Author's note: I would like to mention that I am not an English-speaking writer, I'm from Poland. Therefore, some errors may appear in the text, but I tried to make sure that there would be as few as possible. Also, this fanfiction will have two parts - one will be about John's and my OC's past, and then we will jump right into the FC5 timeline. Keep in mind that of course there's gonna be a lot of John (and later Eden's Gate and Seed Family in general) but also my OC, because I want to develop her as much as I can. Thank you for understanding and enjoy.
Atlanta. About 420,000 people who run their different, yet predictable and schematic lives. The streets were full of teenagers staring at cell phones, adults going or coming back from work. Elders sitting on benches, remembering their youth, complaining about ignorance among new generations.
A man dressed in an elegant blue shirt and a brown vest watched all this in silence, dispassionately watching his surroundings. He hated this world. Its blind society. Everyone saw him as a successful man, who was proud of himself. But John Duncan was a completely different person. Full of suppressed anger and resentment, wanting revenge on those who ignored his suffering. Who deprived him of the only people he ever cared for. He lost his brothers. They were took away from him, thrown out. They were deprived of dignity and identity, just like him.
One would think that after all these years he forgot about his past, or simply threw it into a corner. His pain, his name. But John remembered. He had an excellent memory. All the pain he suffered at the hands of Old Man Seed and then his foster parents was hidden deeply inside of him and waited for the right moment. It was not easy to hide injuries for such a long period of time, but John found several ways. It was work, cocaine, and women. Work brought profits and respect. Cocaine and women - entertainment and relaxation. It helped him to forget for a while. His life was also monotonous, in its own way, as in the case of most of the inhabitants of Atlanta. After work, he returned home, where he spent the night with a random woman in the trails of cocaine. Each time it was a different woman - he liked to change them. He didn't want to be with only one because he was afraid of emotional attachment. And when he felt that he started to like some woman too much, he eagerly erased her from memory and threw a piece of paper with her phone number into the fire. Yes, his life was also schematic, no matter how much he refused to admit it. Maybe it was supposed to be like that. Perhaps it was impossible to avoid routine. Maybe it was meant for everyone. Penalty for sins.
He walked quietly along the sidewalk of one of the more crowded streets of the city, taking advantage of the free day. At one of the intersections there was a small cafe, which he liked to come to sometimes. Sometimes, because he didn't wanted to be considered regular customer. Especially because the waitresses had very obvious weakness for him and tried to talk to him. With poor results. If he had a good mood, maybe he would just smile at them charmingly and try to pull on the friendship. The waitresses were quite attractive. And very young. That was the main problem. He didn't wanted to get involved in acquaintance with the youngsters, so he quickly placed his order, spent fifteen minutes in the cafe and left.
He liked to watch people. Over the years, he gained an invaluable ability to analyze them. He could say a lot about their life after only a few seconds of acquaintance, based on the quality and origin of their clothes, their hair, the type of worn - or not - jewelery. It helped him at work. And gave a bit of satisfaction because he felt above the rest. Though he still, paradoxically, hated himself.
Usually, however, people were boring for him. Like ordinary tools, losing half of their value after the first use. He stared dispassionately at the faces he passed. He combed his hair carefully and stroked his beard, fixing his gaze at the woman walking in front of him. She was around 5'7" feet tall, her hair were a patchwork of chaotic blond tones that reached her back, she wore an ordinary gray hooded blouse with dark stripes and black pants. She slouched slightly, her hands tucked in her pockets, until she slowly reached out her right hand, revealing pale skin and long, thin fingers. Nothing interesting, nothing new. He suspected that if a mysterious person turned to face him, he would see the young face of an ordinary woman with typical complexes. That's why he stopped focusing on her and just looked at her back without any remains of interest.
And at that moment, in which he decided to still look at her, and not look somewhere else, he sealed his fate. Unconsciously. He couldn't know it, not at this point.
But he saw something that caught his attention. The slender, pale fingers of the woman in the learned reflex brushed the back pocket of the man she just passed and flawlessly pulled out his wallet. The girl did so with such caution, and at the same time so quickly that she undoubtedly had to do it often. That intrigued him. He looked at her, walking at a safe distance, letting other people stand between him and the woman. He didn't lose sight of her. After pulling out the wallet, she turned her head slightly to look back. He saw a medium-sized nose with a small hump, a pretty lips of light pink color and a well-defined jaw. After a short while, she looked ahead again, then turned into a side street. John wondered for a moment if this situation was worth his attention. In the end, however, he made the decision and turned after the girl, making sure that he did it at the right time. The street was quite narrow, with little light access. A typical dark, dead end. The only way the woman could take was to turn left again. In this way, she would make a safe lap around the main street and again found herself in the city center, disappearing forever among the crowd. And indeed, he was right. The mysterious girl turned left. And she was waiting for him just around the corner.
- Enjoyed the show? - She asked coldly, looking at him with bright, dark brown eyes. She knew that he was watching her, she had to notice it. Clever girl. At least now he had the opportunity to look at her closely. She was no more than twenty-four years old for sure. That would make her four years younger than him, assuming that his guesses were true. She didn't wear any makeup. However, she had jewelry in the form of a golden dragon, clinging to her right ear. Ordinary, but still pretty girl. John rated her as solid six and a half on a scale of ten.
- A well-taught art of pickpocketing. I'm impressed. - He replied with a delicate, somewhat mocking smile. He stood close to her to make sure she didn't escape. In the meantime, he analyzed possible ways out of this situation inside his head and what he could gain and what he had to lose.
- You haven't seen much in life, since a simple street trick makes an impression on you. - Her voice was a bit low, slightly hoarse, but still undoubtedly typically feminine. Her accent, however, was something that caught his attention. It sounded quite British, but it also had a very subtle, almost imperceptible note of something else. Could it be Russian?
- I can appreciate any kind of art, as long as it still makes sense. This time however I am more interested in what is the prop of this performance, rather than in the spectacle itself. - He replied, casting a look at the pocket of the girl in which the stolen wallet was located.
- Oh, I see. You are a typical, lawful citizen of this country who will not allow any evil acts of theft.
- You judge people very rashly.
- "Judge" is an interesting choice of a word. - She said enigmatically. - But be so kind and don't waste my time anymore, just do what you want and get out of my sight.
- What do you need this money for? For medicines for a sick mother? For alcohol? For the repayment of debts at the local gangster? - He asked with a hint of mockery, but nevertheless his light blue eyes were full of seriousness.
- And why the fuck do you care? - The woman's voice did not change. All the time, despite the aggression in the choice of words, it sounded extremely calm, even somewhat sleepy. It sounded like she was asking what time it was. Her eyelids were slightly narrowed, as if from boredom or resignation.
- Because maybe I will decide to ignore what I saw and just go my own way.
- Just so? It doesn't sound like a lawyer's way of acting.
This statement completely surprised him. He parted his lips a bit, while a smile of satisfaction and amusement was slowly forming on the face of a stranger. The blond-haired woman nodded slightly, never taking her eyes off the man.
- Suprised? You shouldn't be. You aren't the only one familiar with this city and its people. As you've surely noticed, it wasn't the first time I pulled something out of someone's pocket. So, I was probably standing several times on the verge of potential arrest. And to avoid this, you need to have contacts and knowledge about the city in which you are. It's worth knowing how many big fish are there to watch out for. And Atlanta is actually quite a small pond, so it's easy to find them.
- So you know who I am.
- Yeah, I know. So answer me honestly - you really think that I would believe in a fairy tale called "I saw the theft, but let the thief run away"?
- Oh, I see you don't know me very well, though.
- And I don't really want to. So I will go back to the original topic - do what you want and don't waste my time. I don't have too much of it…
- … And you certainly don't want to waste it on me. I catched your meaning. In that case, I will make it clear. You can give me back this wallet and I will do with it what I think is appropriate, but it will not necessarily be conducive to you. Or I'll let you have it, but in return you'll tell me where I will be able to find you.
It was her turn to be surprised, which he could now enjoy. He smiled subtly, disconcertingly, waiting for her answer, but not hurrying her. He saw that the woman was thinking, analyzing. He let her take her time.
- What could you possibly need from me? Did the spectacle interested you more than a prop, after all? - She asked, and there was a sharp, warning note in her bored voice. As if she decided to gave him a chance to change his mind and withdraw. But John was not going to back down. It was not in his nature.
- If you steal people's wallets, that clearly means you don't complain about the excess of money in your own. It is possible that I would find a suitable job for you. Fitting into your... Doubtful moral framework, and at the same time much more beneficial. For both sides, of course.
- And if I won't agree…
- You're going to be in custody. For long, very long. Not only you have contacts in this city, my dear. I dare say that mine far outweighs your in terms of quality.
- This is blackmail. - She said weakly.
- And you're a thief who, I'm almost sure, has something on the conscience outside of pickpocketing. Something much more serious, perhaps more serious than blackmail. Am I right? - He asked rhetorically, with confidence, looking at the woman with satisfaction and superiority. Yes, he had an advantage over her and was using it. He had the opportunity to slightly change his life, so why not? After all, not every woman that he knew had to end her journey in his bed. Although he wouldn't have complained about such an ending. He looked at her, he saw in her brown eyes anxiety and hesitation. She lost her confidence. At that moment, instead of looking at the wild jaguar, he had a docile cat in front of him.
- Go fuck yourself. - She replied irritably, trying to slip away. But he grabbed her wrist, firmly, not letting her make any move.
- If you wish, I will do it very gladly. But first - your address. I strongly suggest that you give the correct one. Same with your name.
She hesitated again, looking at him carefully. She took a nervous, deep breath. He saw that she was clenching her teeth and would gladly drive them into his neck if only she could.
- 28A Ventura Street. - She finally answered, dry, gnawing her lip delicately and letting her eyes down for a moment.
- Perfect. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, your name.
- Irina. Irina Carter.
- Russian name, Irish surname, accent that is clearly British but still has very delicate bits of Russian in it. You must have an interesting past, truly.
- It depends on the point of view. That's all?
- Yes. You can go now, and I will go fuck myself just like you asked. I will contact with you soon. - He said with a broad smile, not necessarily suggesting something positive, then he let go of the girl's wrist and left her alone without looking back. Irina swore quietly, then waited a moment and also left the narrow, dark street, entering the city centre once again. She looked around, not only looking for John, but also her recent victim, who probably already knew he had been robbed. The gray-haired man, however, was nowhere to be found, just like an elegant, vile lawyer.
- You're fucker, Duncan. - She murmured to herself and walked along the avenue full of various clothing stores, banks and restaurants. Atlanta was a typical city. Full of life, but at the same time quite ordinary, nothing that could stand out from other American cities. It was not overcrowded, like New York or Los Angeles. Just right for someone like her. Although, despite this, the woman did not feel well in her current situation. The mysterious, strange and from her point of view somewhat stupid arrangement with Duncan definitely didn't improve her humor. She tried, however, not to think about it, although in reality nothing else bothered her now as much as that damn meeting with him. To think that she could avoid all this if she was in a different place and time. Meanwhile, fate decided to mock her. She had the impression that John was sent down for her as a punishment for all her life mistakes and crimes. She could have avoided the authorities for some time, but in the end the heavens decided to take matters into their own hands.
- Yeah, right. Bullshit. - She whispered. She didn't believe in God, or any kind of higher, supernatural power. Everything was either a coincidence or it was a man that chose his own destiny. For her religions were nothing more than a man's invention, so that he could somehow justify his inability to answer some of the questions that have plagued humanity for centuries. Or just to be able to explain his failures somehow.
The deliberations took her quite a long time, to the extent that she didn't realize when she stood at the doorstep of her apartment. A typical, rather recently built apartment building. Her flat was the smallest of all that were in it, but it didn't bother her. Less space for cleaning, fewer problems, less mess. She lived alone, so she didn't need anything more. She closed the door behind her and almost fell limply on the black leather couch, turning on the television. She rarely did it, actually almost didn't use the device at all, but on the other hand, the news could sometimes convey valuable information. Even if they were misrepresented in the vast majority. Irina extremely despised the media, as well as broadly understood politics.
"This morning the director of the Atlanta bank Michael Abbot issued an official statement about the disappearance of his twenty-year-old daughter, Clare..."
Irina looked at the television screen, where a picture of a red-haired girl was shown, not much younger than her. She swallowed hard, glancing at her phone for a moment, which she threw casually on the table just a few moments ago.
"Not much is known about the case, but there are suspicions that the girl may have been kidnapped..."
Blonde haired woman rose lazily from the couch and went to the fridge, from which she took out a half-empty bottle of whiskey. She poured a little liquor into her glass, slowly sipping the warming liquid, still listening to the reporter's voice echoing through the loudspeakers, focusing her eyes on the scratched, gray kitchen counter. After a few long minutes of thinking, she put down the empty glass and went back to the couch, reaching for the phone lying on the table. She turned off the television, expressing no interest in the latest news regarding the assault on the local store. She unlocked the phone's screen, then chose a specific number from her narrow list of contacts. The person on the other side didn't hurry with the response, as usually waiting almost to the very end.
- Yes? - Finally, the man picked up the receiver and was kind enough to speak, at the exact moment when Irina wanted to send a bunch of curses to him and throw the phone back on the table.
- Frank, I'm going to finally use the favor you owe me. And give it priority status.
- I missed your hoarse, unhappy voice. But it's true, I owe it to you. Whatever you say will be yours in no more than twenty four hours. - He said proudly.
- Reduce waiting time to twelve hours. This is an extreme priority.
- Mother of god, what have you got into again, girl?
- Top secret. Now, send me everything you have in the database about John Duncan.
After hearing this name, Frank froze. Irina tapped her middle-length nails on the table. She wanted to make it as loud as possible. She wanted the man to be able to hear it, to know that the time is running.
- I do not know if I'll make it in twelve hours, Irina. Getting into data on random thieves from your happy thieves' association is one thing, but getting information about lawyers that are on the top of the food chain is another.
- Twelve hours. If you make it in six, I can arrange a week's trip for your wife, so that you can wander the brothels without fear.
- ... Consider it done, my friend.
- Irina Carter. Probably Russian, or having some connections with the Russians. She's about 24 or 25 years old. Blonde hair, dark eyes. About 5'7" feet tall.
- You name it, John. I will give priority status to this matter. What exactly do you want to know about her?
- Everything, Frank. Everything.
- Consider it done, my friend.
