never, pt. 1
originally written may 8 2018
posted to a private writing forum between friends
there is rain.
great downpours, steady and unrelenting. there are no clouds - no sky really - and yet the rain comes.
it’s warm. not cloying, not humid. just… warm. the kind of warmth that wraps you, safe and secure like the embrace of a parent.
paternal.
you know that you’re safe here.
she does.
somewhere in the distance, the sound of waves lapping at sandy shores echos, slow and soothing. the sound of raindrops hitting the surface of a peaceful sea. the sound of a mother, singing to her child.
it’s with you, you know. always.
she knows that too.
a deep, calming, centering breath. fingers, flexing once, twice, against soft fabric. then the melody of water, of home and safety and comfort, becomes white noise and static before it fades away entirely. then she’s no longer being swept away, away, away, and she’s back in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in front of the bay windows.
her skin still tingles with phantom touch, the embrace of a father, of a mother and she’s in her bedroom alone, but she knows she isn’t truly. she never is.
“jackie? is it cool if i come in?”
in more ways than one. jackie rolls her shoulders and unfolds her legs, stretching them out in front of her until the joints crack. morning meditation is always short-lived here - not that she’s really complaining.
“door’s unlocked, may,” she calls back. may peeks around the door, all disheveled strawberry blonde hair and wild blue eyes, face alight with a mischievous grin. jackie’s eyebrows are raised before she even has to think about it, and may huffs.
“don’t look at me like that –”
“like what?”
“your eyebrows did that thing they do!”
jackie grins, “i feel like they’re well within their right, considering the last time you came in my room with that look on your face, we spent like four days cleaning weird purple gunk out of the training room and you had to write a formal apology to that tv station.”
a dismissive hand wave, “i apologized for that so you can’t bring it up anymore. anyway, stop distracting me. i came here to tell you someone just hit us up with a mission and since you’re the leader, i need you to hurry up any approve it.”
jackie pushes herself off the ground with a few more cracks of her joints, “i don’t even know what it is yet, may,” a quick it doesn’t matter cuts through her response but jackie ignores it, “lemme see the debriefing first at least.”
may gives an exaggerated groan but says fine, tells her to hurry up. if jackie was a better woman, she would roll her eyes and take her time doing her morning routine, because really. the mission isn’t going anywhere, there’s no need to rush.
jackie is not that better woman.
may’s excitement is - has always been - infectious and jackie finds herself floating into the bathroom to finish getting ready faster than she really needs to. when she’s finally dressed and washed, she finds may and logan crowded around the frankly giant screen that serves both as their tv and computer. she drops into a spot next to logan, who looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days but when she settles in, he turns to her and smiles.
logan elbows may in the side, quick and light, and points, “boss lady’s up and ready. roll that beautiful bean footage!” he crows with a self-satisfied grin and jackie doesn’t bother to hide her groan. may rolls her eyes and shoves him gently, before directing her mechip to run the footage. there’s a cheery series of chirping sounds and then the screen fills with the face of an old, sweaty-foreheaded man. from the looks of his (cheap) suit and receding, gelled back hair, he’s probably a politician of some sort, albeit a minor one, because jackie doesn’t recognize him immediately.
and she makes a point of keep track of all the major politicians in play.
the man on the screen harrumphs once, twice, before folding his hands on the desk in front of him, “this is a message for the… team of powered individuals –” he spits the term like it’s a curse and jackie’s eyes narrow instinctively, “– that call themselves the waywardens. your contact information was passed onto me by a… trusted party after they heard i was in need of specialized help.”
there’s a pause, and the man adjusts his tie and pulls a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket to dab at his glistening forehead. beside her, logan makes a gagging motion.
“there’s a freighter ship that’ll be making port here in millenia city friday night. normally, this wouldn’t be anything to write home about, but this particular freighter is carrying something… important to me. to all of millenia city, really. i need said cargo escorted to it’s drop off point. considering the nature of this… cargo, human guards would not be practical. hence me asking you. all the pertinent information will be sent to your mechips, if you agree to take on this endeavor,” the man pauses again to sit straighter in his chair in a misguided attempt to look more imperious, “you have my thanks in advance.” then the feed cuts out, and the screen flickers with something like a qr code. may turns bodily in her seat to face logan and jackie, eyes sparkling.
“well?”
jackie wrinkles her nose, “may, what about playing escort mission like a lame rpg has you so jazzed?”
“oh, c’mon! doesn’t it make you curious? there are so few details –” that’s usually bad, logan mutters, and may cuts her eyes at him before barreling on, “– it’s like something straight out of a cheesy daytime mechip b-reel. we have to do it.”
may’s excitement is, as always, electric; jackie bites the inside of her cheek and tries to run through the myriad of ways this mission could go to absolute shit. tries to ignore the way her curiosity tugs at the edges of her common sense and urges her to just go with it, c’mon, you know you want to find out what the hell this ‘cargo’ is.
“… fine,” jackie says after a long moment. may beams, “we’ll take it. but we’re going to do an assload of recon first. the last thing i need is us wandering into a trap. especially since…” she stops, exhales slow. doesn’t really need to finish the statement, because logan’s eyebrows knit together and may’s gaze goes dim. but they both nod, earnest, and that’s good enough for jackie.
may looks like she wants to tack on her tried-and-true you won’t regret this but nothing more is said.
the waves are at her toes now.
still gently lapping, slow and unhurried. the sound is as calming as ever, rhythmic, so she closes her eyes and times her breathing to match it. inhale, exhale, and becomes one with the ocean like she loves to do.
usually it’s just her here. her safe space, constructed from love and deep, deep bonds, but today there’s a visitor. when she opens her eyes, there’s another figure standing next to her on the sand, hands clasped behind their back.
you know you need to be careful, right?
there’s never any real speech here. it would ruin the peace of the place. everything is felt, like vibrations carried through matter. through skin and muscle and bone, so that it’s understood without ever being verbalized.
she knows she does.
the figure smiles, slow and wistful. golden eyes shift from the horizon - the expanse of sea before them, never-ending - to look at her proper.
i don’t want to come back and find any of you gone.
she knows this too.
jackie smiles back. cocks her head to the side and meets the figure’s eyes. there are times where she wishes she could share this place with everyone she cares about - find a way to tether them to the same raw forces that allow her entrance, but it’s not possible. still. she wishes.
you won’t, she says through the minute shrug of her shoulders. the waves are joined by rainfall, again. steady, steady, the pitter-patter timed to match her heartbeat. inhale, exhale, palms held up and open over the water. the surface ripples like a pebble’s skimmed over it.
i trust you.
she closes her eyes, inhales again. on the exhale, she opens them and the figure is gone. she curls her fingers closed one by one; the water stills and the rain lets up.
thank you.
the harbour is quiet.
jackie can’t actually see may or logan right now - they’re stationed at different points along the docks, the goal to have scouting advantage despite the docks themselves being so wide; even so, she can feel their anticipation and anxiety in the air.
she takes a deep, slow breath and peers out into the inky blackness of millenia city’s harbour again. they’ve been out here for what’s felt like hours, waiting for their ship to make it’s way to dock. something feels vaguely off about the whole shindig, but jackie can’t pinpoint it. the harbour isn’t fully devoid of activity - off in the distance she can make out employees shuffling around, putting things to rights as their shifts taper off - but it feels oddly shallow and empty just the same.
“jay, do you copy?” logan’s voice crackles to life in her ear, and she hums her acknowledgement, “any action by where you are?”
“that’s a big fat fuckin’ negatory, spectrum.” she responds, and logan sighs.
“same here. i’m starting to get nervous, what if –”
“shhh!” may hisses suddenly, “i see the ship! it’s coming it now!” and that’s all jackie needs to get going. she slinks out of her position atop a stack of shipping crates, gliding through the air with practiced ease. from this vantage point, she can see logan clambering out of his own hiding spot and rush to meet up with may, who’s standing near the edge of dock number six.
out on the horizon, jackie can make out the hull of a hulking cargo ship on the water. about time.
by the time she lands next to may and logan, the ship is pulling up and the remaining dock workers are busying themselves with mooring it. she spares a glance at her teammates as the ship is tied off and someone barks at them to get a move on.
“please don’t be some kinda evil possessed artifact that’s going to summon some kinda hellbeast and murder us all,” logan mutters as they board and descend to the cargo hold.
inside the cargo hold is dark, almost unnecessarily so. there are stacks of crates and boxes lining the walls and crowding the middle of the deck. everything is stamped with a strange logo jackie doesn’t recognize - a swirling pattern of spirals and OL in big, block letters. it makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
the further away from the stairs they move, the quieter it becomes. soon they can’t hear the movement of the dock workers on the deck above anymore, and the silence seems almost as heavy as the darkness.
“i really don’t like this,” logan says aloud, and it feels like his voice echos even though that doesn’t make any sense for the space they’re in.
nobody responds, but may reaches out and squeezes his hand.
far, far in the back of the hold, tucked behind towers of crates, is a steel door, marked with the same logo as the crates. may looks at jackie from her spot on logan’s opposite side and jerks her chin towards the door.
great. this ‘fearless leader’ thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
jackie inhales deep and steels herself. whatever’s on the other side of that door, she can definitely handle. she’s handled crazy, murderous supervillains and weird-ass ravenous cults before. she can do this.
the door opens with a foreboding creaaaak - like something straight out of a b-reel mechip horror movie. inside is almost darker - it’s impossible to make out anything significant - than outside, and twice as quiet. somehow.
may nudges jackie forward first, then drags logan in behind her.
it takes minutes of blind groping, and some muttered curses, but eventually jackie’s fingers find something solid. cold to the touch and smooth - steel… bars? a quick feel up and down and, yes, they’re steel bars. with gaps between them… a cage.
it’s a cage.
suddenly, something inside the cage moves. logan gasps and stumbles back; may’s hand flies to her mouth.
it’s still too dark to rightly see anything, but peering out at them from inside the cage is a single, glowing, red eye.
“holy shit, jubilee.”
jackie doesn’t have time to respond before what she’s sure is a hand closes around her’s, which are still wrapped firmly around what are definitely steel bars. her heart stutters in her chest and she can feel the telltale sizzling sensation of dark energy pooling at her fingertips as a defense mechanism. but before she can get even a single energy ball off, a soft, hoarse voice speaks.
“please… please. let me out of here… please.”
the energy gathering at her fingers stills at the same time her breathing does. that eerie red eye is watching her now, she’s sure of it, but it’s big and baleful like a fawn or a rabbit. not… threatening.
the fingers around her’s squeeze, and the voice speaks again, “please. i can’t be here -- you can’t – we – you – need to leave, need to get out – can’t be here can’tbeherecan’tcan’tcan’t –”
whatever else the voice intends to tell her is lost in rapid-fire garbled speech and the sudden, deafening death rattle of an explosion up above. the entire ship is rocked left and right with the force of it – whatever it is – and she can hear logan and may crash into crates and walls behind her. the only thing that saves her is her grip on the steel cage – even if it almost wrenches her arm out of it’s socket.
“must leave, must leave – can’t be here – get out get out – outoutoutout –”
the sound of water rushing mixes with the ringing in her ears and panic rises, fast and hot, in her throat.
shit. shitshitshit.
“spectrum! rumor!” a beat and – nothing. s h i t.
another death knell and the ship rocks again, then a voice, booming – like the explosions – and commanding.
“we’ve come to apprehend the specimen! you will back down, at once!”
shit.
this will never be finished, mostly because i don't remember where i was going with it. i still like the first part, though!
