Chapter 1 - The American Pipedream
To understand just how far I had come, I had to do a little mental time travel, dial set to the harshest winter in New Yorks history.
Back then, I was living in a small, idealistic community 3 hours upstate from the Apple. Crime figures were next to nothing, kids could play safely in the streets outside their homes, and the most influential organisation in town was the church. This little wannabe-Utopia was the stuff pipedreams were made of. Unaware of global terrorism, organized crime and drug trafficking, there it was, the Garden of Eden minus serpents and forbidden fruit, well shielded from the veritable Sodom and Gomorra of the outside world.
From the first moment I knew what was going on, I hated it. I knew I didn't fit in, that I wasn't made of the same lily-white fabric as every other picture-perfect servant of God, their sickly smiles forever reminding me that I was surrounded by brainwashed, unthinking glove puppets, like every baby in town was lobotomised at birth. I was positive that somewhere behind it all was some clinically insane control freak, some perfectionist playing at God. I never dared allay my little conspiracy theory to anyone, after all, who would have taken it seriously in this paradise in disguise. It was hell on earth, a concentration camp in a tux.
I don't know how I managed to keep my disguise for so long. When people looked at me they saw no difference to any of the other spoilt little brats with crazy illusions of grandeur, wanting to be just like their perfect parents. It was all an act, and for twelve years, I was star of my own show.
My parents were the conformist type, which must have been their reason for moving there, but even they were out of their league in this place. And even though they never knew of my grim hate for the place, they somehow kept me sane, and even happy, because I knew that every day, after seeing the oceans of smiling faces mocking every fault of humanity, I could experience a piece of the real world, the occasional raised voice and hurt feeling, anger and sadness, the human imperfections that this place seemed to have weeded out. We were the one normal family in the bevy of socially engineered freaks.
But nothing lasts forever, and when the storm moved in, the world tagged along. I obviously didn't know it back then, but Valkyr was the force that toppled the deck, and with it my life and my sanity, all of it, down the drain like so much curdled milk.
My first real taste of the real, cruel world had come two years earlier. It was a warm summer night, not long after my fourteenth birthday. The family had been inter-state for a few weeks visiting friends, and were now heading home by the scenic route, avoiding the highways wherever possible.
Ever the attention seeker, I did my usual routine of pretending to fall asleep in the back of the car. I had always loved to listen to my parents discussing how cute I was asleep when they thought I couldn't hear them. This time it backfired, and I told myself I would never do it again. It was a shallow promise, too little, too late.
As I opened my eyes again, I was blinded by the fog lights of the juggernaut which came careering towards us. I gave a blood curdling, gut wrenching scream as the runaway truck showed no sign of stopping. When I saw my fathers smiling face I was convinced it was all a bad dream. Convinced for about a millisecond, before impact. My world was thrown on its side in the time it takes to empty a syringe. The trailer of the truck had spun around on impact. I saw only the big white letters, clear as moonshine. Everything else was a monochrome blur.
"Aesir Corporation - A Bit Closer to Heaven".
I blacked out.
To understand just how far I had come, I had to do a little mental time travel, dial set to the harshest winter in New Yorks history.
Back then, I was living in a small, idealistic community 3 hours upstate from the Apple. Crime figures were next to nothing, kids could play safely in the streets outside their homes, and the most influential organisation in town was the church. This little wannabe-Utopia was the stuff pipedreams were made of. Unaware of global terrorism, organized crime and drug trafficking, there it was, the Garden of Eden minus serpents and forbidden fruit, well shielded from the veritable Sodom and Gomorra of the outside world.
From the first moment I knew what was going on, I hated it. I knew I didn't fit in, that I wasn't made of the same lily-white fabric as every other picture-perfect servant of God, their sickly smiles forever reminding me that I was surrounded by brainwashed, unthinking glove puppets, like every baby in town was lobotomised at birth. I was positive that somewhere behind it all was some clinically insane control freak, some perfectionist playing at God. I never dared allay my little conspiracy theory to anyone, after all, who would have taken it seriously in this paradise in disguise. It was hell on earth, a concentration camp in a tux.
I don't know how I managed to keep my disguise for so long. When people looked at me they saw no difference to any of the other spoilt little brats with crazy illusions of grandeur, wanting to be just like their perfect parents. It was all an act, and for twelve years, I was star of my own show.
My parents were the conformist type, which must have been their reason for moving there, but even they were out of their league in this place. And even though they never knew of my grim hate for the place, they somehow kept me sane, and even happy, because I knew that every day, after seeing the oceans of smiling faces mocking every fault of humanity, I could experience a piece of the real world, the occasional raised voice and hurt feeling, anger and sadness, the human imperfections that this place seemed to have weeded out. We were the one normal family in the bevy of socially engineered freaks.
But nothing lasts forever, and when the storm moved in, the world tagged along. I obviously didn't know it back then, but Valkyr was the force that toppled the deck, and with it my life and my sanity, all of it, down the drain like so much curdled milk.
My first real taste of the real, cruel world had come two years earlier. It was a warm summer night, not long after my fourteenth birthday. The family had been inter-state for a few weeks visiting friends, and were now heading home by the scenic route, avoiding the highways wherever possible.
Ever the attention seeker, I did my usual routine of pretending to fall asleep in the back of the car. I had always loved to listen to my parents discussing how cute I was asleep when they thought I couldn't hear them. This time it backfired, and I told myself I would never do it again. It was a shallow promise, too little, too late.
As I opened my eyes again, I was blinded by the fog lights of the juggernaut which came careering towards us. I gave a blood curdling, gut wrenching scream as the runaway truck showed no sign of stopping. When I saw my fathers smiling face I was convinced it was all a bad dream. Convinced for about a millisecond, before impact. My world was thrown on its side in the time it takes to empty a syringe. The trailer of the truck had spun around on impact. I saw only the big white letters, clear as moonshine. Everything else was a monochrome blur.
"Aesir Corporation - A Bit Closer to Heaven".
I blacked out.