Balancing the Void, Part Three
Feb. 16th, 2009 11:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teddogWarning - Fic content. Avoid if it isn't your bag. I MEAN IT.
This is PART THREE of the fic of DOOM. Long fic is looooong. Long fic is strange. All praise be to long fic!
Balancing the Void
Part Three: Skirting the Edge
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
slwatson. Also a wonderful resource for combat writing!
Rating: PG-13, now! For cursing and violence.
Fandom: IP&S NV/IP&S AMU crossover.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Notes: Welcome to part three, which is longest part so far. Also potentially the strangest at the moment. My goal was to finish this on Family Day. I made it! The next part will be much lighter. You know, as light as this can get.
It didn't take long to gather up the supplies I needed from the stands. With Shayna being forthcoming with her aggressive side and haggling down the prices with a few jagged glares and well-timed words, I was able to purchase everything for a fraction of what I expected.
I had $40 in old bills in my wallet; the only ones really notable were the one and two dollar bills, which had been long since removed from circulation and replaced by coins back at home. I placed those aside in case times got extremely dire, as there was no possible way to replace them. The bottling supplies only ended up costing me just under $10, a steal thanks to Shayna, even including a small tin camping pot that I grabbed so I won't ruin any of the rebel's pots and pans.
“I know why you're saving the ones,” Shayna said as I grabbed the plastic bag I was using to carry my new treasures in. “They got rid of those years ago, but the twos?”
I smiled, fighting back the swift jolt that coursed up my spine. The little details hurt just as much as the big ones. I'd live, but I couldn't keep it from stinging. It was also unsettling that Shayna was so observant, but I was growing to accept it. If she wasn't, she'd be dead. For all of the harsh habits she had picked up, like the cigarette she was smoking now, she was still a charming and smart young woman and I'd much prefer to see her alive than otherwise.
“Those eventually went away too,” I explained, trying to get hold of myself again. For the sake of my sanity, I kept my voice down, but the street was so crowed that I doubt anyone would even notice. Shayna had already proven that she wouldn't broadcast the whole universe mix up, but I wasn't that trusting of anyone else.
“Yeah..?” She trailed off before she could finish, looking off to the side and making note of where the road's asphalt made contact with the sidewalk.
I tilted my head. It was a bit of a headache to sort this girl out; I was fairly certain that she was simply trying to not attract attention to myself through direct references. Why she felt this need to protect me in public, going so far as to haggle with the prices that she knew were the usual for this world, was admirable, if not confusing. The one worry that lingered was that as soon as we neared the safe house, this side would disappear.
There was no one to blame for this, unless you wanted to blame the supermen or the government or whoever else was the threat at the moment. She did what she needed to do, in the end. My survival was key to the survival of the version of myself from this universe, meaning that in this great mess, she probably did care for him too despite appearances.
I took a guess at what she was prompting for and reached into my wallet, pulling out a two dollar coin. With any luck, passersby would overlook it for a overly large subway or arcade token. The coin didn't look anything like any coin the people would be familiar with; the centre was a small, golden medallion surrounded by a silver ring. Shayna took it and as if on cue, gave it a long look over and tapped the centre.
“It doesn't fall out?” Shayna raised an eyebrow. She flipped the coin over and frowned at the design of the queen on the back. Given that it was Shayna, I wasn't sure how to read that expression, but it couldn't have meant anything good. Come to think about it, I hadn't heard anything about what happened to the monarchy overseas.
“The rumour was that they used to, back when they first created the coins,” I explained with a chuckle. “The story went that you could freeze a coin and it would shatter into two. Never bothered trying.”
“Huh.” Shayna traced the edge of the coin with her finger. It too was different than coins she'd be used to, a mix of milled and smooth patches. Satisfied, she clenched the coin in her fist. “I think I could break it out. Oh!” She tossed the cigarette butt aside, reached into her pocket and pulled out a ratty two dollar bill. The poor bill was barely holding itself together out of willpower alone.
Carefully, she played the bill in my palm, closing her hand around it. I blinked in shock for a moment; the action was totally unexpected. The cold front that came and went was down again, so far that she was actually willing to give me money.
“It's only fair,” Shayna explained. “I'd really like it if you let me keep the coin.” She kept her hand tightly gripped around mine.
I stammered, not sure what I could say that wouldn't get me in a pile of trouble. “Um... I...” I didn't want to tick her off, but there was no way that I could take money from a rebel who was just fighting to get by every day of her life.
“I can't accept this,” I said, pushing my hand back towards her. The words and actions felt like nothing more than the written program of a machine. I was doing what was coded into me.
“Keep it,” Shayna said, this time with a razor sharp edge to her words. “It's an old bill. They're harder to use as money now and only bring back bad memories.”
With a nod, I swallowed and pocketed the bill. It was impossible to argue with a tone like that. That I finally followed through didn't seem to register with Shayna since she didn't even bother with a nod or a smile in response. It just was and nothing more.
We walked in silence as we headed back to the subway station. From what Shayna said, the rest of the time until the raid would be spent back in the cell again. I didn't run away out in the open, but policy was policy.
I looked over my shoulder at the street. The sun was still high on the horizon lined with skyscrapers, glass and metal against the crisp blue. The crowd below happily mingled, like they didn't realize that as soon as they strayed away from the mall that the standard conflicts would begin renewed again. Shayna still wasn't specific about those on the outside, but it was clear that some sort of class system had gripped the city.
It was home, but it wasn't home.
If Shayna could pick up on my internal struggle, she didn't let it show.“You still haven't told me what you're planning to do with all that,” she said, tossing her hair back in the wind. The breeze had a nasty habit of getting it into her eyes and she grumbled about forgetting her hair tie.
“We are going to send a letter back home,” I explained in no detail whatsoever.
Shayna shook her head. “If I recall correctly, you said that you needed that computer... thing to tell your friends where you were. And if that wasn't the case, why are you still here?”
“Nah, it's a bit more complex than that,” I said, and that was the truth. “The computer is how they're going to pinpoint me in the fabric of time and space. I can't really tell them that, as the computer had to calculate it. Communication between the two is a bit different. That we can do that sending a message in a bottle.”
The first reply I got was a groan. Not too surprising. Shayna rubbed the side of her head, as if my odd behavior was giving her a headache for the first time.
“A message... in a...” She signed. “Don't you know how inane that sounds? And haven't you thought about how you were going to even reach the water in order to toss the bottle in it?”
That thought hadn't occurred to me. I assumed that the waterfront was open; after all, Yonge street was and the two were connected. “It is controlled or locked down?”
“No, it's not locked down. Not by the government at least. But we need to call ahead.” Shayna pushed back her hair as she ducked down into the subway station.
---
We had made it back home safely, to the warm embrace of the closet that I was slowly getting used to if not enjoying. This was something I'd have to be careful of mentioning in later retellings. We had no trouble getting back to the safe house, although I was beginning to wonder when Shayna planned on feeding me. She wasn't especially forth coming with details like that and I didn't recall her mentioning it earlier.
I hadn't even grabbed something while we were out; the excitement over being able to communicate with everyone back home again was too overwhelming. Now that I had the blank sheet of paper in my hands, I couldn't help think about how if I was back home, that I would be flopped out on the couch with a bucket full of snacks and the Weather Channel playing in the background. It was painful enough that it was distracting.
“Excuse me,” I spoke up to Shayna. We still weren't on good enough terms that I could drop the formality.
She looked over at me with a "Yeah?", not seeming at all worn out from the earlier adventure, but not too interested in my plan. To be fair, we hadn't discussed it after she mentioned something about calling ahead. Her sole warning to me was not to keep my hopes up.
"I just noticed that I didn't grab any food while we were out," I said. "I know that I haven't earned my keep yet, but do you think that I could get a payday loan of sorts in the form of a meal?"
Shayna didn't seem to get the joke, something that I was slowly growing accustomed too. There was more truth in there than anything; I had realized that food was a form of payment here and the rebels really couldn't afford to have a dead weight eating through their supplies.
The woman waited a beat and then nodded. "We don't have much. Is a cheese sandwich okay? We might have ham this week if we're lucky." Shayna offered me a curious look before she continued. I wasn't quite sure what it meant nor was I willing to ask. "I know that it's not much, but that's the best fresh food we have. There's lots of military rations kicking around, but we tend to save those since they won't spoil. The fresh stuff tastes better too."
"Anything you can spare is fine," I said, nodding along with Shayna's explanation. "I wouldn't pester you, but I do need to eat something at some point. Rations are fine, if there's not enough food to go around."
Shayna fought back a smirk, not particularly amused but the feeling wasn't completely cruel either. "That's the first time anyone has willing offered to eat those things. Usually things need to get pretty dire before someone reaches for a can opener," she explained.
I coughed. "I've lived on worse. It'll be nostalgic!"
The bits and details of my past that kept slipping through must have confused Shayna, and that confusion surfaced in frustration. There was a bit of a glare there directed at me, but it soon sunk into the slow burn of anger that fueled her.
"I'll find something," she said as she climbed to her feet and left for what I could only imagine was the kitchen. The door closed behind her, but it did just that and only that. I didn't hear the lock latch shut on the outside.
I stared at the back of the door for moment, pushing away a memory that popped back into my head. Evidently, Shayna trusted me enough that she'd leave me alone in an unlocked room. That had to have been worth something.
At the same time, it mean that I could be alone with my thoughts for a few moments. I looked at the paper in my hands again. Maybe the words would flow better now that she had left the room.
Dear
And this was the point where I always stumbled. I wanted to touch on everyone at once, in a way that wasn't too formal or businesslike, and express myself as honestly as possible. Easier said than done. My lack of writing talent was infamous, but I never sat down to figure out why that was. All writing was was communicating thoughts and feelings and if I could manage to grab that, then the rest would come naturally.
The paper still didn't fill up past that one word.
Every time I placed the pen onto the surface, anxiety gripped my gut and shut down any attempt at moving my arm. Furrowing my brows, I knew I had to write something. Their very knowledge of my existence relied on me getting the message across. Hell, that was my self-appointed job years ago, wasn't it? I needed to find that voice again.
Hastily, I scratched out the one word on the page and started anew.
Hey everyone,
I'm safe here, at the moment, I think. I don't know where here is. It's not Rhy'Din. I haven't been able to find someone who call tell me about the time-space position. I can't rely information myself either, other than by bottle.
I'm in some form of Toronto. Year is 1993. I don't believe it's my Toronto. If it is, then I've broken everything and no one will get this letter. I believe the country is in some state of civil war. But I haven't been asked to fight and I'm currently living with the rebels. Things are okay. I'm not hurt or anything, just trying to get by. I might have to work for them soon, not sure what I'd be doing.
I'm trying to get back home but I don't know how. The computer is broken and it won't turn on. Might be no power. My thought is that Bonnie might know why. Maybe battery? I don't know how to test it.
I sat back and reread the letter again. My flare for writing was never particularly good, even I knew that, but I felt it got the point across. There was a key piece of information missing. I added it in, wanting to get over with it before Shayna came back.
Also, please don't try to come for me. I miss you all very much and don't want to lose anyone else. I'll find my way back. I'm good at that. Just make sure the other me doesn't do anything stupid on the estate.
Okay, so that sounded a little cruel. I still wasn't sure what to make of the other Rick. Shayna had mentioned bits and pieces about him on the ride home and he didn't sound like an especially nice person. Not threatening, but at the same time, not really likable. As Nance would put it, a dick.
There really wasn't a reason for him to do something odd. Shayna's comments seemed to drive home the point that she felt he was a pushover and a coward. She opinion was fairly suspect, but there had to have been some truth there.
What an odd world this was.
A solid tapping on the door announced Shayna's return. I lifted my head and called out "Come in!" Shayna didn't waste a moment letting herself back in, although she didn't appear to be in an panic as if she suddenly realized that she forgot about the door. It was all business. She placed a clipped beige plate on the table beside my bed. I looked over, raising my eyebrows in surprise at what was on it.
The menu wasn't a feast by any means. Any food would look good now as well, but I was expecting a small sandwich made of just bread and a light filling and nothing else. Instead, what was there was a nicely plump cheese sandwich, made up with what looked like a little bit of lettuce and tomato and served with a side of sliced apple.
I dug in right away.
“So, the raid is still on, last I checked,” Shayna said, with the only emotion bubbling to the surface being the dark expression on her face. My best guess was this was connected to the raid and not me eating, as it didn't come until after she started informing me. Maybe she thought she had just fed me my last meal.
“You're starting to get worried,” I commented between bites. It was completely based on my own observations, from what I could force together.
Still, she shrugged it off. "Not really. I just figured I'd debrief you before we're tossed out in the field. We're going to the Coldwell farm. Just a family on the outside of town. Good friends of Carl's and have supported us for a long while"
I blinked in confusion. The way she had been talking before, Shayna was ready to toss me into a firefight. Didn't make much sense that we'd be raiding the property of a family friend.
"So, why are we raiding them if they want to help us?" I asked, looking to make some sort of sense out of the whole plan.
Shayna leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. An odd move; I still hadn't figured out her pattern of avoiding eye contact to the point that was sure of it and by now I was starting to wonder if I was taking too direct a route at trying to understand her actions. The scientist in me wanted solid answers, but it seemed like I was reaching a limit of sorts.
"I guess it's not a raid in the full sense of the word," she finally admitted. "The Coldwell farm is just where rebels from the outside drop off documents from outside of town. They're kind of out in the countryside, so the police don't really bother them and people can slip in and out easily. There was a drop off this morning. Ran late, so we couldn't pick it up last night."
Okay, that was a very peculiar way of testing me. "We should be fine. Information retrieval is a specialty of mine," I said with a grin. Shayna didn't return it. She kept staring at the ceiling. I followed her gaze upwards, but couldn't see anything but the old peeling paint.
She didn't really comment more on what I said and just shook her head in response.
Something wasn't right here.
If Shayna was the skilled warrior that Carl claimed she was, she wouldn't come across as so damn uneven with something so important. I realized that me being there didn't help matters; she was probably used to working with the other Rick and we weren't really that alike.
Granted, when the pressure was on, we had stress too. Lots of it. Training after Nance came home, in particular, was extremely painful. I knew there was something wrong, but I couldn't get in sync enough to figure it out. Nance was an equal part of the problem, since she was avoiding explaining what happened until she was ready.
Maybe...
Shayna wasn't the most forthcoming with information. I hadn't been either, just offering bits and pieces, but at least I felt like I was explaining myself. Meanwhile, she would drop comments about the city that she assumed I knew and then never explained them after confusing me. The subway and the islands, those came to mind; she had mentioned them but never explained why they were so different.
Here was the same problem. The raid was delayed, but no explanation given. There was probably something unusual about the location and the timing, something that made sense to someone from this world but won't from the outside. A farm on the outside of town seemed normal enough. There could be patrols, maybe a car crash that closed town a highway, maybe a lot of things..
Whatever it was, Shayna wasn't about to tell me. With no frame of reference, it felt like we were doomed to repeat this forever.
---
It was a long, dull day until we left the safehouse. Shayna wasn't feeling chatty and I was stuck in my own head. All I could gather was that the bottle would have to wait until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest and that Shayna wasn't sure what she was going to tell her Rick in the letter.
We left the house after sundown; the rebels here enjoyed the cover of darkness too. It was a bit heartwarming, in light of everything else. Something that was still the same in the light of everything else that shouldn't and couldn't be.
The uniform was different. Nothing official by any means. It was just a black knitted sweater - it was cold after dark on the edge of the city, something that Shayna attempted to explain to me even though I gently reminded her that I knew - and some black jeans. The gear was lighter than I expected; Shayna wasn't armed with anything more than her dagger and it seemed that the Rick here didn't use much at all.
Thankfully, I was able to get my belt out of the box of my clothing. It was sturdy, with clips that I could use to hook on random pieces of gear. Naturally, I unhooked most of them, partly because the raid didn't seem that heavy in potential combat and also because Shayna decided to lecture me on over packing. I let her take some pleasure out of that, since it seemed to cheer her up that she could boast about not falling back on equipment.
The only piece that I went out of my way to beg back for was my tranquilizer gun. The rounds in it were limited and it wouldn't seriously hurt anyone, but I didn't have a strong demand for either. It was more for the comfort at it allowed me, even if I didn't admit it openly. My excuse to Shayna was that it was a failsafe I was trained in. She seemed amused, if maybe a tiny bit impressed that I'd think that far appear.
Suited up, I couldn't help but think that I was rushing in unprepared despite that apparently planning. Shayna seemed relaxed enough. I felt like I was walking into battle naked. It was just a meeting, after all. Simple enough. But...
"D'you want some kevlar or something? I mean, just in case."
I looked over my shoulder before I walked outside, only having to remind myself that the owner of the voice wasn't there, but a world away, and any version here would only be a pale shadow of the person I knew at home.
Great. Now I was hearing things.
The homestead was on out towards Markham, a town on the edge of the city. It could be reached by transit during the day, but with the tight after hour security and our conspicuous outfits, it required a car trip out. Of course, the rebels won't drop us directly at the house, just in case we were being followed. We were given a warning again about that from our driver as we got out of the car and the car quietly slipped into the night.
The drop off point was nothing more than an dimly lit intersection with an aging gas station on the corner, shut down for the night, and what appeared to be a family restaurant of some sort from the sun-bleached awning, but the windows were so dusty that I guessed it hadn't been open in some time.
The whole scene reminded me uncomfortably of the last time I had visited my family, although the setting here was a lot more desolate. It dawned on me that Shayna never mentioned them either, but I let that thought pass for the moment.
"Could you explain the whole deal with stalkers?" I asked. I hoped I had worded it correctly; I wanted to know more to the point of frustration while also balancing the unstable relationship I had with my newfound partner. It was just keeping that calm tone in my voice. Not easy when you're looking over your shoulder every few feet.
Shayna appeared to slowly be accepting that this world was foreign to me. She sighed; not out of frustration or annoyance at me, I was sure.
"On the outskirts of town, the law is a bit looser," she started to explain. I followed her as she started blazing a trail out of the crossroads and into a nearby field. It was clear that she didn't want to follow the roads, but there was no pressure to keep moving at a heightened speed. That just left us, the fields, and the clear night sky overhead.
I quirked a small smile. "Not that you follow the law much to begin with."
"True," Shayna replied, a note of pride in her voice. "But it goes several ways. You remember how we didn't really see the police come down on anyone when we went out earlier?"
"Yeah," I said with a nod. "I noticed that, mostly after you commented on the people selling illegal goods."
"It's due to the amount of people around," Shayna continued. "I don't think that awkward peace is going to last forever, but most of the fighting in the city with the supermen is underground. All of the business that they carry out looks like it's under the laws they created. Rather than destroying meeting places and everyone in them, they arrest the people on various charges. The general opinion in the rebellion is that they're luring us into being an ideal society for some uncertain end."
"If that's the general opinion, then what's your own?" I asked, narrowly dodging some cow pies in the field.
Shayna thought for a moment before answering that. "I think it's a control issue. They need to keep us in line or more people will join the rebellion. With everything that's clearly evil taken underground, there's no proof of it rising to the surface. Of course, they'll only keep us alive and in line for as long as we're useful to them."
The last line had a jagged edge to it. "So, as long the humans are providing a working underclass for the supermen, life in the city is going to keep going the way it is now, basically."
"Yeah," Shayna said, nodding slightly but not to distract her. "Kind of like an Utopia in the full sense of the word. What looks like good land when it's no land at all. More so when you get into the rougher communities. Those are the people they barely keep fed."
"That doesn't explain the lawlessness outside of the city, though," I mentioned, recalling her earlier comments about there being several sides to the issues.
"Well, that front only needs to be led up in the city." Shayna stopped for a moment, since we had to climb over the short wood and wire fence dividing up the fields. A single, dark farm house sat on the horizon; we had to have been on the Coldwell property now.
Shayna kept her voice lower as we continued. "As I was saying, outside of the city, there's less people to appease. So, while you might get arrested if you're suspected of being a rebel downtown, out here you'd probably end up in a dark corner and be dealt with on the spot."
I followed suit and spoke quietly. "Although the end result is probably the same, eventually."
"I'd almost prefer it out here, There are tools they can't take on the road," Shayna said on a grim note. She looked over her on shoulder right after. "But the point is that you're more likely to be stalked and captured in a swift manner out here than in town. There are also scavengers and bandits; other humans who would make it a point to take everything you have and who can only get around police surveillance outside of down. Make sense?"
It did and I nodded a reply. The scale of this world was slowly sinking in; Toronto was nothing but a front for the government and everything outside of it was quickly decaying into anarchy. It made sense, I supposed, because the security forces could only be spread so thin. I would have figured that the farmlands would be secured too, since they would be the city's breadbasket.
Unless, the government was aware that they wouldn't have to keep the population alive for much longer. That made Shayna and rebel's attempts even more futile.
We approached the farmhouse from the back. It was a touch rundown, with the outside walls needing a cleaning and a touch of paint, but charming in the way that it still managed to hold up. Aside from the minor little weathered aesthetic details and some overgrown weeds, the upkeep on the place looked solid. It didn't look too different from the homestead in Wisconsin that I sometimes found myself at, although that one we didn't need to sneak up on.
It was then that I started to notice that something was out of place.
Shayna must have sensed it too, picking up her pace as she moved towards the back porch. The back door swung in the breeze, as if someone forgot to pin the lock shut and a strong wind caught the door.
As I got closer, I could make out the truth outlined in the pale moonlight; the lock was completely missing from the door. Where the lock should have been was shattered splinters, although it didn't seem like the door took any more damage than was needed. The heavy metal lock rested some distance away, sitting on the edge of the porch. Clearly, whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.
A glint of metal caught my eye. I jumped back as Shayna readied her blade. I only managed to breathe again when I realized that the glint was her dagger.
"Stay behind me," she hissed in a dark, barely audible voice. It was difficult to argue with, not that I wanted to.
Shayna pushed the door wide open with her foot, taking the lead as we walked into the dark kitchen. The room was deathly still; we were told that the Coldwells would be feeding and looking after us overnight, but the kitchen looked unusually clean if that was the case. There were no dishes or food sitting around. Everything was spotless, like a museum display of a 1960s kitchen.
Satisfied, Shayna rounded the corner into a hallway. I stuck as close as I could without edging on her personal space. The last thing I wanted was to get hit with dagger friendly fire. I trusted Shayna's skill with it, but I had no idea how anyone in here would attack, if they did.
The hallway was too quiet for the warm family that had been described to me. As the two of us neared the staircase, I couldn't help but sense that something was very wrong. It was like it was carried over the air, something that struck me as unusual because try as I might, I often struggled with getting in tune with my surroundings. The electricity here made it hard for even me to ignore.
Still no signs of life, aside from us.
Shayna shot me a fierce look. "I need you to go to the living room and see if the fireplace is intact." I opened my mouth to comment on the bizarreness of the request and the risks of spitting up at a time like this, but she silenced them quickly. "Don't ask. It's more important than you think."
With a skill not quite to what I was used to seeing at home but still impressive, Shayna slipped up the stairs with only the slightest of sounds. That left me alone to deal with the fireplace. Fumbling for a second, I pulled out my gun and stepped into the room.
The large front window combined with the clear night made the living room brighter than I was comfortable with. It was bright enough that I could walk around without stumbling, even thought details were hard to make out.
Like the kitchen, the living room was decidedly dated, not unlike the one I grew up with. The low light gave everything the appearance of being black and white, but I had no doubts that the wood was all stained in a deep chestnut shade and the fabric on the couches was a light, yellowish tan, probably with a tacky print of some sort.
A sudden breeze brushed by, shifting a few strands at the side of my head and causing the ones on the back of my neck to stand up on end. I froze in place, my heart pounding, first instinct to reach for my comm link only to realize that it wasn't here and there was no one to save me.
It was exactly then when something seized the back of sweater, jerking me backwards with a strength that was enough to unbalance me. The power was enough to knock me back onto the couch I noticed just a moment before. I bounced slightly as I landed, only to find myself pinned down a second later.
I could get a good look at my attacker; the light was too dim and he was far too close for comfort or to get a good focus. I reached for my gun. It wasn't there; I had it in hand during the attack and lost a grip on it. It was probably happily sitting in the middle of the floor.
I was, for all purposes, screwed.
"Where's the money?" the man snarled with a harsh whsiper. Blunt and to the point.
I swallowed, hard. I'd been in tight spots before, but never like this. There was no time to react, no planning, no escape. The glint of metal on moonlight grabbed my attention again, this time from the machete that he was carrying in his right hand.
Screwed was an understatement. The only thing I wanted to do was to go home and wake up from this nightmare.
The man didn't seem impressed with me and adjusted his grip on the large knife. "You're going to regret not talking." There was no way, even silence anywhere else that Shayna could even begin to realize that everything downstairs was going horribly wrong. He raised the knife and took a swing.
I clenched my eyes closed, waiting for the dreaded icy contact of metal and skin. The blade swung; I could feel the swish as it passed the side of my head. All I could do was let out a tiny yelp of surprise and predicted pain. A pain that never came.
My attacker had neatly sliced off the top left shoulder of my sweater but left my arm intact for a moment. It became apparent; he was trying to mess with my head right now. The next swing wouldn't miss and there was no way to get away before that.
"Maybe you should switch to decaf."
My first reaction was to tell my Ionian something-of-a-friend to smeg off, before remembering that like Mike, he was an untold distance away. My second reaction was to really start questioning these damn voices in my head.
Although, he did have a point.
I took a deep breath, the only thing I had to calm down. I might not have the best stealth skills in the world either, but there was enough shadow that I might be able to put some space between me and the happy-go-lucky machete wielding maniac.
"It's in the fireplace," I quickly explained, feeling the tremble in my voice all the way down my throat. "There's a fake brick and the money is stashed in there. You'll have to let me get up to get it, but I promise I'll make it worth your time."
Actually, I had no damn clue what was in the fireplace. I knew what was around the fireplace; the tools and shadows would both work in my favor, but he didn't need to know that.
He didn't seem to know how to judge my reaction as well. From what I could make out in the low light, he seemed confused and maybe a touch disappointed. I guess he really did want torture me and I was satisfied enough with denying him that for the moment. If he really did want whatever money he was looking for here, he better let me live.
It took him a moment, but he slowly backed off. Carefully, watching my every move, but quickly enough that I was still in shock and laying on the couch by the time he was standing up behind me.
"Well, go on then," he said, pointing that wicked machete at me. It was scarier from a distance.
I rubbed my shoulder as I stood up and slowly made my way to the fireplace. It was your typical brick hearth, full of ashes from an earlier fire. Nothing special and didn't give me any clue as to what Shayna was looking for in it. I felt around, pretending to look for this mysterious brick full of money, while keeping a careful eye on my attacker. His attention seemed completely focused on me, something that would make things tricker.
So, I did the only think that came to mind at that moment.
"I think I've found it!" I quietly exclaimed, just loud enough for the two of us to hear it.
As I expected, the man rushed over, knife still in hand. I didn't hold any doubts that as soon as he got his prize, that knife would find a new home lodged deep inside my body. I couldn't let that happen. There was no way I would let myself go back in body bag. As soon as the man came up beside me, I tossed a fistful of ash into his face.
The man coughed, trying to rub off the ash with his free hand ; I took the moment to grab the brass fire poker from beside the hearth, grabbing it from the sharp end. At least I had a weapon now. Problem was that he had a much more deadly one and was waving it wildly.
I managed to block one thrust, the sharp ringing and scratching of metal against metal filling the living room. He wasn't applying much force and I quickly push him back and away.
A second thrust; I readied to block it, but my judgment was off. It slipped through and sliced at the outside of my arm. It was enough to cut the shirt, but I hoped and prayed, if only this once, that he didn't put enough force to cut deeper than a nasty graze. In the heat of the moment, I couldn't feel a thing.
The man jumped back, still battling with the ash but aware that he hit me. The friction must had tipped him off. I knew the pain from the wound would eventually catch up with me. This had to end now.
Taking a high swing, I brought the blunt end of poker down on the man's head. It didn't get the result I hoped I would.
The man stumbled forward, letting out an impressive string of curse words. The machete fell to the floor, twanging against the fireplace, but the guy was still conscious. Funny, it always seemed to work in TV shows.
I took another step back, my foot knocking up against small and hard. On instinct, I dropped the poker, reached down and grabbed the mystery object. It only took me a second to realize that it was my missing trank gun. The shape was familiar enough that I recognized it by touch alone.
At that point, I let my training fully take over, pointing and shooting the trank gun before my attacker could come fully back to his senses. The dart hit it's mark, planting itself in his upper arm. This time, he collapsed in a pile at my feet just as he realized what hit him. Still breathing, but so was I.
I stepped back from the scene and grabbed my arm, not thinking about the ash still stuck to my hand. The gun fell from my grasp with a heavy thud.
"Rick?"
I wasn't sure how much time had passed and I knew not to expect anything like genuine worry in that voice, but it did sound welcoming, for what passed for that in this world.
I lifted my head up. "The fireplace is secure. I'm fine..." I said even though I thought completely different. My hand wasn't feeling really damp yet. That was a good sign. Getting use to having a knife pulled on me on a regular basis was going to take a lot longer.
Shayna bounded down the stairs, making no effort to be silent. She stopped as she came across the scene, glaring at the man at my feet.
"Scavengers. Fucking jackals," she growled. That explained a lot; the door, his mannerisms and why he was so demanding for money from a stranger. I chuckled at the comment, against the growing pain in my arm. She shot me a quick look. "We need to leave, now."
"I couldn't agree more," I said, stepping out of her way as she raced to the fireplace. From what I could make out in the darkness, she dug through the ashes and shifted a stone slab out of place, revealing a hollow under the hearth.
I blinked. So, I was right, by some fluke of random luck.
Inside the tiny hollow was a light coloured folder of some sort, stuffed with a neat stack of papers. Now that Shayna was close by, I could get a better look at her expression. It wasn't one of frustration and anger, but stress. Worry. It looked out of place on her face.
Grabbing the folder and holding it close to her body, Shayna stopped before climbing back to her feet again. She reached over and grabbed something off the floor. I didn't particularly look closely and only snapped to attention as she headed for the front door. Back to the original orders, I followed close behind.
The front door opened with surprising ease, like the slightly wind would blow it wide open. Shayna paused for a moment as she held the door ajar. The lock, deadbolt and all, had been sliced neatly in half. Shayna quickly examined the scene, then turned to me and forced the folder at me. I grabbed it with my better arm, no doubt ruining the clear front of the folder.
"I have to go back for something. There's a little wooded patch with a creek near here. Take a left once you leave the porch. I'll catch up." The orders were quick and swift, not leaving me a moment to question them. There was a tone of urgency in them that had been missing before. I didn't want to know what spooked Shayna, so I followed them as best I could, taking mind to pace myself.
The attack didn't leave me too badly hurt, from what I could tell from the walk. My arm stung and would have to be cleaned up and the whole event left the wind knocked out of me, but it was nothing more than that. The wound was probably superficial, since the scavenger wasn't aiming to hit anything. Even though he nicked me, I was lucky. Like Arnie, my main attack plan was always to avoid getting hit at all. Unlike Nance and Mike, who were more bruisers than anything else, I could do down quickly. Another slice or even a deeper one would have done me in.
Come to think of it, I had mentioned that to Shayna. Maybe she was just worried about that. Still, that wasn't the worst I've been hurt. It was fairly standard. I'm usually not one to brag about such things, but I had had my fair share of scrapes. I was more surprised that Shayna didn't bring up the nice scar on my side when I changed my shirt.
The walk over was lonely, as odd as it seemed. It didn't seem right to go through something like that and not have a warm, friendly space to flop in for the next few hours. There wasn't anything like that for miles. Upon reaching the patch, I merely flopped on the ground, placing the folder down beside me. The ground wasn't too much of an annoyance; it had to be near summer, as it was still warm and dried out.
Now what?
There wasn't much to do but wait and worry. Assuming we'd make it through the night, I could drop off the bottle tomorrow. Part of the message was a lie now and we were nearing day three without making any attempt at contacting my family. They had to have been worried sick; Mike and Nance were manning the house and Arnie was coming up this weekend - being the weekend back home, rather than the weekend here - but word traveled fast. They'd be worried sick, unable to pull themselves away from the tracker. The best thing I could do was send off the original letter I put together and cross my fingers that they'd visit the beach at some point.
Something splashing in the water behind me distracted me. Obviously not a superman or a scavenger; I looked over my shoulder, making out Shayna in the moonlight. Her sudden appearance was startling, but at least I could afford myself the chance to get nervous again.
"Didn't hear you come up," I said, watching as she shook her hands off and wiped them on her jeans. The dagger was already carefully put away. The scene was a tad odd, but I figured she was smart enough to wash off the ash after digging around in the fireplace.
"Practice," Shayna explained bluntly. She squatted down beside me. "Let me see your arm."
I held my arm out and Shayna carefully took hold of it. I watched as she gave it a quick look over and quickly talked to herself. The only reason I could think of as to why she'd bother vocalizing her thoughts was to attempt to comfort me in her own odd little way.
"It doesn't look that bad," she said, gently shifting my arm to get a better look at it in the moonlight. I shifted my body accordingly. "It's not really bleeding anymore, although you'll probably want to cut off the arm of this sweater so it doesn't irritate it. There's a lot of soot in there, too."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking when I grabbed it," I mumbled. "I was dazed and it hurt. It didn't dawn on me that I was digging around in soot right before."
"Damn it, this is probably going to get infected. We have drugs..."
"But they aren't here," I finished. I grimaced, taking in the full danger of this world. I'd probably live from that cut, but anything worse than that was pushing our luck. There was no Hank or space-aged medicine. "Well, I knew the risks. It was a bit of a nasty fight and I was looking more to stay alive than to keep my arm clean. I'm pretty sure that guy was gunning for me."
"But you didn't kill him," Shayna said with a curious and confused tone.
"Of course not," I said, wincing a bit. "I knew that I could knock him out quickly enough." I wasn't certain that I could, but I knew that it could be done in theory. With the trank in him, he'd be out for a good few hours. From a distance, it probably looked like I did him in. Something clicked.
"Wait... you..." I trailed off, fighting the urge to pull away from the woman. That explained what it was so important that she washed off in the creek before coming up to me and why she bothered going back to check.
"I had to," Shayna explained and left it that that. She let go of my arm; finally free I quickly shifted over and put some distance between us.
"You didn't have to! I tranked him," I protested. That's why I carried the gun in the first place. I didn't want to kill anyone outright, let alone someone I could avoid killing.
Shayna lunged over, grabbed my sweater collar tightly and yanking me close. "Look, if I didn't, we'd be dead. Do you think he would admit he got bested and let us go on our merry way? How naive are you? It means that he probably didn't feel anything, if you're that damn worried about a scumbag like that. And it still doesn't change that our contacts are dead. There's no magical balance at play here."
I didn't know what to say or how to react. I simply sat in shock for a long moment, taking in this new information. Shayna let go, letting me slump back down. It probably made sense to her that I wasn't really a threat anymore.
"Was it him?" It was the only question that came to mind now. If it was true, I had dodged one massive bullet.
Shayna shook her head. "No. The wounds were too clean for scavengers. Your little boyfriend there came in through the back door. Typical of scavengers, not wanting to be noticed until they're right on top of you. He saw a dark house and decided to let himself in, probably with a crowbar."
"Which is why the back door was the way we found it."
"Yeah. But someone else sliced open the front locks and entered through the front door. They didn't have anything to hide."
"Government officers, police of some kind, probably after whatever was dropped off," I suggested. Shayna nodded with a slight shrug.
"That I'm not sure of," Shayna picked up the folder up off of the ground and opened it. The pages, about a dozen of them at most, were impossible to read without a flashlight and we had none. "That would make sense, but everything is in code. Carl is going to have to look at it to make heads of tails out of what's here and figure out why or even if it was that damn valuable to them. Plus, they could have just found out that the Coldwells were working with us and decided to put an end to it."
"And we still managed to find the documents," I offered. Inane, but it was the most I could add to the conversation. I wasn't sure how the police operated here, aside from the small bits that Shayna had explained. I had a sinking feeling that I was going to find out sooner than later.
"They might not have known where to look. The bedrooms were a mess," Shayna said darkly. "I couldn't tell if it was the struggle or if they were looking for something. Anyway, it doesn't matter, other than they owe us two of their own."
Us. I wasn't sure who that was directed to; if it was just a reference to her and the rebels or if after this, she counted me in her ranks. She let the topic of discussion drop. "We need to find some place I can clean out that wound and at least bandage it until we can get back. The pick up is tomorrow morning."
Which meant we needed some place to stay overnight as well. "What about the restaurant back at the intersection?" I suggested.
Shayna tilted her head. "What about it?"
"Well, it's there, for one, and it doesn't look like anyone's been using it. If we're lucky, the power and water might not be turned off yet. They might be a first aid kit in the kitchen too."
"You have a point," Shayna said. I felt that it was approving, but any empathy she had was numbed over again. "Although, if the kitchen wasn't cleaned out, it's going to smell awful."
"I'd take it over the smell in that farm house," I said, with a shiver. If Shayna asked, I'd blame it on the wind.
At this point, I didn't particularly care where we ended up. I just never wanted to return to the farmhouse again.
This is PART THREE of the fic of DOOM. Long fic is looooong. Long fic is strange. All praise be to long fic!
Balancing the Void
Part Three: Skirting the Edge
Beta:
slwatson. Also a wonderful resource for combat writing! Rating: PG-13, now! For cursing and violence.
Fandom: IP&S NV/IP&S AMU crossover.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Notes: Welcome to part three, which is longest part so far. Also potentially the strangest at the moment. My goal was to finish this on Family Day. I made it! The next part will be much lighter. You know, as light as this can get.
It didn't take long to gather up the supplies I needed from the stands. With Shayna being forthcoming with her aggressive side and haggling down the prices with a few jagged glares and well-timed words, I was able to purchase everything for a fraction of what I expected.
I had $40 in old bills in my wallet; the only ones really notable were the one and two dollar bills, which had been long since removed from circulation and replaced by coins back at home. I placed those aside in case times got extremely dire, as there was no possible way to replace them. The bottling supplies only ended up costing me just under $10, a steal thanks to Shayna, even including a small tin camping pot that I grabbed so I won't ruin any of the rebel's pots and pans.
“I know why you're saving the ones,” Shayna said as I grabbed the plastic bag I was using to carry my new treasures in. “They got rid of those years ago, but the twos?”
I smiled, fighting back the swift jolt that coursed up my spine. The little details hurt just as much as the big ones. I'd live, but I couldn't keep it from stinging. It was also unsettling that Shayna was so observant, but I was growing to accept it. If she wasn't, she'd be dead. For all of the harsh habits she had picked up, like the cigarette she was smoking now, she was still a charming and smart young woman and I'd much prefer to see her alive than otherwise.
“Those eventually went away too,” I explained, trying to get hold of myself again. For the sake of my sanity, I kept my voice down, but the street was so crowed that I doubt anyone would even notice. Shayna had already proven that she wouldn't broadcast the whole universe mix up, but I wasn't that trusting of anyone else.
“Yeah..?” She trailed off before she could finish, looking off to the side and making note of where the road's asphalt made contact with the sidewalk.
I tilted my head. It was a bit of a headache to sort this girl out; I was fairly certain that she was simply trying to not attract attention to myself through direct references. Why she felt this need to protect me in public, going so far as to haggle with the prices that she knew were the usual for this world, was admirable, if not confusing. The one worry that lingered was that as soon as we neared the safe house, this side would disappear.
There was no one to blame for this, unless you wanted to blame the supermen or the government or whoever else was the threat at the moment. She did what she needed to do, in the end. My survival was key to the survival of the version of myself from this universe, meaning that in this great mess, she probably did care for him too despite appearances.
I took a guess at what she was prompting for and reached into my wallet, pulling out a two dollar coin. With any luck, passersby would overlook it for a overly large subway or arcade token. The coin didn't look anything like any coin the people would be familiar with; the centre was a small, golden medallion surrounded by a silver ring. Shayna took it and as if on cue, gave it a long look over and tapped the centre.
“It doesn't fall out?” Shayna raised an eyebrow. She flipped the coin over and frowned at the design of the queen on the back. Given that it was Shayna, I wasn't sure how to read that expression, but it couldn't have meant anything good. Come to think about it, I hadn't heard anything about what happened to the monarchy overseas.
“The rumour was that they used to, back when they first created the coins,” I explained with a chuckle. “The story went that you could freeze a coin and it would shatter into two. Never bothered trying.”
“Huh.” Shayna traced the edge of the coin with her finger. It too was different than coins she'd be used to, a mix of milled and smooth patches. Satisfied, she clenched the coin in her fist. “I think I could break it out. Oh!” She tossed the cigarette butt aside, reached into her pocket and pulled out a ratty two dollar bill. The poor bill was barely holding itself together out of willpower alone.
Carefully, she played the bill in my palm, closing her hand around it. I blinked in shock for a moment; the action was totally unexpected. The cold front that came and went was down again, so far that she was actually willing to give me money.
“It's only fair,” Shayna explained. “I'd really like it if you let me keep the coin.” She kept her hand tightly gripped around mine.
I stammered, not sure what I could say that wouldn't get me in a pile of trouble. “Um... I...” I didn't want to tick her off, but there was no way that I could take money from a rebel who was just fighting to get by every day of her life.
“I can't accept this,” I said, pushing my hand back towards her. The words and actions felt like nothing more than the written program of a machine. I was doing what was coded into me.
“Keep it,” Shayna said, this time with a razor sharp edge to her words. “It's an old bill. They're harder to use as money now and only bring back bad memories.”
With a nod, I swallowed and pocketed the bill. It was impossible to argue with a tone like that. That I finally followed through didn't seem to register with Shayna since she didn't even bother with a nod or a smile in response. It just was and nothing more.
We walked in silence as we headed back to the subway station. From what Shayna said, the rest of the time until the raid would be spent back in the cell again. I didn't run away out in the open, but policy was policy.
I looked over my shoulder at the street. The sun was still high on the horizon lined with skyscrapers, glass and metal against the crisp blue. The crowd below happily mingled, like they didn't realize that as soon as they strayed away from the mall that the standard conflicts would begin renewed again. Shayna still wasn't specific about those on the outside, but it was clear that some sort of class system had gripped the city.
It was home, but it wasn't home.
If Shayna could pick up on my internal struggle, she didn't let it show.“You still haven't told me what you're planning to do with all that,” she said, tossing her hair back in the wind. The breeze had a nasty habit of getting it into her eyes and she grumbled about forgetting her hair tie.
“We are going to send a letter back home,” I explained in no detail whatsoever.
Shayna shook her head. “If I recall correctly, you said that you needed that computer... thing to tell your friends where you were. And if that wasn't the case, why are you still here?”
“Nah, it's a bit more complex than that,” I said, and that was the truth. “The computer is how they're going to pinpoint me in the fabric of time and space. I can't really tell them that, as the computer had to calculate it. Communication between the two is a bit different. That we can do that sending a message in a bottle.”
The first reply I got was a groan. Not too surprising. Shayna rubbed the side of her head, as if my odd behavior was giving her a headache for the first time.
“A message... in a...” She signed. “Don't you know how inane that sounds? And haven't you thought about how you were going to even reach the water in order to toss the bottle in it?”
That thought hadn't occurred to me. I assumed that the waterfront was open; after all, Yonge street was and the two were connected. “It is controlled or locked down?”
“No, it's not locked down. Not by the government at least. But we need to call ahead.” Shayna pushed back her hair as she ducked down into the subway station.
---
We had made it back home safely, to the warm embrace of the closet that I was slowly getting used to if not enjoying. This was something I'd have to be careful of mentioning in later retellings. We had no trouble getting back to the safe house, although I was beginning to wonder when Shayna planned on feeding me. She wasn't especially forth coming with details like that and I didn't recall her mentioning it earlier.
I hadn't even grabbed something while we were out; the excitement over being able to communicate with everyone back home again was too overwhelming. Now that I had the blank sheet of paper in my hands, I couldn't help think about how if I was back home, that I would be flopped out on the couch with a bucket full of snacks and the Weather Channel playing in the background. It was painful enough that it was distracting.
“Excuse me,” I spoke up to Shayna. We still weren't on good enough terms that I could drop the formality.
She looked over at me with a "Yeah?", not seeming at all worn out from the earlier adventure, but not too interested in my plan. To be fair, we hadn't discussed it after she mentioned something about calling ahead. Her sole warning to me was not to keep my hopes up.
"I just noticed that I didn't grab any food while we were out," I said. "I know that I haven't earned my keep yet, but do you think that I could get a payday loan of sorts in the form of a meal?"
Shayna didn't seem to get the joke, something that I was slowly growing accustomed too. There was more truth in there than anything; I had realized that food was a form of payment here and the rebels really couldn't afford to have a dead weight eating through their supplies.
The woman waited a beat and then nodded. "We don't have much. Is a cheese sandwich okay? We might have ham this week if we're lucky." Shayna offered me a curious look before she continued. I wasn't quite sure what it meant nor was I willing to ask. "I know that it's not much, but that's the best fresh food we have. There's lots of military rations kicking around, but we tend to save those since they won't spoil. The fresh stuff tastes better too."
"Anything you can spare is fine," I said, nodding along with Shayna's explanation. "I wouldn't pester you, but I do need to eat something at some point. Rations are fine, if there's not enough food to go around."
Shayna fought back a smirk, not particularly amused but the feeling wasn't completely cruel either. "That's the first time anyone has willing offered to eat those things. Usually things need to get pretty dire before someone reaches for a can opener," she explained.
I coughed. "I've lived on worse. It'll be nostalgic!"
The bits and details of my past that kept slipping through must have confused Shayna, and that confusion surfaced in frustration. There was a bit of a glare there directed at me, but it soon sunk into the slow burn of anger that fueled her.
"I'll find something," she said as she climbed to her feet and left for what I could only imagine was the kitchen. The door closed behind her, but it did just that and only that. I didn't hear the lock latch shut on the outside.
I stared at the back of the door for moment, pushing away a memory that popped back into my head. Evidently, Shayna trusted me enough that she'd leave me alone in an unlocked room. That had to have been worth something.
At the same time, it mean that I could be alone with my thoughts for a few moments. I looked at the paper in my hands again. Maybe the words would flow better now that she had left the room.
Dear
And this was the point where I always stumbled. I wanted to touch on everyone at once, in a way that wasn't too formal or businesslike, and express myself as honestly as possible. Easier said than done. My lack of writing talent was infamous, but I never sat down to figure out why that was. All writing was was communicating thoughts and feelings and if I could manage to grab that, then the rest would come naturally.
The paper still didn't fill up past that one word.
Every time I placed the pen onto the surface, anxiety gripped my gut and shut down any attempt at moving my arm. Furrowing my brows, I knew I had to write something. Their very knowledge of my existence relied on me getting the message across. Hell, that was my self-appointed job years ago, wasn't it? I needed to find that voice again.
Hastily, I scratched out the one word on the page and started anew.
Hey everyone,
I'm safe here, at the moment, I think. I don't know where here is. It's not Rhy'Din. I haven't been able to find someone who call tell me about the time-space position. I can't rely information myself either, other than by bottle.
I'm in some form of Toronto. Year is 1993. I don't believe it's my Toronto. If it is, then I've broken everything and no one will get this letter. I believe the country is in some state of civil war. But I haven't been asked to fight and I'm currently living with the rebels. Things are okay. I'm not hurt or anything, just trying to get by. I might have to work for them soon, not sure what I'd be doing.
I'm trying to get back home but I don't know how. The computer is broken and it won't turn on. Might be no power. My thought is that Bonnie might know why. Maybe battery? I don't know how to test it.
I sat back and reread the letter again. My flare for writing was never particularly good, even I knew that, but I felt it got the point across. There was a key piece of information missing. I added it in, wanting to get over with it before Shayna came back.
Also, please don't try to come for me. I miss you all very much and don't want to lose anyone else. I'll find my way back. I'm good at that. Just make sure the other me doesn't do anything stupid on the estate.
Okay, so that sounded a little cruel. I still wasn't sure what to make of the other Rick. Shayna had mentioned bits and pieces about him on the ride home and he didn't sound like an especially nice person. Not threatening, but at the same time, not really likable. As Nance would put it, a dick.
There really wasn't a reason for him to do something odd. Shayna's comments seemed to drive home the point that she felt he was a pushover and a coward. She opinion was fairly suspect, but there had to have been some truth there.
What an odd world this was.
A solid tapping on the door announced Shayna's return. I lifted my head and called out "Come in!" Shayna didn't waste a moment letting herself back in, although she didn't appear to be in an panic as if she suddenly realized that she forgot about the door. It was all business. She placed a clipped beige plate on the table beside my bed. I looked over, raising my eyebrows in surprise at what was on it.
The menu wasn't a feast by any means. Any food would look good now as well, but I was expecting a small sandwich made of just bread and a light filling and nothing else. Instead, what was there was a nicely plump cheese sandwich, made up with what looked like a little bit of lettuce and tomato and served with a side of sliced apple.
I dug in right away.
“So, the raid is still on, last I checked,” Shayna said, with the only emotion bubbling to the surface being the dark expression on her face. My best guess was this was connected to the raid and not me eating, as it didn't come until after she started informing me. Maybe she thought she had just fed me my last meal.
“You're starting to get worried,” I commented between bites. It was completely based on my own observations, from what I could force together.
Still, she shrugged it off. "Not really. I just figured I'd debrief you before we're tossed out in the field. We're going to the Coldwell farm. Just a family on the outside of town. Good friends of Carl's and have supported us for a long while"
I blinked in confusion. The way she had been talking before, Shayna was ready to toss me into a firefight. Didn't make much sense that we'd be raiding the property of a family friend.
"So, why are we raiding them if they want to help us?" I asked, looking to make some sort of sense out of the whole plan.
Shayna leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. An odd move; I still hadn't figured out her pattern of avoiding eye contact to the point that was sure of it and by now I was starting to wonder if I was taking too direct a route at trying to understand her actions. The scientist in me wanted solid answers, but it seemed like I was reaching a limit of sorts.
"I guess it's not a raid in the full sense of the word," she finally admitted. "The Coldwell farm is just where rebels from the outside drop off documents from outside of town. They're kind of out in the countryside, so the police don't really bother them and people can slip in and out easily. There was a drop off this morning. Ran late, so we couldn't pick it up last night."
Okay, that was a very peculiar way of testing me. "We should be fine. Information retrieval is a specialty of mine," I said with a grin. Shayna didn't return it. She kept staring at the ceiling. I followed her gaze upwards, but couldn't see anything but the old peeling paint.
She didn't really comment more on what I said and just shook her head in response.
Something wasn't right here.
If Shayna was the skilled warrior that Carl claimed she was, she wouldn't come across as so damn uneven with something so important. I realized that me being there didn't help matters; she was probably used to working with the other Rick and we weren't really that alike.
Granted, when the pressure was on, we had stress too. Lots of it. Training after Nance came home, in particular, was extremely painful. I knew there was something wrong, but I couldn't get in sync enough to figure it out. Nance was an equal part of the problem, since she was avoiding explaining what happened until she was ready.
Maybe...
Shayna wasn't the most forthcoming with information. I hadn't been either, just offering bits and pieces, but at least I felt like I was explaining myself. Meanwhile, she would drop comments about the city that she assumed I knew and then never explained them after confusing me. The subway and the islands, those came to mind; she had mentioned them but never explained why they were so different.
Here was the same problem. The raid was delayed, but no explanation given. There was probably something unusual about the location and the timing, something that made sense to someone from this world but won't from the outside. A farm on the outside of town seemed normal enough. There could be patrols, maybe a car crash that closed town a highway, maybe a lot of things..
Whatever it was, Shayna wasn't about to tell me. With no frame of reference, it felt like we were doomed to repeat this forever.
---
It was a long, dull day until we left the safehouse. Shayna wasn't feeling chatty and I was stuck in my own head. All I could gather was that the bottle would have to wait until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest and that Shayna wasn't sure what she was going to tell her Rick in the letter.
We left the house after sundown; the rebels here enjoyed the cover of darkness too. It was a bit heartwarming, in light of everything else. Something that was still the same in the light of everything else that shouldn't and couldn't be.
The uniform was different. Nothing official by any means. It was just a black knitted sweater - it was cold after dark on the edge of the city, something that Shayna attempted to explain to me even though I gently reminded her that I knew - and some black jeans. The gear was lighter than I expected; Shayna wasn't armed with anything more than her dagger and it seemed that the Rick here didn't use much at all.
Thankfully, I was able to get my belt out of the box of my clothing. It was sturdy, with clips that I could use to hook on random pieces of gear. Naturally, I unhooked most of them, partly because the raid didn't seem that heavy in potential combat and also because Shayna decided to lecture me on over packing. I let her take some pleasure out of that, since it seemed to cheer her up that she could boast about not falling back on equipment.
The only piece that I went out of my way to beg back for was my tranquilizer gun. The rounds in it were limited and it wouldn't seriously hurt anyone, but I didn't have a strong demand for either. It was more for the comfort at it allowed me, even if I didn't admit it openly. My excuse to Shayna was that it was a failsafe I was trained in. She seemed amused, if maybe a tiny bit impressed that I'd think that far appear.
Suited up, I couldn't help but think that I was rushing in unprepared despite that apparently planning. Shayna seemed relaxed enough. I felt like I was walking into battle naked. It was just a meeting, after all. Simple enough. But...
"D'you want some kevlar or something? I mean, just in case."
I looked over my shoulder before I walked outside, only having to remind myself that the owner of the voice wasn't there, but a world away, and any version here would only be a pale shadow of the person I knew at home.
Great. Now I was hearing things.
The homestead was on out towards Markham, a town on the edge of the city. It could be reached by transit during the day, but with the tight after hour security and our conspicuous outfits, it required a car trip out. Of course, the rebels won't drop us directly at the house, just in case we were being followed. We were given a warning again about that from our driver as we got out of the car and the car quietly slipped into the night.
The drop off point was nothing more than an dimly lit intersection with an aging gas station on the corner, shut down for the night, and what appeared to be a family restaurant of some sort from the sun-bleached awning, but the windows were so dusty that I guessed it hadn't been open in some time.
The whole scene reminded me uncomfortably of the last time I had visited my family, although the setting here was a lot more desolate. It dawned on me that Shayna never mentioned them either, but I let that thought pass for the moment.
"Could you explain the whole deal with stalkers?" I asked. I hoped I had worded it correctly; I wanted to know more to the point of frustration while also balancing the unstable relationship I had with my newfound partner. It was just keeping that calm tone in my voice. Not easy when you're looking over your shoulder every few feet.
Shayna appeared to slowly be accepting that this world was foreign to me. She sighed; not out of frustration or annoyance at me, I was sure.
"On the outskirts of town, the law is a bit looser," she started to explain. I followed her as she started blazing a trail out of the crossroads and into a nearby field. It was clear that she didn't want to follow the roads, but there was no pressure to keep moving at a heightened speed. That just left us, the fields, and the clear night sky overhead.
I quirked a small smile. "Not that you follow the law much to begin with."
"True," Shayna replied, a note of pride in her voice. "But it goes several ways. You remember how we didn't really see the police come down on anyone when we went out earlier?"
"Yeah," I said with a nod. "I noticed that, mostly after you commented on the people selling illegal goods."
"It's due to the amount of people around," Shayna continued. "I don't think that awkward peace is going to last forever, but most of the fighting in the city with the supermen is underground. All of the business that they carry out looks like it's under the laws they created. Rather than destroying meeting places and everyone in them, they arrest the people on various charges. The general opinion in the rebellion is that they're luring us into being an ideal society for some uncertain end."
"If that's the general opinion, then what's your own?" I asked, narrowly dodging some cow pies in the field.
Shayna thought for a moment before answering that. "I think it's a control issue. They need to keep us in line or more people will join the rebellion. With everything that's clearly evil taken underground, there's no proof of it rising to the surface. Of course, they'll only keep us alive and in line for as long as we're useful to them."
The last line had a jagged edge to it. "So, as long the humans are providing a working underclass for the supermen, life in the city is going to keep going the way it is now, basically."
"Yeah," Shayna said, nodding slightly but not to distract her. "Kind of like an Utopia in the full sense of the word. What looks like good land when it's no land at all. More so when you get into the rougher communities. Those are the people they barely keep fed."
"That doesn't explain the lawlessness outside of the city, though," I mentioned, recalling her earlier comments about there being several sides to the issues.
"Well, that front only needs to be led up in the city." Shayna stopped for a moment, since we had to climb over the short wood and wire fence dividing up the fields. A single, dark farm house sat on the horizon; we had to have been on the Coldwell property now.
Shayna kept her voice lower as we continued. "As I was saying, outside of the city, there's less people to appease. So, while you might get arrested if you're suspected of being a rebel downtown, out here you'd probably end up in a dark corner and be dealt with on the spot."
I followed suit and spoke quietly. "Although the end result is probably the same, eventually."
"I'd almost prefer it out here, There are tools they can't take on the road," Shayna said on a grim note. She looked over her on shoulder right after. "But the point is that you're more likely to be stalked and captured in a swift manner out here than in town. There are also scavengers and bandits; other humans who would make it a point to take everything you have and who can only get around police surveillance outside of down. Make sense?"
It did and I nodded a reply. The scale of this world was slowly sinking in; Toronto was nothing but a front for the government and everything outside of it was quickly decaying into anarchy. It made sense, I supposed, because the security forces could only be spread so thin. I would have figured that the farmlands would be secured too, since they would be the city's breadbasket.
Unless, the government was aware that they wouldn't have to keep the population alive for much longer. That made Shayna and rebel's attempts even more futile.
We approached the farmhouse from the back. It was a touch rundown, with the outside walls needing a cleaning and a touch of paint, but charming in the way that it still managed to hold up. Aside from the minor little weathered aesthetic details and some overgrown weeds, the upkeep on the place looked solid. It didn't look too different from the homestead in Wisconsin that I sometimes found myself at, although that one we didn't need to sneak up on.
It was then that I started to notice that something was out of place.
Shayna must have sensed it too, picking up her pace as she moved towards the back porch. The back door swung in the breeze, as if someone forgot to pin the lock shut and a strong wind caught the door.
As I got closer, I could make out the truth outlined in the pale moonlight; the lock was completely missing from the door. Where the lock should have been was shattered splinters, although it didn't seem like the door took any more damage than was needed. The heavy metal lock rested some distance away, sitting on the edge of the porch. Clearly, whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.
A glint of metal caught my eye. I jumped back as Shayna readied her blade. I only managed to breathe again when I realized that the glint was her dagger.
"Stay behind me," she hissed in a dark, barely audible voice. It was difficult to argue with, not that I wanted to.
Shayna pushed the door wide open with her foot, taking the lead as we walked into the dark kitchen. The room was deathly still; we were told that the Coldwells would be feeding and looking after us overnight, but the kitchen looked unusually clean if that was the case. There were no dishes or food sitting around. Everything was spotless, like a museum display of a 1960s kitchen.
Satisfied, Shayna rounded the corner into a hallway. I stuck as close as I could without edging on her personal space. The last thing I wanted was to get hit with dagger friendly fire. I trusted Shayna's skill with it, but I had no idea how anyone in here would attack, if they did.
The hallway was too quiet for the warm family that had been described to me. As the two of us neared the staircase, I couldn't help but sense that something was very wrong. It was like it was carried over the air, something that struck me as unusual because try as I might, I often struggled with getting in tune with my surroundings. The electricity here made it hard for even me to ignore.
Still no signs of life, aside from us.
Shayna shot me a fierce look. "I need you to go to the living room and see if the fireplace is intact." I opened my mouth to comment on the bizarreness of the request and the risks of spitting up at a time like this, but she silenced them quickly. "Don't ask. It's more important than you think."
With a skill not quite to what I was used to seeing at home but still impressive, Shayna slipped up the stairs with only the slightest of sounds. That left me alone to deal with the fireplace. Fumbling for a second, I pulled out my gun and stepped into the room.
The large front window combined with the clear night made the living room brighter than I was comfortable with. It was bright enough that I could walk around without stumbling, even thought details were hard to make out.
Like the kitchen, the living room was decidedly dated, not unlike the one I grew up with. The low light gave everything the appearance of being black and white, but I had no doubts that the wood was all stained in a deep chestnut shade and the fabric on the couches was a light, yellowish tan, probably with a tacky print of some sort.
A sudden breeze brushed by, shifting a few strands at the side of my head and causing the ones on the back of my neck to stand up on end. I froze in place, my heart pounding, first instinct to reach for my comm link only to realize that it wasn't here and there was no one to save me.
It was exactly then when something seized the back of sweater, jerking me backwards with a strength that was enough to unbalance me. The power was enough to knock me back onto the couch I noticed just a moment before. I bounced slightly as I landed, only to find myself pinned down a second later.
I could get a good look at my attacker; the light was too dim and he was far too close for comfort or to get a good focus. I reached for my gun. It wasn't there; I had it in hand during the attack and lost a grip on it. It was probably happily sitting in the middle of the floor.
I was, for all purposes, screwed.
"Where's the money?" the man snarled with a harsh whsiper. Blunt and to the point.
I swallowed, hard. I'd been in tight spots before, but never like this. There was no time to react, no planning, no escape. The glint of metal on moonlight grabbed my attention again, this time from the machete that he was carrying in his right hand.
Screwed was an understatement. The only thing I wanted to do was to go home and wake up from this nightmare.
The man didn't seem impressed with me and adjusted his grip on the large knife. "You're going to regret not talking." There was no way, even silence anywhere else that Shayna could even begin to realize that everything downstairs was going horribly wrong. He raised the knife and took a swing.
I clenched my eyes closed, waiting for the dreaded icy contact of metal and skin. The blade swung; I could feel the swish as it passed the side of my head. All I could do was let out a tiny yelp of surprise and predicted pain. A pain that never came.
My attacker had neatly sliced off the top left shoulder of my sweater but left my arm intact for a moment. It became apparent; he was trying to mess with my head right now. The next swing wouldn't miss and there was no way to get away before that.
"Maybe you should switch to decaf."
My first reaction was to tell my Ionian something-of-a-friend to smeg off, before remembering that like Mike, he was an untold distance away. My second reaction was to really start questioning these damn voices in my head.
Although, he did have a point.
I took a deep breath, the only thing I had to calm down. I might not have the best stealth skills in the world either, but there was enough shadow that I might be able to put some space between me and the happy-go-lucky machete wielding maniac.
"It's in the fireplace," I quickly explained, feeling the tremble in my voice all the way down my throat. "There's a fake brick and the money is stashed in there. You'll have to let me get up to get it, but I promise I'll make it worth your time."
Actually, I had no damn clue what was in the fireplace. I knew what was around the fireplace; the tools and shadows would both work in my favor, but he didn't need to know that.
He didn't seem to know how to judge my reaction as well. From what I could make out in the low light, he seemed confused and maybe a touch disappointed. I guess he really did want torture me and I was satisfied enough with denying him that for the moment. If he really did want whatever money he was looking for here, he better let me live.
It took him a moment, but he slowly backed off. Carefully, watching my every move, but quickly enough that I was still in shock and laying on the couch by the time he was standing up behind me.
"Well, go on then," he said, pointing that wicked machete at me. It was scarier from a distance.
I rubbed my shoulder as I stood up and slowly made my way to the fireplace. It was your typical brick hearth, full of ashes from an earlier fire. Nothing special and didn't give me any clue as to what Shayna was looking for in it. I felt around, pretending to look for this mysterious brick full of money, while keeping a careful eye on my attacker. His attention seemed completely focused on me, something that would make things tricker.
So, I did the only think that came to mind at that moment.
"I think I've found it!" I quietly exclaimed, just loud enough for the two of us to hear it.
As I expected, the man rushed over, knife still in hand. I didn't hold any doubts that as soon as he got his prize, that knife would find a new home lodged deep inside my body. I couldn't let that happen. There was no way I would let myself go back in body bag. As soon as the man came up beside me, I tossed a fistful of ash into his face.
The man coughed, trying to rub off the ash with his free hand ; I took the moment to grab the brass fire poker from beside the hearth, grabbing it from the sharp end. At least I had a weapon now. Problem was that he had a much more deadly one and was waving it wildly.
I managed to block one thrust, the sharp ringing and scratching of metal against metal filling the living room. He wasn't applying much force and I quickly push him back and away.
A second thrust; I readied to block it, but my judgment was off. It slipped through and sliced at the outside of my arm. It was enough to cut the shirt, but I hoped and prayed, if only this once, that he didn't put enough force to cut deeper than a nasty graze. In the heat of the moment, I couldn't feel a thing.
The man jumped back, still battling with the ash but aware that he hit me. The friction must had tipped him off. I knew the pain from the wound would eventually catch up with me. This had to end now.
Taking a high swing, I brought the blunt end of poker down on the man's head. It didn't get the result I hoped I would.
The man stumbled forward, letting out an impressive string of curse words. The machete fell to the floor, twanging against the fireplace, but the guy was still conscious. Funny, it always seemed to work in TV shows.
I took another step back, my foot knocking up against small and hard. On instinct, I dropped the poker, reached down and grabbed the mystery object. It only took me a second to realize that it was my missing trank gun. The shape was familiar enough that I recognized it by touch alone.
At that point, I let my training fully take over, pointing and shooting the trank gun before my attacker could come fully back to his senses. The dart hit it's mark, planting itself in his upper arm. This time, he collapsed in a pile at my feet just as he realized what hit him. Still breathing, but so was I.
I stepped back from the scene and grabbed my arm, not thinking about the ash still stuck to my hand. The gun fell from my grasp with a heavy thud.
"Rick?"
I wasn't sure how much time had passed and I knew not to expect anything like genuine worry in that voice, but it did sound welcoming, for what passed for that in this world.
I lifted my head up. "The fireplace is secure. I'm fine..." I said even though I thought completely different. My hand wasn't feeling really damp yet. That was a good sign. Getting use to having a knife pulled on me on a regular basis was going to take a lot longer.
Shayna bounded down the stairs, making no effort to be silent. She stopped as she came across the scene, glaring at the man at my feet.
"Scavengers. Fucking jackals," she growled. That explained a lot; the door, his mannerisms and why he was so demanding for money from a stranger. I chuckled at the comment, against the growing pain in my arm. She shot me a quick look. "We need to leave, now."
"I couldn't agree more," I said, stepping out of her way as she raced to the fireplace. From what I could make out in the darkness, she dug through the ashes and shifted a stone slab out of place, revealing a hollow under the hearth.
I blinked. So, I was right, by some fluke of random luck.
Inside the tiny hollow was a light coloured folder of some sort, stuffed with a neat stack of papers. Now that Shayna was close by, I could get a better look at her expression. It wasn't one of frustration and anger, but stress. Worry. It looked out of place on her face.
Grabbing the folder and holding it close to her body, Shayna stopped before climbing back to her feet again. She reached over and grabbed something off the floor. I didn't particularly look closely and only snapped to attention as she headed for the front door. Back to the original orders, I followed close behind.
The front door opened with surprising ease, like the slightly wind would blow it wide open. Shayna paused for a moment as she held the door ajar. The lock, deadbolt and all, had been sliced neatly in half. Shayna quickly examined the scene, then turned to me and forced the folder at me. I grabbed it with my better arm, no doubt ruining the clear front of the folder.
"I have to go back for something. There's a little wooded patch with a creek near here. Take a left once you leave the porch. I'll catch up." The orders were quick and swift, not leaving me a moment to question them. There was a tone of urgency in them that had been missing before. I didn't want to know what spooked Shayna, so I followed them as best I could, taking mind to pace myself.
The attack didn't leave me too badly hurt, from what I could tell from the walk. My arm stung and would have to be cleaned up and the whole event left the wind knocked out of me, but it was nothing more than that. The wound was probably superficial, since the scavenger wasn't aiming to hit anything. Even though he nicked me, I was lucky. Like Arnie, my main attack plan was always to avoid getting hit at all. Unlike Nance and Mike, who were more bruisers than anything else, I could do down quickly. Another slice or even a deeper one would have done me in.
Come to think of it, I had mentioned that to Shayna. Maybe she was just worried about that. Still, that wasn't the worst I've been hurt. It was fairly standard. I'm usually not one to brag about such things, but I had had my fair share of scrapes. I was more surprised that Shayna didn't bring up the nice scar on my side when I changed my shirt.
The walk over was lonely, as odd as it seemed. It didn't seem right to go through something like that and not have a warm, friendly space to flop in for the next few hours. There wasn't anything like that for miles. Upon reaching the patch, I merely flopped on the ground, placing the folder down beside me. The ground wasn't too much of an annoyance; it had to be near summer, as it was still warm and dried out.
Now what?
There wasn't much to do but wait and worry. Assuming we'd make it through the night, I could drop off the bottle tomorrow. Part of the message was a lie now and we were nearing day three without making any attempt at contacting my family. They had to have been worried sick; Mike and Nance were manning the house and Arnie was coming up this weekend - being the weekend back home, rather than the weekend here - but word traveled fast. They'd be worried sick, unable to pull themselves away from the tracker. The best thing I could do was send off the original letter I put together and cross my fingers that they'd visit the beach at some point.
Something splashing in the water behind me distracted me. Obviously not a superman or a scavenger; I looked over my shoulder, making out Shayna in the moonlight. Her sudden appearance was startling, but at least I could afford myself the chance to get nervous again.
"Didn't hear you come up," I said, watching as she shook her hands off and wiped them on her jeans. The dagger was already carefully put away. The scene was a tad odd, but I figured she was smart enough to wash off the ash after digging around in the fireplace.
"Practice," Shayna explained bluntly. She squatted down beside me. "Let me see your arm."
I held my arm out and Shayna carefully took hold of it. I watched as she gave it a quick look over and quickly talked to herself. The only reason I could think of as to why she'd bother vocalizing her thoughts was to attempt to comfort me in her own odd little way.
"It doesn't look that bad," she said, gently shifting my arm to get a better look at it in the moonlight. I shifted my body accordingly. "It's not really bleeding anymore, although you'll probably want to cut off the arm of this sweater so it doesn't irritate it. There's a lot of soot in there, too."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking when I grabbed it," I mumbled. "I was dazed and it hurt. It didn't dawn on me that I was digging around in soot right before."
"Damn it, this is probably going to get infected. We have drugs..."
"But they aren't here," I finished. I grimaced, taking in the full danger of this world. I'd probably live from that cut, but anything worse than that was pushing our luck. There was no Hank or space-aged medicine. "Well, I knew the risks. It was a bit of a nasty fight and I was looking more to stay alive than to keep my arm clean. I'm pretty sure that guy was gunning for me."
"But you didn't kill him," Shayna said with a curious and confused tone.
"Of course not," I said, wincing a bit. "I knew that I could knock him out quickly enough." I wasn't certain that I could, but I knew that it could be done in theory. With the trank in him, he'd be out for a good few hours. From a distance, it probably looked like I did him in. Something clicked.
"Wait... you..." I trailed off, fighting the urge to pull away from the woman. That explained what it was so important that she washed off in the creek before coming up to me and why she bothered going back to check.
"I had to," Shayna explained and left it that that. She let go of my arm; finally free I quickly shifted over and put some distance between us.
"You didn't have to! I tranked him," I protested. That's why I carried the gun in the first place. I didn't want to kill anyone outright, let alone someone I could avoid killing.
Shayna lunged over, grabbed my sweater collar tightly and yanking me close. "Look, if I didn't, we'd be dead. Do you think he would admit he got bested and let us go on our merry way? How naive are you? It means that he probably didn't feel anything, if you're that damn worried about a scumbag like that. And it still doesn't change that our contacts are dead. There's no magical balance at play here."
I didn't know what to say or how to react. I simply sat in shock for a long moment, taking in this new information. Shayna let go, letting me slump back down. It probably made sense to her that I wasn't really a threat anymore.
"Was it him?" It was the only question that came to mind now. If it was true, I had dodged one massive bullet.
Shayna shook her head. "No. The wounds were too clean for scavengers. Your little boyfriend there came in through the back door. Typical of scavengers, not wanting to be noticed until they're right on top of you. He saw a dark house and decided to let himself in, probably with a crowbar."
"Which is why the back door was the way we found it."
"Yeah. But someone else sliced open the front locks and entered through the front door. They didn't have anything to hide."
"Government officers, police of some kind, probably after whatever was dropped off," I suggested. Shayna nodded with a slight shrug.
"That I'm not sure of," Shayna picked up the folder up off of the ground and opened it. The pages, about a dozen of them at most, were impossible to read without a flashlight and we had none. "That would make sense, but everything is in code. Carl is going to have to look at it to make heads of tails out of what's here and figure out why or even if it was that damn valuable to them. Plus, they could have just found out that the Coldwells were working with us and decided to put an end to it."
"And we still managed to find the documents," I offered. Inane, but it was the most I could add to the conversation. I wasn't sure how the police operated here, aside from the small bits that Shayna had explained. I had a sinking feeling that I was going to find out sooner than later.
"They might not have known where to look. The bedrooms were a mess," Shayna said darkly. "I couldn't tell if it was the struggle or if they were looking for something. Anyway, it doesn't matter, other than they owe us two of their own."
Us. I wasn't sure who that was directed to; if it was just a reference to her and the rebels or if after this, she counted me in her ranks. She let the topic of discussion drop. "We need to find some place I can clean out that wound and at least bandage it until we can get back. The pick up is tomorrow morning."
Which meant we needed some place to stay overnight as well. "What about the restaurant back at the intersection?" I suggested.
Shayna tilted her head. "What about it?"
"Well, it's there, for one, and it doesn't look like anyone's been using it. If we're lucky, the power and water might not be turned off yet. They might be a first aid kit in the kitchen too."
"You have a point," Shayna said. I felt that it was approving, but any empathy she had was numbed over again. "Although, if the kitchen wasn't cleaned out, it's going to smell awful."
"I'd take it over the smell in that farm house," I said, with a shiver. If Shayna asked, I'd blame it on the wind.
At this point, I didn't particularly care where we ended up. I just never wanted to return to the farmhouse again.
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no subject
Date: 2009-02-17 08:40 am (UTC)Rick's reaction to Shayna's telling them to split up was telling; you could see his uncertainty about this universe at war with his ShadowKnight training. But the combat was well-handled and even better the second time around.
You already know my thoughts about Shayna killing the scavenger, but they bear repeating -- I'm with Rick on this one. It's more'n a bit disturbing. It's funny, the more I think of it, the more I wonder if she actually COMPREHENDS that she's killing someone, or if she's so numbed herself that she's managed to dehumanize the enemy and herself a bit. In contrast with Scott, who does comprehend exactly what he's doing, but is far more efficient (and in this case honorable) about it. Absent the MU's final endgame, anyway.
Over all, a solid addition to a very interesting tale!
no subject
Date: 2009-02-17 05:48 pm (UTC)Shayna is thoroughly messed in the head here. I knew going in that we'd see a dramatic swing from Shayna talking about her college classes to her killing someone. Your second guess is closer to the truth - she's dehumanized her enemies to an extreme extent. It's connected to the fic you wrote, All Things Human, where Shayna addresses that she doesn't feel fear anymore. I don't think that was the only thing that was shut off. There's still that spark that wants a better world, but it's fully buried right now. Rick puts into motion the changes that eventually end with the Shayna who appears in the fic Light, although it's a long time coming. That AMU!Rick is missing right now just makes the problem worse, as at the moment he's the only connection she has to the human side of her enemies.
I think that AMU!Nance is the key that begins to mellow Shayna out. That's around when Shayna started to recognize the problems within herself - the girl has serious anger management problems. However, Nance is months away at this point.
In the end, it makes Shayna much less of a combatant than Scott or even NV!Nance. She'll become a better person later on in the timeline, but I wanted to drive home that she might be a skilled member of the rebellion, but she's far from perfect. She's a very flawed and very lost girl.
Thanks for the comment!