1 Chapter I

"Get the fuck up!" Was all that I could hear over the ringing in my ears. All I could see was my hands in the dirt, muddied by my tears. I wasn't crying, I was… well, yeah, I was crying. I'm trying, I'm really trying to gather my strength here, but it's not coming together the way that I need it to. There's something about this moment, my uncle and I sparring, his yelling, the weapon laying in the dirt next to me, it feels surreal in a way. "Kitami, you need to get up. Now." His voice was much sterner this time around, less anger, more compassion. I stared at the wooden practice broadsword laying on the ground next to me, it's just as dusty as I am, and it's almost staring back at me. I reached out and wrapped my calloused hand around the grip. My knuckles bleeding from the abundance of training this past few weeks. "Why are you being so hard on me?" I choked through the tears.

"You expect me to allow you to go to The City without the proper training?" He barked back at me, that roughness in his voice once again. I gripped the practice weapon and gathered all the strength I could into my little legs. He never believed in me. He never believed in the strength that I have to help people. I know what I was put in this world to do, and that's to defend those who can't defend themselves. My knuckles start bleeding harder as my grip gets tighter. There's a feeling in my gut that I can't shake. I start to move forward. First, a jog. Then, a sprint. After that, with a quick flick of my weapon, I'll strike him in the chin. I can see it. It's perfect. This must work. I will show him who I am, and I will make him believe in me.

I started, one foot in front of the other until I'm lightly jogging. Then, I broke into a sprint. "You aren't going to convince me if you can't even hit me, Kitami." He's teasing me at this point. Making fun of me. I'll make him believe. My arms raise themselves, almost with a mind of their own. With a quick, sharp movement, I'll do it! I'll strike him down, and prove that I'm-

It's… so dark. Hot, too. Why is it so hot? Am I covered in something? It's wet. Hot, dark, and wet. A cave? Light starts to pierce through my eyes. I'm older. It must have been years. What happened? I remember charging at Uncle. I remember that day like it just happened. The light peering through is the sun, I'm still home. Is this the same field as that day? "I knew you'd wake up sooner or later." That voice, it's got to be Uncle's. There's no way that it isn't. "What happened?" My voice is dry, my mouth is dry, my eyes are strained, and the rest of my body has seen better days. I try my hardest to sit up, but the most that I can muster is leaning up slightly using my arm as leverage. Deckard is sitting at my feet. I'm still laying in that spot. Years have passed, but it went by in the blink of an eye.

"You've been out for a few days now," he said to me. "You know, when you were younger, all your mother would talk about is how cute of a kid you were." I'm not too sure what he's getting at, but I never think about my mother anymore. I haven't in years. I'm struggling to sit up any more. Gazing around my bedroom, it's just as empty as it's ever felt.

"Kitami," he stared at me as I forced myself to sit up further. "You need to think about what it is that you want in life. Getting yourself into danger isn't going to bring you happiness."

Again? Another lecture. All I've ever heard come out of his mouth is some pseudo-philosophical bullshit. He's less Deckard and more Plato. "When I leave this village, trust me uncle, it's not to spite you. I want to use what you've taught me over all the years to help people. The City needs someone like me." I could barely finish my sentence before he yells out, "No! The City needs a better police force, they don't need a vigilante!" He stands abruptly, staring at me. "That's what you would be. Not a hero, not a special woman who swoops down from above to help the little man, you would be a vigilante! I can't let you just throw your life and your skills away."

I paused for a moment. His words swirled around my head, and then sharply pierced my ears.

"My skills? You taught me everything I know. If you don't have faith in me, then maybe being trained by you was a mistake. You're the one in charge of protecting home. While you're still alive, I want to go and help other people who need it."

"You do not talk about your home and your family like that. I've spent so many years training you to be who you are. You're disrespecting all of us here by wanting to chase a dream as broad and aimless as this, Kitami!"

"You don't tell me how to speak." I gather my strength to stand up, leaning more on my left leg, holding myself up on the edge of my bed. "If you don't think that I can do what I was born for, then you're not even family to me."

He just looked at me. "I-" he started, "Stop. You're not fucking sorry. You were never sorry before I spoke back. I'm not getting any younger, and there are thousands of people in that city who could use someone like me. I'm a master swordswoman. I can defend myself, Uncle Deckard."

I walked back into the house and started gathering my things. Bike helmet, sword, the necessities. I grab my keys for the bike and walk outside again. "Uncle, you have one minute to tell me that you believe in my goals and that you support me. Otherwise, you can assume that you'll never see me again."

Silence. The silence was deafening. I stood there, looking at him, he was just staring at the ground, studying the individual granules of dirt on my boots. "I'm not leaving to spite you, like I said. I'm leaving to put myself to work."

I climbed onto my motorcycle, and he just watched. Not a single murmur. I tried to give him a chance before I left, but he didn't want to take it. The key slid into the ignition like it did hundreds of times before. The engine turns and like that, I'm leaving everything I know behind. What if he's right? That's all that I can think about. What if I get myself into major trouble, something that I'm not prepared for?

No, that's not something that I can cloud my mind with. The cold winter air piercing my skin as I fly down I-35. The City's skyline stretches across the horizon. I've never been in the City before.

Some time passes, and at this point it's been only an hour since I've left my hometown and already, I'm feeling hungry. All the road signs that I've passed by so far haven't had any food stops, only gas stations and bars. My hard grips the throttle harder, and I speed up. I mean, sure, I could have stopped at a gas station, but I could really go for something a little more… normal? I don't want to have to just get some road grub or something. Sitting down at a restaurant is what I want right now. Someone to give me some water when my cup is empty. Another road sign.

Gas station, bar. Gas station, bar. Another 10 minutes up the road, I finally spot it. Exactly what I was waiting for. Polly's Dine and Dash. "Perfect." I mutter to myself. My dash shows half of a tank. I should be able to make it well into the City on this. As I pull off of the interstate, I notice that the parking lot is near empty. A few cars, another motorcycle, and 2 big ol' semi-trucks. I pull into my parking spot and turn off my bike.

"Heya, lady!" I hear to my left. As I look to my side, I see 3 men, all of them head to toe in the most redneck garb I've ever seen. Flannel with the sleeves ripped off at the shoulders, jeans ever so slightly torn at the knees, and three big ass straw hats, covering their disgusting receding hairlines. The most out-of-place thing about the men were some of their body parts. They had some appendages that were replaced with prosthetic parts. Metallic arms, bionic legs, the man on the right even had a missing eye that looked to be replaced by a small form-factor camera.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" I hollered, from across the lot. "Yeah, you wanna bring your cute self over here?" They slurred at me. I couldn't smell the alcohol, but I could practically hear it. A small lady burst through the door to the diner and starts screaming. "You fucking hooligans need to get out of my lot! I told yous last week, y'all are banned! GO AWAY!"

You could see the men's eyes pop out of their head; their faces flushed red with embarrassment. The least drunk of the three of them hops in his car and drives away with the other two in the backseat, without another word out of the three of them. The lady looks at me as I'm taking my helmet off.

"You here for some good eatin', hun?" I couldn't help but smile. "I absolutely am, ma'am." She motions at me to come inside, "Then you need to get yourself on in here, young lady."

I dismount my bike and start to head into the restaurant. The décor is gorgeous, old Americana, from the mid-1900s. Black and white pictures of the diner from it's opening, with an old car in front, with a beautiful young man and woman in front of a 'grand opening' sign. The booths are upholstered in a shiny red leather, cracked from use over the years, but not destroyed. The tables are clean, the floor is squeaky. For a diner that seems to be in the middle of nowhere, it's a very beautiful location.

The lady from earlier calls out to me from behind the counter, "Hun, you can sit down wherever you want, I'll be right over to take care of ya!" The hospitality here is incredible, I've not had food that smells as good as this place in a very long time. Uncle Deckard's cooking was… lackluster to say the least. Normally just some sort of sloppy meat, just enough protein to keep me moving. I guess that's all you need sometimes, huh?

I sit down at a booth, just close enough to the door to where if I need to get out fast, I can. I removed my sword from my back and place it on the inside of the booth, while I sit on the outside. My bag and sword rest against the window overlooking the parking lot. I have a clear view of my bike, my weapon, and my belongings. "My name's Polly by the way," she says as she walks toward my table. "Those nasty gentlemen out there are some troublemakers that enjoy harassing women and stealing from men. In fact, they love anything they can do that harms people."

She looks out the window as she places a cup down and starts filling it with a dark liquid. "The one on the right, probably the most drunk, that's Dennis. Sorry son of a bitch messed with me on the wrong day. Shot 'im right in the leg. They like to stick around here, but they burn rubber soon as they see me." Her accent is something that I've never heard. A southern drawl, this far north? It's nearly unheard of. Most people here talk with the "eloquence" of the New Boston accent.

The smell emanating from my mug floats up to my nose, it's chocolatey and earthy. "What is this?" I ask. I take a sip of the bitter drink, but it's really something else. As my lips leave the cup, I glance over at Polly. "Darling, you're telling me that you've never had coffee?" I must look puzzled, because she just stares at me and continues, "Coffee is one of the most popular drinks across the globe. Where do you come from, sweety?"

I never really thought about this, there's I never really thought about this, there's going to be culture shock with me leaving home right? Maybe the shock was exactly what Uncle was trying to warn me about. Coffee? I've never heard of it. This smell, this taste, it's completely foreign to me. It's bitter, it's earthy, it tastes almost like mud. "I've never heard of coffee. It's good, but it's so, so, so bitter."

Polly laughs a little bit, before walking to the counter, and grabbing some small containers. She walks back to me and places them on the table, and then sits across from me. "So, coffee is supposed to be bitter. It's supposed to give certain flavor notes depending on what kind of coffee bean you grow, how long you let it grow, and how long you roast it before grinding it. That also helps form the flavor, the grind size and the brewing method." She slyly points back toward the kitchen.

"I can't stand a bad cup of coffee. I pour all our coffee with an old-fashioned pour-over, and a gooseneck kettle that my grandmother gave me." She knows a lot about this drink. She must have been doing this a long time. I wonder who the lady in that picture from earlier is. Maybe it's her grandmother that she mentioned. "So, to make coffee taste better, a lot of people will add things to it, like sweeteners, milk, cream, syrup, and chocolate. People all over the world drink coffee in hundreds of different ways. What is in your cup is just a good old cup of Columbian roast. Just some plain black coffee. I'd recommend these, some plain old sugar and half 'n half."

The two little white containers on the table are labelled as such, one little cup of Half n' Half, and a cup of Sugar. I open and pour both into my cup, and she hands me a napkin with a spoon, fork, and knife wrapped up inside. I use the spoon to stir my coffee, and it starts to go from muddy black to a cloudy tan thanks to the cream. I bring my mug back up to my lips, and take a sip of the coffee, now cooled by the cream, and sweetened by the sugar. It still has a bitter cut through, but it's definitely more palatable.

Polly is watching me drink my coffee, enamored that someone could have gone 20 something years without ever hearing about it. "Darlin, can I get you something to eat? You've got your coffee, how about a meal?" I glance back over the menu that was on the table, and most of it is the same as the coffee, completely foreign to me. Of course, it all looks delicious, but I'm not sure that I've heard of any of it. Sausage, biscuits, bacon. Gravy, pancakes, waffles? "Polly, I've never had... most of this stuff. I'm not sure what it is."

She just keeps looking at me, "What's your name, miss?"

"Kitami."

"And Kitami, where are you from?"

That's a question that I never really thought about, I had never left my hometown up until now. "I'm from Quietus. It's a very small village about an hour or so west of here." Her eyes widen. "Quietus? Do you know a man named Deckard?"

Uncle's name rings in my ears for a second, I manage to slowly choke out the words, "Yeah, he's my uncle-" before Polly stands up from the booth and hurries into the kitchen. I hear a hushed command. "The young lady at that table doesn't pay for a single thing in this restaurant," she tells one of the cooks before running back out to me. "Well, Kitami. It's lovely to meet my niece after all these years." She's glowing with excitement. I can tell that she's not bluffing. "Polly, I'd love to talk about Uncle and Quietus with you, if you'd like, but I'm absolutely starving."

She yells back to the kitchen, "2 hot plates – extra bacon!" I'm not sure what that means, but she hurriedly sits across from me again before piping up again, "Your uncle and I were married once upon a time, way back before you were even born. Your father is my brother, and Deckard married into our family." She paused for a moment, reflecting on her words. "When your parents disappeared-"

"Died."

"I could have sworn that they-"

"The police found their bodies 3 years later, on the bank of a river 100 miles west of Quietus."

She was stunned. "I'm so sorry to hear that, hun. When your parents went missing, Deckard and I took care of you, and eventually, I couldn't bear looking at your adorable little face. You just reminded me so much of your father, I couldn't take it. I left you with Deckard when you were just a few years old." Her hand lifts up to her eye and wipes away a tear rolling down her cheek. "Polly, it's okay. I know that things must happen for a reason, and you had every right to remove yourself from a situation that you didn't want to be a part of."

She looked at me softly, like she was trying to protect me from her gaze. She seemed relieved that I responded the way that I did. "Uncle taught me how to fight," I started, glancing over toward my sword, resting against the windowsill. "I'm a grown woman now, and I'm going to Livera City to help people. I want to use the strength that I've gained over the years to help those who need it."

The dining room goes quiet; a deadly silence. Polly looks around, before whispering to me. "You don't want to go to the City." She shakes her head slowly, in a disapproving manner. "The people get weirder the closer to the city that you get."

I'm confused. Like, of course there are going to be odd people no matter where you go, but I feel like judging an entire city's population might be going a bit far. "The men that I chased away earlier, did you notice anything dodgy about them?"

"They all had missing appendages, that were replaced by some form of bionic limb?" She points both of her index fingers at me and her eyes widen. "Exactly! Those people are called 'The Augmented.' They're people who have been biomechanically augmented in one way or another. Livera City is crawling with people like them. You got lucky that they were augmented with medical-level biomechanics."

I must have looked visibly stunned, because she paused for a long moment. Biomechanics have been around forever, but they've never been something that the layman can acquire. Only the rich and the elite can get augmented, right? Medical grade augmentations are available for people who have enough coin to cough up, I suppose, but I've only ever heard of politicians, musicians, and other exorbitantly rich and extravagant people getting any kind of cosmetic or non-medical augmentation.

If Livera City is crawling with the Augmented, then does that mean that people there are always getting hurt enough to need medical grade augmentations, or...

"The Augmented in the city are ruthless, mean people. They will hunt you, kill you, and steal from you if they want. Livera City is a huge dark desolate place. It's capitalism at its finest, is what it is!" She looks at my sword, helmet, and backpack. "Kitami, for your sake, I really hope that Deckard taught you how to use that well."

There's a sudden and sharp 'click' and Polly's eyes widen. The barrel of a gun begins to appear, seemingly out of thin air. It looks like the light around the gun had been wrapped to keep in concealed. Slowly, as the gun is revealed, the hand holding it is revealed too. After that, the rest of the man appears, uncloaking himself. "Why are you so adamant that we are bad people, huh, lady?" The man spoke. His voice and stature burly, a deep grizzly voice and strong veiny hands. Polly slowly raises her hands, showing that she's not a threat to the man. Other patrons of the diner begin to run out of the building, some are screaming, some are calling the police.

I slowly move my left hand toward my scabbard, in hopes that the table is covering the line of sight between my hand and the man. I nudge at the end of my scabbard, and it slides down a little. I can't move it too fast, or the man will realize what I'm doing.