xp_logs | Day Zero: Betsy in New York

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Betsy woke up twice. The first time wasn't so pretty.

On the First Day, Betsy woke up to the Dark.

She always noticed the darkness first. Betsy opened her eyes, still finding herself surrounded by black. The explosion must've severed the power lines. Finally pushing past the remaining dregs of unconsciousness, she began coughing. The smell of gas meant if she didn't move soon, she'd end up a tender crisp. Feeling around for the elevator doors, remembering that they'd closed as the jet crashed into the building. Betsy cut her fingers on the buckled elevator doors, fortified steels forcibly warped and opened by the magnitude of the blast. "Shit."

Trying to breath through her nose to quell the dull panic working its way through her body, she tried to stand up when a sharper, brighter sensation ripped through her. Pain, such a familiar friend. It wrapped itself - sharp and jagged around her like a vice. The air was thick. Acrid. Another coughing spasm wracked her body as she laid back on the ground. Betsy managed to breathe through her mouth, to fight through the waves of nausea from the smoke. The pain hadn't subsided but became focused. It washed over her again and finally piqued when she tried to turn her head. Betsy cried out, a long suffering sound. "Fuck."

The sound of rocks falling behind her and the ground still held the steady vibration of tremors. Compartmentalize it, Braddock. Assess your situation before being overwhelmed by it.

A whoosh of stifling air pushed at her and she felt the accompany heat. Betsy took a few steps toward the heat and extended her hands in front of her. She cried out as she pulled back her burned fingertips. The smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils. Finally, the panic returned when she finally heard it. The crackle of fires all around her. Her eyes were open. She was in a room filled with fire and she could not see it. Betsy placed her hands over her face, covering her eyes over and over again, repeating. "Oh no, oh no, oh no."

********

Memories come when you least expect them.

"We don't think your sister is going to recover from this."

Finding herself in bed, she tilted face to the sound of the voice.

A belabored sigh followed. "You must understand she received extensive cranial damage." A pause. "It is a wonder she is still alive."

"You don't know my sister, Doctor." Brian's voice replied sadly with a touch of pride. "She is nothing, if not, tenacious."

She felt her lips turn up but grimaced at the crack of dry, broken skin and moaned softly. Too softly for the men to overhear.

The need to reach out to Brian, to make him feel safe, overwhelmed her.

Instead of calling out for him, she went back to what was natural and instinctively accessed her telepathy to nudge her brother. Not even a moment after trying to use her abilities, the reverb that followed shook her from the inside out.

She gasped then grunted loudly, as the pain expanded, bloomed in her skull.

"Give her a sedative." the doctor ordered.

"What's happening?" another voice asked from her side.

The pain was unrelenting. It raced through her skull, igniting as synapses lit up.

"She's awake," the doctor responded. "She's awake and her brain can't handle it."

"If you can't move faster than get out of my way," the doctor shouted at someone.

"Oh God." The voice cracked. Her brother, Brian murmuring all the while. "Betsy, oh god."

********

Waking up is so hard to do.

Fractured Lux. Broken Light

Betsy opened her eyes and thought she saw something in her periphery. But it was gone, leaving nothing but black.

Or better yet, Broken Brain.

She remembered. They'd said she couldn't handle the transfer of information, the firing of neurons. Her brain simply couldn't comprehend the world and everything in it.

The idea of going through this again - to relive the worst experience of her life in such a compromised situation - Betsy tried to cope but felt herself on the verge of hyperventilating.

Don't fucking panic. Take stock. Assess. Adapt. Fucking Adapt.

Out of fear, she kept from using her telepathy, unsure of the damage sustained.

The grit of glass and rubble grinding under her legs forced a grimace. Swallowed up in the fear, she pushed it away and forced herself to stand up.

Remember, remember, you twit. One lobby, two exits. North and south of the building. Navigate your way through the wreckage. Down the hall. Betsy moved cautiously with the sounds of secondary explosions in the background. She finally ended up at the building's secondary exit. Outside, Betsy used her hands along the exterior buildings walls, trailing her palms against the concrete and moving away. After a handful steps, she tripped and fell to the ground. All the while, her lungs tried to evacuate itself onto the sidewalk. The air was less thick but it still ate its way through her nasal passages.

She could do this. She'd survive this before, she could again. Betsy focused her thoughts on the layout of the building and surrounding area. She was familiar enough with the workings of Midtown. Realizing she was on the Southeast block of the street, she collapsed on to the ground for a few minutes but a crack from above forced Betsy to her feet and she headed South. She would regroup at the Brownstone and then figure it out from there.

Traveling three blocks or so, Betsy tripped again on an even part of pavement, hands extended outwards, catching the brunt of the fall. She slammed her fist into the hard concrete and pushed herself up.

Without some sort of guide stick, she'd end up falling every other block due to New York's unsteady construction.

Frustrated taking a deep breath, she closed her useless eyes and slowly assessed her telepathy. Bracing herself for the reverb, Betsy stood still, waiting for the sign that she was broken.

She could taste the memory of the pain from so long ago but soon the feel, the sense of the city, the life within it, pulsed.

Letting out a shaky breath, Betsy let the panic from everyone else wash over her. It was fortifying, it gave her strength.

At least she wasn't alone in her hysteria.

Then something close by pinged her telepathic senses. With all the static, the signal was too far away to identify but she knew this person. They were a familiar mind, possibly a friend.

Betsy stood up again and began to follow the only trail she could follow.

********

First time is always the Hardest.

"Come on, Betsy." Brian's voice chided. "Try it."

Brian was on the other side of room.

"I don't like this." Betsy said, irritably.

"I know," he said, amusement in his voice. "Just try to make your way to me. See what I'm seeing."

She sighed, took a few deep breaths and opened up her senses.

Brian was standing on the other side of the room, his mind was open to her but she couldn't make herself move. #Are you actually scared? Or are you standing there holding up the desk for a reason?#

"Oh, shut it," Betsy huffed. They'd practice this a few times. Her reaching out to Brian's mind and tapping into that region that controlled sight. In the beginning, she hadn't know the sensitive nature of this sort of intrusion and left Brian suffering from some nasty migraines.

She took her first steps, like a child starting off on a new adventure, and made her way through their father's study. Cautious, while every item in the room laid out for her through her brother's guiding eyes. She banged her knee on the coffee table and winced. Betsy closed her eyes and rubbed the sore spot on her knee. "How'd you do that?"

Feeling strong hands pushing her into sitting on the arm of the sofa, she felt Brian's assessing gaze on her as he checked her knee. "You alright?"

"Fine," she muttered darkly.

"What is it?"

"I didn't realize....." She said after a few moments, biting her bottom lip. Seeing herself through his eyes, Right was left. Left was right.

"What?" Brian asked, projecting concern and worry.

"I didn't realize that when I look through someone else's mind, through their eyes. I have to take into account their perspective, their point of view. Do you know how difficult that's going to be?"

Betsy moved to sit up but Brian forced her to sit back down. "I don't think I can do this."

"You can, you will." Brian threw back, confident.

"How can you be so sure?"

"The same way I knew you'd survive what happened to you." Brian said resolutely. "You're simply too stubborn to give up."

*********

On the third day, Betsy comes face to face with Death.

Betsy covered a good bit of ground since she'd woken up. It'd been days and she'd somehow managed to scrounge what little food and water was left behind, especially with no one around to offer some visual assistance. She'd found a few bodegas but they'd closed their doors and she didn't have the energy to bust them open. But on the third day, she came across a homeless man who'd seen her wandering down Ninth Avenue. He followed her for a few blocks and while it raised Betsy's hackles a little, she remained silent as she continued walking. The man offered a clear view of where she was heading and she'd take any advantage where she could get them.

A sound of explosion happening someone in the distance and Betsy stopped. She stared off, feeling the fear coming from the East and her jaw tightened. Transfixed on what was happening, she didn't feel the hand and offered her some water. She hadn't realized she was thirsty until she took her first swallow, she forced the bottle away from her lips, attempting to hand it back and she felt his hand on her shoulder. "Go ahead, darling. You look like you need it more than I do."

She smiled gratefully and finished the bottle in a few short swallows. When she was finished, she looked at the vicinity of the man's face and it slowly came into focus before it all went dark again. He placed a hand on again but Betsy twisted around, pushing his hand off her shoulder, holding it in her grasp. "Whoa there," the homeless man said. "No one is going to hurt you here. Just let go of my hand and I'll leave you to your business."

"I'm sorry," Betsy said, relaxing and releasing her hold on him. "It's been a long few days."

A brief pause, she could feel his assessing gaze. "Yea, it looks it."

"Lovely," Betsy threw back. "Why are you down here? Most everyone has found shelter on higher ground." She moved her head up towards a few open windows in the surrounding highrises, she could sense the curious, nervous glances of tenants trapped in their homes.

"I appreciate the fact that you can't see me, sweet cheeks, but it doesn't mean you can't smell me. No one is going to take a Homeless Vet into their place. This ain't San Diego."

A commotion down the road sent Betsy's defenses in gear.

"No," Betsy replied, expression tight. "It's worse."

There was a loud clap as the sky lit up and Betsy found herself rushing towards the sound. She stopped as the psi-signature she'd been tracking for days finally stood before her. She closed her eyes and felt it all breaking apart. All of it.

She looked up, staring at the Darkness, staring up at face of Death and whispered. "No, it's definitely much much worse."