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nyisles · 5 years

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Magic In The Hamptons

~ part two, be kind ~

part one

Player: Mathew Barzal

Words: around 3.3k

Warnings: language?

Notes: wowowow, part one was so well received that I honestly just pray you folks enjoy. Anywho, she’s here and she’s unedited :-)

Now it was just a game. How long does one wait to text someone back after they disappear for three weeks? You hadn’t thought much of it after week two. The first week you were a little down on yourself, spent a little too much time wondering what exactly was the problem? It was a constant topic of conversation amongst you, your girlfriends, your work friends, and Reese who all seemed to love to talk about your nonexistent love life. They also didn’t quite understand the magnitude of ‘professional hockey player’ who ghosted, it cut a little deeper than your regular ghosting. You felt like maybe the Islander wags’ advice wasn’t even worth it, you should’ve just gone home with him. Maybe he felt rejected, but you never outwardly said no? Right now you wished you had Grace’s number. An SOS text was what you really needed, and she seemed to really be clued in on Mat. This absolutely sucked, he decided after three weeks you were worth the text and it didn’t give your ego a boost at all. Something that Mat didn’t fail to do when you were together at the wedding. You were a big self love, forget about those who don’t want you kinda girl, but God you couldn’t help but want to text him immediately. Your heart sped up and the butterflies in your stomach kicked into overdrive after you saw the text. It wasn’t even a drunk text. It was a casual 3pm text message, which made it hit a little different. “Maybe you could wait like...a week?” Reese said laying back on the couch in your studio apartment scrolling through his phone, not paying you any mind. He was great at getting you into this whole mess, taking you to a wedding you weren’t even invited to. Now he was here and unable to give you any sort of boy advice. At this point in your friendship you should’ve known, but you had no one else who understood the scenario. He was one of your best friends. His legs hanging over the armrest dangling along as you paced back and forth of the apartment, fuzzy socks sliding along the hardwood floor. “You know, I think this whole thing is dumb. Just answer the guy. He texted you for a reason.” The pout on your face said otherwise, you didn’t find this dumb at all. This was a serious matter. “I need more female friends. You are no help. Yesterday you called me a 6 with a personality!” You exclaimed, pushing his legs off the side of the couch making room for yourself to sit down. Throwing yourself onto the couch you feel into a slumped position. “I need someone well versed in hockey boy, you just aren’t cutting it.” Within seconds Reese grabbed your phone off of the coffee table in front of you, unlocking your phone with great ease. It was moments like these where you regretted letting him know all of your passwords. The next moment happened in what felt like slow motion, but as soon as he picked up your phone you knew you were doomed. Reese was always like an older brother figure, someone who could embarrass you in less than a minute. Watching his fingers type away, you attempted to lunge for the phone but it was too late, you never thought he’d follow through with the action, but he did, locking the phone throwing it back at you on the couch. “Six’s with personalities deserve love too.. Or at least a hot hookup.” (Y/N): three weeks and all you got is ‘hey’? You shrieked reading over the text message Reese had sent to Mat in your honor. “Why would you do that? Are you stupid? Is your brain the size of a literal pea?” With that you saw the beginning and end of your short little fling. This was not part of the advice you got from Grace or any of the other girls. In no way would you ever text any male this, except for maybe Reese because he was an absolute moron. Best friend sabotage is what this would be considered. “Reese, I’m going to close my eyes and when I open them I want you to be out of this apartment, and you can only come back after you’ve bought me lots and lots of apology fries.” Eyes closed you heard footsteps, then your front door open, and close. All of it almost distracted you from the small ding that came from your phone with the screen lighting up to show one new text message. It’d hadn’t even been five minutes from ‘your’ original text. Your eyes sprung open, and that funny feeling in your stomach returned. Heart pounding, you picked the cell phone up off your lap letting out a deep sigh. Facial recognition unlocked it within seconds, but it wasn’t really fast enough. In your head you could only imagine the rude things Mat would say about how it was kind of him to even send you a text, or maybe the text would spring back at you because he decided to block your number. Mat Barzal: haha, what r u up to? Mat Barzal: down to chill? You tried not to be instantaneous with your answer and play it a little bit cooler than his double text, which honestly brought a huge grin upon your face. Suddenly you felt as if your apartment was getting warmer, was it the flush brought upon by the texts or were you just getting more and more nervous? The idea of having to pick out a cute outfit and getting out of this old ratty hoodie seemed nearly impossible which added a special level of stress. Counting down from 60 very slowly you decided you would be able to answer his text, enough time had gone by to not seem overly interested. Internally rolling your eyes at yourself for thinking waiting a whole minute was some sort of accomplishment, slowly typing a reply. (Y/N): sure, whats the move? Mat Barzal: finishing up @ the rink, rly craving ice cream if ur cool with that? (Y/N): lol cheat diet already? Sounds perf. Mat Barzal: kk cool, drop me a pin. See u in an hour? After sending Mat your location you liked his message letting him know that worked for you. You felt like you couldn’t really waste time trying to have a conversation through text when you needed to figure out how you were going to go about an ice cream date without flashbacks to any corny and horrible middle school date you had. Just be cool was all you could tell yourself before rummaging through your closet trying not to be the dramatic girl in movies that would say she had nothing to wear with piles and piles of clothes surrounding her. Settling on a pair of your favorite “ass flattering” jeans and a plain white t-shirt. It was only ice cream, you had to remind yourself. There was no reason to do anything more, but you still added a simple necklace and one of those fancy velvet headbands they sell for way too much money after spending a solid 10 minutes scrolling through Sydney Esiason-Martin’s instagram trying to figure out what looked cool. It was almost scary how perfectly exact Mat’s timing was. Right after an hour on the dot you heard a buzz come through to your apartment, letting you know you had a visitor. “I’ll be right down.” you voiced over the intercom, grabbing your keys and bag. It was a five floor walk up to your apartment and you didn’t want to put this boy through any more torture after a practice. You tried not to keep him waiting too long, but you also went at a slower than normal pace giving yourself enough time to breathe. It was just a boy you’d already been out with. How could this be so bad, you tried to remind yourself. He was just a silly boy dancing around shirtless at a wedding. He stood in the entryway of the apartment building looking around at the paintings on the walls, they were cheap and not well done but it gave the appearance that maybe people with money lived here. He was in a blue and orange islanders hockey t-shirt and sweats, his hair was slicked back and damp, clearly from a post practice shower. Since the last time you saw him, he was clean shaven, no little stubble that had scratched your cheeks during sneaky kisses. His hair was also freshly cut, you liked it, but you also found the long hair to be endearing. To be honest you were just so nervous and excited that you couldn’t even tell which hair you liked better, and you didn’t have time to contemplate it as he called for you. “(Y/N).” Mat said catching your eye, he stepped closer to you, bringing you in for a warm hello hug. He smelt like mint mixed with the kind of bar soap you get at hotels, yet at the same time he smelled familiar and homey. “So I was on yelp and there’s this homemade ice cream spot in and I thought maybe we could go and hang for a little.” A smirk slid upon your face maybe a little too soon, “Yelp?” you joked with Mat. Rolling his eyes, he stuck out his hand for you. “Well are we going or not, (Y/N)?” disregarding your subtle dig. Placing your hand in his you followed his lead out of the apartment lobby. Have you ever been on a first date where someone wanted to hold your hand? Maybe at the end of the date, but this was the beginning. You just silently prayed your hand wouldn’t get sweaty in the meanwhile. It was a short drive in Mat’s white cadillac, which you had learned was the butt of many jokes. He let you take the aux cord and play whatever you wanted, which was your current September 2019 playlist. Mat was bopping along to it which gave you little butterflies in your tummy. The way his short hair flopped around and the goofy grin on his face just made your heart melt. This was a boy who in such a quick period of time made you feel like you wanted to be near him 24/7. He had an infectious personality. At one point during the car ride you thought he was singing along to Lizzo, but you didn’t want to call him out. Mat was clearly in his element and so comfortable with you that it all just felt fun and exciting. At a red light, he looked over at you and just smiled. He said nothing, but just moved his hand over to yours. Someone needed to let you know how this boy was driving with one hand, while the other was holding onto your own as his thumb traced back and forth. “Alright, I have two rules for us. First being you need to send me this playlist, and any future playlist you make. Second, don’t let me get anything larger than a medium.” You scrunched up your facing almost saying ‘are you really sure about that’ without any words “And I’m now instituting a third rule… Don’t make that face, it reminds me of my mom.” He said letting out a giant cackle. The one you had originally heard at the wedding. It was so stupid, but you liked hearing it and knowing you were the reason for it. You couldn’t help but laugh along with him. - - - “So I’m thinking two large sugar cones, one for you and one for me. I want cookies and cream, I’m not sure what you plan on having.” You said bumping your hip into Mat as you both stood overlooking the ice cream counter as the teenage girl behind it patiently waited for the official order. “I know you want it and ugh, look.” You said letting out a moan pointing at the barrel of mint chocolate chip. “It’s calling you.” “Shut up, ice cream whisperer.” Mat chuckled bumping you right back, “We’ll get two large sugar cones. She’ll get cookies and cream, I’ll take...hm.. Buttered pecan.” The girl behind the counter just nodded and went to work as you turned to look at him letting out a small laugh. “Buttered pecan? Grandpa is that you?” you said turning up the banter with Mat. If there was something he seemed to appreciate, it was the way you were able to joke around with him. He was a hockey player for God’s sake, he loved to be chirped. “Oh for sure, I’m the hottest grandpa you’ve ever seen. Have you seen my ass in these pants?” Mat said taking his hands and lightly giving his tush a squeeze for dramatic effect, before being cut off by the now very embarrassed girl serving you ice cream. She mumbled the price and before you could even open your purse to grab your wallet Mat had already paid for it. “I’d say you’ll get it next time, but you’re a bad influence, I don’t know if there will be a next time for ice cream.” You just smiled taking a lick of ice cream, finding a table in the back corner trying to give you both a little bit of privacy so you both wouldn’t embarrass each other any longer. It was like those few weeks with no conversation between you two weren’t a thing, everything flowed naturally between you two. From conversations about your job, to what you’d rather be doing than working and him training, to what you both were currently binging on netflix. “The office is just so good. I end up crying because I’m laughing so hard just about every episode.” Mat said finishing off his ice cream. “I need to show you this episode, you have to come to my apartment.” And with that you were whisked away to the Barzal apartment. - - It was surprisingly homey, it was all neutral toned except for bits of a royal blue that would peek out in a throw pillow or picture frame. You couldn’t help but wander the apartment (with Mat trailing), looking at the photos he had hung of his family and friends. “I like this one.” you said pointing to a picture of Mat as a kid, making some sort of silly face with who you presumed was his sister, she was practically his twin, but blonde. “You look the same, haven’t changed a bit. Still as goofy looking.” Mat’s face rolled his eyes once more, rubbing his cheeks with the palms of his hands, then reaching out for your arms holding your wrists gently as his eyes pleaded with you, “Why do you hate me?” he gently shook your arms playfully. A small giggle escaped your lips, “Has your mother ever told you when a girl makes fun of you she likes you?” you said quite boldly, taking a step closer to Mat with his hands still wrapped around your arms. He was so much taller than you, and you hadn’t really noticed until just now when you found yourself looking up at him. His eyes were this piercing green you couldn’t look away from, and you just stood for what felt like forever hoping he would get the hint and kiss you again. It only took him a second before leaning in to place a much gentler kiss than those you shared at the wedding and after party, probably because you were completely sober this time. The soft kisses turned into more passionate ones as he moved the both of you from you standing in the hallway of his apartment to lying on his couch in his living room, him gently on top of you careful not to weigh down his whole body’s weight on yours. Maybe you went on kissing him for ten minutes or hours, you couldn’t tell exactly the time. It was kind of mesmerizing, you were totally lost in this boy, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck that wasn’t as long as you had once noted. His hand slowly tracing up your side, slipping underneath your shirt. God it was only the second date, (Y/N), you tried to tell yourself, but you didn’t pull away, nor did you really try. “Barz? Mat?” was all you heard bringing you two out of your dazed kisses. Pulling your lips away from him as the two of you sat up trying to look as innocent as possible. You didn’t think he had a roommate, but you weren’t quite sure. He really didn’t get that far, and you thought you knew all of his friends, or at least teammates you’d met at the wedding. It was an unfamiliar voice, but a shorter boy with lighter hair walked into the living room with a stupid grin on his face. It would’ve been cute if he hadn’t interrupted. Completely not even noticing you on the couch, he continued to speak, “You’ll never fucking guess who texted me today asking about you...” With that you saw Mat’s face tightened, the happy smiley Mat had disappeared within seconds and you needed to make a mental note of that. Almost as if Mat knew what the boy was going to say. “Tito…” He said distinctly to the boy now standing in front of you two on the couch, it’s like he had seen you with his peripherals but was far too excited to take note of the other human in the room. You couldn’t help, but look down at yourself trying to fix your t-shirt making sure you didn’t look silly… if the boy was to ever take note of the stranger inside Mat's apartment. “No Mat, for real, she said she wanted things to be different, she was thinking of surprising you here.” “Tito” Mat now spoke a little bit louder and firmer than before. It was almost as if it brought his friend from the cloud of happiness that drifted on. Honestly you could tell this was a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear, and it made you a little sick. Another girl? Surprising Mat? Nothing about this sounded promising in the slightest. And it really only got worse for your feelings. “Whitney clearly fucking wants you back. You sat around all summer practically crying to me and now what…you fucking get her back!” “Tito, this is my friend, (Y/N).” Mat said bringing this Tito character out of the clouds and back into Mat’s living room where the three of you were. Tito’s eyes just widened, face getting red. “I-uh, Hello.” He said softly unsure of what more to say. “Mat, this was fun, but uh… I think I’m going to go now.” You said politely standing up, feeling your stomach take a turn. You didn’t even have a ride home. God, it didn’t even matter, you just wanted to leave. Clearly there was some other girl in the picture and it almost disgusted you to know that Mat could act this way with someone when he was clearly interested in some other girl. You reminded yourself once more, boys are disgusting and not to be trusted. “(Y/N), let me give you a ride home.” “No. I’m ok.” You said swiftly showing yourself to the door making sure not to look back at the two boys you had left in the apartment. You honestly weren’t sure how you had gotten to your apartment. It would’ve easily been a twenty minute walk, but you were in such a daze that you sat back on the couch somehow back in your own apartment, surrounded by apology fries from Reese as he tried to coax the story of your date. Maybe you should’ve just seen it coming, it was only the second date and it all felt very silly, you were crushing way too hard. You needed something like this to bring you down to earth. As your thoughts were flying a mile a minute, a ding came from your phone. Your day ending just how it began, with a text from Mat. Mat Barzal: hey.

#WOW THIS TOOK FOREVER AND I DONT EVEN KNOW IF I LIKE IT #mat barzal #mathew barzal #mathew barzal imagine #mat barzal imagine #new york islanders #new york islanders imagine #hockey one shot #hockey oneshot #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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blooblooded · 5 years

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Idiot Rich Guy Does Stuff

Really can tell the exact place where I gave up on this lol but it started out so good. I wish I didn’t get bored and give up so easy. Anyways, this has got everything....West being young and stupid...Vega being responsible...Dana fucking hating West’s guts...Marshall Singh shows up....

West’s biggest thing is that he’s so loving, generous, and protective, but underneath that is anger and selfishness...but he’s great. He’s one of the few people I’m like “well it’s time to spend a paragraph describing a stupid outfit”

The sound of gunfire woke 12 year old West Agapama in the middle of the night.

Given what his family did for a living, this was not terribly unusual. It happened several times a year.

(I can’t write about this violence rn. TLDR Westy wakes up to his entire family getting slaughtered by a Squad of secret police kids who are too feral and bloodthirsty to follow orders correctly. They were only supposed to kill his dad but it gets out of hand. West’s missing sister Iphigenia breaks out of her brainwashing and saves her youngest brother’s life by locking him in a cupboard)

INTERLUDE

The boy grew older and angrier, but he hid that anger beneath a charming, playful shell. He played the role of wealthy idiot well and all of Eden knew of him in that way. And all the while, he learned how to bring down a hammer and how to kill.

WEST TRIES TO ADD RESPONSIBILITY TO HIS LIFE

During his first year of college, West rolled out his most ridiculous pick-up line to date. He tried to tailor the things that he said to his crushes well, since he did not want to appear to be a creep. Usually he got dates easily. He did not keep them for long. He was just too much for people: too excessive or too strange. He put his entire heart into things and could not contain himself. College kids did not want that kind of authenticity in a casual date.

So after the class the two of them took together was over, West approached the girl who he intended to take out for coffee. Other students left and gave him a wide berth. It used to bother him. He kept telling himself that people did not like him because he was so much better than they were, but he knew that it was because he radiated danger like a poison dart frog. Even the way he dressed drove people away. The girl always sat at the front of the classroom and raised her hand to answer every question. She did not hear West walk up behind her, even though he was wearing cowboy boots with metal soles.

“Hey,” he said, about to roll out the line that he knew in his gut would reel her in. “You seem very responsible.”

She turned to blink at him with her tablet held close to her chest. “Thank you?” she said suspiciously. She was broad-shouldered, almost as tall as he was, with a calm, sensible aura. Initially West had been attracted to that calm way that she carried herself, but it didn’t hurt that she was good looking as well. It looked like she had just started growing out her short brown hair. “Do you need something? I have to be on the 12th floor in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m West.” He smiled.

The way that she looked at him told him that she already knew exactly what his name was. “Vega Church.”

“Pretty name.”

“I picked it out it myself. What do you need? I can’t be late to my next class.”

“Can I walk you there?” West felt himself cringe inside. He was being too forthcoming, as usual. He couldn’t stop himself, he never could. Even though he had stopped drinking and stopped using recreational substances, it was like there was too much of him. He was too much. He put himself out there too fast and people didn’t like it; it was the reason why he didn’t have any actual friends.

Vega furrowed her eyebrows, probably weighing the probability that she was going to get murdered. She knew who he was, everyone did. Everyone knew what his family had once been, everyone knew the ruin they had come to. And everyone knew what a ridiculous idiot he was.

Well what could they expect of a 19 year old billionaire with no family to control him or reign him in? He did what he wanted, he lived how he wanted. As a teenager he had been irresponsible and reckless-- still angry. He was still angry, would never stop being angry. That anger manifested itself in the loose way he lived his life. He wasted his money and poisoned his body and became a well known laughingstock. He hired goons to help him commit petty crimes to achieve notoriety, but that notoriety just made people think he was a flamboyant wastrel.

If he had it his way, he would just party and kill and wreak havoc until he died. But every night when he closed his eyes he dreamed of his slaughtered family. Every night he went to sleep in his big, empty house and dreamed of the blood that had been spilled inside of it. And every day when his mind became blank, the terrible knowledge of what had happened to his sister and so many children like her did not let him rest. Iphigenia, in her last words to him, had said that the real leader of the colony was using children to maintain social control, and the guilt of knowing that was too much for him to deal with. The things that were happening to people in Eden were unacceptable but he was too immature and wild to do anything about it.

Well, he tried to do things about it. He tried poorly, through the only way he knew how: violence. West had killed 3 men already; all criminals with whispered ties to the central government. After paying off informants to find them, West had dragged them one by one to one of his family warehouses to try and make them talk. Who was truly in charge of Eden? Why were secret police utilized when there were already so many cops who operated against the good of the people? Why had his family been killed?

He got no answers. West remembered the heft of his hammer in his hand as he brought it down. The act didn’t bother him as much as the memory of how one of the men had laughed at him.

He had to become more serious. It was one of the reasons he felt attracted to Vega’s responsible nature. He needed someone like that in his life to temper him so that he could actually do something.

“Look,” Vega said after a lengthy pause. When West looked closely at her face, something glimmered across it that made him dizzy. A sort of haze. “What do you want from me?”

West shook his head to clear the dizziness. Perhaps it was from standing under the classroom’s bright lights. Unlike the rest of Eden, the Education District’s lights did not mimic sunlight and could cause headaches. He was not a fan of school but was attending business classes in order to further his goals. “To get to know you.”

“Why?”

His smile never faltered. “Suspicious, much? Why does anyone want to get to know anyone? Or talk to anyone? You’re cute and I like the way you talk in class, I think it’s insightful. Haven’t you ever been on a date?”

“Sure I have,” she answered. She placed her tablet into a messenger bag on her shoulder. While West wore a pink crop-top and capris, she wore a white button up and knee-length black skirt. She didn’t smile at him, not even a little, but her eyes were kind. “But I have this policy of only dating people whose lengthy illegal exploits aren’t published and gossipped about in the tabloids, since I’m on the Criminal Justice track and have goals I want to accomplish. I’ll be Commissioner one day if I play my cards right. It would be stupid of me to associate myself with somebody like you.”

People who had the last name ‘Church’ did not become Commissioners. People who had the last name ‘Church’ never did much of anything at all. West noticed the scuff marks on Vega’s sensible second hand shoes.

“Harsh,” said West.

“I guess,” said Vega, tucking the short curls of her hair back behind her ears. It was an earnest motion. “I appreciate the offer though. You’re sweeter than they make you out to be online.” She straightened her bag, turned, and walked out away with careful little steps. When she walked, a modicum of shyness revealed itself.

After a moment’s deliberation over his own creepiness levels, West hurried after her so that he could hold the classroom door open for her. The corners of Vega’s mouth twitched slightly like she was trying not to laugh.

“Don’t worry,” said West, as he shut the door. “I’m not going to stalk you to your next class like some kind of murderer. You called me sweet-- what was I supposed to do, not be a gentleman and get the door for you? Can’t let you say something nice about me without doing something you can remember me by when you’re the Commissioner one day.” He meant this as a flirtatious joke but it came across sincerely. He gulped.

Despite everything, he was still only 19 years old and did not yet know how to balance all the warring parts of himself. He had been alone for 7 years. That does something to a person.

Vega paused. The glimmer passed over her face once again-- what was that? She could be a person with Abilities, the exact kind of person West was on the look-out for, but he had no way of knowing what traits to look for. They could not be all the same, could they? He knew nothing about the matter but knew he had to know everything if he was going to make Eden a better place.

Here was another person who had been alone all her life. Another person whose lofty goals would never be achieved. Against all logic, West actually wanted her to achieve those goals. His initial physical attraction towards her faded, only to be replaced by...what was it? Did he want to be her friend?

“You said that like you believed it,” said Vega, who would be late to her next class if she did not get a move on, but still hesitated. She tucked her hair behind her ears again, which must have been a self-conscious tic, despite her earnesty. “You can’t just say things. You don’t know me.”

“If you say things out loud, you manifest them into existence.” It was a goofy thing to say. West felt himself cringing inside because he still wanted her to like him. “I’m a good judge of character. You’ll get what you want one day, I’m positive.”

She gave him a sensible, slightly bewildered smile. And because she was so sensible, she did not waste any more of her precious time talking to him. She left so that she would not be late.

But the next class period that they had together, Vega abandoned her usual seat and chose to sit near the back, next to West. This choice-- which appeared to be a huge downgrade on her end-- marked a clear point in West’s life as it began to change for the better.

Because for whatever reason, people began to take him more seriously.

MEET THE DEMONIC PRESENCES THAT CREATE AYDA

West returned to his large family home one day after school. He was happy. He was 20 years old, doing well in college, making money hand over fist shipping contraband items to the nearby Colony of Serenity, and had stopped for frozen yogurt after class. It was strawberry yogurt. Life was very good to him.

He messaged Vega when he got off the metro. She was living with him now, and worried about him often. The two of them weren’t dating or anything, although many people assumed that. He could see why: their relationship was strange. He gave her tens of thousands of credits, payed for her classes, her gender affirmation procedures, everything. He thought of her like she was a family member and all he wanted was to know that she was on her way to success.

Of course, she could get kind of annoying with her anxiety over what he did or did not do. After all, she was a cop who was connected to a guy who was a smuggler attempting to resurrect his family’s organized crime empire. People believed that he had her in his pockets, which...was sort of true. But Vega was not loyal to him because of his money. She was loyal to him because she loved him just as much as he loved her.

West ate his yogurt and walked to his front door, playing with his comm and not realizing that anything was out of sorts. His home was on the Surface Level, of course, and sunlight filtered down on him through the Dome. The Agapama family house was built in the same blocky Brutalist fashion that every structure was built in and had 12 bedrooms. It was very, very lonely. West tried not to think of that. He had to have constant distractions or else he would grow depressed and angry.

He was dressed in black jeans, an orange tank top, and an oversized green sweater that opened at the front and hung down to his knees. His shoes were just normal sneakers, since he had to do a lot of walking that day. Purple polish was on his nails, which didn’t really go with his outfit, but couldn’t be helped since he had been in too much of a hurry that morning to repaint them. Nowadays, West could dress outrageously as he wanted and still got respect from his peers. Word was getting out about what he could do to a person, what he had done to people.

Only last week, one of the guys he employed had told him that some low level Prospas thug had broken into one of his warehouses to terrorize the employees. To send a message. Well, West had sent that message right back. He was not afraid to kill.

He contemplated this as he let himself into his house. He was not paying attention to his surroundings, because he felt safe in his own home.

Which, given what had happened there during his childhood, was not exactly wise of him.

West walked into the kitchen with the intention of putting his unfinished frozen yogurt into the refrigerator for later, and froze.

The intruders also froze. There were two of them, a girl and a boy, West’s age or maybe a little younger. Big, and muscled like they had been training for a long time. Both of them had their heads shaved, and they wore the same grey sweatpants and white tank tops. The boy’s tank top was covered in blood. Their expressions were fierce, maybe a little cruel, and frightened in the way that hunted animals are frightened.

Before West could move, or even think, sharp pain blossomed behind his eyes. He found himself forced down onto his knees, his own body betraying him. The intruders walked over to stand above him with the careful precision of people who have been trained to move a certain way. They were totally silent and made a great deal of eye contact with one another, as if they were communicating without speaking.

There was nothing in West’s mind. He did not know how much time passed. All he could do was stare at the white linoleum floor.

“OK, no,” the girl finally said, and West’s trance ended. “Talk. Out loud. We’re doing this right.” She squatted down so that she could look at West’s face. Her olive skin still had some acne around the jawline and her eyes were brown and as long-lashed as a cow’s. Peculiar circular scars were on both sides of her head, near the hairline. “Are you--” But then she noticed West’s melting frozen yogurt and she went green. She rushed to the sink and began throwing up.

If anything, that just freaked West out more. He still could not move his own muscles. He tried to speak and could not do that either. These people were obviously controlling him with their minds, and he could only assume they were there to kill him. But they were in normal clothes, not in uniforms. When the secret police broke into his house all those years ago, Iphigenia had been in all black and wearing a helmet. And throwing up did not seem like the behavior of a trained killer on a mission. His pulse pounded as he tried to think.

The boy put his hand on the girl’s back as she was vomiting and she swatted him away. He was tall and slightly chunky, with a strong nose and thick eyebrows. “You’re West,” he said, clearly not looking for an answer because West could still not speak. His own voice was raspy like he hadn’t used it much for a while, like he didn’t talk much. “Don’t be scared.”

That was not a comforting thing to hear.

“I’m Argo,” said the boy awkwardly. This was not a person skilled in normal human interaction. “My girlfriend is Sweetie. We’re not gonna hurt you. Probably.”

The girl, Sweetie, straightened up and splashed her round face with water. “This is getting worse.”

“It’s the same.”

“It’s worse!” She must have done something, because Argo shuddered and cringed like he was in pain.

West couldn’t even gulp. Not only were there secret police agents in his house, but there were unhinged secret police agents in his house. He was going to die, not because of some organized government hit on him, but because one of these people was going to do something crazy.

This was so close to what he had wanted for so long: real answers about what was going on in Eden. Real answers about the person in charge, real answers about the secret police. If only he did not get killed, he could find out everything.

They had to be psychics, capable of intercepting his thoughts, because both intruders suddenly gave him a strange look. “We’re gonna let you up,” said Sweetie, warily. She held her arms over her stomach. “Don’t scream or nothing. If you scream I’ll hurt you bad.”

And then he could move again, but he chose not to get up off his knees. How to gain their trust and make sure they didn’t run away or kill him before he found out everything he wanted to know? He began with a joke: “Argo and Sweetie aren’t real names.” He said it with a cheeky smile that he had to force his lips to make, to make sure they understood he was being funny.

Argo gave a short, bark-like laugh. “West isn’t a real name either, it’s a direction, rich-guy.”

“Our real names are 9045A and 3502A,” said Sweetie.

Those numbers weren’t consecutive, but could pertain to rank. Numbers, not names. Names that were not names. West filed that away for later. His knees hurt from kneeling. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Oh, I already know all about you,” Sweetie told him. “Little you. I peeled the thought of you out of a girl’s memory when I was just 12 and I kept it safe. I thought, oh, so much money, so much love, what’s better than that? Those memories didn’t have anything bad in them. No pain, no violence. No suffering. Only love. You were the first one I thought of when I tried to come up with somewhere safe.”

They were psychics and the girl, at least, must have known Iphigenia. West should have focused on this scrap of information about his sister but he couldn’t. 12? There were 12 year olds doing god knew what for the government? Killing people? Hurting people? He didn’t even feel angry, he felt tired and sad. He stared at these intruders.

‘Somewhere safe’, she had said. West held that inside of him.

“Turn that frown upside down,” said Argo in a sing-song tone. He itched his nose.

“We needed somewhere to hide,” said Sweetie.

West slowly got to his feet, not wanting to startle them. He didn’t need to worry; they weren’t afraid of him. “You can hide here,” he said, thinking all the information he could get out of them. Also thinking of how the word ‘hide’ implies that someone out there is searching. He shook that fear away, it did not serve him yet. “For as long as you need. But why are you hiding?” He knew it was a stupid question the moment he asked it. When neither of them said anything and instead, appeared to be speaking to each other in whatever telepathic language they shared, he knew that it was a hurtful, stupid question. “Sorry. You don’t need to tell me.”

Even now, he was too much. The two ways that he wanted to behave were too different. On the one hand, he wanted answers, he wanted to ask the questions that he needed to ask so that he could move forward and formulate plans. Formulate revenge. On the other hand, which was a much more human hand, West Agapama’s defining traits were his love and empathy. He wanted to give, not to take.

He walked over to the kitchen table. It was old and huge, once big enough to fit him, his parents, and his 6 brothers and sisters. Now there were only two chairs. He sat down to give the intruders some room to...talk.

With this time he considered the safety of his home. He was positive there were no cameras he did not know about, just like he was positive every window was bulletproof and that there was no way in except through the doors. As of late, Gena Voorst had started considering him a threat, and he had begun to make sure that none of her cybernetically enhanced goons could get in and hurt him or Vega. He had been so sure everything was safe, but it was not safe enough if these two could waltz right in.

How suspicious would it be to start building up the safety measures? He could cover it up by making some elaborate renovations story. Just young Westy being flashy and ridiculous again, nothing to take notice of…

The psychics were talking totally telepathically and he watched them. The blood on Argo’s tank top did not belong to him or to Sweetie, so some act of violence had precluded them finding him. Both of them had black rags tied around their forearms like bandages.

Everyone knew a little bit about how some people were born different. Born with Abilities. But people like that really never showed up in public, for whatever reason. It wasn’t that they were persecuted or anything, they simply never showed up. West knew more than most, and he felt like he didn’t know anything at all. After knowing Vega for months, she finally told him about how she was a psychic, but only barely. That was the glimmer that was always on her, the thing that made it hard to look at her sometimes, especially when she was stressed. She didn’t know how to control it, but she was only 20. West wanted her to learn.

One had to admit that it would be useful to employ the talents of people with Abilities. As of yet, West’s men were all skilled in the aarts of violence and espionage. He was working on building their loyalty with his money and charm; how else was he to compete with the Voorsts and the Prospases? But imagine what he could accomplish with a dozen people who could paralyze with a thought or summon electricity at a glance.

Imagine even two.

That thought was bad. Dangerous. And it made him bad as well to have even produced it.

At length, Sweetie turned her big brown eyes upon him. Her name must have been given in irony, because she radiated childish cruelty. “It doesn’t really matter what you know. You won’t remember it anyway when we’re done with you.”

Again, West wondered if they were going to kill him and hide out in his house. For Vega’s sake, he hoped not.

The girl continued. “I started feeling weird a while ago. I was sick all the time and I couldn’t stop sleeping. We couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me until I missed my period. And that’s no good at all where we come from. Everyone turns a blind eye if you’re just fucking, ‘specially if you’re A class, but getting pregnant? I was gonna get Retired for sure, no matter how good I am.”

Of course, a psychic being pregnant brought up the kind of metaphysical questions about conception that people always argue about. Luckily West did not care about such things. Nowadays people were even designing children for exorbitant amounts of money and growing them in tubes. They called them ‘Artificials’, which was a bit derogatory. The first ones began to be, well, created about 10 years ago.

He did not know what A-Class meant, nor what getting Retired entailed, but he nodded like he understood.

“Zap figured it out this morning,” Argo said, and he looked down at the blood on his shirt. “So I killed him in our own room. And I killed Frisky too, while she was still asleep. We cut out our chips and busted the fuck out of there. Sweetie knew about you from when she was working on Bounder, but that was before I was around. She thinks we’ll be safe here if we’re careful.” He did not seem to believe this, judging from the way he kept looking over at the windows.

Sweetie had a strange look on her face. “But before. Before that. We talked when I first figured it out. Like wouldn’t it be nice to have a baby together? I used to dream about being normal. We promised each other that we would protect it or we would die. I don’t know. I think I already love it.”

Loyal words from creatures that seemed devoid of human normalcy.

“No one can get in here, if I turn on my security system,” West lied, wanting to keep them talking. Bounder must have been his sister’s name there. Why did they take away their names? Stripping kidnapped children of their identities? What was their purpose?

Argo snorted derisively. He took off his blood covered tank top and tossed it in the sink. His bare chest had a number of old scars and it looked like he had been shot at one point.

“I have plenty of room here,” West said lamely. “I want to help you as much as I can.”

They found that hysterical and began to laugh at him. Their laughter was also cruel and hearing it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It did not take too much intuition to figure out that these two had hurt a lot of people, and enjoyed doing it. All of his instincts urged him to stand up and do everything it took to get out of his own kitchen. But his logic and emotions kept him from doing so.

Even if something bad happened to him, he could endure it. This lead had fallen into his lap by chance and he could not just abandon it because he was scared. Usually West was not lucky. He was not sure if this was luck, but it was something. It was more than he once had.

Sweetie stopped laughing at him. She put her hands on her hips in a mocking caricature of the way one scolds a child. “You are just too cute. You think you have a choice.”

Now the instinct kicked in. West moved quickly, standing up so fast that his chair slid back.

And then his mind went completely blank.

INTERLUDE II

The next couple of months were only a fuzzy blur, but West knew that he had a good time. He genuinely believed that he had married Argo and Sweetie. The control that they had over his mind was overwhelming, but he had never been so happy in his life. They did not allow him to experience fear or anger or sadness; he existed in a state of joyful, loving chaos with the two of them.

And together, they formulated a way to eliminate the existence of the secret police.

I CAME HERE TO HAVE A GOOD TIME AND HONESTLY I FEEL SO ATTACKED RN.

Up until that point, West had not known how bad things really were.

Up until that point, he had not known the extent of the brutality these people were capable of. He was aware of it, in theory. But he had not experienced it and for months his mind had been so clouded over that he had been incapable of realizing the kind of danger he was really in. The kind of danger that all of Eden was really in.

They were dealing with the kind of people who could tear someone’s body apart with their mind. What were psychics compared to that? Nothing. There was nothing so terrifying as an Elite member of the secret police.

He, Vega, and the boy who had narrowly escaped being disemboweled huddled in one of the Agapama safehouses, waiting for news that it was safe to come out. There were safe houses all over Eden; hidey holes of all sorts. This one was impossible to find. It was build in between two city Levels, nestled inside the very structure of the Colony. It was little more than a metal hatch, but it was totally secure. If anywhere was safe, it was.

He did not feel safe. He did not know what was going on and it made him feel helpless and angry.

The boy, Percy, was drenched in blood. He was shaking and his eyes were so wide that the whites showed all the way around. He sat with his knees drawn up to his skinny chest in a corner, as far away from West and Vega as possible. When Hax had dragged him out from beneath the bed he was hiding under, she had used her Ability to force him to urinate on himself, so he smelled. It was hard to see how he would recover from what had happened to him, despite being unharmed.

West wondered if this made him more or less likely to work with him. He needed a technopath desperately if he was ever going to start getting to kids who had Abilities before the government did. He still did not know who was really in charge of Eden because Argo and Sweetie did not know, but he was on the right track. He just needed this kid.

He glanced over at Vega. She was in her uniform and looked seethingly angry or maybe scared, which was unlike her. It was likely that she was thinking about Percy’s murdered roommates, the dying secret police agent who had been Hax’s partner, and her own helplessness. When she caught him looking at her, she shook her head curtly. The glimmer passed over her and for a second, West could not see her.

It was not a useful Ability. He understood why she had not been snatched up as a child.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her quietly, because he could not ever shut up, not even if he wanted to. He could never just shut his fucking mouth and be quiet.

Vega’s teeth were clenched and chattering. She glared at him. “This is all your fault,” she hissed. “Do you know I haven’t been able to get through to you for months? You’ve been completely unlike yourself. This is the first time since those two showed up that your eyes aren’t completely glazed over and of course it’s when we’re about to die in a hole.”

“We aren’t going to die in a hole.”

“You’re right. It’s a tomb.”

She was not one for being dramatic, so she must have been really scared. But West understood. He was scared too, and not just because of what he had seen that night. He was scared because he could only vaguely remember what he had been up to.

He had paid one of the geneticists to create an Artificial daughter for him. He knew that. He knew that she was growing inside a vat right now, just like he knew baby Ayda was growing inside of her mother.

That made his heart skip a beat. The blood pounded in his head. At least he hoped that baby Ayda was still OK; she only had a month until she was born. He had seen Sweetie’s face crumple up in pain when she had confronted Hax. Surely even that girl wouldn’t harm a pregnant mother.

But he knew that wasn’t true and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. The girl he had seen wreaking havoc inside of Percy’s dormitory was exactly the kind of person to kill an 8-month old fetus. She had made Percy’s room-mate’s organs explode inside of him and had killed her own injured partner as he crawled toward her crying and begging for help. And all the while, the look on Hax’s round, pretty face had been one of complete serenity.

But when Hax saw Sweetie and Argo, that serenity had vanished. Her face turned red and a vein pulsed in her forehead. She was frightened of them. ‘Torturers’, she had called them. It disturbed West. Could they be worse than her? Impossible.

He didn’t really know them, though.

“I’m going to die because of you,” said Percy, his tone flat as if he could not believe it. He was only 17. He stared directly ahead and was not blinking as much as he should have been. The blood on his face and hair had dried and started to flake. “You’ve killed me.”

“We saved you,” West told him. He did not want to explain this again, to someone who did not appreciate him. Percy was a deeply unpleasant person to speak to, despite his value. “We went back for you, do you know where you’d be right now if we hadn’t? You’d be in some dark little room about to have every thought blasted out of your head so that the city could use you as a dog. You should be thanking me. You should be happy you’re coming home with me, where you’ll be safe.”

“Shut up, West,” said Vega.

His feelings were a little hurt. She had never told him to shut up before.

Percy finally looked at West. He did not look angry. Not yet. He couldn’t, not with all his shivering and shaking. The way he was holding himself for comfort was sad to see, and West was reminded that Percy was another Church. Another person who did not have that foundation of love built into him from day one from family.

“That girl is going to find me,” he said.

“No she isn’t. We’re safe.” West did not believe this for a minute, but he liked the sound of his own voice. It was comforting. He ran his hands over his hair, which he had recently bleached and then dyed turquoise. That act of vanity had seemed so important to him less than 24 hours ago. “I’m here to protect you, anyways.”

Percy seemed to be looking right through West. He looked very young, too young to have gone through what had just happened to him. His blood-covered and soiled pajamas were too big for him. But it didn’t matter. He was needed so that West could make sure it didn’t happen to anybody else.

As the three of them hid in that chilly little metal cavern, this was nothing more than a far off dream.

After another hour, there was a knock at the hatch above them. Everyone flinched. Percy covered his face with his hands. West stood up so that he could look through the tiny glass window in the center of it, then sighed in relief. He opened the hatch so that his comrades could slide down inside.

With five people in the hole, there was definitely no room. West found himself smashed up against the wall so that he didn’t touch anyone who was mad at him. Both he and Vega were taller and broader than most people in Eden. Argo was large as well, with his muscular frame. Sweetie’s huge belly took up even more space. Immediately the hiding place smelled more strongly of sweat.

“Hello friends,” Sweetie said, panting a little. “Everything is fine, no need to thank us.” The small circular scars at the sides of her head were flushed red. Who knows what she had been up to, when she should have been resting. West could not help himself because he was so worried; he reached out and put a hand on her stomach to try and feel Ayda moving. She smacked his hand away with an annoyed look before he could feel anything.

Percy shivered harder and his breath came fast.

“What do you mean, ‘everything is fine’?” Vega demanded. Her teeth had stopped chattering but her face was still shiny with sweat, betraying her fear. In her police uniform, she should have looked fierce. But after seeing Hax in her terrible black uniform, Vega comparatively could have been a girl playing dress up. Her body language was tense, while Sweetie and Argo’s was languid. Still, she questioned them. “We’ve been down here for 5 hours, what have you been doing? Is it safe for us to go home or is that girl going to find us?”

Argo barked his mean, short laugh, rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. He talked less and less these days, always preferring to use telepathy instead. Psychics were strange creatures, that was one thing West could pick out of his hazy memories of the last few months. Out of the two of them, Argo was the touchier one. He scooched himself closer to West, despite the ramped quarters, and put a hand on his thigh and then squeezed it. Instantly, most of West’s fear floated away to be replaced by a warm sensation of love and security.

He knew they were doing things to him. Especially now. Altering his thoughts, altering his feelings. He was still himself and he was still able to think clearly but...but something. Was it really so bad to be loved? Was it really so bad to have a family?

“Don’t ignore me, I’m not joking around with you,” said Vega, using her cop voice. That prompted another laugh and the blood rose to her cheeks. She still had her taser on her belt, but if she tried to pull it she would be paralyzed and brain dead before her finger pulled the trigger. “Tell me what’s going on right now. I saw that girl kill two people, and she had killed a third. I saw what she did to Percy and I saw what she did to you. She was shouting that she would find us, so I need to hear you tell me that we’re going to be OK.”

“You’re OK, stupid,” said Sweetie. She continued to pant. The pregnancy was hard on her. “We’ve been creeping around up there for hours, intercepting thoughts. You don’t need to worry about Hax at all, you don’t know her like we do. Yeah she’s unhinged and bloodthirsty, but she’s a coward too. We used to play with her all the time, she’s very well trained. She’d never act without orders, and after the monumental embarrassing fuck up tonight was, she’s not going to be assigned new orders-- and and and, they’ll likely decide to drop Mr. Numbers here’s file.”

“Play with her?” Percy said shrilly and without warning. Beneath the blood, his tan skin had turned white. “What do you mean you played with her?”

“Hurt her. We hurt people when they are bad.” The admission was casual and lacked shame. Neither her nor Argo were capable of that emotion. She rested her palms on her huge belly, paused as she felt for something, and then smiled. Whatever she felt made her breathing regulate. “Would it make you feel better about what you saw if I told you some of the things we’ve done to her? Hax was bad all the time so we saw her a lot. Sometimes when people hurt others, you gotta hurt them even worse so that they learn. She’s a screamer.”

Vega closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall when she heard that, as if everything she had suspected had just been confirmed. It was time for them all to crawl up out of the hole and go home, but Vega suddenly looked sick and tired instead of scared. Percy continued to shiver and hug himself for comfort.

Influenced as he was, West was unable to process that the people he loved were monsters. He was more lucid than he had been the past few months, simply because their control over him had lapsed due to the stress they were under. But even if he was not being influenced, it would be difficult for him to reconcile this knowledge with the things he knew about his partners. He knew that they had escaped a terrible place because they were tired of being mistreated. He knew that they loved each other and they loved him. He knew that they were willing to kill and die for Ayda, and when the as of yet unnamed Artificial baby came along, they’d do the same for her. Those traits meant that they could not be completely bad, could they?

And he felt safe and happy when they were around. That was it. That was all there was. West had always been ‘too much’, but with Sweetie and Argo, he felt balanced. He was in love.

He hoped he was in love.

It had been a terrible night but they all had a beautiful future ahead of them. Everyone was going to have a beautiful future, where they didn’t get hurt any longer. West was going to make sure of it. He was going to do anything to make it happen.

INTERLUDE III

Baby Ayda was born, and five months later, Cassiopeia was pulled out of her incubator.

But one month after that, Sweetie and Argo were just gone. They went out and never came back. West never found closure, he never was able to truly process his feelings for them. The loss was an indescribable phenomenon that nobody he talked with could hope relate to. It culminated in him feeling completely alone again.

He had the girls though. And he had his sense of purpose.

TERRIBLE CHILDREN

It was hard to be a dad. It was even harder to be a single dad.

Even with all his money, all his love, and his growing patience, the fact remained that Ayda and Cassiopeia were difficult children. West had never been disciplined by his parents, and now he did not discipline his daughters. He did not know how to.

“You need to be tougher on them or else they’ll grow up to be sociopaths,” Vega told him. Of course, Vega had been smacked by Church nuns when she was a kid, so she never attempted to discipline the girls either. They grew up without hearing the word “no”.

Percy, who still lived with West despite his perpetual dislike of the man, ignored the girls. Or he tried to. When Ayda approached him, he would become scared and tell her to go away, which made everyone involved angry. His addition to the household was a negative one, but unavoidable. Where else was he supposed to go?

When the girls were 4 years old, bedtime became a perpetual struggle. West had to physically pull them out of the bathtub, which resulted in crying and fighting. Then he had to bribe them into their pajamas with promises of treats. Already Cassiopeia was becoming a shrewd bargainer.

“I want hot chocolate,” Casey told him, as he dried off her kinky hair. Even though she was an Artificial, he hadn’t manipulated her genes, so she looked exactly like he did. She had the same dark brown skin, the same big smile, the same curl pattern. Some of the kids he saw other wealthy people creating did not look quite human, so West was glad for his insight while telling the geneticist what he wanted in a daughter. “Two chocolates.”

“OK, only if you get to bed.” West separated his daughter’s hair into sections and rubbed a leave-in conditioner into it before he tied it into afro-puffs. She was out of the bathtub and already wearing her purple nightgown, so half the battle was won. It was a good night. They were actually listening to him; if they decided to gang up on him and ignore basic bedtime rules, there was no chance. He was 25 years old and he listened to any order his preschoolers told him.

He was too young to be a father, but it was too late to think about that. Ayda had come to him by precious accident and Casey’s creation was lost in memories of excessive joy and passion. They were worth it; they were worth everything. It did not change the fact that he felt too young.

“I want ice cream,” said Casey, and she winced and pulled her head away. She was sitting on the white marble counter of the bathroom the girls shared and although she couldn’t climb up there by herself, she could certainly sit down.

“I’ll get you some ice cream,” West told her, “Pistachio ice cream. Only if you and your sister go to bed. And you’ll have to brush your teeth again.”

Casey looked at him dead in the eye. “Chocolate. I don’t want to go to bed.”

That did not bode well. West picked her up off the sink and put her down, where she immediately started to open and close every drawer in the bathroom. No, not close: slam. He did not sigh or show his frustration, even though he had only had about 5 hours of sleep the night before. Casey was done. Now for the infinitely more difficult child.

Ayda, well, was her parents�� daughter. Which was to say, she was impossible to read. While Cassiopeia was perpetually joyful, mean, and clever, Ayda was moody. At times she was loving, but when she got mad at West or Vega, she would throw tantrums that turned their moods black as well. Even at her young age it was clear she was a psychic. When West thought about how hard he would have to fight in order to protect her from facing the same fate her biological parents did, he felt sick and terrified.

The trick was to teach her how to hide and control her powers so that nobody found her. It was difficult enough to potty-train two toddlers, how was he supposed to introduce her to the knowledge that if she did this thing that came naturally to her, she might get taken away from him. Vega tried to explain to him how she controlled her own weak Abilities, and Percy was unable to articulate what he did.

West’s criminal empire had expanded greatly by that time and he had countless men and women who were loyal to him. But what did that matter against an enemy who might steal his child and raise her up to hurt people?

He still didn’t even know his enemy’s name.

At 4 years old, Ayda was still sucking her thumb and refused to stop the habit. You couldn’t bribe Ayda like Casey. She was stubborn. You had to use the kind of psychological manipulation that West didn’t want to use on a little kid. And even then, sometimes that failed.

West crouched down next to his eldest daughter, who was sitting on the bathroom floor in her green onesie, watching him. Ayda had her mother’s big brown eyes, olive complexion, and silky straight black hair. She’d cried the last 3 times West had tried to trim her hair, so it was very long. She cried a lot, and her emotions always bled on to West. She blinked at him with her thumb in her mouth, then watched her sister pull hair bands out of a bathroom drawer and throw them on the ground.

“Daddy wants you to take your thumb out of your mouth, Ayda,” said West gently.

Ayda made a face and didn’t listen to him. The way Casey was making a mess was evidently more interesting.

It was time to resort to psychological warfare. “If you keep sucking your thumb like that, it’s going to make your teeth crooked,” West told her, and felt like crap for saying it, even though it was true. She was about to go to kindergarten. If she was still sucking her thumb, the other kids would make fun of her, and that would send him into a tailspin. He already knew that Casey would be a terror to her peers, but a different kind of terror. Ayda? She was so sensitive, but in a different kind of way than most people are sensitive.

Ayda whipped her thumb out of her mouth. Her lower lip wobbled.

“I want ice cream,” said Casey, squeezing toothpaste onto the floor. West didn’t reprimand her. He knew he needed to. He couldn’t, it was easier to just clean it up later.

One day he would really regret not disciplining his children. That day would not come for several years, by which time it would be already too late. They would grow up to be spoiled rotten monsters, and he would still love them more than anything else in the world.

He was more afraid of not being able to protect them than he was of not raising them right.

FUCKING BASTARD CRASHES A FUNERAL AND MEETS DANA NGUYEN

When West was 27, he walked in on something he had never seen before.

He walked in on Vega crying in the living room.

She was such a serious, stalwart stone of a person who had overcome so much in her life that he did not think she had the capacity to cry. Over the last few years, she had risen through the ranks quickly and was already a Captain. Her ambition and loyalty was what set her head and shoulder above her peers. When they had first met, she said that she was going to be Commissioner one day, and West had never doubted her. He supported her efforts in the same way she supported his: never interfering, never crossing into the other realms.

The way she cried was not pretty and it made West freeze and choke up because at first he thought that she was hurt. Vega curled herself up on one of the ornate red velvet couches and cried without touching her face. She stared straight ahead as she did so, her black eyeliner running down her cheeks. It was a Thursday, a work day, and she had not yet changed out of her uniform.

West scrambled over to her and knocked a lamp over as he did so. The very thought that she was upset pained him. She had seen him cry or rage so many times and had always been his emotional rock. He threw his arms around her. “Are you OK?” he asked frantically, going over a list of reasons Vega might get upset. “Did something happen?”

She was not a hugger like he was, but she didn’t shove him away. “C-commissioner Vasquez resigned t-today,” she hiccupped. “The p-position has already been filled.”

He released her. Oh. Of course. “I know that’s disappointing,” he told her, as gently as he could. She kept blinking away tears. It was clear that she was holding a lot of it in because she did not want to be seen crying, not by him, and especially not by the girls. “But you expected that, right? You were just telling me about how it’s going to take you another 10 years to work up the ranks, to get that kind of experience.”

“That’s not it,” Vega said. She rubbed her eyes with her hands and only smeared her make-up worse. She swallowed. “The p-person who was appointed does not have enough experience. A n-nobody. Literally just a sergeant I’ve never even heard of before, someone with no managerial experience, n-nothing. She must have b-been appointed based on some high-up

S reference, but n-nobody knows who.put it in for her-- Malena d-dropped the papers off in Vasquez’s office this morning and that was that. No warning, no gossip. I’m n-not upset this woman was promoted, I’m upset because it seems-- it seems like hard work doesn’t matter at all, compared to who you know, compared to who likes you. It seems like my hard work d-doesn’t matter at all.” She kept hiccupping because of her attempt to keep the volume down.

This was unfortunately the nature of the game in Eden. Lots of people worked hard, some harder than others. Most people worked hard their whole lives without getting much of anywhere, nor making much of anything. Getting ahead depended almost entirely on who you were and who you knew. Being successful was something you were born into. Nowadays it was literal, with children being engineered to be stronger, smarter, and better looking. What hope was there for someone who just worked hard?

West didn’t like the system, but understood how he benefited from it. Understood exactly where his millions of credits came from-- it was not his labor which he profited from, it was his control over other peoples’ labor. He watched Vega try not to cry and didn’t feel guilty; rather, he felt the desire to take over and help her out. He was a fixer, he always had been.

He took one of her hands to comfort her and Vega brushed him away. She looked at him with the air of a woman coming to a final decision. .

“Sometimes I think being friends with you is holding me back,” she told him, in a measured, hesitant way that revealed she had been thinking about this for a long time. West felt his heart fall to his stomach. “Everyone-- I mean, everyone at work thinks I work for you. That you pay me off. I’m never going to get what I want, even if I’m better than I need to be because they’re always going to think that I’m a bad person.”

There was nothing to say to that. West had been lonely for so long. He had gained a friend, then gained partners, then gained his daughters. Then he had lost his partners. The prospect of losing his friend was terrifying to him. He would not be lonely again, not ever, but deep down inside this confirmed what he was afraid of: he was too much and he was unlikable. He was too much and he made life painful for the people he cared about. He wanted to be a good person and he wanted to make the large scale changes he dreamed about but deep down inside, he knew who he really was.

In his ideal life, West did not care what other people thought about him. Vega’s feelings that he was detrimental to her life however, struck at his weak spot. The only way he could stop thinking about something like that was by distracting himself, by leaning into the next best thing and tricking himself into thinking he was being productive.

He stood up from the couch. “I’ll find out what I can about why this happened,” he told her.

West never broke his promises.

The new Commissioner’s location was not difficult for him to find. He knew immediately that something strange was occurring and it fascinated him. It looked like another piece of the authoritarian puzzle. He searched her name-- Dana Nguyen-- on his comm (no need to involve Percy’s technopathy in this) and beneath the countless announcements of her promotion, was an Obituary. Nguyen was a recent widow.

It turned out that her wife had killed herself only two nights before. The memorial service was that evening.

Coincidences existed but this could not be one of them.

Was the suicide a set up? The dead wife was, after all, another cop. Or was it an act that had made someone in a position of power feel such sympathy for Nguyen that it made them promote this unqualified woman to one of the most important jobs in the city? West had not found much on Nguyen. She was just another working class cop from a long line of working class cops. The pictures he was able to find of her showed a plain, dull looking woman, although one he found showed her smiling and drunken at a party with her wife.

Who did this woman know and why did that person think she was important? As West dressed himself to crash the memorial service, he found himself feeling happier and more confident despite these questions.

Commissioner Vasquez had been a thorn in his ass for years, an old fashioned type of cop who was constantly implementing programs to crack down on organized crime. It affected Richard Prospas more than it did West’s organizations, but he had still lost tens of thousands of credits in profit because of Vasquez’s targeted searches of his warehouses and trucks. Since Nguyen was so new and underqualified, West would be able to run circles around her and get more of a leg up on his competition.

Making money wasn’t his first objective, but it was important to him.

West put on appropriate attire for a memorial service. The nature of his work left him attending more than his fair share of services for his employees who were killed by bastard cops or rival goons. He wore a black velvet suit with a black tie. Black snakeskin loafers, without socks. Black eyeliner and nail polish. When it came to events like funerals, he tried to tone down his ostentatious presence, because the attention was not supposed to be on him.

Eden didn’t really have funerals. In the old days, there had been different ways of preparing the bodies of the dead. Burying them in the ground and such. But now everyone lived underground, and there was no place to plant the dead. Cremation was mandatory. The smoke was piped through miles of tubing, from the basement of the Hospital, all the way up past the Dome. Nothing was left of anyone other than ash and bits of bone.

As he rode the metro from the Surface, all the way down to the dark guts of the Colony where the service was unsurprisingly taking place, West remembered his new knuckle tattoos and had the good grace to tug his sleeves down a bit to cover them up. The tattoos read “LIVE” on his right hand and “RICH” on his left. He didn’t want any prole to see that and get any wrong ideas about him. At this point in his life, he was well aware of how to public perceived him to be a capitalist scumbag and a dangerous idiot. At least nobody laughed at him anymore.

It took 45 minutes for the metro to make its descent into the Lower Levels. West felt his ears pop. He did not like going all the way down, it made him sick. At over mile underground, the Lower Levels were unbearably hot and the air was foul. The engineers were constantly working on the air filtration down there, as well as on the fans. It was no wonder that the people who lived and worked down there their entire lives were so miserable. A handful of working class activists had recently committed ritual suicide to protest the poor conditions down there, which seemed a bit useless if you asked him.

When people stared at him on the metro, he made eye contact until they looked away.

The location of the memorial service had been listed online. Why wouldn’t it be? He had expected it to be located in one of the many misery-filled churches that people in the Lower Levels loved so much, but it was taking place staunchly inside of a community center instead. This inferred that Nguyen, and perhaps her late wife as well, adhered to the same state atheism that West did. Good. Churches made him nervous and when he had to hear some holy man talk about the afterlife, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

He walked into the community center like he belonged there and sat near the back. There were not many people in attendance-- mostly cops-- and he scoured the crowd for the widow up at the front.

The chair he was sitting in was metal and uncomfortable and the air around him was stifling. West pulled at his tie while fanning himself. A child was crying loudly and nobody was doing anything to quiet them, something which always set him on edge. He hated to hear kids cry. It made him want to step in and do something about it, which was overstepping his bounds. He shifted his sturdy body.

The speaker was a little wiry cop who had been close friends with the deceased. He talked about her life in a fashion that was fond and without bitterness. She had been passionate, full of life and love. She had been a brilliant mother. She had been a good cop.

What was a good cop, any way? One who didn’t bug out and shoot unarmed civilians? Seemed like a low bar.

West kept fanning himself and wondered what the C02 in the air around him was doing to his brain. The pollution down there had to be part of the reason why so many people in the Lower Levels were religious. They were all packed in together without fresh air or sunlight and it was affecting their brains. Between the heat and the crying kid, he could hardly pay attention to what the speaker was saying.

He did notice, however, that Nguyen did not choose to step up front and speak. Usually bereaved spouses did that. This added to his theory that there was something going on with her. Perhaps she was just grieving, but he didn’t think so. After all, he had spoken words after the deaths of his parents and 5 siblings, with a 6th presumed dead (‘Retired’, as Sweetie and Argo would have put it.) He could not imagine a worse grief than that, and he had still been able to do it, even at 12 years of age.

It was important to live life as fully as possible. Even for depressive plebs such as these, it was feasible to find happiness. Instead of worrying about whatever happened after death, it was better to worry about life. It was better to avoid loss until the final moment, it was better to cling onto life with both hands.

As he considered all the loss he had experienced, he almost wanted to tear up. He had never been a man able to control his emotions. He always laughed loudly and always let himself cry when he needed to cry. It would be fitting, at a memorial service, but it would rouse the suspicion of the pigs. It would also mess up his eyeliner, and he couldn’t have that.

After about 45 minutes of the speaker going on and on about the dead woman (much to West’s chagrin, the cheeky bastard did start talking about an after-life), it was over. West remained in his seat as the crowd began to disperse, most of them paying their respects to the widow. He watched the way that nobody spent much time speaking to her, and wondered about that. Dislikable? The speaker lingered the longest and he gave Nguyen a chaste kiss on the cheek before he wandered away to comfort someone else.

Nguyen was not moving around much, she stayed in her chair as if she was stuck there. She had two children with her, probably hers. The boy one was the one who had been crying hysterically throughout the service, and was still crying. The girl was pallid and listless. They were of an age with his daughters, give or take a year or two. From time to time, the widow would touch her face, but that was it.

It was as good a time as any to approach her. He stood and started to walk to the front of the room. People were recognizing him. It was not his fault, he was very recognizable. They all parted before him because of that reputation. When West moved, he moved with purpose and determination. In his youth he had been jauntier, but that was before everything happened. He circled around Nguyen to face her because he did not want to startle her.

“I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for your loss,” he began, sincerely. West arranged his expression into something he hoped was consoling and was well aware that many other eyes were on him. Let them watch. He was the very picture of well mannered in situations such as this, and all he wanted out of the woman was to get a feel for the kind of person she was so he could start getting answers. “If there’s anything I can do for you during this time, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dana Nguyen said, slurring a little like she had been drinking recently. She was a short scrawny woman a couple years older than him, with cropped black hair and dark eyes hidden behind square glasses. The black clothing she wore was ill-fitting and masculine, and she was not wearing makeup. She stood up aggressively and wobbled on her feet. In the seats next to her, her little boy cried and cried, while the girl chewed on the ends of her hair. “As if things can’t get any worse.”

Her expression was not one of grief, or even sadness. She had her teeth clenched and her eyes were dead.

“I’m sorry,” said West. He took a step back because she was too close to him. “Your predecessor and I did not get along, I’d like a relationship of a different nature for the two of us.”

“Predecessor?” Nguyen asked, then scoffed. She had definitely been drinking, she smelled like liquor. “Vasquez. Right, I want to break bread with a smuggler and a murderer about as much as he did. Why do you need me, huh? Everyone knows you already have a spy within us. I used to see her whenever I worked nights; completely stuck-up, she ignores everyone who isn’t an officer.”

At this mention of Vega, West felt his calm and concerned smile tighten.

Nguyen continued. “Yeah, no. Didn’t ask for you, didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask for any of it.” Her kid’s crying must have finally irritated her too much to keep neglecting him because she jerked her head towards him and barked, “Christopher!” in a frustrated tone. That just made the child wail harder. He lay down on the floor and cried like he could not control himself. Nguyen pressed a hand to the side of her head.

Two nights. That kid had probably been crying since he found out his mother had died. Again, West found himself thinking of Ayda and Casey. Nguyen’s children seemed so unfortunate and ill-behaved compared to his own.

It was so hard to not say anything about the crying kid, but he did not want to piss anyone off by getting too involved.

He smiled ingratiatingly at this small unpleasant woman, who was now one of the most powerful people in Eden. A future policy maker, a person who would have say over his future and the futures of his daughters. “I’m just offering my condolences, Commissioner.”

Nguyen’s mouth twisted when she heard the title.

She scooped her up son into her arms to try and comfort him, but did a poor job of it. The boy struggled and fought her, escaping from her grasp and returning to his younger sister. Copying his mother, he hugged his sickly sister tightly until she whined and pushed him away.

“Keep your condolences,” Nguyen told him. Her body language continued to speak of frustration and pent up aggression. Her hands kept opening and closing into fists and her shoulders were tight. Like a dog that wanted to snap but was chained up. Whoever put her in her new position had her on a tight leash. “What good are your condolences to me? You have balls for waltzing in here through a room full of cops to harass me.”

“Thank you. See, I’ve never been caught doing anything wrong. All I do is move things from one place to another.”

“Give it some time.” It was a threat.

“You’re accepting my offer of friendship?”

“People are right when they say you’re funny,” Nguyen said humorlessly.

West shrugged amiably. He knew he needed to leave. If he did not, things would soon become ugly. He could already hear whispers around them, buzzing snips of hateful gossip. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Commissioner,” he said it again just to see her face twitch and confirm his suspicions. “I’m sure we’ll meet again. I do feel that I won’t be the most pressing of your problems.” Another dig at her.

The kind of grim, accepting terror hidden beneath Dana Nguyen’s false aggression had been put there by somebody, that was for sure. She had revealed very little in her words, but faces and body language showed more than words ever could. Now West felt sure that someone had forced her into the position of Commissioner, either as a punishment or to keep a close eye on her. Something to do with the dead wife. Now he doubted that she had killed herself, targeted assassination seemed more likely.

So who was both powerful and stupid enough to give an ill-intentioned favor to a person like Nguyen?

It all seemed personal. Nguyen was just too low a person to have been deemed deserving of her position. She had no money, no connections, and lacked charisma.

West felt positive that he would be able to manipulate this woman in the future though. Too inexperienced, not educated enough to be playing with the top contenders. And deeply unhappy as well-- drinking before her own wife’s memorial service, unable to control her children. Perhaps in time he would be able to pull more information from her.

He gave her a kind smile and took his leave. The whispering around him intensified and he let it flow off him.

As he walked away, he considered the type of person who would take any kind of interest in Nguyen. It did not yet occur to him that that type of person now included him

INTERLUDE

Despite everything, Vega began to spend less and less time with West, more and more time at work. Once again, he was surrounded by people but was still alone and friendless. Something was wrong with him, something that kept people from connecting with him at an intimate level despite his best efforts.

He did not understand why he remained this way after so many years.

DON’T FORGET WEST IS A PIECE OF SHIT CAPITALIST

West enjoyed meeting with his rivals. He was a civil man when it came to interacting with them face to face, pleasant even. When he was younger, he was a lot less pleasant. He had wanted to eradicate anyone who threatened his businesses back then. At 32 years old, he understood that their existence was essential to his existence. It was possible to coexist for short periods of time, especially if a good meal was involved.

For example, West understood that without maintaining a good professional relationship with Richard Prospas, he could lose access to the man’s products, which West shipped to the nearby Colonies of Serenity and Green River, then sold to them at a 20% profit. In fact, it was more profitable for Prospas to sell half to West to distribute, than to sell all of it to the supermarkets in Eden. Both of them won. The only problem was that Prospas was a moody sort of fellow, and would often threaten to stop providing West with anything at all over perceived insults. It was in West’s best interest to buddy up with him.

They met over dinner at a fine restaurant. A restaurant that was supplied by Prosperity Inc., of course. West always chose to dress conservatively to these meetings; black linen jacket, black slacks, and a green tie to give his outfit a pop of color. Serving as a reminder of his own capital, there were diamond studs in his ears and big golden rings on nearly every finger. He looked good, but not good enough to be threatening.

In contrast, Prospas was a very average looking man who always wore a suit. He had dark skin and a slightly receding hairline that was likely a result of his nervous disposition. Seeing him on the street was nothing special, which was why he had engineered his Artificial children to look like literal vampires.

“How’s the baby?” West asked his competitor, remembering that he had a one year old.

“Wonderful. I’ve never seen such a happy child. He doesn’t even cry, not like the others.” Prospas was tense. He kept looking over his shoulder to check for his bodyguards who sat at a table near the restaurant’s door. This was a bad sign, it meant that he did not trust West to not call in his own goons to kill everyone.

Well, West didn’t trust this guy either, which was precisely why he had 5 of his own people lurking outside the restaurant, ready to bust in the second things went south.

Civil business.

(TO FINISH THIS I WOULD HAVE TO UNDERSTAND THE ECONOMY IN EDEN WHICH I STILL DON’T. THE POINT IS WEST IS A DIRTBAG RICH GUY AND IT’S PARTIALLY HIS FAULT THAT PEOPLE LIKE KIP AND LEE ARE RADICALIZED COMMIES)

CURSE YOUR SUDDEN BUT INEVITABLE BETRAYAL

When West was 33, he faced true consequences for his actions for the first time. Many times he had avoided certain death. He had seen it in the in the faces of faces of the cops who pointed their guns at him when they raided his warehouses or his trucks. He had seen it in the faces of his enemies; men and women who worked for the other great rival families of Eden. Never had he seen it in the face of someone he believed was loyal to him.

Betrayal was for other people. West was friendly and paid generously. It was not at the top of his list of things to concern himself with.

He preened in front of his bathroom mirror. It was early in the morning; in an hour he would ride down to the Education District with the girls. They complained about how embarrassing he was, but he always wanted to make sure they were safe. There were bad people out there, unscrupulous people. His daughters were too young to know that yet, but he had learned that first essential lesson when he was precisely their age.

West leaned close to his reflection so that he could inspect his skin. He was still young and unwrinkled, and he invested a great deal of time in his appearance. He washed his face, then moisturized. Since it was so early, he still wore his bathrobe, slippers, and nothing else.

There were so many choices for him in his wardrobe that he did not plan his outfits in advance any longer. The inspiration simply came to him. That day he had a meeting with Richard Prospas over shipping futures; the nearby Colony of Serenity was consuming more of Prosperity Inc.’s product than West could ship. He considered wearing something outlandish, since that always threw his dour, angry rival off.

A knock came at the door.

He was not expecting any company. Perhaps a delivery; while West could not remember ordering anything, it was possible that one of the girls had. Ayda was especially bad with online shopping, she spent nearly every minute of her free-time staring at her tablet. It was early though, too early for a delivery. It was also too early for any of his degenerate enemies to be up and about as well.

West tied his bathrobe tighter around his waist. He left the bathroom, his slippers making slap noises against the floor as he walked. A couple of years ago he’d re-finished the floors upstairs due to 10 year old Cassiopeia leaving the faucet running and flooding everything. The floors were now covered in white carpet instead of the ancient hardwood he had known when he was a child. It took some getting used to.

As he got older, he lost more and more memories of his youth. He had forgotten the face of his father, but still remembered what the wood floors felt like when he was 8 and Eden went through a terrible cold spell.

As a single father, he did not have time to contemplate his own loss, anger, and sadness anymore. That’s what he told himself.

As he went down the steps, the rapping at the door persisted, hard and sharp. It was strange, since there was a doorbell right there. “I’m coming,” West muttered to himself as he thought about exactly how frighteningly he would smile at this person who was disturbing his morning ritual. His home was large and it took him time to traverse it. The flooring was not the only thing to have changed over the years. The walls were now covered in pictures of his children and he had removed all evidence of his dead family.

He could not stand the way those old pictures stared at him. So maybe he was still sad.

West opened his front door, fully expecting some idiotic delivery-person who he could yell at. Instead he found himself looking down at the Police Commissioner and a handful of uniformed goons. Dana Nguyen smiled at him in a way that made it clear she was unused to smiling. It was nasty and behind her glasses, her dark eyes glinted with malicious victory like she had caught him doing something wrong.

He blinked at her mildly, intending to infuriate her. Over the last 6 years, she had been completely useless at her job. Somehow violent criminals kept disappearing or turning up dead, but it was no thanks to her-- there was some kind of vigilante operating in the Lower Levels. West was right in his first impression of her: nothing but a puppet for somebody far more sinister. He could see her powerlessness in the pathetic way she was looking at him. She really believed she was up to something, this early on a weekday morning.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I don’t have time to play games with you right now,” And he closed the door on them.

Just to fuck with her.

There was another barrage of incensed knocking. West snickered and re-opened the door, then crossed his arms over his chest.

Nguyen’s nasty smile stretched wider. “I guess you think you’re funny,” she told him in her low-class voice. Such a vulgar little woman. Her role in the public eye forced her to be more feminine and it did not suit her. She had grown her black hair down to her shoulders and she wore a bit of makeup. Her button-up shirt was wrinkled like she had slept in it.

“I am funny,” West replied. He cocked his head. Four cops on his doorstep, including the Commissioner. Did they think they could threaten him? His business-- both the legal and illegal aspects of it-- was doing better than ever. It had been over 3 months since any of his people had been busted by the police, and none of them ever snitched on him. “What do you want? I’m busy, I don’t have time for whatever it is you think we’re doing here.”

With her hands on her hips, Nguyen said, “I’m here to take you directly to the Prison District. From there you can contact your lawyer, though I don’t think the trial will go in your favor.” She showed her teeth.

West laughed in her face. “Oh, I think you’re the funny one, Dana. You think you’re taking me to prison? Have you been drinking this early in the morning? You need professional help.”

His comment made one of the police goons, a big soft woman with a kind expression, shift nervously. Nguyen did not react.

Behind him, he could hear footsteps coming down the stairs: one set quiet and steady, the other loud and rapid. The girls had heard the commotion. They stood behind their father to peer out at the strangers on their doorstep. Neither one of them was ready for school yet.

Suddenly West felt anxiety rise from the pit of his stomach, where it had not been before.

“What are you people doing here?” Cassiopeia asked insolently. She had recently hit puberty and was growing tall and strong. Unlike many adolescents, she was eternally graceful, comfortable in her own skin. “Don’t you have some doughnuts to eat instead of making our doorstep look ugly?”

Ayda, undoubtedly the source of West’s anxiety, was silent.

“Tell your kids to go back inside, Agapama,” Nguyen ordered. West bristled. He did not listen to commands. Nobody gave him commands. Nobody had told him what to do for years. “I don’t want a scene here.”

West fought his growing anxiety away with that familiar old emotion, anger. He drew himself up and squared his shoulders, as frightening as a man could be while wearing a pink bathrobe and slippers with hearts on them. He towered over the diminutive Nguyen and took a step closer so that he could physically intimidate her. “Who do you think you are?” he asked her, raising his voice.“You think you can come to my house without a warrant and threaten me in front of my kids? What a blessing it is that you hate your career, because I’m going to destroy it, you’re going to be begging for scraps by next week. Whoever plucked you from your job as a desk-monkey and put you up top is a real idiot. What are the charges, huh, Dana? Smuggling? Assault? Murder? You don’t have anything on me.”

Remarkably, Nguyen did not show any fear at his display of aggression. She did not even cringe away from him. Her chin was up and her eyes were bright, triumphant even. For the first time since he had met her, she was proud of herself. “Felony tax evasion,” she said, like she had won.

That was impossible. Percy did West’s taxes for him, as he had for the last 8 years. He’d gone to school for accounting, after all, and he was excellent. Being a technopath helped a great deal in that area. He claimed to be able to see every loophole and break and saved West thousands of credits a year. Punctual and practice; he was not the sort to make a mistake. Dotted every I and crossed every T.

This was all a huge misunderstanding. West felt relieved. He was happy that he had someone like Percy to have his back in this situation. In the beginning, Percy seemed to fear and resent him. Something to do with the trauma and the being forced to live in the Agapama mansion for a few years. For god’s sake, who complains about living in a mansion? It took a long time, but West knew that Percy was finally loyal to him.

It did not occur to him that he was being stabbed in the back.

“Fine,” he told the moronic Police Commissioner, this woman who could not possibly understand the powerful loyalty that every single person who worked for him had. “I’ll go with you to the Prison District. And from there I’ll call my attorney, as well as my accountant. You’ll be eating crow by noon, you’ll see.”

As it turned out, Percy had betrayed him. Not only had he spent 8 years filing fraudulent tax returns, but that morning he had used his Ability to steal 500,000 credits from West’s account before disappearing down into the Lower Levels.

West found himself sentenced to 18 months in prison.

The Assistant Warden was a runty man with a kind face. He had an irritating habit of running his hands through his dark wavy hair while he was talking, but West could not focus on that. He was in shock. He was in the Prison District, about to lose his freedom because of that Judas of an accountant. This could not possibly be happening to him.

It was happening to him.

He sat slumped and defeated in a chair in the Assistant Warden’s small depressing office, where he was supposed to have an initial interview and do some paperwork before getting processed. Processed. West did not like the sound of that. Most inmates did not do this administrative stuff here, but because of West’s status, the Assistant Warden had taken it upon himself to get him settled in.

“Are you doing alright, Mr. Agapama?” asked the man, whose name was Marshall Singh. He had the look of a middle-school counselor instead of a correctional officer, and he sat cross-legged in a beanbag chair behind his desk instead of a normal one. Every decorative choice in his office hinted at it being the lair of a deeply disturbed individual, from the kitten poster that said ‘Paws and Reflect’ to the rubber stress ball which had eyes that bugged out if someone squeezed it. “Do you need another tissue?”

It was thoroughly humiliating and West had not even had his medical exam yet. Yes, he had cried a little when he said goodbye to Casey and Ayda in the District’s entrance, before Singh led him behind the dozens of heavily locked steel doors. Well, he had cried a lot. The girls would be staying with Vega during the course of his incarceration; she was the only person he could trust. Poor Ayda did not understand what was happening and Casey was angrier than he had ever seen her. When he hugged them for the last time, he had not wanted to let go. He had squeezed them like they were the last people on earth.

“Those were your daughters?” Singh asked, gently trying to open a conversation with the uncharacteristically reticent West. “I have a daughter as well. Lucy. She’s 8.” He picked up a tablet and showed a picture to West; a solemn child who had the misfortune to share Singh’s big nose.

Was this supposed to make West feel better? He wondered if he was going to start crying again. If he couldn’t toughen up soon, he was going to get eaten alive. Every story he heard about what happened in the Prison District was enough to frighten even him. There were thousands of people housed there, for crimes as innocuous as tax fraud, all the way to arson or necrophilia. Riots occurred often and people got killed. He always recalled reading about how inmates were getting killed by other inmates. Expose after expose had been written on the horrific abuses perpetrated by the staff themselves and nothing was ever done about it.

West had never paid much attention to the politics and news regarding incarceration, but now he wished he had. He slumped lower in his chair.

“OK,” Singh said at length. “Well. I see that you are upset. That’s fine, that’s natural. I promise that everything will be OK. I promise that the staff here cares about helping you as much as you can. You’ll actually come out of here far better off than when you started. Everyone in the District gets assigned a case manager and--”

Before he could finish, the door to his wannabe-guidance-counselor office slammed open and a beautiful woman stalked inside.

She was not yet 30, and carried herself with predatory intent. Her straight black hair fell to the middle of her back. Like Singh, her high rank allowed her to wear casual clothes rather than a uniform, but regardless she dressed in all black; black slacks and a black turtleneck. On her feet were heavy boots rather than ordinary office shoes. Her face though....Her face was round and lovely as the moon, but it was void of anything but familiar childish cruelty.

West’s blood ran cold.

“Marshall,” she said, completely ignoring West and walking by so that she could get into Singh’s personal space. He did not appear to mind and looked at peace with this woman was breathing down his neck. She put one of her hands around his wrist like she intended to pull him up out of his comfy beanbag chair. “What are you doing right now? There are reporters here again who want a statement on what happened with Olowe. I need you to go out there and talk to them because I can’t come up with a creative enough lie.”

The disturbingly tranquil Singh removed himself from her grasp and nodded at West. “Mr. Agapama,” he said, and the young woman’s attention was drawn to him. A glimmer of curiosity flickered. “May I introduce you to our Warden? She’s here to help you during your stay as well, she cares a great deal about everyone’s welfare here.”

“What the hell do you think this is, Singh, a hotel? Don’t talk to this guy like you’re his buddy. We’re not here to help these scumbags, we’re here to punish them for being bad people.” The Warden’s thin black eyebrows furrowed as she regarded the new man in her custody. “I’ve seen you before.”

If she recognized or remembered him, he knew that she would liquify his organs with her Ability or contort his body against his will

West tried to smile his charming, friendly smile but found that he could not. He could not speak, he was too afraid to. The memory of this woman’s face-- of Hax’s face, not whatever she was called now-- was so crystal clear although it was 12 years old. When he ran from her, back then in the Education District, she had been covered in blood and screaming her head off about how she would kill Percy.

That desire, at least, was one thing the two of them shared.

Somehow she had been elevated to the position she was in now, instead of being shot in the back of the head the second she started aging. Sweetie once told him that it was impossible for secret police to get out, that the only way out was to die and that for some of them, dying was better than staying alive. Surely Hax had not escaped and then been allowed to work in a position of power.

She was frowning now, completely focused on West with an intense energy. If Nguyen was like a dog straining against its leash, Hax was like a wolf. Her red lips parted. The urge to cause harm was evident in the small movements of her hands. Beside her, Marshall Singh serenely checked his communicator, unaffected by her negativity. The two of them made for a strange pair. One sincere little hippie and one violent murderer.

West swallowed his fear and reached for his most familiar facade: the rich-guy idiot. “Of course you’ve seen me before,” he said and somehow his voice did not shake. “I’m on TV all the time. You’re probably remembering me from the interview I had with Judy Wong 2 weeks ago. You know, the one I did when I was wearing that purple cape? I looked great in that.”

Hax’s eyes narrowed, but she shoved her hands down into her pockets. The way that she moved, so unpredictable and confident, reminded West of his former partners. Whatever happened to the children who went into the secret police, they all came out moving like killers. “Hurry up and get this stupid gangster processed, then take care of the reporters,” she ordered Singh. “I’ll be in my office.”

It was not until after she was gone that West realized he had barely been breathing.

He did not know how he was going to survive 18 months. She would remember him eventually. She would remember seeing his terrified face as he watched her drag Percy into the dormitory hallway and made him writhe on the floor in pain as she twisted his body with her mind. If his sister had been able to break her psychic brainwashing and regain her memories of him, then Hax could as well.

Marshall Singh, so aware of the introspection of others, smiled at West and gave him an amicable nod. “Don’t look so nervous, take a couple of deep calming breaths. You’re going to do just fine during your stay with us, I promise.”

BANG BANG MAXWELL’S SILVER HAMMER CAME DOWN ON HIS HEAD

18 months go by quickly when you are being mistreated and are terrified for your life every day. West did not mind it so much when it came from his fellow inmates, but staff was a different matter entirely. Whenever one of the correctional officers refused to give him basic necessities or tried to humiliate him, he committed their name to his memory. It was lucky that his status afforded him some protection-- most of them were too afraid of what he would do to them when he got out to really mess with him. Some of the other inmates were not as lucky.

Whoever had made Hax the Warden of the Prison District was a fool, he knew that for sure. The environment she fostered there was one of chaos and sadistic cruelty. Like Dana Nguyen, she was ill-suited for her position of power. She habitually looked the other way when inmates were mistreated by staff and completely ignored violence perpetrated by inmates. Without Marshall Singh there to run damage control, the entire District would probably go up in flames.

So West was very happy to get out. He was even happier to see his daughters. During his incarceration, he had missed out on too much. They grew too fast. It hurt him to even think about how he had not been there for them for so long.

“I couldn’t control them,” Vega had told him, stress radiating out from her. She was only 35, like he was, but being forced into the role of guardian for two teenagers had put lines under her eyes. When she picked West up from the Prison District, she had actually cried. “You have to start disciplining them. Casey’s getting in trouble at school, she’s bullying other kids and got suspended twice for bringing knives to school. It’s terrible. Ayda-- you’re not going to like this-- Ayda has been hanging out with Gena Voorst’s girl.”

“The one in the wheelchair?”

“Yes. She has cybernetics now.”

After living with murderers, rapists, and thieves for 18 months, West was not concerned to hear that his daughters were bullies or spending time with the child of one of his rivals.

He still did not want to discipline them at all. He couldn’t. He loved them too much to even take away their communication devices and tablets.

There was, however, one person who he did want to discipline. Someone he wanted to punish.

Someone he wanted to kill.

West retrieved his hammer.

It was easy to find Percy. He had been hiding like a rat in the Lower Levels, living off of West’s stolen money. What had he thought was going to happen? Perhaps he thought that he would be able to get away with it, perhaps he thought that West would die in prison. The technopath was intelligent only in his realms of expertise. When it came to understanding human nature, or the normal behaviors of others, he was useless.

(I DONT WANT TO WRITE THIS. TLDR WEST BUSTS INTO PERCY’S APARTMENT AND IS ABOUT TO SMASH ALL HIS FINGERS BUT PERCY CONVINCES HIM NOT TO BY REVEALING THAT HE HAS BEEN COMMUNICATING WITH THE TECHNOPATH IN THE SECRET POLICE. PERCY REVEALS SILAS’S NAME AND PROMISES TO HELP WEST LOCATE CHILDREN WITH ABILITIES)

#writing

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