Chapter I - Awakening
Sarah Livsey wakes up drenched in sweat. Her nose wrinkles at the smell of tobacco ashes in the air, and the cold has seeped in through her window. Droplets form on its dirty surface. She stretches her limbs, angling her body in unusual directions. Bones pop and muscles groan and Sarah lets a satisfied sigh escape her lips.
She picks up her phone. Two new voice mails, she ignores them.
A warm shower later, and Sarah is nursing a cup of coffee in her tiny kitchen. She tries to think about her day ahead, but it was difficult. Everything is foggy, much like the last five years had been. She wonders if her parents would have be proud of her. Then she snorts.
A Livsey scamming everyone to get ahead in life? For shame!
He father's sneers and Reggie's — her brother — crestfallen face... She dreamed about it again.
So the patient walks into the office, "Doctor I need help, " he says. The Doctor looks back, a funny look in his eyes and a smile on his face — too many teeth — and sits on a chair next to the patient.
"What seems to be the problem?" The doctor asks.
"Doc, I can't be happy. No matter what I do, I can't be happy. I can't laugh!"
The doctor keeps smiling, "That's easy!" his voice rumbles, "Go down to the Boardwalk, there's a clown there called Pagliacci, he tells the funniest jokes!"
Sarah is watching the byplay in her sleep. She wants to wake up.
Wake up!
But then — as always — the patient's face morphes, and Reggie, crestfallen, is looking at the doctor, a noose appears on his neck. "But doctor…" he says, "I am Pagliacci."
Sarah shivers at the memory of a dream. Her stomach feels dense, and she wants to hurl again but forces her sandwich to stay. Sometimes she's the doctor. Sometimes it's her father.
She stands up. Tired already. But she has to go to work, has to get her bag ready. The trip is going to be long and dangerous, but after she manages to finish she can go back home. To her routine. Drink herself to sleep and hope. Hope, that next week will be better.
Boston stinks.
It's filled with people, fifteen million of them. Refugees from back then. Came here after half of the east coast was wrecked. Gold Morning still haunting the memories of the adults who remember it. Sarah looks around as she walks, her shoes echo a tattoo of noise as she makes her way to the Ferry. She's wearing black slacks that stop a bit beyond her ankles and a white high collared shirt. A slim black and white tie rests between her chest.
She likes the look, because it makes her look as old as her papers she forged. And most people don't care to ask twice if she's really in her thirties. 'You don't look it', they often compliment.
The seat by the docks is uncomfortable, rigid and too narrow. A burly man sits on one side, and a frail elderly lady on the other. Sarah has no room to spread her arms and awkwardly settles in a weird position. She checks her handbag. It's mostly empty. Some papers from work, a USB she has to deliver as a favor to her boss, Mr. Simmons. She wonders what's inside, and decides that a look wouldn't hurt.
The Ferry is late anyway, and so she opens up a small laptop, and loads the data from the stick. It's password protected but that doesn't phase her. Her power hums with approval in her mind, like an eager puppy it starts throwing suggestions about possible combinations. Fifteen minutes later she is fuming. The password was generated by some Tinkertech contraption, impossible to find without a seed.
She checks the encryption next, and is delighted that it's just normal old software. The hex dump reveals metadata — scrambled with asymmetric encryption, but follows normal protocols. She almost laughs, but the man next to her groans in irritation and so she makes herself focus on the screen. Another couple of minutes, and her password works, she opens the first folder.
She's about to open one of the documents when the Ferry arrives, and the cacophony of people trying to get in distracts her. She copies all the files to her hard drive, and then pockets the USB as she tries to go inside.
Once she finds an empty cabin, she slides the door open. Some beer cans are haphazardly thrown on the floor, and some of the liquid has escaped on the linoleum floor. Sarah wrinkles her nose but sits nevertheless. Her laptop on her knees when she opens the first file.
Sarah reads the first few lines, her power soaring as she connects information and extrapolates new information. She wants to hurl again, and this time she doesn't catch herself and pukes all over the floor. Other passengers, smoking outside shoot her a disgusted look and give her a wide berth when she slides the door open.
She walks to the back of the ship, it's mostly empty. Her hands grip on the edge or the protective handles, and her fingers shake as she pulls out a cigarette. It takes her three tries until she manages to light the smoke, and Sarah draws a deep inhale, her lungs groan but the nicotine steadies her a little.
Her cell phone displays the two voicemails again, and this time she picks up to hear them.
"Good morning Sarah, sorry for the extra task, I just didn't expect to get sick at such an important juncture in the project — didn't have the time to… Anyway — Listen, it's really important that you find Mr. Gonzales and give him the stick as soon as you arrive in Mexico City. It's the only copy OK? Anyway, have a nice trip and again… Sorry."
While the message plays, Sarah's power connects invisible dots.
She drops her phone and starts laughing. Simmons didn't expect her to live through the week. He felt guilty, but not guilty enough to stop Heinz & Heinz from working with Gesellschaft. Not guilty enough to refuse selling out American soil to warlords.
Her laugh doesn't subside, but there are sobs there too. Her power lets her know that someone will meet her once she's in New York, and once they get the stick. She will…
She will die.
Almost an hour passes and Sarah is sitting on the deck, her tears have dried out and the situation stopped being funny. Her emotions cycled through the entire spectrum and subsided on calm anger as she tries to think of a way to escape. She can feel a migraine coming, but the pain is good. It means she is still alive, and then a faint sound kicks her power into overdrive, a ship in the distance.
'Military - Stolen - Pirates? Yes. Objective, unknown yet. Hired by Heinz & Heinz? No. Affiliations? Possible objectives? Data? Yes. Parahumans? Yes. Me? Likely. Who? Pirates.
She tries to redirect it.
'Pirates working for who? Criminal organizations. - Where? Grand Line - Pirates chasing me for information and my powers. They know? Yes. No. Probably. Against H&H? Likely. - Pirates chasing me for information to be used against H&H and to use my powers? Yes. '
She forces the doors shut and staggers to her feet. A plan forms in her mind and a sly grin on her lips as she paces.
"I can do this, " she murmurs to herself.
Sarah's blood is boiling in her veins. Her heart is going to explode out of her chest and she is sweating. The pirates board the ship. Everyone is on the floor as they brandish their guns. They are looking for someone, but her power tells her that it isn't her. She is confused.
The black man was huge. At least six feet and wide like a fridge. He's wearing sun glasses even though there's fog all around and he eyes the passengers. Eventually he sighs and lights a cigarette, "Listen up! We aren't going to hurt you. We are looking for a man. Blonde, pale, and short about yay tall," he points at his chest with his palm. Sarah's power tells her he means about five foot six. He goes on, "Name is Simmons."
Her breath hitches in her throat. They didn't know? No they didn't it. Simmons knew something like this would happen. He played Heinz & Heinz into working with the Cartels. And someone got the information along the way…
Sarah's brain is overheating, the migraine starts settling in and she's in pain. Pinpricks and needles stab at her senses and she's shaking. She only mildly recognizes the barrel of a gun touching her temple. Her eyes roam up to her soon to be executioner.
Brown glossy eyes, framed by brown dark curly hair and pale skin. There's no compassion there, only a mild sort of amusement as the woman grins a toothy smile, "Hey Grue!" The woman screams at the black man, "She knows something! Time to talk little mouse…" She taunts.
Sarah's mouth flapped like a fish as she tried to find the words. How did she know? Thinker? No. Normal.
Sarah licked her lips, she needed a reason for them to keep her alive.
"You can't kill me," she whispers and then shudders when a bullet wheezes right past her ear. The brunette is grinning, pearly teeth almost glisten.
The woman crouched next to her ear, her whisper easy to hear relaxed. "The next time you tell me what I can't do? I'll give you a second asshole. You understand?"
Sarah gives a frantic nod. Her neck bobbing automatically. The man — Grue — walks up to them, "Skitter, what the fuck? What did I tell you about civilians?"
Skitter rolls her eyes and points at Sarah with her gun again, "She recognized the target, I say we kneecap the bitch so she starts singing."
Grue doesn't move and contemplates her words, "There's no need for that. Miss...?"
Sarah doesn't answer, she's frozen at the realization that these people can't be talked with. They'll kill her if she says something wrong, and her power doesn't cooperate. For the first time in her life, she's abused her power too much, pulled too much information too quickly. And everything is drumming, an ominous beat of bullets and death. The man pokes her forehead with his own gun and startles her. "What's your name Miss?" He crouches next to her.
She nods, "Sa-Sarah. My names Sarah! Please — Please don't…" Skitter clicks her tongue and cocks her gun.
"Grue, what the fuck are you doing?"
He stares Skitter down and she walks away from them after a long winded stare down. Then he turns to her again, "Listen. We need to find this Simmon's man. He has something we need. Once we have it, we can leave and you will have some adventures to talk about once you make it back home. "
He looks confused when she laughs. An acerbic deranged giggle escapes her throat, "I can give you what you look for but only if you promise not to kill me." She gambles. The man seems to be reasonable, she can do this.
Grue nods, "Ok then, talk."
Sarah slowly pulls out the stick, she shows him before putting it in his hand, "Simmons set me up. He said it was a stupid little," She throws a look at Skitter who is fuming ten feet away from them. Sarah lowers her voice, "He said it was some vital info. It's heavily password protected." She winces when the last words leave her mouth. Sarah always suspected that her big mouth would get her killed, and looks away when the man's eyes light up in realization.
He nods, "We don't care about that. We only need the stick. This is the stick right? I'll find you if you fuck me over with this." He threatens.
Sarah sighs in relief and nods.
"Alright folks, listen up! You see our boat down there? It has a torpedo launcher on it. You will sit here for half an hour and then you are free to do whatever, if you follow us we will sink the ship. Ok?" Nods and murmurs echo around the ferry and Sarah can breathe again. The man jumps over the rails and lands in his own ship and Sarah slumps on the damp floor.
She made it out!
And then Skitter who was about to jump over turns to look at her. A grin on her lips, savage, like an animal her eyes thin. Like a cat playing with her food.
Sarah's breath hitches again, "Did you think it would be so easy little mouse?"
Everything goes dark for Sarah.
"Tell me Sarah baby girl. Did you think, even for one moment that you could help him? You found it funny didn't you? That Reggie was struggling."
"Dad no! I didn't know!"
"Of course you didn't know baby girl. You're just a kid. If you had told us, we would have helped him. Rex would be alive now!"
A slap on wet cheeks.
Pain.
Nightmares.
And then she floats in space. It goes hazy. Everything is foggy.
She has forgotten something important, only sneers and crestfallen faces await when Sarah wakes up. Only this time everything makes sense. And everything is ugly. Disgusting.
Dad fucked Mom on the table. He came right where her plate with old eggs and disgusting bacon lays. They didn't use protection because they want another kid. A kid that isn't a fuck up like Reggie and her.
Sarah hurls, and her mom is looking startled at her. Her dad's sneer turns into a calculating look. As if he is looking at stocks.
He is suspecting. Her power tells her.
That same night, Sarah escapes through her window. Her heart beats lighter the farther away she gets from home. A hopeful feeling rises in her chest when she sees the sun rising.
Sarah wakes up on a stiff couch. She doesn't open her eyes and keeps breathing lightly as she focuses on the sounds around her. There's typing on a keyboard, and silent arguing whispers. In the background she can hear a familiar engine, and the boat she's on bumps on waves. A lulling rhythm that makes her want to fall asleep again. The migraine has subsided and she clamps on her power. Hard.
"What were you thinking, Taylor?" Grue whispers.
Skitter sounds annoyed and angry. Her whisper is more of a breathy shout, "I'm thinking that twenty K is too little for assaulting shit in American waters! So what if we can get some chump change from her company? They trusted her with the stick didn't they?"
There's a giggle from the other side of the room. Grue sighs. He's also annoyed at the situation, "Oh? And are you going to call the U.S to make an exchange? Or her company? Are you going to drop her off?"
Skitter growls like a wounded animal, "Then sell her to Mister K! She's hot ain't she?"
"Taylor you know I can't do that."
"Of course. Mister high and mighty decides to get a consciousness when it comes to hookers and kids!" She taunts.
Sarah's eyes widen. She'd rather die. Unprompted she jumps off the couch and tries run. In the corner of her eyes she sees them looking at her with confusion. There's a thick steel door blocking her and she struggles to turn the latch. It doesn't give, it will not budge.
Sarah turns around to look at them. Grue is rolling his eyes behind the sunglasses. Skitter is snorting with thinly veiled laughter and on the right another feminine looking man is sitting on a chair staring at her with amusement.
Realization dawns on her. They know she can't escape. Sarah slides down the door and clutches her head. She tries to stop the sobbing but her eyes don't heed her wishes and fat tears roll down her cheeks.
Skitter – Taylor – clicks her tongue in annoyance and kicks the table in front of her. In the blink of a second she has pulled a fat silver gun from her side holter and is point it at Sarah, "You know what? Fuck it!" She screams and Sarah watches slack eyed as the trigger pulls and bullets start raining on her.
She tries to cover her face, and contorts sideways to give the bullets less space to find purchase. There's commotion but Sarah doesn't dare to open her eyes and stays cringed on the floor.
"No shooting in the ship, god damn it!"
Taylor has trouble breathing and Sarah finally opens her eyes. Grue has her in a headlock, the gun fallen on the floor.
"I get it Brian."
"You get what?"
"I shouldn't have taken her, ok? You happy now?"
Grue – Brian – nods. He walks up to Sarah and offers her a smoke, "Come on. Let's get out for some air." She can't do anything other than bob her head in agreement. Her power hums despite herself, she aimed to kill, it said. Sarah has nothing left in her stomach to hurl.
He grabs the latch and turns it clockwise. She blushes when she realizes that she tried to open the door wrong, "It's for situations were people board the boat to attack," he whispers and the duo of psychopaths cackles as Sarah ascends to the deck.
Sarah lights her cigarette. Shaky hands and jitters. A deep gulp of smoke enters her lungs and she settles down a little as she lays on a corner. The sun is dawning, and the sky all around her is a deep orange. The weather is mild, and her power tells her she's closing in to the Grand line.
International waters.
No one would come for her, "What is going to happen to me?" She murmurs.
Grue is laying next to her. Arms behind his head and the cigarette burning," We'll contact your company and set up an exchange point."
"It will go on record. I'm fucked."
"For what it's worth, I tried to give you a chance. You seemed scared that something was waiting at the end of the line…" he prompts her.
"They'd either kill me, or get me to Mexico and then kill me. At first I thought that if you took me, I'd have more time." She admits.
"So the line wasn't an accident? About you cracking the code?"
"It was. I changed my mind once the psycho shot at me. The first time I mean. Doesn't matter I guess."
"For what it's worth, we are delivery boys. Only we sometimes break the rules to put food on the table. If all goes right, you'll be back in Kansas by the end of the week." He tossed the butt in the water and walked back inside.
The fact that he didn't apologize for his crewmates doesn't escape her notice. She knows that he wouldn't lose sleep if she had died down there. She realizes that this is some sort of rapid Stockholm Syndrome taking place, but she doesn't care. Grue is her life line right now and she calms down a little. The last few hours replay in her mind's eye as she lights another cigarette.
A blonde heavily built woman stares at the island called Brockton. Her life had been a disappointment unto itself. The emergence of Parahumans; her battalion's fight at Ellisburg and the subsequent destruction caused by Scion. It all weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her greatest fears had been realized, and now humanity was broken up in fiefdoms led by parahumans.
Ah, she wanted to give up. When her country abandoned her. When her city was lost and became the cesspit of anarchy that it now was.
Director Piggot's veins thrummed with memories of death, the adrenaline kicking in her stomach. Glorious combat, and lives lost. Bullets raining all around her and Nilbog's monsters cackling like hyenas.
All for a people that didn't appreciate it. Her troops found her, gave her a purpose. And in that purpose she felt alive again.
Calvert was scheming. When wasn't he?
But it would blow up in his face this time. She laughs, amused. Mixing the cartels in her powderkeg of a city was a bad move. A move inspired by overconfidence in his shitty power. Heinz & Heinz's attempt to enter the underworld went awry, and now she could expand influence into the mainland.
Her phone ringed and she hastily picked it up, "What do you have for me Grue?"
His voice was deep for a young man, and she smiled at the information, "Very good. I love efficient work, boy. Keep it up. Jeremy will be waiting will come pick you up at Somer's for the exchange. Also don't worry about Calvert. I'll handle it."
The line clicked and she punched a number to call. The voice was soft this time, elegant almost, "You have a traitor in your midst." She spoke.
"Oh? Do tell Director."
Piggot smiled, "Yes. The Simmons boy…"
"I see. You'll handle it?"
"Yes."
Sarah sits in a bar. Guns litter every table, and a rowdy atmosphere suffocates her. There is laughter and everything smells of sweat and gunpowder. On her way to Somer's Rock she saw drug dealers peddling openly on the streets. Street urchins pick pocketed wallets. People fought, prostitutes cat called every passerby.
Brockton. It used to be a bay on the shore of eastern U.S, now it was an island surrounded by hundreds of miles of water in every direction. The buildings in the outermost layers looked dilapidated. Like slums. The deeper into the city you looked, the condition got better and better, with a skyscraper in the middle.
Whoever said that Vegas was the city of sin, obviously hadn't seen Brockton. Everything smelled of sex and blood to Sarah's nostrils.
And now she was here. In a shitty bar surrounded by shitty people. Her life line skittered away to deliver the stick...
She nurses her beer, sips slowly. The taste reminds her of unwanted memories and the liquid swirls in her glass.
Sarah looks at Skitter-Taylor. The woman looks mellow now. The eyes wide, and Sarah can see her features better now that there isn't a gun pointed at her face. Wide mouth and thin lips. Her ears protrude from her bushy hair and if Sarah didn't know better she'd call the girl awkward. Toned muscles, exaggerated by the slightly longer limbs. Her thighs were like a marathon runner's and she checked with her power if the woman was a parahuman afterall.
Nothing changed there. A normal, albeit too fit, human.
Regent (call me Alec!) poked her shoulder and she turned around to look at him. He was built like a model. Feminine even, curly black hair and black eyes staring at her with that uncomfortable smile.
"So where are you from?" She asked.
"Quebec."
"Really?" She asks, "how did you guys meet? Quebec is a bit far away from here isn't it?"
He chuckled, "Well. Dad was a grade A asshole. I kinda hacked into the C.I.A wanted list and slapped his face and location. Turns out, Uncle Sam cares more about a hacker than Heartbreaker." He sneers.
"And then yours truly introduced Papa Heartbreaker to .50 cal sniper rifle." Skitter interrupted and cackled at Sarah's wide-eyed look.
"That was you!?" She asked.
Taylor took a gulp of her whiskey and nodded, "Of course I missed, but Heartbreaker won't be walking any time soon. Probably shits in a bag or something." The group snickered.
"How come you were Quebec?" Sarah asks despite herself.
Taylor looks confused, "What? It was here. Alec ran all the way here with a stolen car and fifty bucks in cash. When Heartbreaker arrived the gangs posted a bounty on him. Man…" Her eyes glaze over, "I bought a shit ton of booze that month."
Taylor must have caught Sarah's look of grudging respect, because she smiled again. This time a more relaxed smile. She poured whiskey in a glass and slid it to Sarah.
"Here little mouse. That beer piss ain't gonna do shit for you. Drink up. Unless you're too much of a lightweight?"
Sarah watches the drink and scowls softly at the taunt. Did she think that Sarah was some kid trying to fit it?
Taylor went on without a care in the world. "It's fine you know? I get it. Good girls up in the States only drink milk, yes?" She turns to the barman, "Hey Bob! Get little mouse here a glass of—"
Sarah didn't know why. She just slammed her arms on the countertop and picked the glass, some of it spilled as she brought it to her mouth and downed it in one go.
On her side Taylor was watching with amusement and Alec whooped.
"Bob you dick! Bring us all the booze you got!" The crowd cheered and started betting. Sarah forgot about the kidnapping and the guns. For that one moment she was Ok. And that Taylor bitch? Sarah consoled herself that at the very least, she'd give the psycho a good ole headache by the time the sun came up again.
Brian stands by a payphone and talks with Piggot when an old American muscle car erratically drives by. It's filled with men, and he can see AK-47s resting on their shoulders. In that one moment everything slows down and Brian turns his neck to watch them pass him by. They stop a block down, in front of Somer's rock.
'Fuck' he mutters to himself when the driver lops a grenade inside. The front of the store explodes. Bodies fly out mixed with debry. Shattered tables and and screams mix with the city's usual cacophony.
He didn't even get to have a drink…