It had existed without name or notice since the beginning of time, but it was always there. It was more present in some species than in others, but rarely tapped into, and never to its fullest potential. It had some degree of sentience, in that it had the instinct for self-preservation, but it was directed by the awareness of the dominant species it resided in. Its potency was only dampened by the bearer's inability to acknowledge and wield it.

The humans had Acid in abundance, from the moment they'd escaped the primordial cauldrons. It flowed through their veins and was the stuff of life; it anchored spirit to body like tendon to bone. They just never recognized it, weren't capable of recognizing it. Their understanding of their own uniqueness was incomplete, and their perspective on the whole of creation was too small. And so the Acid waited. Its time would come.

In this state it had remained patient for eons.

Until it was unlocked from the thing it had resided in all along. Like a soul taking its first breath in the afterlife, it was now unbound.

The warmth that the Children of Acid remembered feeling bathed in during the three years they were gone was mutual. The Acid itself needed time to gestate and grow; never before had it been allowed to stretch itself to its own farthest borders. Within each Child it found something different and special and pure it could hone. The possibilities were infinite, and the Acid sought to explore them all.

But as receptive as even these humans were, they still had (mostly self-imposed) limitations that would take time to surpass. So rather than attempting to push them too far and too fast, they were eventually deposited back into their world to discover themselves anew. Their landscape was colder and harder than before, and they stood in contrast to the others of their species more than ever - but they were stronger now too, capable of surviving and beyond. In effect, the chain reaction had been started and the Acid now flowed more freely.

To the Children, it seemed like some of them were more powerful than others, but that wasn't true at all. Instead, they were all threaded to the same focal point, drawing from the same source of power. However some did have better intuition of their individual talents. In all cases, it was derived from something deep inside of them to begin with, and was usually manifested by something that made sense to their conscious mind.

Some Children were faster, some were stronger, some were smarter than the rest. Some were all of these. And with others still, the powers were more specific. Often times, to focus their channeling of the Acid, they required a totem of some sort. So instinctively, those who needed one (or more) sought them out. The type of item they needed varied with their own interpretation of their gifts. In the right hands, for instance, a pen could be a Child's most potent tool, more powerful than any sword. Some might still prefer the sword.

Or a pair of guns.

Or a lipstick.

Or a guitar.

Or a camera

"Just remember to take the lens-cap off," Ven said when he handed the camera to her. He had a wry sense of humor behind that serious façade, she observed. Nothing related to capturing images was going to present her a problem. There wasn't a camera on Earth or beyond she couldn't handle - although this one was like nothing she'd ever seen.

For starters, it operated on a principle related to her own natural talent. Most cameras worked like the human eye, performing the optical illusion of taking the light reflected off of objects, allowing that light to pass through a lens at an inverted angle, spinning it and recreating the form of whatever was being observed. What this one did however was take into account its surroundings (including the very air around it, if it happened to be surrounded by air) and capture the physical essence of what was being photographed.

It did this though an artificial combination of the human senses: reverberations of sound, particles in the air, light quality, etc. It could tell the difference between wood and metal, or skin and glass. And if it came across a substance that it didn't recognize, it knew how to extrapolate and afterwards quantify it, building on its own base of knowledge. So the images it captured were more than just images - they were true recreations of whatever the user had looked at.

And then there was Photogirl's power. Even more intriguing.

Photogirl didn't just see things; she saw into things, like a more complete version of x-ray vision. What's more, any photograph filtered through her perception was gifted with depth and texture and near-solidity. She could take an old sepia-tinted photo from the roaring twenties and make it virtually roar. A photo from the old West could be given enough life to make the viewer understand how the West was won.

And far more. Especially now.

When Ven handed her the camera and recalled the "photos" he'd taken of fscked, Photogirl passed her hand through it, just skimming the spinning silver disk, and concentrated. Immediately the hovering images enlarged and sharpened. The backside of fscked's head, which was present before but not as detailed - this camera's equivalent of blurring - phased in clearly. The physicality of this otherworldly trompe'-loeil was both enthralling and unnerving. Ven chuckled; fscked stopped breathing.

Photogirl now stood on a tree and rock-strewn incline a good hundred meters from the gated perimeter of what was formally known as the Universe City Harnessing Way-Station. It was informally referred to by its creators as the Battery, and inside thousands of Perdendosi, their guards, authorized human and alien recruits and employees swarmed the compound. It was presumed that the buildings of the Way-Station housed the largest grouping of Perdendosi on the planet, although no one knew this for certain. As the rumors went, one building was chiefly their political headquarters, another was their science hall, and yet another was dedicated to their security forces, although they all were interconnected above and below ground.

The most imposing of the skyscrapers had a grouping of incandescent-blue arcs on either side, and pointed skyward at a slight angle, coming to a point like the tip of a barbed spear. Even during the power outages, this building never once so much as flickered. This was the one Ven had asked Photogirl to concentrate on during her recon mission. It was time to remove the speculation surrounding this building.

But with her new tool, Photogirl saw no reason why she couldn't gather as much intelligence as possible. She had started off slowly, rimming the farthest reaches of the area, but as her adrenaline pumped she found herself winding closer and closer. It was a fearsome looking place, but she was starting to see through it.

Layer by layer, she was able to visually peel away the walls of their fortified halls, and recognize patterns in how everyone moved from station to station. She was able to start distinguishing training grounds and soldiers' quarters, and what looked like an assembly-theatre for high-ranking generals or dignitariates. The architechture, though still completely foreign, started to suggest status and class amongst the Perdendosi. This area was for the elite, and that area for the workers. The science labs were notable, as would be expected, for their streamlined function and lack of ornamentation.

The enormity of it was still impressive, but Photogirl started to get the picture.

There was a sudden swell of activity at one of the aircraft landing bays, and fingers of light pointed at a distant shuttlecraft. Photogirl zoomed in to capture the spectacle, realizing this was definitely no ordinary photo-op. An array of the Perdendosi high command were present, as well as a phalanx of guards, footsoldiers, technicians, scientists and politicos - everyone.

She set her camera down for just a second and huffed. From her vantage point, she could see it all happening down there, but not as well as she wanted to. In an instant, her mind was set. She palmed her camera (it would end up with a name before long, that much was clear), touching tiny knobs in just the right sequence, and it responded by compacting itself to not even a quarter of its former size. This allowed it to now fit snugly into the camera bag slung over her shoulder and strapped to her belt.

With one gloved hand braced against a tree and the other across her chest, as though to steady her heart, Photogirl took one sharp breath in and raced for the fence.

Her boots pumped sure-footedly through the brittle leaves and dry, gray grass. The wildlife surrounding her, though barren was hopefully dense enough to disguise her descent down the grade. And the noise surrounding the landing of the shuttle would, if her luck held, mask her arrival. Her breath misted in the moonlight, and her arms churned faster and faster. She was now one hundred feet from the fence. She looked ahead and picked where she would dig-in and attempt her jump. On the other side, she saw the spot she needed to land in order to avoid detection. It would be close. She was now fifty feet from the fence. Her strides lengthened and her arms swung farther to provide more momentum. Twenty feet. Ten. She hit her mark...

Amazonian legs pumped once in unison, propelling her head-over-heels-over-head into the air, just beyond reach of the barbed wire and electricity that coiled around the Battery. Her blonde hair fluttered like a torchfire in the wind. And then her feet found purchase exactly where she'd aimed, and she kneeled just for the slightest of instants to get her bearings. She bobbed to the right and ducked behind a departing vehicle, then paced it for a few steps before finding a new hiding spot behind a stack of crated supplies.

She'd made it. She was in. And without another pause, Photogirl was taking pictures again.

The bay door of the shuttle opened and several figures emerged, none of them looking to be of any real importance. Perdendosi looked for the most part like Terrans, but they were generally more slender and angular. Their hair faded to black at the temples regardless of the surrounding color, a genetic trait held over from ages past. Perdendosi also never slouched or wasted gestures. To human senses, their manner was precise and cold. Just their presence seemed to void a room of warmth or color.

But in fact, the Perdendosi were extremely sensitive, and could pick-up on the slightest bit of body language or vocal intonation. They weren't generally expressive by human standards, but they were by no means devoid of emotion. And they could mimic the basic traits of other species enough to easily fool the casual observer. This is how they'd remained hidden on Earth for so long; it was the equivalent of a homo-sapien pretending to be a caveman. And Sinclair had proven to be an exceptional mimic.

He emerged from the shuttle last, and Photogirl zoomed in and captured his striking likeness. He had a thicket of white hair, streaked throughout by patches of dark gray. His garb included a ceremonial half-cape at the waist, indicative of his high status. There was a smattering of appreciative applause from the other convened Perdendosi. The foot-soldiers stood at attention. Any humans present simply stood still, like obedient animals.

Sinclair greeted two decorated guards with particular interest. One was a male, slightly shorter than he, the other a taller female with rigid posture. Both had commanding presences and the friendliness between them suggested they were acquaintances. Photogirl took an array of pictures, not wanting to overlook anything. The overriding responsibility Ven passed along to all the Children was this: to the extent that they could, help build the database of knowledge. Nothing was unimportant.

After Sinclair had made the rounds, one of the more studious-looking individuals began to address the gathered parties. He was a head researcher, and on one arm he held a bowed device somewhat similar in shape to a communications window. It emitted blue light as well and he read off notes from there, but Photogirl was too far away to hear what was being said. It wouldn't have mattered anyway since they all were speaking in their native tongue. Everyone else fell silent while the scientist spoke, occasionally motioning to different sections of the blue-arced building or swiping his hand across the notation comm to bring up new notes.

Then at the scientist's direction, Sinclair and those gathered to greet him broke off from most of the rank-and-file and proceeded towards the blue-arced building. Photogirl followed them with her viewfinder until they were out of sight, continually snapping pictures. While the walls of the other buildings had melted away through the combined powers of her and her new camera, revealing far more than she'd ever dreamed possible, this lone building proved resistant to probing. Reviewing the photos she'd taken, none of them allowed more than a minimal glimpse through its fortified walls. Something about their alchemic makeup was denser than the rest, which only added to her belief there was something inside that needed to be revealed.

She considered her options. If she turned and left now, her chances of avoiding detection were certainly greater than they'd otherwise be. And she now had a more detailed survey of the Harnessing Way-Station than any living human before her ever did; Ven would without a doubt be satisfied with the return on his investment. The sensible part of her brain said to wrap it up, flip back over the fence and get to her car before her luck turned sour. She could be home and uploading the photos to Ven within the hour if she left at that second - that's all she was expected to do. Mission accomplished.

But the thought of doing this smacked of cowardice to her. Her body simply wouldn't accept this as an option, sensible or not. Photogirl had never run from a challenge before, and she wasn't starting now. Her eyes searched the grounds of the installation then they roved the walls and parapets of the security structures, then the balconies and archways of the dignitaries' quarters, all with more and more attention to detail. She needed a way in, no matter how small. The camera was once again tucked away.

She stood and was considering making a dash from her hiding spot to one slightly closer to the main building when she heard footsteps coming from the left. She turned abruptly to see two Perdendosi walking her way, together carrying a large crate similar to the ones she now stood behind. She was actually standing where they were heading, and she got the sense that they knew she was there, but the weight of their task stole their attention.

Rather than wait for them to look directly at her, Photogirl hustled up to them and grabbed the free side of the crate. They still hadn't gotten a close look at her, and from the tone of their voices she knew they were glad for the help. Once in position, they all rotated 180 degrees and sat the crate down. Then the Perdendosi - one male and one female, both tall and filled with relief - straightened up and looked at their unexpected assistant, ready to thank her.

A statuesque, blonde human wearing leather gloves and boots (with pockets containing smaller back-up cameras, just in case), a form-fitting top that revealed a formidable midriff and dark green shorts. At her waist was a belt that hitched at one side to the main camera case, which draped across her shoulders. The belt was also circled by tiny reinforced canisters of film, and clasped at the front with a multi-purpose belt buckle, monogrammed with the letter "P" (a gift from another admiring Child). Her eyes met theirs, unflinchingly.

The Perdendosi looked at each other, dumbfounded for a split-second. They didn't even get the chance to look back before they were knocked out cold by two leather-gloved fists. Next time take a picture, thought the tall blonde, it'll last longer.

Photogirl then dragged their unconscious bodies out of sight and hoped the female's clothes were close to being her size.