Chapter Text
On the twelfth hour of the first day in October 1989, a woman named Lina gave birth. This was usual in the sense that many women gave birth that day, at that hour – maybe even within the same minute. Unfortunately, the normalcy ended there for Lina had not been pregnant when the day began. She wasn't the only one. Fourty-three such births occurred, all across the world, with no explanation.
Enter Doctor Volumnia Gaul, the world's most eccentric inventor, scientist and billionaire. She aimed to track down and acquire as many of these newborns as possible, for she knew the truth — each and every baby born under mysterious circumstances that day possessed powerful abilities, far beyond those of the average person.
—
"Well," said Gaul, gesturing toward the wailing newborn, a hint of disdain laced in her voice, "How much do you want for it?"
Lina exhaustedly stared up at the other woman. She couldn't bring herself to speak.
"Surely, you don't want to keep it," Gaul continued, "Name a price and the money's yours."
That always did the trick. In Gaul's opinion, people were always wanting. For money, for love, for too much or too little – usually the former. It was fundamental human nature to want, to yearn, to long. Gaul believed that once in a while, people should pay attention to what they needed.
—
Out of the fourty-three newborns, she got seven of them.
—
Panlo awoke at the first beep of his alarm. He would never include it in his report for fear of alarming his mother, but he wasn't really sleeping anyway. He wondered if there were too many thoughts in his head, or too little. Maybe the low gravity had got to him like he feared. Now he thought about it, Panlo can't remember the last time he spoke out loud. After all, what was there to say?
He put his helmet on, secured it and stepped outside. For a moment, he was worried that he had missed it. This was the only reason he set his alarm so early, the only thing in his tedious daily routine that mattered.
Relief flooded his mind as the dark sky infront of him lit up. As if the whole world was flying past at rapid speed, millions of hues filled his eyes. The deepest reds, the coolest turquoise – he was sure that there were colours the world didn't even have a name for displayed in front of him, almost tangible. Then, they all faded, leaving only the glassiest white which stretched as far as he could see, down to planet earth and beyond.
Panlo was so enthralled by the sunrise that he almost missed the sound of his transmitter going off.
He tapped nonchalantly on the latest notification and a wave of shock flooded over him.
Panlo then uttered the first word he had in two weeks.
"No..."
—
"Please! Please don't hurt them!" Begged the man, likely the father, who was reaching his arm out protectively around his family.
"Shut up," the invader aimed a kick at him, whilst his partner rummaged through the few unemptied drawers.
The gesture of violence was enough for Brandy to break through the window. She usually waited for them to leave before knocking them out and returning the stolen items – the families didn't deserve to see that.
Oh well, she'd have to work with what she had.
She took the first one out with a hard kick to the face. He didn't seem to be expecting it – Brandy revelled in his expression.
The other screamed, dropped his overfull bag, ran around the corner and headed for the exit.
Brandy smiled as she pulled out two of her daggers.
She threw them, almost carelessly, toward the wall. However, as soon as the daggers passed by the corner, they swerved and headed for the man, desperately trying to unlock the door. They pinned him to the wall, grazing skin off of his shoulders.
He cried out in pain, a sound soon silenced by Brandy hitting him directly in the back of the head. He fell to the ground, clearly still alive but disoriented.
This had gone better than she thought it would.
The family stared up at her, still bound and stunned but she payed them no attention. Brandy was more interested in the news announcement that had just come on.
The headline made her reflexively flinch, then break down into hysterical laughter.
It was about time, She thought.
—
One, two, three... now.
Treech stepped onto the red carpet, a well-rehearsed smile playing on his features.
He was greated with the usual raucous applause and countless chants of his name. People fought their way toward the front of the crowd just for the chance of him answering their questions.
He walked slowly toward the interviewers as the camera drank him in, throwing around a graceful wave or two.
It might of just been his imagination but the crowd's screams seemed louder than usual. More urgent.
"Treech! Treech! Over here!"
"When was the last time you spoke with your mother?"
"What about your brother and sisters?"
Treech could almost sense what was happening before it was said. His publicist whispered something into his ear, which confirmed his suspicion. His smile immediately faded.
As he was escorted off the stage, he heard one last chanting remark which made it all the more real.
"Will you be wearing Valentino to the funeral?"
—
Coral bounded down from the top bunk, a wide grin spreading across her face.
She stuffed anything she deemed valuable in her large trench coat, slung it round her shoulders and waved goodbye to her bunkmates using her appropriately worded palm tattoo.
"Hey, stay strong, I believe in you!"
"You.. not so much."
After she exited the room, she switched her left hand for her right to greet the warden – her tattoo now read "hello".
He gave Coral her personal belongings along with a token, which she kissed as she exited the rehab centre – finally.
"Coral, remember, stay sober!"
The voice of the warden (and many others) were long gone in the next hour. Coral sat in the back of an ambulance, the familiar cloud of numbness washing over her. She was high again, not even an hour out of rehab. Mizzen was going to be pissed. Luckily, the drugs pushed both him and that thought to the back of her mind.
Coral was about to lay down and savour the moment of freedom, when the radio headline made her shoot back up.
She chuckled, despite herself.
Well, shit!
—
Sheaf closed her eyes tightly. The notes of Stravinsky circled around her mind, the bow in her hand moving rapidly to the rhythm in her head. She had reached the point where the sheet was effectively useless to her. It was all muscle memory, as mother had called it.
As the sweet sound of music filled her ears, Sheaf played out her fantasy. She imagined herself in a stadium, larger than the one she sat in now – and fuller. People from anywhere and everywhere would come to watch her play in first chair. The stands were packed — the shouts of her name were almost as loud as her violin. She'd be able to see her family in the front row. Panlo, Brandy, Treech, Coral. Even Bobbin and Mizzen were there, which reminded her that this definitely wasn't real.
Sheaf was happy, truly. As happy as she could get, anyway.
By the time she had finished the piece, her joy had faded. Her eyes fluttered open, greeted only by a faint gust of wind from the door she left open. The stadium was completely vacant.
Sheaf gathered her things and left without a word.
Decisively, she took the long way home, needing to clear her head. Besides, window-shopping was a harmless coping mechanism.
She passed jewellery stores, which were never really her thing. Comic book shops, which were all met with an eyeroll.
Eventually, Sheaf passed something that made her stop in her tracks.
A store full to the brim with televisions, displaying the latest news.
Once she read the headline, she knew she wouldn't be going home.
"Doctor Volumnia Gaul, dead."