All right. So. This whole thing came to me as part of a dream, and I sat down at 2:30 AM to scribble it.
This whole thing is another experiment, a Pre-War story featuring an OC who interacts with many characters and ties them together in obviously non-canon ways. I may have mutilated the official timeline a little. But there's Charon, so it's all good. Everything is awesome with Charon in it.
Please review and tell me what you think. I appreciate any criticism.

And a huge thank-you to Corpus Carrion, who served as my beta, fixing my awkward sentences and question plot points that made no sense. I wouldn't have been able to do this without your help.


Chapter 1

June 27, 2077:

It was a hundred degrees outside. The May sunshine glared down on the cracked pavement beneath my feet, reflecting a silky sheen of light like accumulated oil. The ground and the air were hot enough to roast me in my clothes.

The sun hung low in a stark blue sky so faded, it appeared almost white. There was just the faintest indication of the brilliant ruby-red sunset that would occur in an hour or so; the shadows were a little longer than they were at noontime, stretched sharp and thin along the ground, and the bright white trim on the faded awnings of the Garber Drugstore had begun to turn orange, saturated with that vivid sunset light. I thought instantly of the old song my mother had loved, a golden oldie called I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire. Looking out at my hometown for the first time in years, I had to wonder if the world wasn't already busy burning.

It was a hot day for May, and as I sat in the parking lot of the local fast food pit, I thought for a second that I had never been hotter. Sweat dripped down my face. I really should have rented a car. At least then I could have had some shelter.

The fast food joint was called The Cheeseburger Palace, and it had become wildly popular in the last four years or so. It was one of sixteen of its kind spread out within a hundred-mile radius. In big cities, you could find one on every corner, but Sioné was anything but a big city. We boast less than fifteen hundred residents and there is little tourism to speak of. Who would want to look at Sioné? It's a town of some ugliness, so aggressively All-American that you just want to scream on every Fourth of July as the fat, old, Republican mayor rambles on about the duties of "true American citizens." Besides the world's largest Nuka-Cola bottle over in Van City, there were really no points of interest in the entire county.

I could feel the heat baking into my boots as I stood up and crossed the parking lot. The sun reflected off the mirrored sunglasses I'd bought in Pop Reginald's convenience store on Mercer Street—the same store that, as a kid, I had shoplifted from on many an occasion. Me and my little "gang," three perfectly ordinary kids from a perfectly ordinary housing development a mile off Main Street. There was me, with my boy's clothes and the eternal pack of cigarettes in my jacket; Salvatore Marino, my next-door neighbor; and Dee, of course. Scrawny, boyish Dee, handsome even at ten when we first met, and handsomer still when he left Sioné at sixteen. I hadn't seen Dee in years. Sal, however, I was going to see right now.

The Cheeseburger Palace stood nearly empty in the center of a parking lot where there had once been a bar. I didn't feel like going inside. I ambled around the building to the drive-thru with my hands in my pockets, and stopped at the speaker. "What can I get you, hon?" asked a sweet voice.

"Two chicken sandwiches, a Palace Deluxe, extra-large fries, large chocolate milkshake, and a Cinnamon Twisty." There was silence on the other end. I waited for a moment. "My friend?"

"Twenty-six fifty." The voice sounded shocked. Why? Was that a huge order or something? "Please pull forward." I shrugged and moseyed around to the window, where a large woman in a blue-and-yellow Cheeseburger Palace shirt stood waiting inside by the cash register. She blinked at me and adjusted the enormous headset clamped over her hair. She was probably confused about my distinct, obvious lack of a car. "Did you just . . . .?"

I nodded and offered her the money. She reached down to accept it, and as her fat fingers brushed against mine, I noted her expression, watched her visibly flinch as we made contact. She turned her impressive bulk around to put the money in the register behind her. I stood on my toes and leaned through the window, putting my hands up on the frame, and braced my weight against the wall. When she turned around, she and I were practically nose to nose. She squeaked and stepped back.

"I need to talk to your manager, doll," I said smoothly. Disgust crossed her face. Obviously she thought I was . . . the other way. But the endearment had just slipped out. I guess it was part of coming home at last. Picking up the old habits. It's what I used to call Dee. He'd liked that, liked the way it made his ego feel. An attractive fellow is a successful one, he'd always said. He liked to feel attractive.

God, I missed Dee.

The woman frowned. Her small eyes narrowed. "He's in a meeting," she said, sounding suspicious.

It was an automatic lie— the managers only reported to their superiors on Tuesdays, right before the staff meetings. It was a Sunday afternoon. But this lady didn't know I'd already done my research. That was fine. It was her job. I kept my smile in place. "Trust me, doll," I said, liking the way annoyance flashed across her face, "your manager will want to see me." I knew I was being condescending, but I couldn't help myself.

I heard a honk behind me. A red-faced guy was leaning out of a vividly-blue Corvega. "Hey!" he yelled at me. "We've got to eat! Get out of the way."

I gritted my teeth and rounded on him. Training dictated I should either ignore or subdue anyone who interfered with my job. This civilian was not a threat, so I settled for something in between. Digging in my pocket again, I produced a round, shiny gold badge in a smart leather wallet. "Be patient, sir," I chided.

Incredibly, he had the balls to step out of his car and advance on me. "We got a problem?" he asked. Normally I would attempt to intimidate him with physical harm, as per my training, but he was no soldier or punk. He looked like an accountant at the end of a long day in the office, a short man with the beginning of a potbelly, balding, his shirt rumpled, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. I could almost hear Dee sneer. Dee had always been well-dressed. Classiness went with attractiveness, or so he used to say.

I sighed and tapped my badge. "Know what this means?" I asked him. "I'm working government business." Not precisely true, but this guy didn't know better. "I have the authority to shut this place down and question everyone on the premises." If only I have probable cause and permission from my superior, I added silently to myself. "So you can do one of three things. You can wait patiently like a good little citizen, you can back out and find a different place to eat, or I can waste both your time and mine by stopping service and detaining every one of you while I finish my business." I spoke as politely as possible, but I could feel myself losing my temper. "It's up to you, buddy," I added. The man huffed and stomped back to his car. Evidently he decided to wait.

Satisfied, I looked back up at the bewildered cashier. "Can I see the manager now, sweetheart?" I asked her wickedly.

She pursed her lips. "Come in the back entrance," she said, and hurried out of sight, probably to warn her superior of my arrival.

I strolled around to the back door and pushed my way through the crowded kitchen, careful not to disturb the Mister Handy food-prep robots as they rushed back and forth. They worked alongside humans here. I liked that. RobCo made everything a little more modern, even in this dump of a town, without stealing too many of our precious jobs. One of the employees pointed to the manager's office. I knocked on the door.

"Come in?" said a confused voice. I opened the door.

The room was occupied by a single man drowning in an ocean of paper. He was seated at a desk, but looked up upon my entrance. I saw his dark eyes widen behind his wire-rim spectacles.

The last time I'd seen Sal, he'd been a boy of nineteen, sneaking sips of champagne at his sister's wedding. This Sal had lost the ponytail, the silver earring, the leather jackets and motorcycle boots. This Sal's hair was cropped short and greased back like a respectable member of society's. He wore a white shirt with the cuffs rolled up, revealing his hairy wrists. There was ink on his hands. His blue tie lay over his shoulders like a scarf. He opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to speak.

For a second I stood in the doorway, unsure what to say or how he'd react. It had been a long time. The way he looked at me, I'll admit—the wonder and elation in his eyes made me smile. A huge weight rolled off my chest. It was Sal, my Sal, the boy I'd grown up with.

"Lee?" he said wonderingly. He stood up, sending papers everywhere across the cheap carpet. "Oh my God! It is you!" He moved around the desk with arms outstretched, a skinny man in the type of suit we'd once sworn never to wear.

I wiped my eyes discreetly. "Hey, big guy," I said, sliding into his embrace. He slapped me on the back like one of his fellows. "Good to see ya."

"Good to see you!" he replied enthusiastically. Then he held me out at arm's length and commented, "You're looking fit."

I laughed. "I have to be," I said. I indicated my clothes. "What do you think I'm wearing this for? Fun?"

He sighed. "Still doing the military thing, huh?" he asked. "Those clothes don't suit you."

"Actually I think they look perfect. I mean, look at these boots." I pointed to the heavy, black-leather monstrosities on my feet. "Steel toes, reinforced, with built-in dagger sheaths." The rest of my uniform was pretty standard for my division. Black pants, olive drab t-shirt, black jacket, black fingerless gloves. I'd forgotten how to dress like a civilian. "I mean, I look like I could be back in our little gang again."

I meant it as a joke, but Sal didn't smile.

"What?" I asked, puzzled.

"Too clean-cut," he murmured, picking a thread off my vest. "Looks unnatural."

"Speak for yourself," I retorted. I was a little aggravated now. "What happened to the ponytail?"

He frowned at me. "You're too military," he said.

I had no response for that. I ducked my head and scuffed my boot on the carpet. "I couldn't duck the draft," I said, embarrassed. "You know that."

"Yes, you could," said Sal. There was no anger in his voice, but his disappointment made me feel ashamed. "You could have ducked the draft, Lee, because you're a—"

"Yes, I know," I interrupted. "But I'd never have been able to serve my country otherwise. I accepted my accidental instatement and I turned out to be good." Impulsively I took his hand. I didn't care if he had a wife and four kids, Sal was my best friend, and I'd touch him if I wanted to. "I'm one of the best, Sal."

Sal shrugged and took his hand away. "But you left us," he said.

I frowned. "I'm sorry."

Sal nodded and sat down at his desk. He looked like an old man now, and that frightened me. Planting his forearms on a pile of papers, he leaned forward and watched me intently. "Jen told me you used the drive-thru."

"Yep!" I said, exaggerating my cheerfulness.

Sal rolled his eyes. "Lee, you do realize this place is practically empty, right?"

"Yeah, but I wanted you to know I was here."

"You just wanted to look a little strange and draw attention to yourself, didn't you?" I nodded. "Of course you did. Anything for attention, right Lee?"

I coughed lightly. "Of course."

Sal sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You're ridiculous sometimes." He fiddled with a pen. "So, I know you're probably not here to catch up . . . ."

"Well, partly," I admitted. I sat in the chair and put my feet up on the one clear space of desk. "This is business and pleasure, my friend. I've missed you."

Sal smiled at last. It was a distracted, bittersweet smile, but it erased years off his face. He relaxed into his chair. "I've missed you too, Lee," he said. "Now, tell me what you want to know."

"I'm looking for the Major."

Sal rubbed the back of his head. His watch glinted in the light, momentarily distracting me. "I thought you military types know how to keep track of your employees," he mumbled.

The Major was not an actual major. Since we were teenagers, it was what we'd called him. I have no idea where he got the name. He was the mastermind of all the illegal activities in Sioné and the surrounding areas. Drugs mostly. Selling cigarettes and booze to kids. I'd bought from him before. He was a genius, really, too smart for a small town like ours. He'd been drafted into the military and gotten involved in some project. The armed forces had a grudging respect for his operation, illegal or not, and they offered him a clean record if he worked with some scientists in Montana or someplace. Upon his arrival he'd fallen off the grid. He could have been sequestered in some secret military research unit, but as far as my division knew, he was gone without a trace. There was a rumor that he'd gotten too friendly with the Reds.

"I haven't seen the Major," said Sal. "I don't want to, either. That guy is . . . bad."

A six-foot-seven bear of a man, the Major could lift poor skinny guys like Sal with one hand and throw him like a javelin. The Major tried to wear clothes that concealed his bulk, but you could see the muscles lying under his dark skin like the cables on a suspension bridge. He didn't speak much, except when he did business. I had liked him a little, because he would share a butt with me, but even I was wary of him.

"He was," I admitted. "No one knows where he is. They said he might be here. That was the last intelligence we received."

Sal tilted his head. One eye twitched. "How do you lose a guy of that size?"

I shrugged. "Only the military, huh?" I joked.

Sal doodled on a spare scrap of paper, pondering on my information. "Well . . . I don't know where he is. But . . . maybe Dee . . . ."

"Oh God," I said, "I haven't thought of Dee in a while." That was a blatant lie. I'd been thinking of Dee more and more over the last few weeks. "Have you seen him?"

"Hell no," said Sal, "Good old Dee doesn't have time to come to this town. You think he'd be ordering a Deluxe from the Cheeseburger Palace menu? Rich guys don't have time for small towns, even if they grew up here."

I chuckled. "No," I said, "probably not. He liked fast food when we were kids, but now I bet he eats caviar every night. Probably has a sexy lady serving him each course. I'm thinking French Maid." I put my hand behind my head in a dramatic pose. Sal bellowed laughter. That was what I loved about Sal. It didn't take much to amuse him.

"Good old Dee," said Sal fondly. His eyes were misty, lost in memories. He looked just like the old Sal I remembered. For a moment, I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Remember when the three of us went down to the creek to smoke, and Dee lit your hair on fire, and then he panicked and threw you into the creek?"

We broke into laughter. "I'd forgotten about that," I said. "But I do remember dragging him in after me and ducking him under."

It didn't seem so long ago that we had been a group of misfits hanging together on warm afternoons, our school work done for another blissful summer, our backpacks hanging forgotten in dusty closets. That had been an extremely hot day, probably even hotter than today. Dee had been humiliated, but he had apologized like a gentleman after we both hauled our sodden bodies out of the frigid water. Then we had all laughed, and on that day, it seemed as if the laughter and joy would go on forever.

"Only you could do that," commented Sal. He was turning a pen over and over in his fingers, not looking at me, as if he didn't quite dare to meet my eye. "He had quite a crush on you, Lee. You could get away with anything."

"He did not," I retorted.

"He did," he replied. "Remember when we went to prom? He was your date. I mean, yeah, I was there too, but he held your arm on the way in. I just stood next to you. I mean, he even dressed like you, Lee. Black suit, red vest, red tie. All the girls were so jealous. Dee looked pleased, but Samantha Bale and Tina Roux were ready to punch you."

"They thought Dee was aw'fly handsome," I drawled. Sam had been an alright girl, but Tina Roux was a Grade-A bitch. "When the three of us walked in . . . well, we knew Dee could have been a popular kid if we hadn't been dragging him down the entire time."

"He liked you too much, Lee," said Sal. I stiffened; my smile vanished. "He let you drag him down because he wanted to be close to you."

"Don't guilt me, Sal," I said, starting to get mad. Sal's calm expression angered me; for some reason, it ignited that wild, familiar rage I'd unleashed time and time again on my parents and my older sister. I wanted to punch him, to leave bruises on that smooth, olive skin, to wipe that look of solemn wisdom off his face. He was a manager at a Cheeseburger Palace, for God's sake, not some kind of all-knowing oracle. "I didn't ask Dee to have a crush on me."

"You knew, then."

I squirmed in my chair, abruptly interested in the fish-shaped glass paperweight on his desk. The blue and gold dye in the fish's body twisted and flowed along the rippled scales. "I knew," I muttered, still staring at the fish. It seemed to be mocking me. I briefly considered throwing it at Sal. He had reduced me to the teenager I had been not so long ago, the sullen, awkward kid with a cigarette habit and a penchant for violence. "I knew. He . . . we . . . we discussed it."

"And?"

"And nothing!" I barked. I slammed my hand down on the table, making the fish rattle. Sal flinched, his eyes wary. I didn't care. I kept yelling. "We talked, and we talked, and then we said our goodbyes and split up and I didn't see him again until I saw his face plastered on the evening news."

An uncomfortable silence fell between us. Now it was awkward again. I'd hoped the years would ease some of the wounds, making the bad things a little easier to remember, even if I couldn't move on from them. But it seemed to have deepened the resentment. The wounds hadn't healed, they'd turned into scars; old, twisted, bitter things that I'd tried so hard to forget.

"I'm sorry, Sal," I said.

Sal shifted in his seat. "Consider talking to Dee," he said at last. His voice was at least steady again. I was grateful for that. "Dee and the Major got along fairly well. Plus, it'll do you good to see Dee. He's got connections. He's a big man, now. Do you know where he lives?"

"Who doesn't?" I asked with a forced chuckle. "All I have to do is go to Hollywood and look for the house with the huge crowd of rabid fangirls out front!"

We smiled at one another for the last time as I stood up and Sal did the same. We stood facing each other stiffly for a moment, and then Sal held out his arms. I hugged him fiercely. "I'll see you soon," I promised in a whisper. I couldn't let go of my anger, but that didn't mean I wouldn't let Sal know how much he meant to me.

Sal slapped me on the back. "You'd better." He released me. "Good bye, Lee."

"Good bye, Sal." I grinned. "I like your fish, by the way." Without waiting for a response, I left the office.

The same fat cashier I'd startled earlier met me outside Sal's door with a pout on her lips. The other employees looked up as soon as I closed the door, watching me like small, wary creatures watch a predator. Suddenly self-conscious, I scuffed my boots on the floor. I tried to appear like I still felt confident, but their expressions made me uncomfortable. I didn't feel like a teenager anymore; I felt like a kid of ten who has caught the unwanted attention of a stern and irate teacher. "This is for you," said the woman, shoving a bag and a cup at me. She stalked off without wishing me a nice day. I escaped from the Cheeseburger Palace in subdued silence.

The milkshake came in a waxed container. It was cold and good, loaded with sugar. I drank half standing outside the Cheeseburger Palace back entrance, leaning on the whitewashed wall with one boot propped up against the white brick foundation. One of the workers came out with an armload of boxes and gave me a nasty look, so I made a quick getaway down Carter Avenue toward my motel. Once upon a time, a little teenage punk named Lee worked at that very motel, cleaning rooms and organizing laundry for two dollars an hour. Nowadays, I was the guest. I unlocked my door and slipped into the threadbare room. Government allotments for lodging had never been very high, and there was still only one motel in Sioné, so I was stuck. I put the food on the table, took a can of beer from the mini fridge, and cracked it open. Funny, I thought, Last time I was in Sioné I was too young to buy beer.

Old enough to die for your country though, spoke up another voice. I ignored it. It was just the memory of my sullen, hateful, rebellious teenage self, an old ghost too stupid and bullheaded to stay dead.

Heaving a sigh, I reached for the phone on the end table and dialed my superior. I waited through two sharp buzzes. There was a click. "Office of General Jameson Gray. How can I help you?"

I groaned silently. I recognized that deep voice. "Charon," I said. "Since when do you answer phones?"

"General Gray is in a meeting. He requested my presence at the phone. His secretary is busy."

I chuckled and twisted the phone cord around in my fingers. "And what happens if he dies while he's in there, Charon? Aren't you bound to him?"

There was a long silence. "State your business," said Charon crisply.

Damn Charon. Couldn't take a joke to save his life. I sighed. "I wanted to tell General Gray that I made it to Sioné. I spoke with my friend Sal. He suggested I go to Hollywood. I'm going to go there as soon as the general gives me clearance."

There was a pause. "Understood."

"Thanks." I peered at my reflection in a spotted mirror that hung over the disheveled double bed and fussed with my hair. "Eh, Charon?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"I'm sorry about the joke. I'm not trying to insinuate that you're . . . inept or something." I stuck my tongue out at my reflection. What the hell was I doing?

Again one of those pauses. I disliked talking to Charon, both over the phone and in person, because he reminded me forcibly of one of those computers, the ones that spoke to you. They always took a second to process your words before calculating their response. Charon was like that. I suppose it was his programming, or discipline, or whatever. But I still hated it. It made him seem like less of a man.

"Good bye."

Charon hung up. I rolled my eyes and slammed the receiver down. Charon's emotionless voice always frustrated me. The very fact of his servitude to the general made me sick. I rubbed the back of my neck with a groan of pleasure. The massage felt good on the tight muscles. Glancing at the Cheeseburger Palace bag, I realized glumly that I didn't feel hungry anymore. Talking to Charon had ruined my appetite. Damn, and I really wanted that Cinnamon Twisty, too. I put the bag in the fridge. The food seemed to be mocking me, much like that stupid fish of Sal's. I flopped down on the bed and threw my arm over my eyes. Oh, Sioné. How I did not miss you.

I couldn't wait for General Gray to call. I just wanted to get out of here. It was too full of memories. Everywhere I went, I thought of the past. On Mercer Street, I'd been beaten by Tina Roux's older brother the day after prom, on Tina's orders. At the Cheeseburger Palace, where there had once been a bar, I had smoked cigarettes with Dee, Sal, and Sal's older brother Jeremy, in the alley out back. At this very hotel, in the laundry room downstairs, Dee and I—

I kicked that thought away. Shut up, my mind ordered. I rolled over on my side and tucked my hand under the pillow. Come on. Call, for the love of God . . . I can't stay in this town anymore. Yeah, but I didn't want to see Dee either. His very attitude was enough to drive me crazy. Seeing him again would probably kill me.

Oh well, at least I'd never have to talk to Charon again when I was dead.

When the phone rang ten minutes later, I practically threw myself at it. "Hello?" I said excitedly.

"You have been cleared to transfer." Charon's brisk voice leaked out of the speaker. "There is a train to Hollywood, California, at 6 AM tomorrow. Be on that train, please."

"Thank you, O Travel Agent of Extraordinary Skill," I said dryly.

". . . I do not understand."

"Don't worry about it, Charon, it was a joke. Have a good night."

"Thank you?" Charon sounded confused. My heart instantly went out to him. Poor guy probably hadn't had anybody wish him a good night in years. I liked Charon, just not the way he had to live. He treated every kindness with uncertainty and wariness, as if he expected punishment quick on the heels of any polite thing aimed in his direction. I was never rude to him if I could help it. At first I tried to be his friend, but when I discovered that was impossible, I had to settle for cordiality.

"You're welcome, Charon," I said, trying to be gentle. "Good night."

"Good night."

Charon hung up. I put the phone down and started to undress. I needed at least twenty minutes in the morning to shower and double-check my things, but I wanted to be at the train station early. At least when I was sitting there, on that uncomfortable wooden bench, I could pretend I was a little farther away from my past, and a little closer to Hollywood. Closer to Dee.

As soon as my head touched the pillow, I realized that I really wanted that Cinnamon Twisty.

Sleep could wait. Sloppy fast food, on the other hand, could not.

Yum. Calories.


So. Not nearly as confident about this piece as the others I've written. It's another extreme experiment. Please review.