Chapter One: Hell's Kitchen (The Night of the Super-Skrull Invasion)
"Fahr" is the name chosen later in her life – or whatever one may choose to call it.
But once she was nameless.
The circumstances of her personal background still remain a mystery. Anything before the night she woke up naked in that dark alleyway was a total blur. Whether or not it could be classified as amnesia was up to a certified professional.
Completely dazed and standing off-balance, she was surrounded by six others in the same condition.
Five women. One man.
One of them she would later come to personally know as "Heather."
They all wandered in separate directions. A passing vehicle nearly struck one of them, honking its horn to shoo her away.
Bystanders stopped and stared – some taking pictures, some giggling.
Fahr ran as fast as she could.
Deeper into the heart of the city she ventured. After a while, she began to tire.
The only warm place she could find to sleep was inside a dumpster, where she spent the remainder of the night. She was awoken the next day by the morning pickup, barely able to escape in time before she ended up in the dump truck.
A small Salvation Army outpost was the only place where she could obtain reasonable clothes: a black leather jacket, grey t-shirt, ripped black jeans, and leather boots. She checked herself in the mirror, seeing herself for the first time – a goth-like young woman with cropped black hair and pale skin.
She continued wandering the streets, growing hungrier by the second.
She hadn't even realized she had been staring at a hot dog stand for minutes, her mouth drooling with hunger.
"Hey, kid," the vendor (an old, mustached black man) yelled at her. "Get outta here! Your stank butt is drivin' my customers away!"
"I'm sorry," she said – it was the first instance she spoke, realizing she possessed a German accent. "I only want something to—"
"I got it covered."
A young, formally-dressed blonde came to her rescue, handing ten dollars to the vendor and buying a hot dog for her.
The woman's name was Karen Page.
While Fahr consumed the hot dog, Karen asked her a series of questions, mainly regarding her identity or life, neither of which Fahr had any recollection.
Karen knew of one place to take a homeless amnesiac like her: the Cathedral of Saint Patrick. There, a blind lawyer by the name of Matt Murdock, who was also Karen's boss at the law firm where they worked, conversed with Father Lantom.
"She's welcome to stay," Lantom accepted, after learning of Fahr's situation. "This church has always been a sanctuary for wayward souls."
"Indeed it is, Father," Matt said. "It's incredible how far this one's come to stay."
And that was how she would come to be known as "Fahr," albeit spelled differently.
For months she spent living with Father Lantom at the Cathedral.
While cleaning her room, she watched a news report on her flat-screen television set about an event the press referred as "The Battle of Sokovia," involving the Avengers. Amateur footage of the entire city torn from the Earth and into the sky was shown, every bit of it like something out of a science fiction movie.
Her attention diverted from the news when she noticed Father Lantom taking out the garbage.
"Let me help you, Father," she insisted.
"Bless you, child," he graciously said. "But you've done plenty around here."
"It's the least I can do for giving me a home."
She carried the heavy trash bag out to the back alley.
The rain poured heavily that chilly evening. Had she let Father Lantom step out into it, he would have certainly caught his death of cold. Fahr, on the other hand, was immune, perhaps being of a younger age that she still couldn't decide on – early-twenties or early-thirties.
"HELP! HELP!"
Her head swiveled, whipping the single bang of her short, drenched black hair, as she witnessed a gang of street thugs threatening a pregnant woman for money at knifepoint.
Unable to just stand by and watch a revolting display, Fahr went to her aide.
She took the trashcan lid and, in a move that mimicked Captain America, flung it directly at the head of the thug holding the knife.
Now having their attention, the thugs charged at Fahr.
A group of five roguishly dressed men, she took down each one with remarkable speed and agility she never knew she had. Hardly a finger was laid on her.
"Let's get outta here," one of them screamed. "This chick's crazy!"
They ran with their tails between their legs.
Fahr focused on the pregnant woman, who leaned against the wall, crying.
"Thank you," she said. "You saved my life."
Looking at her face, soaked by tears and rain, Fahr vaguely recognized her.
"What's your name?" She asked.
"Heather."
"What're you doing out so late, all by yourself?"
"I was just kicked out of my apartment. I wasn't able to pay the rent."
Fahr's heart broke for her. "You can stay here with us," she gestured to the cathedral near them. "I'm certain Father Lantom will give shelter to an expectant mother just as he did a homeless amnesiac like me."
Heather curiously frowned. "I…I can't remember much of my life either."
"I think we were meant to find each other," Fahr said, smiling.
A week later, Heather gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
Yet Father Lantom couldn't help but notice the fact he was African American.
"Who was the father?" He asked Heather.
She shook her head as she answered, "I never had any knowledge of there ever being a father."
"You conceived this child immaculately?" Lantom realized, much to his gratifying interest. "Like Mary to Jesus. Your arrival to this church was not by accident, child. It's a sign of God, if I ever saw one. And, if we're lucky, your child could be a new Messiah, if not the Messiah himself."
This belief was met with much emotion from Heather.
A month passed since the birth of Heather's son, who she named "John."
She continued living happily at the cathedral with him and Fahr, the latter who persisted to chore around in service for Father Lantom.
Heather sat in one of the pews, listening to the radio.
"Governmental establishment of the Sokovia Accords appears to have created much discord among members of the Avengers. After facing imprisonment in the Raft facility for actions against the Accords, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson, and Scott Lang were broken out of their captivity, presumably by fugitive Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America. As of now, the whereabouts of these former heroes are unknown."
"Sokovia Accords my butt," the opinionated Fahr grumbled. "Those stupid Accords are the whole reason the Avengers broke up."
"Who've we got to protect us now?" Heather queried. "That Spiderling kid?"
"And where's Thor?" Fahr asked. "We've heard nothin' about him since Ultron."
"How much longer will we have before another alien threat like the Chitauri or that Super-Skrull thing show up?" Heather worryingly held her son closer to her bosom.
"Those darn Accords!" Fahr scorned. "If I were an Avenger, I'd show just how much of waste they are!"
"You wouldn't have to be an Avenger to do that."
The two turned at the voice that spoke near the cathedral entrance.
There stood a fancy-dressed woman of African and Sicilian descent with long straight black hair and olive skin. Her eyes were hidden beneath a sizable pair of sunshades.
"Can we help you, Miss?" Fahr offered.
"Actually, I can help the both of you," she said. "You both have spent your days and nights the past month in this church, wondering about being part of something greater. I'm here to offer you a chance at becoming that with us."
Heather frowned. "Us?"
As if on cue, five other people walked in behind the African/Sicilian woman – one man and four other women of varying ages ethnic backgrounds (one was a fortysomething Hispanic and another a much older Italian).
The strangest part, however, was that Fahr and Heather recognized these people who they have never met in either of their lives.
"Who are all of you?" Heather questioned.
"My name's Ciciley and these strangers with me are called Splitters. You all are part of one whole person I believe can help us save humanity."
