i can see without my eyes

TRAYSON HALLIFAX.

DEE SHARPE.

     Her head hurt. Light bled in as she opened her eyes, a fog of confusion dissipating by the second as she pushed her heavy, aching body up enough to look around. She was alive, there was no question about that. So was V, and Trayson — whose voice had prodded her out of whatever in-between state of sleep and unconsciousness — and so were a bunch of other people she’d never seen before, spread around the room on stained pieces of fabric that could barely be called mattresses. A couple of them looked dirty enough that she felt sure they hadn’t come with them from the Vortex; they must’ve been in the cell already. For how long? And how long will I be here?

     It stank worse than the last dank basement she’d woken up in, and already it felt more dangerous, too, but again — like in Vaughn’s room — she couldn’t find it in her to panic. Or cry. Or despair. What do they want with us? Would she ever see home again? The lack of terror was compensated for a brief moment by a deep sense of sorrow — for Silas, and for how he must feel, if he knew yet that she was gone. Last time, there had been a reason. They’d been hostages, held as a threat. Now, where would he even begin to look? Would Queenie find her? Would anyone?

     Though she didn’t like Trayson, Dee found herself a little relieved that he was alive in front of her. Something familiar, like Vaughn, but also someone else capable. Even if he was a dick about it. A tiny sliver of hope that maybe, maybe all wasn’t lost.

     Someone was coming. Her nerves buzzed for the first time in the minute since she’d woken; like a string being plucked — a vague and formless fear resounding inside her rib cage — but she remained in place, watching the door. If nothing else, maybe they were about to learn why they were all there.

     A set of five individuals appeared in front of the locked door, all standing in line and staring at their prisoners, to which Trayson turned to face them, offering him his infamous, smug grin. He deliberately raised his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side with a sneer, “What? We doing some fun cosplay now? Are we pretending to be big bad Government Agents? Because… really….” He approached the edge of the cage, closer to their captives, “You look ridiculous.” His voice projecting through the small cell, so even those who might’ve been trying to catch some slumber would’ve heard his goading. Waving a hand dismissively, he turned his back to them, pacing further inside. “Let’s get it over with, shall we?”

     One of them used a keycard to open the door and three of them pushed forward, charging toward Trayson who, despite his less-than-stellar form, spun his elbow into the neck of the closest assailant. The other two managed to grab him before he could harm them any further, the one he’d hit hunched over as he let out a few choked hacks. They shoved Trayson up against the farthest wall, the other one joining him to help restrain the man, cuffing his wrists with zip-ties, before shoving him over — a feat that served more difficult when Trayson was light on his feet — then went about doing the same to his ankles.

     The other two unoccupied guards approached Dee, breathing steadily before they turned their attention on Vaughn. “These two. Get them to the Commander. The other four are requested in latrines.” Fear bulged the eyes of some, and one other began skittering across the floor trying to make it for the open door, only to be kicked down, then again in her ribs, another in the head. She held herself tightly, clutching herself in fetal position before the guard hauled her up. “Leave the troublemaker here, we’ll come back for him.”

     Vaughn ignored everything happening, her body frozen except for her fingertips that kept pressing into the floor. She was dizzy, the room they were in seeming to lean one way than another, and she couldn’t tell where the sounds were coming from. A man speaking. A scramble. Grunts. Coughs. Her skin tingled with discomfort, as if it knew how close the danger was and was begging her to just look. Take action. Do something. She wished beyond belief that this was one of her simulations; the scary ones she’d make for the sickos she wished would find somewhere else to go. But it was better that way. In her world, they weren’t hurting real people. In this world, these people were. 

    Why had they targeted the Vortex? What had been happening under the surface that she didn’t know about? Had it been a client? They were supposed to vet everyone who came in, for this very reason. A safe, fun place to escape. Now what? Yousuf would have so much work to do — and he’d do it, because she knew there was no way he was getting rid of his golden egg. It was just a matter of if Vaughn would ever see him, or it, again. 

TRAYSON HALLIFAX.

DEE SHARPE.

     Queenie wouldn’t make it in time. A stronger jolt of fear shot through her, her heart skipping a beat, and she almost jumped when Vaughn’s arm clutched hers, but returned the grip instead. An amber-tinted cloud was creeping along the floor, slowly filling the room. Dee’s first instinct was to hold her breath, but it wasn’t a feasible solution. How long would she even be able to keep it up, the way her pulse was beginning to race? A minute? Less?      The intruders had Trayson pinned to the floor; she could see their legs, their arms — the top of his head and his shoulders as his struggle to get free gradually grew weaker.

     Her head was swimming, too, and she coughed as she began to choke on the gas that was hissing out of a canister somewhere near. They’d be found. They were making too much noise, and did it even matter at this point?      She’d been sedated before, and as the world began to fall away from her, Dee wondered — if she was dying — whether she’d be able to tell the difference.

     Well, wasn’t this just the shit? His mouth tasted like copper when he woke, and everything ached, whatever gas they’d used to knock him out making him feel light-headed. The first thing he noticed was the hanging bulb, engaged in metal before he turned his head to one side to find cement walls, and dirty, thin mattresses in the corners, one of which he was presumably lying on right now. Disgusting. One side of his face throbbed and when he reached up to touch it, his skin was hot and a slight — and satisfying — sting spread through across his features. 

     After a few slow breathes, he tightened his muscles, readying himself to stand, which he did, albeit a bit slower than he would have liked. A cough echoed down the corridor outside their cell, low muttering playing to the tune of footsteps coming closer. A loud buzzer reverberated through the area, and he heard the clink of a door unlatching, more footfall accompanying the earlier medley. 

     It smelt like fucking sweat, and mildew, all mixing with the sickening smell of whatever was being cooked, wherever the kitchen was. Through a set of bars with a wide gap in the middle — paint worn off at shoulder height from others gripping the metal — he saw two other women, one of which he was almost certain he recognized. He approached them, hovering near the bars as his eyes narrowed in curiosity.

     “Wake up, sleeping beauties. Our princes are coming.”

     Vaughn couldn’t tell if the pain she felt in her lungs when she woke up was from actually being injured, or the absolute fucking fear. What the fuck had happened? And as she looked around, it spread to her chest, her throat, and nausea rolled in her stomach as she breathed in the strong scent of mildew. Her pulse was racing and she could feel it everywhere; her chest, her neck, her wrists, her fingertips, all throbbing and so overwhelming she forced herself to close her eyes, just to get a grip. She let her fingers drag over the pitted concrete flooring, the lumpy, rough mattress she was sitting on, then her forearms, finally feeling some soreness from what she knew was an injury. Bruising, from where they grabbed her, probably dragged her. 

TRAYSON HALLIFAX.

DEE SHARPE.

     As soon as she’d sent her reply, Dee turned her phone off and ejected the SIM, putting the device back in her pocket. Hide it on you. Her bra had a pocket in each cup for thin pieces of removable padding. Sticking her hand down the front of her shirt, she tucked the tiny card into one, where — hopefully — it’d be safe. It was smart, and she would’ve never thought of it. If she lost her phone, she could just put the SIM into a different one, and she wouldn’t have to remember any numbers. She wondered, too late, if she should’ve texted Silas, too, but… why worry him if Queenie was on the way? Maybe everything would be all right.

     Before she had time to consider it further, someone else appeared, and the gunfire was a lot closer — explosive, deafening, but under the overwhelming sound of it… she knew that voice. But Queenie’s instructions had been clear. Stay put. Shut up. And if Trayson wanted to get himself killed taking on whoever was overrunning the place, that was his business. He was better suited to it than she was, anyway, she was certain, and definitely more so than Vaughn, who was all but petrified beside her.

     Turning back to the older woman, Dee held her hand out flat between them, palm facing the floor, then lowered it in a short gesture. Stay down. She pulled it back, raising her index finger to her lips. Be quiet.

     “Ah shit,” he cursed aloud when he heard the metallic clatter of gas cans being thrown down the hallway, followed by a hiss as the corridor began to fill with hazy orange smoke. Trayson dropped his gun, ripping his shirt off to tie it around the lower half of his face, certainly looking more than a bit ridiculous with the extra bits of fabric that bunched up in certain areas. It made no matter; he was sexy no matter what he did, for one. Then he picked his guns back up, blindly aiming them around the corner to fire off his magazine.

     Between the smoke and the noise, Trayson hadn’t been prepared when two more came running in from the opposite direction, working in tandem as they pile-drived Trayson into the ground. “Oh baby,” he cooed, head-butting the one stupid enough to get close enough, but they were wearing helmets, and all it really served to do was whip their head back, while the other was using their legs to pin down Trayson’s, and before he knew it, they both had him in their grip, wrestling him against the ground as they tore the fabric off his face.       “Shut the fuck up and go to sleep,” one of them said, giving Trayson a final slam against the floor for good measure. 

     Vaughn’s breathing became raspy, and now she was sure she wasn’t even blinking anymore, a wide-eyed stare focused completely on Dee, who didn’t seem to be freaking out as much as she was. It was clear from their simulations that she’d been through some shit, and as far as Vaughn’s life was concerned, it’d been pretty uneventful — and she sure as fuck had never dealt with anything like this before. She nodded at Dee’s gestures to stay still, stay quiet, and her posture crumpled further so she could bury her face in her arms. 

     Then there was a nearby slam, the sound of a scuffle in the very room they were in, and whoever had been shooting back at the intruders didn’t seem to be faring well, causing Vaughn’s arm to shoot out to grab Dee’s. She was rigid, nostrils flaring in a harried, wild appearance as she tried to ignore the sound of her heartbeat thrashing in her ears. 

TRAYSON HALLIFAX.

DEE SHARPE.

     The Vortex was plunged in chaos, spinning like its namesake in a mess of gunfire, panicked, running footfalls, and screams — the uptempo music layered over it all creating a bizarre, nightmarish contrast. It was just like her sims. It was just like that day in the convoy.      Months of regular sessions, and Dee’s body didn’t react with terror at the sight of drones and helicopters anymore. Didn’t freeze up at the sound of automatic gunfire. She’d even let V turn on the pain simulator, the blood effects, everything… but this was real. If she got shot, she could die.

     Why, then, did she feel so strange?

     The fear and adrenaline that had flooded her — debilitated her — the day Izzy had died were muted under a wet blanket of… resignation, she realized, and she couldn’t feel them the way she knew she was supposed to. Her family was dead. Everyone. She’d watched the life drain from her sister, dark blood from a wound, and maybe it was her turn now. What could she do to stop it, anyway?

     Her best friend, who had promised to stand by her in anything, was gone, and Dee had a feeling it was for good this time. Disappeared without a word to anyone; not her, not Corbin, not Remi. Not that she’d talked to him, but from what Silas had said, it sure as fuck didn’t seem like it.      Silas.      Would he hurt, if she died? Would he grieve? She felt a deep sting in her chest, missing him even though she was breathing, still, and maybe he’d be better off. Maybe he’d find a girl who wanted to marry him and make a family. Maybe…      Vaughn’s trembling breath drew her attention. She didn’t know how she’d heard it, through all the noise, but she did. They were huddled close. Their eyes met, and Dee breathed, too, wishing she could wordlessly communicate some sort of reassurance and coming up short. Just hide and wait for it to be over. After a heart-stopping moment that felt like an eternity, the people who had entered their room paced back out into the hallway, and a second wish rose up in the wake of the other — because when trying to think up solutions for problems like this, she was the first thing that came to mind. Unbreakable. Unafraid. Queenie. If she texted for help, would it be quick enough? Slowly, trying her best not to make a sound, she slipped her phone out of her back pocket and woke the screen.

     These motherfuckers; that’s what Trayson thought when he’d watched his panicked fuck-of-the-moment run out of the room they were in and straight into gunfire. These motherfuckers, Trayson thought, smiling so large someone would’ve thought he’d just walked into his own surprise party. By the sound of things, there were a lot of them, and the likelihood that he’d come out unscathed was rather low. Poo. But… oh well! And out he went, two SMG’s in each hand, firing off the weapons in every direction, and taking out a good portion of the men in the hallway. At least, until more arrived, and Trayson ducked into one of the nearby rooms, keeping close to the frame so he could shoot around the corner.

     “Now c’mon guys! The Vortex? Escapism at its finest and here you come to ruin everyone’s fun! Surely there’s a rich bitch a neighborhood over who’d have plenty for you to steal!” He pursed his lips, tilting his head as he thought of the other possibilities, “Or is this a trafficking thing? I’m really better suited for porno!” Trayson, of course, was met with more gunfire, his arms cradling his head as shattered glass sprayed his hair and shoulders — only for a second, and then he was back on the defense, guns ready, adrenaline pumping, and fuck he loved this fucking city!

     It wasn’t uncommon for the Vortex to be filled with flashes of light, strobe shows making the main area an attractive place to spend time outside of sessions. People would hang out, drinking neon colored beverages named after some of their most popular simulations. Normally, the flashes weren’t from gun muzzles; usually, the bass wasn’t tainted with shrieks and pleas for help. Doors were being shot and kicked through, clients trying to rush past the raiders only to be thrown to the floor, or shot in the leg. Vaughn was in her room, under her desk, huddled next to Dee Sharpe, a client she’d been seeing for months now. 

     She held a finger to her lips as booted feet came into view, then suddenly, bullets began flying throughout the room, and she saw pieces of her keyboard clatter to the floor, some skidding barely inches away from her foot. The music had become discordant, making it all feel like some bad trip, some of it warbling as speakers took damage, or maybe the DJ’s hand had slid across the board in the midst of being shot. Vaughn’s elbows were pressed into her sides, as if she could make herself smaller, less visible, and all she could do was stare at Dee, holding herself so tightly one could see the tendons in her neck, her pulse throbbing against her skin.

   “You do that often?”

     “Never.”

   “I’m sure it’ll be interesting either way.”

     “Yeah. It will.”

   “Many. Somewhere… arctic, maybe? Or… a rainforest. Or in the ocean!”

     Vaughn broke out into a wide smile when she saw Erica’s excitement, nodding firmly, “Alright! It sounds like the ocean is the way to go. Although, a rainforest is really cool.”

   “I don’t know.”

   “You wanna show me your work?”

     Vaughn’s expression brightened a bit as she responded, “Really?”

   “Very.” A server came by to take their order. Erica had to look at the menu again, because she’d forgotten the fanciful name of the dish she wanted.

   “The, uh… sea breeze, please. And I think I’ll have some lemonade. Thank you.” This wasn’t her first time in a restaurant since arriving in Battery, but it still felt strange, ordering people to make you whatever you’d like. In the base, you ate what was available that day, and you were grateful. Luxury was an unfamiliar word, and she got the sense that even eating at a restaurant was not how most people would define it — but it was to her.

     Vaughn cheerfully ordered — and she’d also forgotten the name of the fancy dish — spreading her legd a bit before stretching them out underneath the table. 

   “I never said I only lived in the desert.”

   “… But you’re right. Avocado and chocolate?”

     “I know. That’d be a bit wild, wouldn’t it?”

“‘You guys’ meaning who… exactly?”

   “Sounds very sugary. Let’s do it.”

     “What do you guys eat? I mean like, you probably don’t have all the decadent bullshit.”

   “It’s settled, then.”

     “Settled.” Vaughn, grinning, held out her hand to shake Erica’s. 

   Erica breathed out a laugh. “That’s a shame. I’ve never had seafood.”

   “Maybe.” Erica looked at the menu as well. “Honestly, I don’t know what half of this shit is supposed to be. Baja Sea Breeze?” She squinted at the description. Something something prawns and scallops. “Can’t be any sort of fresh, can it?”

     Vaughn laughed, “There’s like… nothing actually fresh in this entire city.”

   “I’m not saying anything. It was more of a… private joke. Sorry.”

     “Oh.”