July 28th, 63AW.
JUST NORTH OF MOUNTAIN GLENN
HALF AN HOUR SINCE THE FALL.
The ginger-haired teen was terrified, taking deep gulps of air as his stolen car tore down the road towards the City of Vale, mumbling prayers to both Brothers that the vehicle, and himself with it, would make it back to civilization and safety.
There had been so many Grimm.
They had flooded in from the Merlot Labs building. There had been rumours for years, of course. Doctor Merlot had been a creepy bastard, with his artificial eye and penchant for mad cackling. But all of that nonsense was supposed to be little more than a cautionary tale for children, to make sure they didn't go exploring where they shouldn't. There wasn't supposed to be any truth to them!
He had watched as his Father had been torn apart by Beowolves. He had watched as friends and strangers had become Grimmfood. He had listened as the screams of the dead, dying and hunted turned into a chilling silence. Some people had fled into the train tunnels, hoping that Vale would prove to be salvation.
How was it that even at fifteen, he wasn't daft enough to think that the Council of Vale wouldn't seal things off on their end. He'd rather die in the woods, with the sky above him, where the Brother's could see and find him, than down in the dark where they might not. That wasn't to say he wanted to die, far from it. But he did have a preference where he'd die.
Deep down, he knew he should probably feel guilty, running away like this. He'd stolen what was likely someone's best way out. But if he was honest, terror and fear and desire for survival had taken hold and driven off any other impulse.
He was suddenly startled, very nearly going off of the road, by a rustling sound coming from the back seat. A small face poked out from the mass of blankets and coats on the backseat that He had frankly missed in his haste, and stared at him in an indescribable mix of fearful confusion and terrified hope.
The worst thing was that he actually recognised her.
It was Mister Mattus' daughter. The owner of the local Ice Cream parlour was...had always been a cheerful presence in the town. Generous and loud and always smiling. Good with kids and trusted by their parents.
Neah. He recalled. Her name is Neah.
Had he effectively killed her father? Had he hidden his daughter in his car, in the hopes to do exactly what He was doing now?
"...Hey Neah."
The girl retreated back under the blankets, and he wasn't surprised. Their entire relationship amounted to the odd wave and smile when he actually saw her at her Father's parlour after all.
"..We're the only ones left." At that, she poked her head out of the pile and nodded silently, shaking a little. Her brown eyes were wide and fearful, and shining with unshed tears.
"...We need to be brave for a while, alright?" He asked with as broad and reassuring a grin as he could muster. "Just until we reach Vale. Then we can be afraid together, deal?"
The girl looked at him, eyes still wide, and nodded in hesitant understanding. The teen took a breath, and smiled weakly. He turned his gaze back to the road ahead, and kept driving. "Trust me Neah, I'll get us outta here. Just a little longer."
He didn't have a plan for what to do in Vale. He didn't have a plan for how to survive in Vale. But he would. He'd survived his parent's breakup. He'd survived his Father's drunkenness. He'd survive, one way or another.
Or my name isn't Roman Torchwick!