It was painful. Everything spun around her and nothing made sense. Something hard was pressed against her back. The feeling was like the fabled stories of pregnancy, the pains of giving birth. Except this was tranquil, like she was drifting on a river. Rain crashed against the roof, nothing short of an orchestra conducted by an angry Mother Nature. Slowly, she began recollecting her thoughts. Here lay Piper Wright, who survived a bullet to the chest and a bat to the head.
She pushed herself up. A bloody mess in black shorts and a once white tank top. Instinctively, she brushed her fingers against her temple; brushing a strand of black hair behind her ear. The rough surface of dried blood greeted her fingertips. Whatever happened to Piper must've been serious.
It was difficult getting to her feet, but she managed to do it with several curses and grunts of pain. Piper laid at the base of her stairwell shortly before she awoke. The dark room of Publick Occurrences greeted her with an ominous chill. The lights were broken and the mounted switch on the wall was torn off.
Piper leaned against her printing press, expecting something solid to rest against. She tumbled towards the ground. Her printing press was no longer where it usually was. Piper squinted her eyes and could make it out in the kitchen. It did not look functional. Its legs were warped and the machinery was burnt. Long stretches of print lay disheveled and ripped around the couch. The floor creaked above, inside of Piper's room.
"Blue?" Piper nervously called, grasping the reality of the situation. "Blue?" She called out again, her voice trembling.
No one came.
Piper pushed herself up again and limped towards the stairs. There was something on the floor, hidden behind the planking. It was Blue's custom made 10mm for Piper herself; Piper's Truth, Blue had named. Piper picked it up and turned it in her hands. It was heavy and a large suppressor was screwed to the end of the light barrel. The grip felt right in her hands, comfortable.
With the gun in hand, Piper scaled the steps into her room. She entered cautiously and held her weapon outstretched in front of her. Her mouth quickly dropped when she saw the condition of her quarters. Her bed was ripped, as if a Deathclaw had sliced it up. Her drawers and cabinets were tipped and clothes hung out of them. The only thing that seemed oddly normal in the room was her terminal, preserved almost as if she was supposed to find it. Her worn press cap was draped elegantly over the screen, and her red trench coat was hung over the chair. Everything just screamed robbery, but who would rob Piper?
Despite being generally disliked by the general populace for being nosy, Piper wouldn't have been the one to get on someone's very bad side- the "I'm going to assassinate you" kind of bad side. The farthest she has gone was uncover the dirt and grime that was sloppily rubbed away by certain officials. None of this made sense, that, Piper was completely sure of.
She powered on her terminal and slid into her seat. Piper gently set her cap beside the machine and watched as the bright green letters scrolled up the screen. Soon, she was given three options. One of which, should not have been present. Another chill ran down her spine.
"A message for our dear Piper Wright."
Piper tapped the forward button with the finger, making a noisy click. Her legs shook under the desk as she nervously gripped the edges of her terminal. She was disappointed however, when a short sentence appeared instead of a long, well-constructed paragraph.
"How's the truth going to save you this time?"
Then, at the bottom of the screen.
"The Institute sends its regards."
Piper recoiled in her seat. None of this made sense to her. At the moment, she did not appear to need saving. Unless- Piper grabbed her gun and jumped out of her seat. The barrel was pointed around her empty room. She expected to find someone hiding there, ready to ambush her. There was a strange feeling that swept through Piper's gut that told her: This is what they expected- No- What they knew I was going to do.
She checked her terminal again, hoping to find some secret message hidden inside of the few words. When she came back to the screen however, there were only two options instead of three: the message had deleted itself. That further pushed Piper's belief that whoever did this knew exactly what she was going to do. She recalled the words as stared at the green letters. The message, while maybe not directed at Piper, was intended to affect her greatly somehow. It was someone close to her, someone that would devastate Piper if something happened…
It was Nat. Nat was gone. They took Nat!
Piper bounded down the stairs. She crossed the ruined living room and entered Nat's quarters. It was empty, completely picked clean. Nat's bedding was gone along with all of her toys. A single wooden block sat on the floor beside the dead oven. Piper picked it up.
"Truth?" It mocked. Piper hurled it across the room.
She took steady steps back to her room. Piper breathed through her teeth as she quickly dressed in something else beside the tank top and shorts. Once she was done, Piper fastened her green tie and set her cap upon her bloodied head. She buckled her trench coat and stowed her 10mm inside. The cloudy unfocused awakening was replaced with a cold seething rage that would only end with a bullet in someone's head.
This. This was crossing the line. There was no story to be made, only a detective case for the best detective she knew: Nick Valentine.