, you bunk here with me. The rest of you go home. Be back here in eight hours to reconvene."
* * *
Fly stood somewherehe knew was real, even though he was equally certain he was asleep. The Veil stretched around him, a murky, indistinct gray where physics dissolved into static. No horizon. No sky. Just endless possibilities.
"Remember him? Of course, you do." The withered, ancient lifeguard from his hallucination during BUD/S Paddle Around the World stood there, shifting from young Fly to old Fly in a mosaic of faces he'd already worn and others he was destined to age into. Then suddenly he was back on that sailboat, back in the Chesapeake Bay on that day he could never forget. Instead of water, grease, yellow and viscous, stretched as far as the eye could see. He could feel the wave coming, and in slow motion, he turned his head to look. Mei was there, smiling at him. Then the grease hit her, took her over again, and she slowly sank out of sight.
The ache hit Fly, sharp and familiar, but before he could process it, the Veil shifted again.
The old man was gone. In his place stood a figure woven from shadow and gold threads, towering over the void. He wore a coat that seemed to be made of midnight, shimmering with microscopic constellations that shifted as he moved. His hair was dark layers to his neckline, hanging over eyes that held no warmth, only the cold, calculating glow of a thousand screens. Chains of silver and brass hung from the Statistician's coat, each link holding a small, metallic nametag that clinked softly in the silence.
"MEI HARADA."
"FLASH."
"NORTH."
"TEX."
Chaos reached out, his long fingers gesturing to the tags. "Remember the pattern?" Chaos said. His voice was calm, defined, and endless. "One death is a data point. A thousand die? A variable. A million? Just a number." He held up a metal tag etched with MEI HARADA. A black line was crossed through the center. "You think grief is the weapon," Chaos whispered, stepping closer. "But I offer you the truth. It's all arithmetic."
