Chronicles of Earth-USB: Sarah
Posted: Tue Apr 01, 2025 10:41 am
Quick disclaimer. Once again, this is a prequel to the Marvel Saga, so it takes place before the beginning of the events of the main saga.
Once again, trying something a bit different.
**************
We’re hiding in Winnipeg.
Another town, another heist.
I suspect we’ll be on the run all our lives.
Taylor is wearing a police uniform.
Next to her, Charlotte pretends to do martial arts moves.
“That was so cool, Sparks! Like some badass ninja or-” (Taylor grabs her by the ear.) “owowowowow”
“Get in the car. We’re moving.”
The cop maybe suspected we were fugitives. Or maybe this truly was a routine check.
Either way, the moment she asked us to pull over, her fate was sealed.
Taylor’s fighting style is a perfect blend of brute strength, cold-blooded finesse, and ruthless efficiency – even without taking her powers into account. The cop stood no chance.
Now she’s stashed in the trunk of our former car, wrists handcuffed behind the back and mouth gagged with her socks and a makeshift cleave-gag cut from some strips of cloth, and only clad in navvy blue boyshorts and a black sports bra.
Charlotte and I sit on the backseats. Taylor drives the police car away. An outside observer would believe we’re a pair of runaways or petty criminals. Which, technically, we are.
Taylor says she’ll use her uniform to stop an other car, and we’ll steal that one to flee to Ottawa. She has some contacts there who will help us escape the authorities, and hide for a while.
Wait. Did I forget to describe the policewoman?
**************
We’re hiding in Ottawa.
Another town, another heist.
I still have nightmares about the lab.
I hate hospitals. Hospitals remind me of the lab.
I hate nurse uniforms. Nurses remind me of the lab.
I’m wearing blue nurse scrubs – short-sleeved t-shirt and trousers, and clogs. At least the outfit isn’t white. Nurses at the lab wore white…
Taylor and Charlotte are disguised as nurses as well. I sense Taylor is sorry for what she’s asking of me, but she doesn’t dare leave me alone. She fears our pursuers are still on to us...
We’re pushing a gurney. An unconscious woman with short auburn hair is strapped onto it. A hospital blanket covers her from shoulders to feet. It’s useful to conceal the fact she’s been stripped down to her flower-patterned hip-hugging light pink panties, matching full-cup bra, and white socks. And that she’s been drugged. And that she’s actually a nurse whom we’ve mugged for her outfit.
The other two nurses are stashed in a medicament storage room in the basement – drugged as well, but also with their wrists zip-tied behind the pillars of some shelves, and their mouths sealed with medical tape as a safety precaution.
Why are we even here?
I think it’s to break out some convict hospitalized there.
I fear Taylor has been sent to silence a witness, and doesn’t want I or Charlotte to know.
I don’t dare to ask.
I want to leave.
I fear being caught and sent back to the lab too much to protest.
I forgot to describe the nurses.
**************
We’re hiding in Toronto.
Another town, another heist.
I hate how we’re always hurting good people. I hate it. I hate how it’s easier when they are nice.
We did it in Ottawa. We did it in Thunder Bay. We did it in Winnipeg, Regina and Calgary. We’ve done it since Vancouver…
That girl is nice too. And quite young as well. Dark brown hair. Golden brown eyes. A lightly tanned skin, and a heart-shaped face. Some dark freckles on the cheeks. A short ponytail. She’s an intern, working for some big insurance company of which I didn’t catch on the name.
Truly, I didn’t catch on much lately. Migraines are getting worst. Canadian cities are far from the biggest in the world, but they’re still cities. Cities are painful to my senses. Taylor’s contact in Ottawa could get us to Toronto, but in exchange he wanted Taylor to pull off some kind of heist there – industrial espionage or financial theft, I don’t quite get it.
Taylor doesn’t give me details about what she has to do to keep me safe… She wants to preserve me… And Charlotte is too lost in her fantasy world to care and ask.
The brown-haired intern is dressed in a dark grey business jacket, crisp white button up shirt, a dark grey business skirt, brown tights, and black high-heels. Trying hard to look professional, it seems. She’s wearing a pass card like a necklace.
It’s easier when they are nice. Kindness and trust come to such people naturally. I only need to stroke their feelings with some gently nudges of empathy.
I hate it. I hate how it’s easier when they are nice.
Charlotte, ever the motor mouth, is bullshitting her with some made-up story. That she and I are new employees. That we got lost. It shouldn’t work.
With the help of my powers, it works. I lull her mistrust, fan her gentleness.
The intern explains to us the layout of the building, and proposes to take us to the manager.
Disguised as a janitress, Taylor leaves her hiding spot and sneaks behind the girl.
I think I forgot to narrate the mugging of the janitress?
Taylor wraps snake-like arms around the brown-haired employee's throat and neck, and squeezes.
I suppress a gag when I sense the brunette’s trust turn into fear.
Fear is one of the worst emotions to sense...
Taylor thinks of me. She makes it quick. Soon, the brunette is limp and unconscious in her arms.
Taylor drags her into the storage room. Charlotte and I follow her. She lays her burden onto the floor, and begins to strip her. Charlotte buzzes around her, moving at the frantic pace of a womanchild on a sugar rush. She’s searching the shelves.
It’s easier to be around Taylor than with most other people. Her emotions are subdued. Faint. Like a dim cold light. It’s unnerving, because I can imagine what kind of training she has gone through to have such self-control. But it's less painful for me.
Charlotte is the opposite. She’s like a beacon, or a neon sign, wearing her extreme emotions on her sleeves. But they’re all positive emotions. Positive emotions hurt less, yet I still feel unnerved. Because something is clearly broken in her. Because it seems Charlotte couldn’t feel a negative emotion – even if she wanted to. How taxing must it be, to be happy all the time...
Taylor strips the intern down to her undergarments: an emerald green triangle bra, and white knickers. Charlotte proposes to bind and gag her with the roll of package tape she’s found on a shelf. Taylor agrees to humor her, if only to keep her busy and quiet for a while, while she strips off her own clothes and slips into the unconscious brunette’s business outfit.
She sees I’m staring at her.
“My contact was clear. His help and a way to flee the Province in exchange of this heist.” she justifies herself.
I don’t answer. What could I say? It’s not like we have a choice.
**************
We’re hiding in Montreal.
Another town, another heist.
I stopped asking Taylor about my parents. There’s no point to it. I can sense her emotions. And she knows I can. That way, she doesn’t have to say the truth. And I can pretend there’s still hope they’re alive.
Taylor has contacts in many towns, but they rarely agree to help her for free. Industrial espionage, sabotage, heist, petty theft... They always ask something in exchange of their help.
This time our trap is laid out in a remote corner of a public park. There aren’t much people there right now. A parade is about to begin in an other district of the town, everyone is heading there.
What is the heist? I don’t even know. Charlotte and I aren’t allowed in the mission briefings. I suspect Taylor doesn’t trust her contacts… Charlotte and I are valuable merchandise. A lot of government agencies – secret and non-secret – would love to get their hands on us. On our powers.
I still have nightmares about the lab.
The two women are part of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, clad in the inimitable red uniform coat with a tight collar and black shoulders, beige hats, black waist belts, black trousers with a yellow stripe on each leg, and black long boots.
One has dark brown hair, a white skin, and brown eyes. The other has blond hair, a white skin, and blue eyes. Both share the same haircut: a tight stern-looking bun.
The horses are waiting nearby, their reins tied to a nearby tree.
These two are supposed to later take part in the parade – hence the traditional outfit and horses. They were taking a stroll beforehand, maybe they miss being allowed to ride – contrary to what the name entails, RCMP is hardly a mounted police anymore, save for ceremonial events and special occasions. They didn’t expect to come across our small delivery truck.
Charlotte is once again putting her motor mouth and cute chubby charm to good use.
“I need your help, officers! My colleague is inside! She hurt her back trying to move a crate! We called an ambulance, but the crate is crushing her leg and she has passed out! Please help me remove it!”
The mounted policewomen are professionals, so they’re harder to influence than most. They clearly see Charlotte doesn’t have the physical stature of a professional mover in spite of her uniform – neither do I. But I’ve also gotten better at using my powers after all these months.
Subtly, I nudge them. I fan their trust, their confidence, their sense of duty. We look weak and helpless. Hardly a threat to trained officers. Charlotte keeps pleading and whining to direct their attention to the truck.
“We’ll help you.” the brunette finally agrees.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”
The two policewomen climb inside the small delivery truck.
They of course don’t know the three real delivery women are currently taking a nap in their skivvies, stashed in one of the crates.
Charlotte follows the officers, and closes the back door behind them.
I purposefully look away when the vehicle rocks back and forth for a brief while – though I can’t exactly ignore the muffled sounds, groans, and yelps.
Some time later, Taylor and Charlotte exit the delivery truck. They’re dressed in RCMP uniforms.
Charlotte looks ridiculous… She’s way too short for the uniform she’s wearing. I suspect she whined until Taylor caved in, and allowed her to disguise herself as well.
The blonde and brunette who used to own the uniforms are bound back-to-back with ropes, hands tied in front of the other’s stomach and legs bound together, and gagged and blindfolded with tape. The former is clad in white bikini panties, brown socks, and a purple bandeau bra; the latter is wearing red-and-white socks with maple leaves, red-and-white control briefs with the Canadian maple leaf, and a matching t-shirt bra that mimicked the Canadian flag.
Taylor looks in disgust at the Canadian-themed undergarments, then closes the door of the small delivery truck.
Charlotte is ecstatic. “Does it mean I get to ride the horse-”
“You don’t get to ride the horse.” Taylor interrupts.
I sense the horse feels as relieved as I.
**************
We’re hiding in Quebec.
Another town, another heist.
Some days, I think I should just jump into the river during winter, and let the cold take me away – far away from here.
Taylor is convinced things will be easier once we’ve left Canada.
I’m not as optimistic. I keep it to myself.
The maid was a nice girl. A bit homely, and plain, with black hair, an elegant chignon, and blue eyes. Easy prey, easy target. Charlotte’s cute chubby face had won her over. I barely had to use my empathy at all.
Now, the maid is unconscious and stuffed into her laundry cart. Stripped down to her white cotton socks, grey control briefs and matching plain t-shirt bra, and trussed up and gagged with towels and strips of sheet.
Taylor is wearing the maid’s uniform, and is pushing her laundry cart. She goes to a specific door, checks the number, and knocks.
“Yes?”
“It’s the maid.”
“We didn’t order room service.” the guest says through the door.
“There seems to be a problem with the pillows. I must change them with new ones.”
The woman inside the room uses the peep hole to check Taylor’s identity. Charlotte and I of course stay out of sight. The guest is fooled by Taylor’s disguise, and unlocks and opens the door.
“Please make it quick.”
The hotel guest is old enough to be a mother.
Old enough to be my mother…
She has neck-long curly light brown hair, a thin face, a slime body of average size, and hazel brown eyes. There are some wrinkles on her face, around her eyes, and some grey in her hair.
The hotel guest freezes when she sees Taylor from up close. Some people – the insightful ones – instinctively sense something off with her. It's her eyes. They can see she has the eyes of a cold-blooded predator.
I focus my empathy on the guest, using the full force of my power.
The mother blinks. She can sense something is not right. She shouldn’t feel so calm in front of a threat. But her feelings are overwhelming her common sense.
Taylor makes her move. One chop is enough to dispatch the guest. Then Taylor rushes inside. Wearing a maid uniform doesn’t hinder her movements.
Wait. Did I forget to describe the maid uniform?
I hear cries of horror and fear from the hotel room. Two other women. Younger than the first guest.
Charlotte doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t grasp the women’s fear. She can’t. To her, life is one giant wacky TV show. In her mind, people get knocked out with cartoonish sound effects, left trussed up in fanservice-y positions, and are never traumatized.
I cover my ears, close my eyes, and try to block off the sounds.
The cries for help soon stop.
Two dull thuds. Unconscious bodies falling onto a carpeted floor.
Charlotte leads me inside.
The older guest is lying unconscious near the entrance door.
In the middle of the room, there are two other women. Younger – in their twenties. One is lying on her stomach, the other on her back. Both are out cold.
The two girls share a strong family resemblance with the older woman. They’re her daughters. They have light brown hair, slime average-sized figures, thin faces, and hazel brown eyes as well. The eldest has a half-shaved side-swept pixie-cut, and a piercing on the nose. The youngest one has a proper-looking braid.
“We take their clothes with their IDs and tickets.” Taylor informs me.
These women look nice enough too. A mother and her daughters on a vacation.
But they had something we needed… Passports and plane tickets to leave Canada…
Once we’re done, they’re almost naked.
The mother’s underwear are conservative. Light grey control briefs, and a cream white support bra. The youngest daughter still wears somewhat kiddie-looking skivvies. Her light pink panties have a dark pink waistband strap and a Hello Kitty pattern. The bra and socks match the colors and pattern. The middle daughter wears raunchy undergarments. Her black thong is adorned with hot red lace. Her lacy demi-bra matches the thong.
Charlotte makes a comment on how you get to know a girl better by looking at her undergarments.
Taylor cuts sheets into makeshift ropes and cleave-gags. She binds and gags the family. She then conceals the three trussed up bodies under the beds. We also leave the laundry cart with the maid in the bedroom.
We slip into the outfits – Taylor takes the mother’s blue dress, black shoes and grey stockings, Charlotte puts on the eldest daughter’s red sneakers, black knee-long socks, white long skirt, and beige cardigan, and I slip into the youngest’s white sneakers, light blue jeans, and pink sweater.
A mother hen and her two chicks.
I don’t think Charlotte notices the irony.
**************
We’re hiding in New York City.
Another town, another heist.
I’m tired of running.
I’ve lost count of how many apartments we’ve already lived in.
Taylor is actually sick – a mere cold but it feels weird to see her diminished by something so… trivial. I’ve always seen her as this invincible unstoppable force. And now here she is, lying on the couch because she’s too tired to stand. I think it’s because she cares too much about Charlotte and I. She’s exerting herself, pushing her body to its limits.
I don’t dare to say it to her.
Charlotte has been ranting about teaming up with some cat burglar I don’t know of, and has stormed out of the apartment.
I anticipate she’ll do something stupid.
I sit on the couch, listen to music, try to block off the outside world.
…
…
…
We’re hiding in New York City.
Another town, another heist.
I suspect we’ll be on the run all our lives.
I still have nightmares about the lab.
I hate how we’re always hurting good people. I hate it. I hate how it’s easier when they are nice.
I stopped asking Taylor about my parents. There’s no point to it. I can sense her emotions. And she knows I can. That way, she doesn’t have to say the truth. And I can pretend there’s still hope they’re alive.
Some days, I think I should just jump into the river during winter, and let the cold take me away – far away from here.
I’m tired of running.
Once again, trying something a bit different.
**************
We’re hiding in Winnipeg.
Another town, another heist.
I suspect we’ll be on the run all our lives.
Taylor is wearing a police uniform.
Next to her, Charlotte pretends to do martial arts moves.
“That was so cool, Sparks! Like some badass ninja or-” (Taylor grabs her by the ear.) “owowowowow”
“Get in the car. We’re moving.”
The cop maybe suspected we were fugitives. Or maybe this truly was a routine check.
Either way, the moment she asked us to pull over, her fate was sealed.
Taylor’s fighting style is a perfect blend of brute strength, cold-blooded finesse, and ruthless efficiency – even without taking her powers into account. The cop stood no chance.
Now she’s stashed in the trunk of our former car, wrists handcuffed behind the back and mouth gagged with her socks and a makeshift cleave-gag cut from some strips of cloth, and only clad in navvy blue boyshorts and a black sports bra.
Charlotte and I sit on the backseats. Taylor drives the police car away. An outside observer would believe we’re a pair of runaways or petty criminals. Which, technically, we are.
Taylor says she’ll use her uniform to stop an other car, and we’ll steal that one to flee to Ottawa. She has some contacts there who will help us escape the authorities, and hide for a while.
Wait. Did I forget to describe the policewoman?
**************
We’re hiding in Ottawa.
Another town, another heist.
I still have nightmares about the lab.
I hate hospitals. Hospitals remind me of the lab.
I hate nurse uniforms. Nurses remind me of the lab.
I’m wearing blue nurse scrubs – short-sleeved t-shirt and trousers, and clogs. At least the outfit isn’t white. Nurses at the lab wore white…
Taylor and Charlotte are disguised as nurses as well. I sense Taylor is sorry for what she’s asking of me, but she doesn’t dare leave me alone. She fears our pursuers are still on to us...
We’re pushing a gurney. An unconscious woman with short auburn hair is strapped onto it. A hospital blanket covers her from shoulders to feet. It’s useful to conceal the fact she’s been stripped down to her flower-patterned hip-hugging light pink panties, matching full-cup bra, and white socks. And that she’s been drugged. And that she’s actually a nurse whom we’ve mugged for her outfit.
The other two nurses are stashed in a medicament storage room in the basement – drugged as well, but also with their wrists zip-tied behind the pillars of some shelves, and their mouths sealed with medical tape as a safety precaution.
Why are we even here?
I think it’s to break out some convict hospitalized there.
I fear Taylor has been sent to silence a witness, and doesn’t want I or Charlotte to know.
I don’t dare to ask.
I want to leave.
I fear being caught and sent back to the lab too much to protest.
I forgot to describe the nurses.
**************
We’re hiding in Toronto.
Another town, another heist.
I hate how we’re always hurting good people. I hate it. I hate how it’s easier when they are nice.
We did it in Ottawa. We did it in Thunder Bay. We did it in Winnipeg, Regina and Calgary. We’ve done it since Vancouver…
That girl is nice too. And quite young as well. Dark brown hair. Golden brown eyes. A lightly tanned skin, and a heart-shaped face. Some dark freckles on the cheeks. A short ponytail. She’s an intern, working for some big insurance company of which I didn’t catch on the name.
Truly, I didn’t catch on much lately. Migraines are getting worst. Canadian cities are far from the biggest in the world, but they’re still cities. Cities are painful to my senses. Taylor’s contact in Ottawa could get us to Toronto, but in exchange he wanted Taylor to pull off some kind of heist there – industrial espionage or financial theft, I don’t quite get it.
Taylor doesn’t give me details about what she has to do to keep me safe… She wants to preserve me… And Charlotte is too lost in her fantasy world to care and ask.
The brown-haired intern is dressed in a dark grey business jacket, crisp white button up shirt, a dark grey business skirt, brown tights, and black high-heels. Trying hard to look professional, it seems. She’s wearing a pass card like a necklace.
It’s easier when they are nice. Kindness and trust come to such people naturally. I only need to stroke their feelings with some gently nudges of empathy.
I hate it. I hate how it’s easier when they are nice.
Charlotte, ever the motor mouth, is bullshitting her with some made-up story. That she and I are new employees. That we got lost. It shouldn’t work.
With the help of my powers, it works. I lull her mistrust, fan her gentleness.
The intern explains to us the layout of the building, and proposes to take us to the manager.
Disguised as a janitress, Taylor leaves her hiding spot and sneaks behind the girl.
I think I forgot to narrate the mugging of the janitress?
Taylor wraps snake-like arms around the brown-haired employee's throat and neck, and squeezes.
I suppress a gag when I sense the brunette’s trust turn into fear.
Fear is one of the worst emotions to sense...
Taylor thinks of me. She makes it quick. Soon, the brunette is limp and unconscious in her arms.
Taylor drags her into the storage room. Charlotte and I follow her. She lays her burden onto the floor, and begins to strip her. Charlotte buzzes around her, moving at the frantic pace of a womanchild on a sugar rush. She’s searching the shelves.
It’s easier to be around Taylor than with most other people. Her emotions are subdued. Faint. Like a dim cold light. It’s unnerving, because I can imagine what kind of training she has gone through to have such self-control. But it's less painful for me.
Charlotte is the opposite. She’s like a beacon, or a neon sign, wearing her extreme emotions on her sleeves. But they’re all positive emotions. Positive emotions hurt less, yet I still feel unnerved. Because something is clearly broken in her. Because it seems Charlotte couldn’t feel a negative emotion – even if she wanted to. How taxing must it be, to be happy all the time...
Taylor strips the intern down to her undergarments: an emerald green triangle bra, and white knickers. Charlotte proposes to bind and gag her with the roll of package tape she’s found on a shelf. Taylor agrees to humor her, if only to keep her busy and quiet for a while, while she strips off her own clothes and slips into the unconscious brunette’s business outfit.
She sees I’m staring at her.
“My contact was clear. His help and a way to flee the Province in exchange of this heist.” she justifies herself.
I don’t answer. What could I say? It’s not like we have a choice.
**************
We’re hiding in Montreal.
Another town, another heist.
I stopped asking Taylor about my parents. There’s no point to it. I can sense her emotions. And she knows I can. That way, she doesn’t have to say the truth. And I can pretend there’s still hope they’re alive.
Taylor has contacts in many towns, but they rarely agree to help her for free. Industrial espionage, sabotage, heist, petty theft... They always ask something in exchange of their help.
This time our trap is laid out in a remote corner of a public park. There aren’t much people there right now. A parade is about to begin in an other district of the town, everyone is heading there.
What is the heist? I don’t even know. Charlotte and I aren’t allowed in the mission briefings. I suspect Taylor doesn’t trust her contacts… Charlotte and I are valuable merchandise. A lot of government agencies – secret and non-secret – would love to get their hands on us. On our powers.
I still have nightmares about the lab.
The two women are part of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, clad in the inimitable red uniform coat with a tight collar and black shoulders, beige hats, black waist belts, black trousers with a yellow stripe on each leg, and black long boots.
One has dark brown hair, a white skin, and brown eyes. The other has blond hair, a white skin, and blue eyes. Both share the same haircut: a tight stern-looking bun.
The horses are waiting nearby, their reins tied to a nearby tree.
These two are supposed to later take part in the parade – hence the traditional outfit and horses. They were taking a stroll beforehand, maybe they miss being allowed to ride – contrary to what the name entails, RCMP is hardly a mounted police anymore, save for ceremonial events and special occasions. They didn’t expect to come across our small delivery truck.
Charlotte is once again putting her motor mouth and cute chubby charm to good use.
“I need your help, officers! My colleague is inside! She hurt her back trying to move a crate! We called an ambulance, but the crate is crushing her leg and she has passed out! Please help me remove it!”
The mounted policewomen are professionals, so they’re harder to influence than most. They clearly see Charlotte doesn’t have the physical stature of a professional mover in spite of her uniform – neither do I. But I’ve also gotten better at using my powers after all these months.
Subtly, I nudge them. I fan their trust, their confidence, their sense of duty. We look weak and helpless. Hardly a threat to trained officers. Charlotte keeps pleading and whining to direct their attention to the truck.
“We’ll help you.” the brunette finally agrees.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”
The two policewomen climb inside the small delivery truck.
They of course don’t know the three real delivery women are currently taking a nap in their skivvies, stashed in one of the crates.
Charlotte follows the officers, and closes the back door behind them.
I purposefully look away when the vehicle rocks back and forth for a brief while – though I can’t exactly ignore the muffled sounds, groans, and yelps.
Some time later, Taylor and Charlotte exit the delivery truck. They’re dressed in RCMP uniforms.
Charlotte looks ridiculous… She’s way too short for the uniform she’s wearing. I suspect she whined until Taylor caved in, and allowed her to disguise herself as well.
The blonde and brunette who used to own the uniforms are bound back-to-back with ropes, hands tied in front of the other’s stomach and legs bound together, and gagged and blindfolded with tape. The former is clad in white bikini panties, brown socks, and a purple bandeau bra; the latter is wearing red-and-white socks with maple leaves, red-and-white control briefs with the Canadian maple leaf, and a matching t-shirt bra that mimicked the Canadian flag.
Taylor looks in disgust at the Canadian-themed undergarments, then closes the door of the small delivery truck.
Charlotte is ecstatic. “Does it mean I get to ride the horse-”
“You don’t get to ride the horse.” Taylor interrupts.
I sense the horse feels as relieved as I.
**************
We’re hiding in Quebec.
Another town, another heist.
Some days, I think I should just jump into the river during winter, and let the cold take me away – far away from here.
Taylor is convinced things will be easier once we’ve left Canada.
I’m not as optimistic. I keep it to myself.
The maid was a nice girl. A bit homely, and plain, with black hair, an elegant chignon, and blue eyes. Easy prey, easy target. Charlotte’s cute chubby face had won her over. I barely had to use my empathy at all.
Now, the maid is unconscious and stuffed into her laundry cart. Stripped down to her white cotton socks, grey control briefs and matching plain t-shirt bra, and trussed up and gagged with towels and strips of sheet.
Taylor is wearing the maid’s uniform, and is pushing her laundry cart. She goes to a specific door, checks the number, and knocks.
“Yes?”
“It’s the maid.”
“We didn’t order room service.” the guest says through the door.
“There seems to be a problem with the pillows. I must change them with new ones.”
The woman inside the room uses the peep hole to check Taylor’s identity. Charlotte and I of course stay out of sight. The guest is fooled by Taylor’s disguise, and unlocks and opens the door.
“Please make it quick.”
The hotel guest is old enough to be a mother.
Old enough to be my mother…
She has neck-long curly light brown hair, a thin face, a slime body of average size, and hazel brown eyes. There are some wrinkles on her face, around her eyes, and some grey in her hair.
The hotel guest freezes when she sees Taylor from up close. Some people – the insightful ones – instinctively sense something off with her. It's her eyes. They can see she has the eyes of a cold-blooded predator.
I focus my empathy on the guest, using the full force of my power.
The mother blinks. She can sense something is not right. She shouldn’t feel so calm in front of a threat. But her feelings are overwhelming her common sense.
Taylor makes her move. One chop is enough to dispatch the guest. Then Taylor rushes inside. Wearing a maid uniform doesn’t hinder her movements.
Wait. Did I forget to describe the maid uniform?
I hear cries of horror and fear from the hotel room. Two other women. Younger than the first guest.
Charlotte doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t grasp the women’s fear. She can’t. To her, life is one giant wacky TV show. In her mind, people get knocked out with cartoonish sound effects, left trussed up in fanservice-y positions, and are never traumatized.
I cover my ears, close my eyes, and try to block off the sounds.
The cries for help soon stop.
Two dull thuds. Unconscious bodies falling onto a carpeted floor.
Charlotte leads me inside.
The older guest is lying unconscious near the entrance door.
In the middle of the room, there are two other women. Younger – in their twenties. One is lying on her stomach, the other on her back. Both are out cold.
The two girls share a strong family resemblance with the older woman. They’re her daughters. They have light brown hair, slime average-sized figures, thin faces, and hazel brown eyes as well. The eldest has a half-shaved side-swept pixie-cut, and a piercing on the nose. The youngest one has a proper-looking braid.
“We take their clothes with their IDs and tickets.” Taylor informs me.
These women look nice enough too. A mother and her daughters on a vacation.
But they had something we needed… Passports and plane tickets to leave Canada…
Once we’re done, they’re almost naked.
The mother’s underwear are conservative. Light grey control briefs, and a cream white support bra. The youngest daughter still wears somewhat kiddie-looking skivvies. Her light pink panties have a dark pink waistband strap and a Hello Kitty pattern. The bra and socks match the colors and pattern. The middle daughter wears raunchy undergarments. Her black thong is adorned with hot red lace. Her lacy demi-bra matches the thong.
Charlotte makes a comment on how you get to know a girl better by looking at her undergarments.
Taylor cuts sheets into makeshift ropes and cleave-gags. She binds and gags the family. She then conceals the three trussed up bodies under the beds. We also leave the laundry cart with the maid in the bedroom.
We slip into the outfits – Taylor takes the mother’s blue dress, black shoes and grey stockings, Charlotte puts on the eldest daughter’s red sneakers, black knee-long socks, white long skirt, and beige cardigan, and I slip into the youngest’s white sneakers, light blue jeans, and pink sweater.
A mother hen and her two chicks.
I don’t think Charlotte notices the irony.
**************
We’re hiding in New York City.
Another town, another heist.
I’m tired of running.
I’ve lost count of how many apartments we’ve already lived in.
Taylor is actually sick – a mere cold but it feels weird to see her diminished by something so… trivial. I’ve always seen her as this invincible unstoppable force. And now here she is, lying on the couch because she’s too tired to stand. I think it’s because she cares too much about Charlotte and I. She’s exerting herself, pushing her body to its limits.
I don’t dare to say it to her.
Charlotte has been ranting about teaming up with some cat burglar I don’t know of, and has stormed out of the apartment.
I anticipate she’ll do something stupid.
I sit on the couch, listen to music, try to block off the outside world.
…
…
…
We’re hiding in New York City.
Another town, another heist.
I suspect we’ll be on the run all our lives.
I still have nightmares about the lab.
I hate how we’re always hurting good people. I hate it. I hate how it’s easier when they are nice.
I stopped asking Taylor about my parents. There’s no point to it. I can sense her emotions. And she knows I can. That way, she doesn’t have to say the truth. And I can pretend there’s still hope they’re alive.
Some days, I think I should just jump into the river during winter, and let the cold take me away – far away from here.
I’m tired of running.
