God, I've always hated flying!. I don't know if it's the whole sensation of being thousands of feet up in the air even if it is in a pretty safe environment, the extremely unpleasant feeling you get in your ears leaving you half deaf or the whole taking off of the plane. Or maybe it was a combination of all three!.
Deep down, I know I am still crazy...or that should be batshit crazy for even getting on this flying machine, knowing I was basically swapping my old comfortable life for an entirely new one in an entirely different country.
My old life was basically shoved inside a couple of suitcases. Or what little I could fit in them. But it's not like I really had a lot. I didn't even have many friends, at least none that would miss me. And I'm pretty sure the restaurant I had been stuck working for for the past few years would really miss me either.
I didn't have any family left either, both my parents having left me. Not that I had both parents in my life, my mother having chosen to walk out when I was just a year old leaving my dad to raise me solo.
He hadn't tried to stop me from looking for her when I turned 16. I just wish it hadn't been her grave I had found, her having died when I was 9. It had hit me pretty hard. I'd be lying if I said otherwise, that I didn't somehow blame myself even though I know it wasn't my fault.
She had made that choice to leave us, to pick heroin over her own child, over her husband. My father was my hero. Any other man would have chosen to abandon me as well, to leave me in the hands and care of a foster family.
Sadly, it couldn't last forever. It has been five years since I lost him, lung cancer choosing to take him from me, and yet it still feels like I lost him yesterday.
I couldn't stay in that house, be surrounded by the memories of what was once a happy childhood. So I'd sold it, moved into a smaller place on the other side of London. But I still couldn't get rid of those happy memories not that I truly wanted to.
I believed I had no family left until I got that phone call a week ago. Turned out my father had a brother, someone he hadn't seen since my mother had abandoned us. And it hurt, discovering he had kept that from me.
I was expecting even less that they might live in an entirely different country especially in a much bigger city then London. It had taken me a good few days to settle my affairs, my father having left me a pretty generous amount of money in his will. It was more then enough for a plane ticket and to try and start a new life in New York.
I wasn't blind or stupid, though. I knew all about Vought and The Seven, that the world was probably full of super-powered humans. It wasn't exactly hard to miss seeing supes like Homelander and The Deep all over the news and in the papers.
It wasn't exactly that I was slightly scared of them, but they make me automatically wary. And it made me naturally nervous to be moving to make a new life in the city where Vought's headquarters were, where The Seven lived when they weren't out saving lives.
Running into any one of them especially Homelander is something I pray will never ever happen. But I should really be careful what I wish for. As the old proverb goes, be careful what you wish for for it might come true.
-x-x
So i've been wanting to do this story ever since getting into and becoming a massive fan of the tv series. I already know how i'm going to end it so it will only be set in the first two seasons. It will obviously follow the show's events, but altered slightly to include my OC.