Time went on.
Mira is a year old now. It's 2015.
It was one crazy year. Mira started walking at just twelve weeks, barely out of the newborn stage, and by fourteen weeks, she was full-on running.
I swear she's made of steel. One time Sierra let her hold her finger and Mira nearly broke it.
She started talking at eight months. Her first teeth came in around then, too. Everyone kept telling me she's advanced. But her body doesn't match. She's small for her age, almost delicate-looking despite the force she can throw around.
But every day, she looked a little more like him. She had his crystal blue eyes, even though both our hair was brown, somehow hers resembled his more than mine.
I still haven't taken her to a doctor. Not yet. Not in a city like this, where trust is rarer than clean air. She doesn't even have a birth certificate. No records. No paper trail. No one even knows she exists, and maybe it is better that way.
My little business expanded, too. More girls wanted to work under me. I let them. Why not?
Maybe it's because I was the pimp who paid out better than anyone else around. I took 60% and let the girls keep 40%. That was more generous than anyone else in this district. They stayed. The money was good. I wasn't cruel. I gave them freedom to walk away if they wanted. None did.
I was still working security for the arms dealer's flavor-of-the-month. The girl changed every few months, he cycled through them like cheap perfume bottles. They all kind of blurred together for me after a while. He had a type: loud, drunk, barely legal, and always curvy.
Didn't matter to me though. The paycheck was steady.
Thanks to that, Mira and I moved to a better place. Still in Low Town, but higher up. A stronger building, better locks. A real two-bedroom apartment. I brought Sierra with me and gave her the second room. I still didn't like Mira being to far away so I kept her in the room with me. I told myself it was for her safety, but truthfully, I needed her close. The nightmares still haven't left. I sleep on the hardwood floor beside her crib.
I think it's what I'm used to.
For seventy-something years with Hydra, that's all I had, floors, dirt, concrete, steel. Even when we stayed in a hotel, my handler had me sleep on the ground. No comfort. Just cold. Just orders.
Even now, my diet hasn't changed. Protein bars. Oatmeal. I tried eating real food, steak, soup, sweets. Couldn't keep it down. My stomach's wired wrong, maybe permanently. Doesn't matter. I give the good food to Mira. She eats fresh fruit and vegetables I pick up in High Town after jobs.
She deserves more than I ever had.
Over the time I worked for this arms dealer, I learned a lot about him, even if I never learned his name.
He thought I was just the muscle. Big mistake. I listened, watched, memorized. Who he spoke to. How deals were made. What got moved where and by whom.
What I learned was this: he's a moron.
He only spoke Chinese and English, and most of the time he needed a translator. He couldn't negotiate. Couldn't lead. He had a team for everything: logistics, deals, security, even women. He was the figurehead. The glue, maybe. But not the strength. His entire empire ran on the backs of people smarter and stronger than him.
He spent most of his time drunk, in bed with whatever new girl he bought that month. Gold statues, imported rugs, designer clothes, wasted money everywhere in this idiotic mansion of his.
And then it hit me.
This is Madripoor. Power is everything here. If you are strong, people follow.
So why not take his?
The next time I went to work, the girl was lounging by the pool, as usual. Bikini, heels, a cocktail in one hand. I stood behind her, guarding. Watching. Waiting.
Right on cue, 2 p.m., he showed up.
You could always tell when he came back, everyone vanished. Cleaners, assistants, kitchen staff, all disappeared like shadows under the sun. He didn't like seeing them. I recall him shoot a maid in the stomach because she was mopping the hallway when he arrived.
He walked out to us, greeted the girl, and dismissed me to "handle something.".
I had other plans.
I came prepared, guns with silencers, a few knives. Standard gear for a bodyguard, nothing suspicious. I slipped down into the basement kitchen, where the low-level workers holed up when he was home. I'd talked with them before, most of them were Russian or Chinese. I spoke both fluently.
I threw the doors open. Every eye turned to me.
(In Russian)
"I'm taking this place. If you want to leave, go now. If you want to stay and work under me, lock this door behind me and don't come out until I return. Understood?"
They didn't move.
Of course not. Most of them were trafficked. Slaves in suits. They didn't care who held their leashes, just wanted to survive. Maybe get paid.
The door shut behind me with a click of the lock. I smiled.
I think I started enjoying it, the rush. The violence. Maybe Hydra did break me. Or maybe I just stopped pretending I wasn't good at killing.
Mira, forgive your mother for what she has to do. But I will carve out a better life for you, even if it is in flesh and bone.
I crept through the mansion, room by room, clearing the guards. Silent kills. Knives to throats. Necks snapped. It was almost too easy. I swept the first floor clean.
He was still outside with the girl. Poolside paradise. Probably watching her drip dry for his amusement.
I climbed the stairs.
Bang.
A shot tore through my thigh. I bolted the rest of the way, blood trailing behind me. I ducked behind the banister. Four guards, all armed. Cameras must've caught me.
I flung myself across the hallway, dodging behind a marble statue. Got Two shots off. One clipped an arm, the other center mass.
Then the hail of bullets started. Full auto. Assault rifles. One ripped through my arm, another sliced across my face.
"Come out and maybe I'll make your death quick!" one of them shouted.
"Suck my dick!" I replied, unloading three more shots. Hit another one in the leg. One headshot, last one missed.
Pain lit up my side, more guards had flanked me from behind. I caught several rounds in the abdomen. I couldn't see straight. Blood in my eyes.
I collapsed, they kicked my gun from my hand. Tore my knives away. Dragged me by my collar across slick marble, leaving a river of red.
I heard the voice before I saw him.
"Oh, what the fuck? You seriously thought you could take down all my guys? Stupid bitch."
I blinked through the red haze. The boss stood there in a silk robe, gold, red, disgusting. His gut hung out. A cigar burned between his teeth. His girl lay naked in the bed behind him. I'd been dragged into this bastards bedroom.
I got to my knees, spit blood, wiped my face.
"No," I said, getting to my feet. "I didn't want to take all your guys down. I just wanted them in the same place."
He frowned. "For what?"
I looked around at the guards, most of them in the room now.
"I'm taking your empire. You can hand it over. Or I can kill you."
He laughed. Loud. Obnoxious. Choked on the cigar smoke.
Good. Underestimate me.
My body had already nearly completely healed.
Curtesy of Hydra I heal fast.
But none of them even knew I could.
I lunged, gripped his throat, leapt onto his back. Guns came out, seventeen, maybe more, but no one fired. They couldn't hit me without hitting him. And even if one of them had the balls to do it, I'd survive.
"Now I'm taking your little arms empire, and I'm going to make it bigger and better than you ever could. If you men over there want to be a part of that, drop those guns, if not, I'll come for you next."
He thrashed under me. "You arrogant bitch! Get off me!"
"This is Madripoor," I whispered into his ear moving my hand to his jaw. "Power is everything. And you don't have any."
I twisted.
Snap.
His body crumpled to the floor, thudding on the pristine marble.
I stood over it, breathing heavily, drenched in my own blood.
"You know," I said, looking down, "I never even learned your name. Guess no headstone."
His girl erupted into a screech at the sight. I looked to see all the guards' guns had lowered.
I flipped around to his bitch, still screaming.
"Jesus. Shut the fuck up."
She did.
Turning back to the guards. "Any problems with the new regime?"
No one answered. Their eyes moved between each other, no objections.
Good.
They understood.
"Clean this shit up," I said, walking out to the balcony.
The wind was cooler up here. Cleaner. I looked out at the skyline. High Town glimmered. Just beyond it, a blur of smog marked Low Town.
That's where we came from. That's where I'll rise from.
I'm going to give everything to you, Mira.
Madripoor will be your playground.