AN: A little side-project that I've done snippets for over the last year. Finally decided I should just start tidying them up and post them in a vaguely coherent story. A word of warning for serious Fate fans, this isn't going to entirely line up with every single Word of God ever made, and I don't intend on throwing around terms like Od and Prana like they belong in America. If you can't handle people using "mana", "energy" or any other substitute then you won't like this. A few characterisations and head-canons might be different, but overall the rest should be familiar. I would like for any minor gripes with the Fate mechanics to be swept under the rug of "AU" or "Author Fiat" because there will undoubtedly be arguments about it.

An important note is that Servants dematerialising and being unable to be harmed by anything except magic is not happening in this story for the sake of the crossover working. If a Servant can shrug off bullets or a capes powers, it's because their abilities say that they can or they have the Parameters to suit that feat.

The main conversation for this fic is over on Spacebattles – I don't expect to be too active in the review section.

Final warning – this story contains themes covered in Fate/Extra, Extella and Grand Order, so there are some minor spoilers on that front. Also potential spoilers for FGO Part 1 when I get to a much later point in the fic. That said, enjoy!

- Line Break -

My muscles burned. I flex an arm experimentally and wince in pain as my aching body protests the rash movement. The locker incident had taken its toll. It was better than the sheer agony that I felt upon waking up in the hospital, but I wasn't keen to restart my morning jogging sessions anytime soon.

"Nobody even wants her here. I'm surprised she even came back-" There goes Emma again, blithely chatting away to Julia – utterly uncaring of the fact that I was in hearing range. No, that was wrong. She had chosen me as the subject matter precisely because I could hear her, I don't think that I was so prevalent in her thoughts that I would warrant a place in their regular conversations – but if it was just a continuation of their regular hazing, then it was rather tame by their standards. "It would be better for everyone if she just crawled off into some dark corner and died."

Mr Gladly drones on in the background, an unimportant lecture to a class that only pretends to be interested. Any dedicated students would either be in the very top set of classes or have transferred to another school once it became apparent just how much of a hellhole Winslow was. This was where the no-hopers of the world ended up. A good half of the class belonged to a gang, and most of the others united into vast social cliques that functioned as a gang of their own when it came to school dynamics. And then there was me. Just me.

"Worthless, ugly freak. Probably spreading her legs to-" I flip the page of my notebook over, obediently copying down the figure on the whiteboard. "-at that stupid expression on her face. I don't think she even knows how to smile, not that anyone wants to see that."

Emma turns and smiles at me spitefully. "She isn't always like that. I remember when her mother died, she cried herself to sleep for a week straight!" The girls on her table let out 'oohs' of appreciation, as if she had just destroyed me in a debate and dropped the mic on her way out.

Control. I eye her placidly, and the triumphant grin slips from her face. "Freak." She spits, before turning back around to the front of the class.

I maintain my steady gaze. She's… so small. In the end. Irrelevant. A case of bullying in a run-down high school. What happened to me here didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. It was frustrating, in its own way.

Five years. Four months. Twelve days. Two hours. I glance at my watch. And twenty-two minutes exactly.

Until we all died.

Not that anyone knew about that except me. They couldn't do anything about it if they did – I had looked at studies after being discharged from hospitals. The steady decline of civilisation showed no signs of stopping. If anything, it was accelerating – blowing past the most pessimistic guesses of the worlds academic minds thanks to the efforts of the Endbringers. If anyone could do anything, then they would already be doing it.

Five years.

That was how long humanity had left if nothing was done. And I'm just sitting here, listening to Emma. Humanity is dying, and she's investing this much effort into getting a rise out of me. A flash of annoyance that didn't belong to me stirs at the back of my mind, and I repress my power until I feel the watcher's attention drift away. Not here.

I glance around. Come to think of it, why was I even here? I had come back for the first day of school out of pure habit, but what was I attending school for when I had the ability and power to try and save the world? If I simply stayed here and studied, what was I going to learn that would actually help change anything? I have power, I need to use it. I can make a difference.

More importantly than any of that, I knew the price of failure.

Five years. The world ends in five years. That's what my power told me. Gone. Pruned.

I wanted to cry.

And what would it take for everyone and everything that I knew not be snipped away like unwanted weeds? A world, a collection of worlds even, that was not only resilient to current and future threats but actively thriving. The downward spiral of Earth-Bet and it's dimensional neighbours not only had to be stopped, but actively reversed. To thrive. Flourishing with potential and the will to survive.

An almost impossible task. There's a stirring at the back of my mind at the thought, as if a dozen people had heard the thought and taken it as a personal challenge. Which was almost exactly what had happened, in fairness. Not now. I aim the thought at the back of my mind. I don't need you now.

A few listen and move away. One doesn't. I only get a moment of warning to brace myself mentally before a foreign voice thunders into my thoughts. "Beat them up girlie! Or let me out, I'll do it for you!" I drew a blank on the name of the speaker. I couldn't curl up and concentrate to truly get all the details of the spirit that I needed to identify them. From the feeling that I did get… this was a Viking of some description. Norse, or some Germanic barbarian variant. I didn't know enough famous figures to guess at his name without help. I mentally shush the man, warily maintaining my grip on the mental window between us – in case he tried to shove his way through.

"Let me handle this." I direct the thought at him, with a tad more venom than necessary.

"Bah. It's your fight if you want it lass." He settles down, swigging back his drink which almost entirely misses his mouth. A fact which only bolsters his spirits even higher. "She would hardly be worth the effort anyway. I've got better things to do, and so do you." I turn my attention away as the pressure recedes.

He wasn't wrong though. I needed to get out of school and improve my control over my power. As it is, I'm one lapse of control away from the birdcage – and I can't save humanity from there. Simply ditching class wasn't enough, I would get dragged back eventually when the school noticed my absence. I had to earn my time off.

I need to leave.

A spitball impacts my forehead as I muse. A murderous scowl crosses my face as Emma quickly turns back around in her seat to face forward, the very picture of innocence. I feel the presence of another voice tuning in. "Cave her skull in! You let one person disrespect you, and all of the rest will feel they can do the same. Set an example!"

And I need my powers to let me deal with my problems in my way. I shove back harder at the mental door as a spirit presses against them again. "She's mine." I hiss the thought. I was getting angry, and I was not entirely sure how much of the anger was genuinely mine. I nod to myself distractedly, returning my papers to my bag and slipping my pens back into my pencil case. I pull my coat off the back of my seat and stand, pulling my school-bag up with me in the same motion. Get out. Stay out.

"Taylor? Are you going somewhere?" Mr Gladly's voice, probably slightly annoyed at the interruption to his lecture.

Calm. I'm calm. Stay calm. I want to do this. This wasn't a rash, heat-of-the-moment decision, this was the product of icy, cold logic. Get out of school. Get stronger. Save the world. "The principal's office, Sir." I inform him politely, walking up between a row of desks as a bunch of drunks and mass-murderers roar out advice on the best way to kill everyone in this room.

"Might I ask why?" He replies, slightly mollified by my tone of respect – but seemingly unwilling to pass on the opportunity to appear like he cared about my existence for once.

Calm. I need to calm myself down. Only then, act. "No."

Another few steps forward are all it takes to carry me to Emma's chair, she juts her leg out in front of me in an attempted trip – but I've already come to a stop behind her. She's looking forward innocently, so she doesn't realise anything is off until my hand seizes the bulk of her red hair at the back of her skull tightly before I slam her face forward into her desk as hard as I can manage.

A series of gasps and whistles reverberate around the room, but nobody moves to stop me fast enough to stop me from pulling the dazed girl's head back up into the air and slamming it back down a second and third time. I hear something break as she struggles in my grip, trying to shield her face and screaming like a banshee.

A hand shoves me away, one of Emma's friends. I move with the motion and resume my walk to the classroom exit, leaving the bloodied face of my one-time friend to be tended to by her cronies. Behind me, the class explodes into a mix of whooping cheers and screams depending on whether or not they were in Emma's social circle or not.

Everyone loves to watch a fight in action, no matter how one-sided it might have been. Especially the watchers in my head. I can almost sense the metaphorical popcorn being passed around by the battle-junkies peering through my eyes from the other side. They would be disappointed this time. The show's over for now.

A smile crosses my face as I exit the room. It wasn't a particularly smart move to gain friends, but if it got me a few weeks off of school, then it would have served it's intended purpose. The fact that it was the most satisfying thing that I had done all year was a nice bonus as well. Well, the satisfaction wasn't entirely mine – I could sense a mixed flood of approval and disapproval from the peanut gallery. Some of the more noble spirits must have been passing through – but as long as nobody was so annoyed with my actions that they would be trying to burst through into this world without my permission, then I would take that as a win.

I quicken my pace to the principal's office. It would be best to hurry up and get suspended quickly – the last thing I wanted was to still be in school when the lesson bell rang. Sophia probably wouldn't take her friend's beating well, and she was certainly my superior when it came to a fair fight. I didn't want to know what would happen if she started to beat me in a fight, it takes enough focus to hold back the tide against biting words trips in the corridor – even if they are a bit sated for now. Best to be already on the bus home by the time somebody gets around to telling her.

- Line Break -

Blackwell's reaction was predictably apoplectic. Three weeks out of school, an unusually harsh punishment for the crime. One gang member stabbing another could easily earn the same amount of time off, though perhaps it was precisely because I wasn't affiliated with a gang that she felt comfortable with the longer suspension.

Dad's reaction was also somewhat predictable, but after a few minutes of shouting, he reverted to his usual self and dully extracted a promise not to do it again before announcing that he had to go back to work for an emergency. I was grounded for the next few days, but that didn't pose an issue for me – there were plenty of times when he wouldn't be around to enforce it, and I didn't necessarily need to go anywhere to practice anyway.

Back in the privacy of my room, my focus turned entirely inwards. Nobody was paying attention to me right now. Nobody was watching that was likely to try and bust through my mental doorway without asking, that let me relax a little bit. I could sense my power constantly, the link that I had to that other place. Ever since the locker, I had… stowaways in my head. Perhaps 'stowaways' wasn't the right term. A door. A gateway to another place. The Throne of Heroes, as my first lucid summon had informed me. Legends of the past and future. Fact and fantasy. Servants.

And now I needed to summon one. Deliberately this time.

Lying back in my bed, I raise a hand to the ceiling. With a brief focus of effort, red lines streak across the exposed skin – that was the second thing that the locker had changed. I had some form of energy flowing through my body now, and with a bit of focus, I could manipulate it to… give myself a temporary tattoo. Command Seals. They had steadily filled into a brighter shade of red at some stage since the hospital, but even if they did refill – they were my only trump cards when it came to dealing with the rowdier spirits if my only informant was to be believed.

Time to get moving. Practice getting my power under control. Be a real hero. Or at least send a real hero out in my place.

I idly sift through those that I innately sensed would be too difficult to handle in my current state. Age, strength and fantasy seemed to be the three main factors that limited me here, the hazy image of the black knight that had rescued me from the locker flickers through my mind – I was hasty then, not fully understanding what I was doing. I had overreached my limits, and my body was still paying the price for it now.

Another of the servants had enlightened me during my stay in the hospital that the door could be pushed from the other side as well. If there was something that roused the spirit enough, such as her case of seeing me hospitalised and apparently on the brink of death from magical exhaustion of all things, then they could burst through on their own accord. Almost everything that I knew about my power, I knew from her.

Including the fact that I could slam the door shut in their faces if they stepped out of line. Forcibly un-summoning the woman after she had finished with me was unpleasant, but not as unpleasant as the idea of the PRT coming around to ask me why Florence Nightingale was walking around amputating patients in Brockton General.

Back to the topic at hand. I wanted to summon someone to go out and do… something. Anything, really. I needed to focus on more recent people, who undeniably existed and certainly didn't do any fantastical dragon-slaying with magic swords that shoot rainbow beams or something equally silly. That should keep the drain on my body to manageable levels, at least until I get better at it.

The list narrows in my mind. I didn't want someone likely to get pushy or violent. Or someone who was spoiling for a fight. Just a practice run. No heroics, just a small little test to find my limits and push at the edge of them. Walk around the block without collapsing. Go shopping.

My muscles twinge at the mere thought. Still sore, even after all of this time.

Assassin. Archer. Apparently they were usually easier to supply as a class, even if many exceptions to that existed. I flash the tattoo on my hand at the air in front of me. "Come." I focus, tugging my target through the connection. She wasn't close to my window, so my probe takes some time to find my target and establish a connection. It takes a moment, but I can feel her sluggish response becoming clearer and clearer as I maintain the summoning.

And then she is through the door in my mind, flashing into existence in front of me between one split-second and the next.

After a second of silence, she stands. My first thought is one of bitter jealousy, as the servant continues to move and jiggle long after pulling themselves up from the kneeling position that she started in. Of course, she was prettier than me. Why wouldn't she be?

I cut that thought off, mostly to make room for my second thought. Which was pain. The quietened aches of my body return to voice their complaints in full force, liquid fire racing through veins that weren't there. Constantly. Not in a single blast, a constant stream of energy being channelled through me and then into my new servant.

"You-" I begin, teeth gritting slightly. "Your name is Mata Hari. Right?"

She curtsies at me, flashing skin in the process. A lot of skin. I boggle slightly at her choice of costume. It made sense, in hindsight – but still. That was… definitely a costume. I mentally slap myself for the wandering eyes. Focus. "That's right, Master. I am-"

I try to take a step forward and stumble as another flash of searing pain makes itself known to me, a low, miserable sound escaping my throat before I can stifle it.

"Master?" The woman scoops me up, my bleary eyes focusing on a concerned face. "Are you alright?"

"Don't worry about me." I gasp, making motions for her to drop me. "Put me down. I just need to get used to it for a moment."

It's like a muscle. Strengthening when pushed. Or a raging river, wearing down the banks and slowly widening. I need to push now, to make it easier later. I can't let myself be coddled. Can't afford to hold back.

I can't afford to take it slowly. I don't have the time.

A few minutes later, I'm back on my feet – standing on my own power save for a single-arm thrown over my servant's shoulder. She doesn't offer any other comment or question, seemingly more than happy to be used as a prop to keep me upright.

"I summoned you for practice." I rasp at her before clearing my throat and speaking in a normal voice. "A test run. I need you to stay around. We're going to go out and walk. Help me get used to the strain." I retrieve my arm from her shoulder and walk stiffly towards the door. Dad wasn't back yet, so there was nothing to be concerned about.

"I see." A sympathetic edge crosses her face. "I hadn't realised, but you aren't used to magic at all – are you?" She's underestimating me. I can shut the connection off if she tries anything, if nothing else- "Does this help at all?"

The rush of energy flooding towards her diminishes rapidly as she says the words. Two-thirds of the output, maybe a little bit less.

"That did help." I begrudgingly admit, flexing an arm experimentally as it settles down to a mere pulsing ache. "What did you do?" I ask. I felt like I could maintain this if I had to, a simple walk wouldn't even be more than mildly painful. I could attempt a jog instead.

She places a hand over her heart and making an earnest expression. "I'm not the best at giving the technical details of things like that, you would probably want a Caster for specifics, but I'll give it my best. A servant's strength can vary depending on the quality of energy it gets from the master. You could think of it like life force, fuel, mana, or any number of equivalents. The more we get, the more our parameters increase and the better we can employ our skills and Noble Phantasm." More terminology that Nightingale had dumped on me in those small moments when she had seemed inclined to listen to me at all. As if the summoning and magic wasn't unbelievable enough. "-simply decreasing the rate at which I consume it will drop my abilities and parameters down to a lower-level, but make it easier on you to handle. I'm sure you could limit it yourself if you gave it some practice."

"I see." I take a moment to experiment with the connection myself – imagining that I was squeezing that flow of power, leaving the valve slightly ajar instead of slamming it shut.

She smiles kindly at me and my fumbling efforts, a smile that is quickly replaced by a slightly panicked expression as she goes slightly transparent. "Too much! I'm going to disappear!"

"Sorry." I reflexively apologise to the woman. I ease off, letting the flow re-establish itself as I turn back to her.

She already seems to have forgiven the error, sending a bright and sunny smile towards me. "Not to worry. I'm only sorry that I couldn't dematerialise entirely – that would make it even easier to manage. I'm not sure if it's something that's wrong with our connection, the environment or if it's just the lack of a Holy Grail to handle things." She gives a helpless, ditzy little giggle that somehow makes me feel a little bit better at the lack of solid information. At least she's nicer than the regular people I get poking their noses into my life.

"Dematerialise?" I ask, as yet another unfamiliar term surfaces.

"Ah, that would be where a servant such as myself switch to our spiritual body entirely instead of a physical one. It renders us invisible to most, lets us ignore physical barriers and greatly reduces our energy consumption – at the cost of being unable to interact with the physical world while in that state." She shrugs, an apologetic look on her face. "We basically turn into ghosts that need less energy to stick around. I can't seem to do it here, so I'll have to stay in this form."

"It's fine." I sigh. Turning invisible would have been useful. It might have helped us to not attract so much attention as well. Her outfit was... eye-catching. At best. "The whole point of this is to train my ability anyway. There's no point lightening the load too much. We'll just go out for a walk together, see how well I can maintain the connection. Experiment somewhere that isn't my house."

I am answered with a wink and a salute. "Understood. Leave it to me!" Mata Hari let's out a celebratory cheer. "Even if my parameters are even lower than usual, I'll keep you safe!" She bounces into a pose that was probably ripped straight from a cheerleading routine. And bounces. And bounces. She must have caught a glimpse of my annoyed expression. "Hm? Did I say something wrong?"

"Nothing." I turn away, thankful for the limited amount of light in the room. "Let's go for a walk."

The obnoxiously cheery reply follows me down the stairs. "Coming!"

One step at a time. My first deliberate summon. I wasn't half-mad and being carried out of school by a dark knight this time. I wasn't being forcibly 'fixed' by the dubious medical expertise of a woman who's knowledge is decades out of date, even if it did admittedly work out. I was in control. In pain, but in control.

Five years to change the world. I can do this.

Brockton Bay. Earth-Bet.

Here I come.