C I T I Z E N / S O L D I E R ||OPEN||

[ISAAC PENDRAGON]

Being homeless wasn’t really that big of a deal to Isaac. Sure, it would have been nice to have a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, but he hadn’t had such things (some of the time, at least) when he was on active duty. He’d slept in all kinds of places then, with nothing but a bedroll and his pack as a pillow. So he was more used to sleeping outside than most people likely were when they were forced to lose their home, and the transition hadn’t been that difficult, physically speaking. He could fit everything he owned into one small, ragged pack that he carried around, and apart from that he just scrounged around as needed.

The only real problem he had was food, but even that wasn’t much. He left the soup kitchens (the few still permitted to run under the New Order’s regime) to the truly needy and used the money he made as an information broker to buy himself food. He also made a habit of ‘accidentally’ leaving small change or parts of his meal behind for the others. He was absentminded enough, or good enough at acting the part, that they didn’t think it was charity. It didn’t seem that weird to any of them that a somewhat crazy ex-soldier would just up and wander off in the middle of a meal, muttering something about dead people needing to leave him the hell alone. And if they took the food he left behind, so what? He probably wasn’t coming back for it.

Isaac rolled out his bedroll beneath the slide at Meadow Green Park. It wasn’t much of a shelter, but it was better than nothing, and the shadows underneath it would hide him, at least partially, from the New Order types who sometimes patrolled the park, kicking out the homeless. As he did, out of the corner of his eye he noted one of the local street kids – a heartbreakingly thin girl who couldn’t be older than twelve – edging up to the bench where he’d left half of his hamburger from his dinner. He pretended not to notice, but a faint smile flickered across his face as she snatched the food and ran like hell, likely to find a safe place to hunker down and eat it. One less hungry kid on the streets tonight.

He wasn’t a vigilante, or anything of the sort. He’d had his fill of fighting in that sense. But where he was right now, it wasn’t that much of a stretch for him to do little things to help the others, the ones even less fortunate than he, or who had been living on the streets for much longer. It was tougher now than it had been before, with the New Order constantly harassing them. If a little kindness could brighten their day a bit, well, Isaac was more than happy to provide that little kindness. He wasn’t about to go giving money away left and right; that would draw attention to him, and likely get him picked up by the NO for interrogation. But though the other homeless knew to watch him for things he might drop or leave behind, none of them wanted to question where he got his money. They were just happy to be able to get their hands on some of it.

”Do you think some of them realize I’m doing it on purpose?” he asked the specter flitting around the edges of his vision. This wasn’t one of his squadmates from his soldier days; this one was different. This was a child, a horribly thin one with lank hair and a never-ceasing hunger in his eyes. Of all the ghosts he hallucinated, this one bothered him the most. He didn’t know why; he’d never felt guilty for the deaths of hungry kids on the street. What more could he do without bringing attention to himself? But the look in the specter’s eyes… Isaac felt a shiver run down his spine. ”I suppose I should thank you for hanging around. Reinforces the whole ‘crazy bum’ image, you know?”

He laid down on the bedroll and turned on his side, his back to the specter. He didn’t actually expect to be able to sleep, but surprisingly he started to drift off rather quickly. Perhaps seeing the look on that girl’s face as she’d grabbed what was likely the most food she’d seen in a week had calmed his mind. He might actually be able to sleep tonight; wouldn’t that be lovely.

But it was not to be. Not long after he drifted off into a light doze, for once unmarred by flashes and bangs and the burning all down his left side, New Order officers came through and rousted the homeless out of the park. One kicked Isaac in the side without warning, rolling him over onto his back, and snarled at him to beat it, bum. He mumbled and grabbed his things, not bothering to roll up his bedroll. He simply turned and trundled off, dragging the sheet behind him carelessly. No trouble, and no sign that he was even that aware of what was going on. ”Well, guess we’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep, huh?” he asked the specter rhetorically. ”Can’t have all these unsightly homeless marring the park.” He sighed. Dresdin had a lot to answer for.

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[OPHELIA WEISS]

Ophelia looked up at the sky from atop the dome jungle gym, her long, silver hair threading through the bars. Millions of blinking lights, some gathering into groups like cliques dotted the dark blue firmament. In her mind, she connected the dots until they created a decent looking flower. As she thought such, a petal from her daisy crown fell into her lap, white against her brown, tattered dress. Picking up the petal, she held it up to the stars.

She liked to be close to the stars and the sky. It made her think about heaven, and life, and the scar-like mark on her hip. And when she looked up at the sky, it felt like looking up at the water’s surface, as if she were drowning, falling, and…

Suddenly, Ophelia heard a ruckus, and looked over to see New Order lackeys clearing out the park. She frowned, watching the scurrying homeless. Her chest felt sore, and she reached for her Berettas. Standing atop the jungle gym and balancing on the cold bars with her bare feet, she took out both her pistols from their holsters, cocked them, and said sweetly,” Good evening, boys.”

And such is a prelude to mayhem as she shot the officers down—they dropped with each bullet resulting from her killer aim. Soon, their bodies littered the ground and she hopped down from the jungle gym. She did not like vengeance; it was not her driving force. But seeing a poor soul have to leave one of the only places of comfort and sleep for no reason other than a despot’s order—that is where she took issue. She knew how it felt, even if she thought herself stronger than most. It did not feel good.

Walking past the bodies, she saw a man carrying pillow, with a bedroll trailing along the ground. He must have been trying to get some sleep before the officers came. Running to catch up with him, she said,” Hi, mister.” Innocent and wide-eyed, as if she hadn’t just killed a bunch of Dresdin’s men. “You can get some sleep tonight…now that they’re gone.”

[ISAAC PENDRAGON]

Isaac had heard the sound of a gunshot being fired far too often not to recognize it the instant he heard it. He had been limping along at a fairly steady pace, but at the shot he gasped, as if it had been aimed at him, and froze in place for a moment, struggling to fight back a flood of memories. Back when he’d first been discharged from the army, his partner had insisted he go to a psychologist and get checked out, and to appease him Isaac had done so. He’d been diagnosed with severe PTSD, and had been prescribed a couple of pills that would supposedly help with the hallucinations and the overwhelming memories. Unfortunately, since his partner had succumbed to the Plague years ago, Isaac hadn’t bothered with his meds. He’d run out and never gotten them refilled. He probably wouldn’t be able to get any more even if he wanted to.

And most of the time, he didn’t really want to. The PTSD was mostly harmless, as far as he could tell, with the hallucinations just following him around, giving him the appearance of talking to nobody at all. And on the streets, being crazy was more of a help than a hindrance. People tended to overlook the bum muttering to thin air, or staring intently at an uninteresting spot on the wall. Even more so, people who might otherwise have tried to mess with him left him alone. Everyone was wary of insanity, as if it was catching. Or as if he might suddenly go even more insane and get aggressive, despite the fact that he knew he hadn’t displayed even a hint of aggression in the entire time he’d been living on the streets, except near the beginning when he had had to prove he wasn’t worth messing with.

Not to mention his apparent insanity gave him an excuse to leave food and such behind for the more needy. So all in all, he didn’t usually want to get rid of it. But then occasionally he would have a moment like this when he wished he had taken something to ease the visions; he stood stiffly, eyes unfocused as flashes of memories flitted through his mind so quickly he felt dizzy. Flashes of light, booms, the sight of a friend falling in a spray of blood. The flash of light of the land mine, and the sudden burning agony all down his left side.

Finally, he resurfaced, the burn scarring on his left side still tingling in the aftermath of the memories, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He stood there a moment more, then shook his head emphatically, driving the memories away with a single-minded determination. If shots were being fired, he needed to leave, no matter what the reason for them. He limped onward, breath slowly stabilizing and the faint panic in the back of his mind fading. The sheen of sweat on his skin remained, however, chilled in the cold winter air. He ignored the shivers tickling at his spine; he just needed to get somewhere else, in case the memories returned.

But then there was a girl beside him, a crown of daisies sitting on top of her white-haired head. A peculiar hair color for one so young, he thought. She was wearing a brown, tattered dress; was she a street kid? It was hard to tell; he hadn’t seen her around before, but that didn’t mean much. It might just be that he hadn’t seen her because she was in a different part of town before, or he hadn’t been as observant as he thought. He quit walking so she wouldn’t have to keep up with his long strides, favoring his leg even more than he usually did as he listened to what she had to say. He wasn’t quite sure how to react, and after a moment, opted for the truth. ”Ehm, thank you, but I don’t know if I’d be able to sleep now. I might just go find somewhere to sit awhile, maybe get something warm to drink.” He paused, then smiled faintly at the girl. She had to be cold, and he had enough money… ”Would you like to come?”

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[OPHELIA WEISS]

Ophelia grew up on the streets. She barely remembered having parents. All she knew was survival, and she did it well. She was a fighter, or at least she told herself that, because how else could one explain being physically unaffected by the plague?

It won’t be long, a voice in the back of her mind told her, but it was a lie, wasn’t it? She wasn’t so bad off, she was alive, and…and…too much thinking just made it worse, so she merely ignored the death around her, instead choosing to keep it in her hands, so that she was able to control at least one aspect of life.

Maybe she wasn’t a survivor. Maybe she was just damn lucky. But that did not go to show for her mental state of being, how she felt so detached from the world, preferring the comfort of flowers and songs and the dirt beneath her bare feet. How she sometimes felt waters closing in over her head, pulling her down, suffocating her…

Another petal fell from her crown. The daisies did not fare well in winter.

Her eyes widened at his offer. It was rare for strangers these days to extend such kindness and generosity. A reason she joined the resistance was to see more of that kind of behavior, to offer others the warmth of a safe night which Ophelia had never felt. Then she smiled. “Oh, you are so kind, but…” She scrunched her eyebrows together. “Mister, are you all right?”

The man did indeed seem nervous, sweating rather badly. She wondered what the cause of his affliction could be and hoped it had nothing to do with her massacre. Then she noticed his hand near his leg and jumped. "Oh dear, did I shoot you? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean...I usually have such good aim!"

[ISAAC PENDRAGON]

Isaac supposed he should have realized sooner that the girl was the shooter. Now that he looked, he noticed the twin pistols holstered on her hips. Chalk it up to his being tired and distracted, the moon being hidden behind clouds, and the huge height difference between him and the girl. He was usually much more observant than that. Not that it really changed anything; it just meant the girl was probably a member of the Resistance. Though many wanted to shoot members of the New Order, few others were brash enough to fire on New Order goons so openly, especially without fleeing the scene afterwards.

Still regaining his composure after the PTSD attack, Isaac managed a slightly shaky, but friendly smile. She might have gunned down a few of the New Order, but hey; she was friendly enough, and by the way she had reacted thinking she’d shot his leg, she obviously wasn’t of the ‘if you’re not with us, you’re against us’ mentality that some Resistance members had towards civilians. As the Broker, he’d been cussed out a couple of times by overzealous Resistance members, and even attacked once or twice. But he could handle himself, and after a while, the Resistance stopped sending people who behaved in such ways, as his price tended to edge higher the more damage he incurred when conducting a transfer. Still, their prices remained much, much lower than the New Order’s. Isaac might be careful to feign neutrality, but he definitely leaned towards the Resistance.

”It’s alright; you didn’t shoot me.” He patted the leg he was favoring; it always got worse just after attacks, considering it was psychosomatic. Just another symptom of his PTSD, more or less. Though for the most part, he didn’t try to explain how it worked to people. They generally didn’t understand it. ”This is an old injury. I’m fine.” He knew he probably didn’t look fine, considering PTSD fits tended to leave him sweating and looking like he might keel over, but it would pass. It was purely psychological.

He took in a deep breath of the cool night air and let it out slowly. He began to roll up his bedroll with practiced motions, absently. About halfway through, he looked at the girl again. ”So, how about that drink? This place will be swarming with goons before long, after all.” He paused, then smiled slightly at her. ”I’m Isaac, by the way.” Maybe it was weird to act like she hadn’t just gunned several men down… but to be honest, it really didn’t affect Isaac’s perception of her much. It didn’t make her a horrible person, or a wonderful one. To figure out which of those she was, he would need to know more about her. Though for now, getting her out of the way of the goons who would soon be along to investigate the shots was the first priority.

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[OPHELIA WEISS]

Ophelia’s hands fluttered over her chest. It was not her goal to enrapt civilians in a battle she joined the Resistance to keep them out of. The New Order was her true, designated enemy. After all, she had once been in a civilian herself. She fought to protect herself and others ever since a child. She used to be just like this man.

“Oh, oh, good,” Ophelia said with a long breath. She had never missed a shot as long as she could remember and it was one of the only things she could rely on. She didn’t become the Resistance’s assassin for weaving flower crowns, that was for sure.

She looked up into the man’s eyes and said. “It is good to meet you then, Mr. Isaac. My name is Ophelia, and I’m sorry if I distressed you. It’s just that, I lose myself whenever I’m holding a gun and I…I get a little wild, you could say.”

Or rather sociopathic. No, she assured herself, I’m not like that. I’m a warrior, an assassin.

But then, she wondered, are soldiers heroes or murderers? Where is the line between sinner and saint? Judging by Isaac’s words, the fact that he had an ‘old injury’, he might have known the answers to these questions. He did not seem to be an ordinary civilian, after all.

Ophelia brought herself back to the present and noticed Isaac was smiling at her. She couldn’t help but smile back. “That sounds nice, Mr. Isaac, really nice.”

She never got hungry or thirsty, as if her tiny body had become used to malnourishment. She barely even noticed the cold air, and thinking about her detachment from the world made her stomach clench. And he was right, it wouldn’t long before her shooting alerted other New Order goons. She could use the company, she figured, and this man seemed so nice.

“Lead the way.”

[ISAAC PENDRAGON]

The look of relief on the girl’s face when he assured her she hadn’t accidentally shot him was enough to confirm in Isaac’s mind her good intentions. A lot of people who felt more strongly than he acted out against the New Order openly, and many of them did so with guns. This girl was simply one of them. It didn’t make her a devil, or a saint. It simply meant she was human, just like anyone else. Though the fact that she was dressed so poorly for the weather was a little odd, he chalked it up to her likely not being able to afford anything else. She didn’t seem too bothered by it. She was clearly used to tough times; not only was she not affected by the weather, she had the malnourished look of one of the unfortunate children who had to get by on the streets. She was a fair bit shorter than him, too, though that wasn’t saying much considering his height.

He blinked as she introduced herself. Ophelia… what an odd name, especially in this day and age. ”It’s alright,” he said in response to her apology, nodding slightly. She couldn’t possibly have anticipated that an ex-soldier suffering from poorly controlled PTSD was nearby as she fired her shots. He didn’t blame her in the slightest. ”It’s nice to meet you, Ophelia. You have a very unusual name; it suits you.” Wasn’t Ophelia a character in one of Shakespeare’s plays? Scott wondered briefly, before dismissing the thought. Perhaps her parents were theater or English ‘nerds’, so to speak. He wasn’t too fazed by her admission that she went a little wild with guns; he had his own problems, after all. He couldn’t really judge another for theirs.

His eyes flickered up briefly as a specter reappeared in the corner of his eye, strangely outlined by the moon above. This one was eerily unformed, just a human-shaped disturbance in the air with a strange silvery sheen. He did his best to ignore it; he didn’t want to alienate the girl by doing something too overtly crazy, like talk to the specter (as was his habit). Though, then again, she didn’t seem to be entirely on the sane side herself. Perhaps they would get along well, if neither of them was too concerned with whether or not the other was sane. Isaac smiled slightly to himself at the thought.

”Oh,” he said as she called him “Mr. Isaac” a second time, ”Just Isaac is fine.” After his time in the army, it seemed odd to insist on titles outside that rigid structure. He almost never expected anyone to add any sort of honorific to his name. After all, his discharge from the service hadn’t exactly been honorable, and much as he wished it might have been different, it wasn’t. He was just a man. He smiled at the girl again and beckoned slightly with one hand, tucking his now neatly rolled bedroll under his arm. He could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance, prompting him to begin walking. ”This way.”

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