Heart
The issue with our current predicament is that we view Remnants as an anomaly. This is simply not true. They were the ones who remained. The ones who survived. Remnants are not a glitch in reality—they are the future.
New Chicago is a hellhole.
At least in my opinion. And my opinion matters because I am, indeed, a New Chicagoan. If you were from, say, the Alliance, the Steel Empire, or, God forbid, the Keep, you’d be flayed for daring to badmouth our city-state.
But as a native? You get the right to shit on this place. With its steel and copper buildings towering into the sky and the unending pipes of red Affliction traversing between power stations, it’s ugly as all get out.
Even the smog and pollution of the Affliction-powered machinery barely hide the behemoths of industry. You can see the way reality warps around the more powerful siphoning units as they pull Affliction seemingly out of thin air.
“You look stuck in your head again,” Percy’s soft voice, lilted with the Chicagoan accent, interrupts my train of thought.
“I was just thinking about how gross this whole place is,” I scoff, watching the lights of other vehicles flash by along freeway.
“It could be worse,” she says with a snort, turning down the busy commercial district. “You could live in the Western Alliance where everything is cowboy themed.”
“At least they’ve got animals,” I say with a sigh. “And probably something green.”
“Have you been to the Alliance?” she asks, shooting me a quick glance.
“Not that I recall,” I say quietly.
“Sorry, I—” Percy begins, hitting the ignition switch on the squad car.
“No,” I say, waving her off as I push open the door. “I will not accept you apologizing for my poor memory like it was your fault.”
Percy grabs the door to the bar for me, giving me a quirked brow as she swings it open.
“Alright, my amnesia,” I amend over-enunciating the word.
“You ladies are in early,” the bartender, Frank, chimes from somewhere near the sink. The dim lighting makes it somewhat difficult to even parse out the row of tables, capped by a selection of booths. “Or super late.”
“The former,” Percy says, moving over to a booth on the furthest end of the bar.
I do my damndest to avoid watching her hips sway. I promise I do.
“The latter,” I grunt, following behind her.
“You were already up?” Percy asks as I slide into the chair across from her. Her attention is somehow both on me and on our surroundings. Amber eyes lock onto my steel-gray ones.
“I have trouble sleeping, you know this,” I say, shrugging dismissively. Nightmares are common enough in Nye Verden, what with the incidence of traumatic events. If it’s not a Remnant attack, it’s an Infliction event, or a militia skirmish.
This damnable world leaves no one unmarred, not even the former soldier across from me. She reaches her bionic hand across the table, softly brushing velvety meshed skin across the back of my hand. Even without the genuine thing, the touch sends a shiver down my spine.
“Are they getting worse?” she asks, her eyes softening.
“No,” I say, watching as Frank moves to our table with our regular orders. “Just annoyingly confusing.”
“The mule for the silver one,” he gives me a warm grin, sliding the copper mug to me. “And the rum on the rocks for the psychopath.”
“Sue me,” Percy sniffs, giving him a smile. “I can’t help that I’m the only one with taste around here.”
Frank gives us both a nod before returning to the bar. I take a swig of the cocktail as Percy continues to stare me down.
“And what, exactly, were you doing up at four in the morning,” Percy’s brow quirks as she watches me. “Or who?”
The ginger beer itself must have entered my brain with the quick inhale I take. I let out a retching cough, covering my mouth with the wool of my peacoat.
“Give me a break,” I choke out, clearing my throat without success. “No one’s dating a thirty-year-old, freakishly tall, pale amnesiac who talks to dead people.”
The truth of it hits a little closer than I’d ever admit to Percy.
Besides being a coward about my feelings for her, my powers are hardly well-received—no matter the company.
And there’s never been anyone in my life who stayed around long enough to see that my talking to dead people was cool if you thought about it.
Or maybe just ignored it, actually. It’s better if people just ignore I can do it.
And ignore that it’s becoming somewhat involuntary.
“You’re a gorgeous woman who will find someone who’ll get that your job is tough,” Percy takes a sip of her glass. “And that you’re the best there is.”
The blush creeping up my neck isn’t even worth hiding.
“I was reading,” I say, trying to move on from the subject of my loneliness. “You know—studying.”
“Hm,” she narrows her eyes at me, like I might admit to canoodling if pressed hard enough. “I doubt you were studying to apply for the academy. And there’s no school in NC that takes Remnants, so…”
“Just,” I gesture around trying to figure out how to get out of the interrogation. Well-meaning or not, lying to her sucks. So, sometimes small truths are easier. “Just the twenty-some years I’m missing.”
She frowns for a moment, her disbelief that I was up at four in the morning looking at pop culture apparent on her soft features.
Of course, what I had been doing was depressing and, frankly, not sexy. So not worth mentioning it to Percy.
She opens her mouth, likely to call out my bullshit, but her phone dings annoyingly.
“Saved by the bell,” she grumbles, pulling it from her tight slacks. She gives the display a look, frowns, then slides it over to me.
I take another swig from my mule, figuring we’re about to be pulled away from our moment of solace.
New body. Hotel Cavalry, 54th street and Hamlet.
“Fuck,” I sigh, finishing the cocktail.
“You don’t need to join me,” Percy says, finishing hers as well. “Go home and try to sleep.”
“And let Rogers hit on you over a corpse again?” I scoff out, remembering the last time I didn’t join her at a scene. The stupid rookie was in a different department and had either not known or not cared that his commanding officer was the same gorgeous woman he was poorly flirting with.
“I already told his CO” She snorts, sliding from the booth. She offers me her hand—the flesh and bone one—and I take it dutifully.
“I’ll nap later. There’s that comfy couch in the department and no one bothers me when I take it.”
“That’s because they’re afraid you’ll kick their asses,” she leads me from the bar, giving Frank a two-fingered salute. Her hand clings to mine like I might get lost on the way out of the bar.
She only lets go of me when we make it to her cruiser. The sleek bronze glows in the rising sun peeking through the thinner overcast layer of clouds. I look around at the people slowly beginning to wake.
A couple walks hand-in-hand on the other sidewalk, their faces hidden behind cups of steaming liquid. A woman behind them glances my way, her eyes too far away to determine if they’re looking at me or somewhere else. Her blonde hair falls loosely down her back.
Further down, a taller woman in a dark coat is exiting what looks to be another bar.
She, too, seems to be looking our way, but I suspect paranoia and my late-night activities are finally getting to me.
“Arya?” Percy checks again, her concerned expression returning. “If you keep phasing out on me, I will order you to go home.”
“You can’t order me to do shit,” I laugh, opening my door and sliding in. She does the same, her snort of exasperation the only response to my insubordination.