The Streets leading between the Admiral's apartment and Milo Sharpp's dormitory glow pink with the rising sun. San Francisco never sleeps and neither does he, he runs wearing his underwear, boots, and glasses, his skin pale and glowing in the cold fall air. People on the streets, going to and from shops and bars and work and home, all of them talking, busy. A few stare at the boy as he runs past but just ignore him. Its none on their business and its best not to get involved. Milo is only about five feet three inches and one hundred pounds. He barely can pass his self defense courses, god forbid actually fight. But running is something he has always been good at. When he was younger he lived in what had once been a lunar science station, just him, his sister, mother and step father. Well the man who lived with them had a horrific temper and he got lots of practice running through the endless corridors of the complex. It was run or be beaten, run or be strangled, run or be raped, run or have cigars put out in your skin. So he always had a good incentive to be the fastest. But there were only so many places to run to, and he always eventually got caught. Still, the longer it could be postponed the better.
So Milo runs through the streets of San Francisco. He knows that the only reason this all keeps happening is because Thiar feeds on his insecurities, his fears, his memories. He had hoped his life would be better once he joined Starfleet, and for a while it was. That is, until he was caught cheating. Thiar cut a deal with him to let him stay in school. Milo had to provide him with certain services and he could continue his classes as planned. Things spiraled downward from there. The more time Milo spent in the betazoid's office, the more Thiar learned of this troubled pupil. He couldn't report him to anyone because the telepath always monitored his thoughts, not that they'd believe him. Things like this simply didn't happen on earth.
Milo runs with his eyes clothes, letting the cold air cleanse him. He knows the streets every detail by heart and doesn't need his vision. The lenses of his glasses are fogged and dirty anyway. His movement is suddenly restricted as he hits an object. Its warm and soft, covered in fabric and all stretched over bone. He opens his eyes and looks up at the spindly Vulcan woman standing in his path. She is a good head taller than him and backs away slightly, staring with dark green black eyes.
"Are you alright young man?" her voice is smooth and monotonous. She looks no older than thirty, but could easily be three times that and Sharpp backs away from her, startled. "I- I'm s-s-sorry, m-ma'am." The Vulcan is silent for a moment and looks the human up and down. "Is everything alright? It is cold and you are poorly dressed. Have you been injured in some way?" He just gulps and tries to think of a response but nothing comes to mind. "N-n-no... I'm f-f-fine, really."
"Then, I suggest that you look where you are running next time." She turns and leaves, Milo blinks and she has vanished from his sight. He decides to heed her advice and keeps running back to his dorm. Its too late for him to sleep, but he still has time for a shower and a change of clothes.
An eye drags open, staring at the ceiling. Ivy feel's nothing but a sick numbness. Her breathing is sluggish and she barely can move her fingertips. Where was she? Was this the afterlife, or had knife man and the others taken her somewhere new for yet another round of pain and blood loss? She feels her jaw go slack, so she takes in a deep breath and screams with all her might. Soon a man appears above her, his face is blurry and the light above him shines down like some sick halo. "Can you hear me, miss?" the androids voice rings out, smooths and professional. She tries so hard to move but is too weak "Don't hurt me!" she manages to rasp out. "No one is going to hurt you, miss. You're in a hospital, you're safe now. Can you tell me your name?"
"My name... Ivy. My name is Ivy Wheeler" her voice is frail, "Oh my god... that was all real wasn't it? Am I dead?"
"No, no, you have just been hurt very badly..." Lennox takes her hand and tries to be as reassuring as possible. "We are going to make sure that no one else hurts you, ok Ivy?"
The Klingon on the bottom bunk growls and Milo tries to sneak into the room. He ignores him and stalks into the bathroom where he peels off his pants and boots and climbs into the shower. The fabric pile in the floor leers at him, a reminder of the evenings events and he can't wait to destroy it and put on a clean, new uniform. He still can't stand the feeling of showering without water, though over the years he simply has never been able to get clean. He reflects back on the countless hours spent scrubbing himself with steel wool until he bled. For years he was one walking open wound. But at least the skin was gone, everywhere thathe had touched him had been scrubbed away. Now he restrains himself from mutilating his body in any way. The last thing he needs is to be sent to a psychiatric facility and to get behind on his schooling. It would just give something else for Thiar to use against him anyway.
He steps out of the shower and promptly wraps a towel around himself as he crouches above a drawer on his side of the dressed to pull out a fresh uniform. When the drawer opens, he is surprised to see a Klingon knife stuck through the top layers of clothing. He pulls out the dagger and examines it, wondering why his roommate, Kash, doesn't just go ahead and kill him and get it over with. He knows that the Klingon hates him and he certainly would not object if he went ahead and decapitated him or what ever ghoulish act the oaf had in mind. He pulls out an undamaged uniform and puts it on. No matter how small a size he selects, he always seems to drown in the gray and teal fabric, the only thing that seems to fit properly is the boots. He stares in the mirror to be greeted by his skeleton reflection and decides to leave. He had to pull a shift in the emergency room after first period, and wasn't looking forward to having to be polite to people while working at the front desk and cataloging lab specimens. He could already tell that it was going to be a terrible day, but then, what day wasn't? He had no idea how things could possibly get much worse.
He walks out of the door and into the bright, colorfully adorned corridor of the dormitory. The sun was now shining cheerfully through the windows and the wind was blowing red leaves against the glass. He tentatively cleans his glasses as he walks down the stairwell and out of the door. The day is brisk and sunny, the cool wind whispering through the trees. Across the campus he can see people walking their pets and schoolgirls in skirts and tights cutting across the commons area to the nearby primary school. Their hair in braids as they laugh in a language he can't understand. And for a moment, it seems that there is a whole universe out there, where people don't live in mortal fear. Where families love each other and children grow up to be successful, contributing members of society, where they can be happy and content without escaping to some illusive, drug induced fantasy. For a moment he feels like he is one of them. But then the wind starts to blow and clouds gather on the horizon. He hastens his step as he walks to the science building, praying to the gods of gravity that he doesn't slip in one of the sludgy puddles of mud and leaves on the way.