I woke up.
It was not a gradual process. Not like ice melting or paint drying, but a gunshot: unforeseen and disorienting. My eyes snapped open and I took in the space in front of me in a fraction of a second.
It was the space between two monstrously tall buildings, filled with trash. I knew it was an alleyway, and it hit me that I knew this even though I had no memory of ever seeing an alley first-hand. It dawned on me that the smell of trash was just as the new as this sight, as the rough feeling of the concrete at my back.
The realization that I had no memories was horrifying, and I instinctively tried to hide, to cover from whatever took them from me. As I grabbed the wall searching for a hold, I could feel something jagged cutting into my palm.
I drew it back on instinct, but as I laid my sight on it, there was no blood. But there was something else; a tattoo. A shape that I recognized, a stylized c that I recognized, that I knew.
It was a quick and painful answer to my situation. It explained everything without actually being an explanation.
But it made me aware of the inner pressure I felt and couldn't place until now, the muscle that didn't exist, my power pressing from the inside, cracks showing on my skin like on broken porcelain. I didn't know what would happen if I pushed, if my hand, my entire arm cracked and broke, but there was a voice in the back of my head, a wordless whisper that assured me it would be bad. It would be grotesque and bloody and it would bring consequences.
The cracks fed on my continuing anxiety, deepening and forming new branches, and I knew I needed to get myself together.
I couldn't do it in an alleyway, covered in trash. I got up, almost jumping, suddenly concerned over my smell, trying to brush off any remaining garbage.
Out of the pile, my clothes became more recognizable. An oversized dark blue raincoat, under which I had on a light blue button-up shirt. My pants appeared similar, an even darker blue with deep side-pockets that a quick tap confirmed were empty.
I didn't know what to do, where to go. Where I even was.
The cracks kept increasing. Without looking at it I knew they went the entire length of my arm, and so I put on my hood and rushed out from the alleyway, spurred on by a desperate feeling of needing to get out.
The street made me stop in my tracks. All the buildings I could see had gigantic neon logos, and even in the night, the streets were packed with people, all of them in light clothing. Some glanced at me, and I could feel as their gazes settled on me for just a few moments before they hastily glanced away. Their unsaid judgement was like a spotlight directed onto me, and I didn't even think as I turned right and began briskly walking.
It was an unfamiliar city, but that meant little when everything was unfamiliar. Stopping to ask somebody was out of the question, as I scurried to avoid drawing attention to myself.
I tried to gather my thoughts; I knew there were several large hero groups; chief amongst them the Protectorate. But I didn't know the first thing about finding them, and there was the possibility that whatever hellhole I was dropped into was outside of American soil. (Though the latter was not likely; all the text I saw was in english.)
Still, I continued trudging on, keenly aware how my unusually heavy clothing drew each person's gaze. I could sense that it was hot, more than thirty celsius easily even in the middle of the night. But the cracks were unforgettable for me, and I was sure that if they were to see them, the people would find them unforgettable as well.
When I came to an intersection, I chose the to go right again, because it appeared far less frequented than than the street on my left, once again full of hotels and casinos.
This street was far more to my liking, and my steps became more confident, though the underlying anxiety was still plain to see. My hands were still in my pockets, and while my head was held high, the hood still covered it in its entirety.
As I wandered farther, the sources of lightning became more scarce, until each flash drew my attention. I suspect otherwise I would not have looked at such a small building, tucked away in a corner near large apartment blocks. It was a tiny, built from bricks and with only a tiny lamp next to its entrance, giving off a slightly desolate feel. Still, on it's plate was written 'Library 24/7', and I realized that they would have computers which I could use to orient myself.
I pushed the door open with my right hand, and just as I entered, I saw a girl sitting at a table. She looked about seventeen, with long brown hair cascading down her back as she leaned over her table absolutely stacked with books. As the sound of my boots reached her, her head snapped up, and she froze.
Fuck. She must have realized something was amiss. I turned to exit, but she was already getting up.
"Wait, don't leave!"
I wasn't about to listen to her, but her next sentence made me pause.
"I'm a cape too! I can help you out!"
My hand was gripping the door, and I could see the cracks forming on it.
"What kind of help?"
"I'm part of a team. We help people out who need it." As I turned, I got a better look at her: glasses with thick frames, brown eyes and pale skin. She wore a brown-green chessboard patterned shirt, with its sleeves rolled up.
"Help would be nice," I admitted. I didn't trust her, nor her team, but I could believe they helped out capes, if only so they'd join later.
"I'll call my boss. He'll send a car and you can rest at our headquarters."
"Okay." I wasn't sure I was making the right decision, if I was walking into a trap, only for it to be too late when I hear the entrance snapping shut behind me.
Heedless of my inner turmoil, she took out a phone, dialed, not having to wait even a second for her call to be answered.
"Good evening chief, I ran into a Case 53, pretty new, " she turned towards me. "How long have you been here?" I wasn't sure at all. But seeing that it was already dark when I woke up, and the sun was no closer to appearing, it couldn't have been that long.
"An hour. Maybe two." She turned back to the phone.
"Very new, yes. It would be great if you could get us some discreet transport."
While she was talking, I continued looking around the library. There wasn't enough light to see clearly except for the table she had been sitting at, which was covered in a mountain of books. I could barely make out the words on the covers, with only the names of the authors being visible: Lewis Carroll, Bertrand Russell, Scott Fitzgerald, Alexandre Dumas, and countless others.
My musings were cut short by the end of her conversation.
"Thank you, that will be excellent.", she said, as she turned towards me with a smile on her face.
"So, uh, what's your name?" The words barely left her mouth before she cringed. "Sorry, running on too little sleep and too much caffeine. I guess I should introduce myself, well, my name is, um, Alice, nice to meet you."
"Um," I guess for most people returning greetings would be natural after years of doing it. I had no such experience to fall back on. "Same. I-I mean likewise."
Realizing that I was still just awkwardly standing there, she facepalmed "Where are my manners?! Come, take a seat, you must be hungry," going back to her table, she took out a black messenger bag that was hanged onto the chair, from which she procured some pastry.
I took a seat next to her, and practically devoured the jam-filled croissant she handed over to me. But the hunger didn't abade, and that put me in a foul mood.
"Um, I don't know how to say this, but, you should think of a name for yourself, because otherwise you may get saddled with a demeaning nickname."
Now that I became conscious of my hunger it was nearly unbearable, so I only responded with a grunt, and set to thinking.
/-/
AN: So, yes, a new fic.
For those who've read my other works, particularly Adrenaline Overdrive, the main character may be familiar, and that's no coincidence.
He is further evolution of the idea, more fit for this work. And on that point, the explanation: I write worldbuilding much more easily than plot: a hundred ideas on Adrenaline Overdrive kept me up but stopped me from actually writing much.
So I took the age old advice to not write your greatest idea first, and decided to try and write a smaller one.
A work set in Vegas, against the Elite, starring a small cast with few (well, fewer than in Adrenaline Overdrive) original characters, and a far less ambitious plotline, with a clear start, middle and end.
It is my hope that I will be able to continue this fic and end it gracefully, with you, dear reader, along for the ride.
(On the AO3 version of this fic, I included a small illustration of the main character; in general, that's my preferred place for posting, so I recommend you read this work there.)