Chapter Text
“It's raining…”
“Hm? Oh, yeah,” she said, sparing a glance towards the window.
Heavy, fat water droplets were coming down, the sort that splatted themselves across the glass in a big, ugly spread. It was the sort of rain that goes from zero to a hundred in just a few seconds, all the kids outside were shrieking, some threw their hands over their heads and began running for the doors.
She rather liked the sound of rain, it had a certain rhythmic quality, but when the wind caught it and cast it against the windows in those uneven bursts?
There was something magical about that.
It was nice to do her homework to the sound of it, one time she even had a candle beside her window, providing a nice light to work with… then her mother took it away, worried that the tiny flame might set the curtains on fire.
The fact said curtains were half a metre either side didn't factor into the woman's thinking, and more notably, she had not been allowed a candle on her desk after that either.
Her parents didn't trust her at all…
“It's really starting to come down, man, that's crazy…”
She glanced at the windows again, more focused on her rather pathetic little packed lunch than anything else. Kids that had gotten out of class earlier or just scarfed down their food early had been so keen to play outside despite the cold weather.
The rain was indeed heavy right now.
Actually, she had seldomly seen it so strong, it was practically obscuring the other kids.
Man, she wouldn't want to be out in that.
Kids were falling, tripping, crushed into the tarmac of the school yard by the sheer force of the water coming down on them.
It wasn't rain any more, it was a solid wall of water that was smashing down by the second.
She was on her feet as others took notice of the situation,
Carlos ripped open the door with strength that, were it not for the situation, would likely call him out as a Cape.
With the door open, the curtain of water that was coming down began to splash into the room, the overwhelming roar of sound, the ceaseless deluge filling the cantina with noise. For a moment, Carlos just stared out into the yard, the same question on his mind as hers.
What the fuck?
She saw the moment he put his mind to it, to try to get some kids out. He was a Brute, no doubt he would be fine, right? Big, strong, dependable Carlos, if anybody could make a difference it was him… so why did her gut tell her to stop him? Why was her power screaming at her about just how bad an idea this was? It wasn't that the space beyond the door was warped, it was that it was almost a solid column of water coming down at near terminal velocity.
“Carlos!” she said, reaching out to grab his hand---
His fingers slipped through hers, and she watched as he pushed himself out into the rain,
In just seconds he was a silhouette, fading away, disappearing into the curtain of water.
It was lapping up to her ankles already, her socks were getting wet, the rain was smashing down, she could see the moment it was too much, the moment that he fell to the ground just like all the others, struggling with all his might, it was hopeless---
She woke in a cold sweat with a reflexive jolt.
The sound of the blood rushing in her ears, so akin to that crashing deluge that just moments ago she had been watching. Her breathing was ragged in her chest even as she desperately tried to bring it under control, to stifle the urge to hyperventilate.
Missy Biron lay in her bed, ears straining to catch any small sound or indication that the rain was there, that she was back in Arcadia High school on the third of January, the first day back after Winter break.
She pushed herself up, half-staggering, half-running for the tiny en-suite bathroom that was attached to her room.
There was no need to bother with the main light; the glow of her charging toothbrush was enough to pick out the outline of the sink, to guide her hands to its steep edges even as her stomach tightened and she threw up.
Without grace she hovered there, waiting for the next spasm of her stomach muscles, despite the stabbing, aching pain of the last retch.
If she had been granted just a moment longer, she would have at least moved to the toilet, but the nightmares always had her throwing up quickly for whatever reason, perhaps she just had a weak constitution, as her father would have put it.
Don't think about him, don't think about him.
There was still a chance, however distant, that he was still---
“URGH---” a painful clench of her already screaming stomach muscles, the last few drops of her stomach contents splashed against the bare fingers still gripping the porcelain. “---rrrrkrk…”
Feeling quite miserable with herself, she remained hunched over for a few moments more. Her eyes, even if they were filled with tears of pain and discomfort, had adjusted further, making out the features of the bathroom better now, even if the light was weak.
She'd made such a mess again…
Three nights in a row.
Somewhere in the walls, a pipe did that thing where it hisses as water flows through it and reflexively after a nightmare, she found herself hunching up, waiting.
The first droplets, the water… the crashing crushing unceasing deluge---
Her hand found the faucet and turned it on, weak at first but then stronger, mechanically she moved her hands to begin pushing and moving the vomit towards the drain. She'd already made a mess, it was already all over her… what did it matter if she used her hands to clean it up?
It wasn't like it mattered, nothing really mattered in the end.
She partially turned and flicked on the light, wincing at the harsh LED bulbs that had been hastily installed months ago, and which the PRT had seemingly no intention of replacing with something nicer, then turned back to the sink.
She caught her reflection in the sink and, partially numb, partially disgusted by the creature she was looking at. Green eyes, short, wavy dark-brown hair, a face that once upon a time plenty of people had called cute, or sweet, or any other combination of things that she had come to resent, to hate.
The face of Missy Biron...
The name didn't matter, Missy Biron was just a name, two names that just so happened to be placed beside one another.
She wished she had her helmet on.
There were probably hundreds of Missy Birons across the country... But there was only one Vista.
Even if they was a trail of grossness dribbling from her lips, even if she was a mess who looked as if she had been skipping meals and sleep for weeks… there was only one Vista.
With the help of the light, she began to clean up more.
No point leaving a mess; they'd get on her case again. All the useless bureaucrats wanted to get rid of her anyway, only the people who really knew what she could do argued her case properly… no point giving the former any ammunition.
“Hah…”
Well, she was awake now, might as well get dressed.
One of her several outfits was waiting in her tiny wardrobe, and mechanically she changed into it. Once upon a time her outfit had been green and white, with a patterned skirt and a green visor… no more. Here in Quarantine Site-08 there were no expectations of cutesy outfits to appease some overly sensitive fuck's with college degrees in PR, there was just hard utilitarianism.
Now her outfit was almost fully covering, armoured in ways perfectly calculated to maximise protection whilst allowing for a full range of flexibility. The helmet had communications built into a pair of ear-like spurs that rose from its side. The visor was the same, but now had various tinkertech additions, and her entire outfit was covered with small satchels and pockets for anything she might need. She took the pauldron from yesterday's outfit and placed it on today's, carefully tying it on.
It was a special part of her outfit, dearly precious... cut and gouged deep into the plastic were two symbols: #8
Gabriel, Janet, Killey, Johnny, Aputi, Asher, Owen---
Dressed, she got breakfast in the canteen, moving around the various troopers and military sorts on staff. Most gave her a wide berth, but a few wordlessly patted her on the shoulder as they went past.
Members of Team One, rowdy and quick with a joke, but she'd seen them with their backs to the wall more than once and had her life saved by them once.
Jackson of Team Three, just off shift. He had a cute little girl back in Indianapolis who really liked the butter cookies Vista sent him back with on his last trip.
The food in the cantina was not great, but not bad either.
Quarantine Sites may be a PRT function, but a lot of the staff and facilities were more akin to those of the military than anything else, each of the chefs looked as if they could crush a man's head between their hands. After ten months in this place, it was like home... home away from home, because it wasn't like there was anywhere else in this world for her, now that Brockton Bay had been lost.
The forward base of the Quarantine Site was geographically the closest that human civilisation reached to what had once been Brockton Bay, and ever since the cities fall ten months ago, she had lived here full-time.
She wasn't supposed to be, though, but she stubbornly fought to remain, no matter what people said---
There was somebody behind her.
“Vista.”
She glanced to see who it was.
“Ma'am.”
She could see the slightly pained way that Miss Militia responded to that, the faint tensing of her shoulders, the strain in her expression.
Ever since she began spending time with the military and the professional Quarantine Site troopers, Vista had increasingly been picking up their lingo and way of doing things.
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Like usual.”
Other people walked past them, and none of them would have reason to pay heed to the comment. But the other woman knew exactly what she meant by that statement.
Vista's new outfit covered most of her face, so the bags under her eyes and other signs of tiredness were hidden, but the woman was one of the few left from the Brockton Bay crew. Perhaps it was greater experience with Vista from the before times, before the rains came, but the woman had an infuriating habit of knowing what was going through her head.
"Did you take your tablets?"
"No. I don't like them, they make me groggy even when I'm awake."
The woman was trying to restrain a frown, or some other expression of disapproval, she could tell. The other Cape leaned closer, to say quietly.
"Missy---" under the table, Vista clenched her hand into a fist. "Johanna was convinced that they would help."
They did.
They let her sleep like a baby. Perhaps if she was just a normal person then she would be able to live the rest of her life in some cushy, safe place whilst relying on those drugs for her rest.
“I'm taking part in the expedition today. I can't do that if I'm addled with sleeping pills,” she replied.
“I know, but---”
“I need to. I can keep them safe.”
She didn't need the drugs, she was strong, she was capable!
Missy was… Vista was fine.
A deep breath.
“I know you can.”
A pause.
Miss Militia wanted to say more, she could tell…
Go on then, tell her again how she should move to a new, safer city to put her skills to use. Tell her again that what had occurred in Brockton Bay was a tragedy, that the deaths of her parents was an 'unavoidable tragedy,' tell her that there was no hope at all in finding the truth of what had occurred!
Tell her that she should just be a normal orphan girl without family and friends in a strange new city, going on pointless, inane patrols that didn't save anyone!
Be one of dozens to tell her that it was wrong for her to be here, when she had more right than most of the people here to be taking part in this!
Go on, then!
Call her unworthy of being a hero!
Do it, you fucking coward!
But the woman didn't.
She said nothing whatsoever.
After a moment, Miss Militia reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, probably giving it a comforting squeeze. Vista could not feel it through the pauldron of her armour. It was something that she liked about her new outfit, it wasn't just protection from the outside world, it was protection from the efforts of others, a professional suit that forced people to take her seriously.
“Take care out there, Missy,” Miss Militia said softly.
On some level, Vista found herself feeling bitter that the other woman didn't say anything more beyond using that useless name, but she couldn't name the aching feeling in her chest as the woman said her goodbyes and walked away.
She just… She wanted to say something, but she wasn't sure what that thing was.
Still... it was time to get going.
Hell awaited, and it was up to Vista to keep team four safe today inside it.