Fortunately, Purple Faction was the only one aware of what Manticorps was looking for, and they would not let this information leak to the other Factions. The fact that Graviton was attacked must mean that their mole in that organization had been discovered, tortured, and divulged the location of the station. They had been especially active lately, after decades of inactivity, which was disturbing in light of new events.
It was Tempest’s decision to maintain these infiltrators in as many organizations as possible, but it was more difficult with certain groups. Orange routinely utilized their telepaths to screen those on more sensitive missions and quickly found those who were trying to be duplicitous. Still, it had paid big dividends in the past and allowed Purple to stay strong among the three ruling Factions.
Having lost their mole, Tempest sent orders that Manticorps be monitored more than usual for the foreseeable future. While the attack could be simply retaliatory, he suspected Manticorps—rather than another Faction—was involved. They wouldn’t have made such a bold move unless Graviton was getting close to finding something. If they mobilized any forces, it may be just as simple as following them. Tempest finalized more surveillance requests and went back to his monitors.
Aurora listened to the voice in her head, still unconvinced that she wasn’t losing her mind. “I can see that I am not getting anywhere. Let’s go back to the beginning. Do you remember how you first got your powers? Way before you met Auntie or Purple Faction.” Aurora nodded, and the voice continued. “You were very young, so you probably missed a lot. Go back…”
Aurora’s vision flared to life in the dark prison, seeing images and memories fly by, recalling days at the academy, time with Auntie, life on the streets, and back to when she was still with her mother. Aurora had walled off these painful thoughts as much as she could. Always hungry. Alone most of the time. And when her mother did come home, she was often so strung out on Silk or some other drug that she was drooling and unresponsive.
She saw that day and mentally started to cringe away. Even closing her eyes tightly shut, she could still see the memory as if watching it on a screen.
Her mother staggered in, looking bedraggled and carrying some bags. After she crashed on the couch, Aurora—or was she Cass?—ran to the bags, smelling food.
There were two containers from some fancy restaurant and she tore into them, eating the contents without thought of reheating or getting utensils.
Afterward, her stomach hurt. Whether from the sudden introduction of food or the speed with which it was consumed was up for debate. All Cass could do was curl up on the ground by the couch, rubbing her cramping belly.
She must have fallen asleep because she awoke later when it had become much darker. Cass tried the lights, half knowing that there would be no power. Her mother was horrible with responsibilities. Cass lit a candle she kept for special occasions. It was one of the ‘gifts’ her mother brought home in the bags. She didn’t know who gave them to her mother, or if she had bought them for herself. Cass wished she would just buy food, but sometimes there were useful items in the bags. More often than not it was just clothes, none of which would fit her lanky seven-year-old body.
This night was especially cold, probably because of the rain, which fell incessantly. It drummed against one of the windows, the only noise in the dark. There had been a couple times recently where it got so intense that it was noisy, and Cass, who usually loved the sound of the rain, felt unsettled. She grabbed a threadbare blanket, wrapped it around herself, and laid on the couch to cuddle close to her comatose mother, trying to share some of her warmth.
Yet there was no warmth… and her mother was always warm to the point of being hot. Cass could count on putting her perpetually cold feet by her mother or cuddling up to her when Cass had a chill or needed reassurance and warmth. This time her mother’s skin was cold and clammy to the touch.
With a start, Cass scrambled off the couch as she stood evaluating her mother from afar. Was she sick? Or worse? Cass’ stomach began to cramp up again as realization began dawning upon her. Her mother was dead. She had to be. Or was she just sick? She had never seen a dead person before.
Cass approached and poked her mother’s cheek timidly and jumped away. There was no response, but that was nothing new. She tried next to lift an eyelid to see if her mother would stir. The bloodshot eye underneath stared forward, unfocused on anything.
Cass retreated, wiping her fingers on her pants vigorously, as if she could clean the touch of death off of them. Panic started to join the discomfort in her stomach.
“What now, what now?” she kept repeating, worried about her future. While her mother wasn’t the best provider, Cass at least had enough to survive. Now that was all gone. Maybe she could sell some of her mother’s things? But to who? If she did find someone to buy valuables, how would she know they wouldn’t just cheat her?
Her mind raced and it
