1.3) The City Without a Sky

Abigail’s job as a Leviathan was complete. Her closest friend, Victor Truman, was expecting to see her above ground in about four hours, so she had no time to spend doing other things if she wanted to be punctual. Still, there were sometimes things that were more important than being on time; her job as a Leviathan was complete, but she still had something left to try as Abigail Kovacs.

As the rest of the building was being cleared floor-by-floor by the local police, she walked into one of the soundproofed rooms that she had observed on the monitors earlier. The walls were painted yellow, and there was nothing else but a restroom and a television. Not even a proper bed. It was the cheapest service possible.

And in the corner, there was a little boy who cowered and whimpered as she approached him. She had read his file earlier: his name was Jack Moore, a six-year-old who had been kidnapped by the order of a divorced man who wanted to ruin the life of his ex-wife. Thankfully, it had only been a few days since the boy was taken–perhaps most of the psychological damage was still reversible.

“Hey there,” Abigail said as gently as possible. She could see the boy's shoulders slightly tense as she spoke.

Leaving about a meter of space between them, Abigail knelt down and put her sword on the floor. Then, she sat, trying to remove any signs of hostility from her body so as to not surprise the boy.

“Hey… It’s okay. It’s all over,” she said as she showed him her empty palms. “I’m one of the good guys.”

Abigail smiled the way she had practiced in the mirror, and the boy seemed to lose some of his tension. However, the boy remained quiet, and noticing this, Abigail patiently waited for him to calm down and realize that he was now safe.

After a few minutes, the boy finally spoke.

"Is it... really over?" the boy asked, with a hint of hope in his voice.

"Yeah. It's over. It's just me and you. All the bad guys are gone."

The boy breathed a sigh of relief, then looked her up and down. “You don't look like a bad person. But you don't look like a policeman."

"No, I guess not."

"So... What are you? A superhero?” he nervously whispered.

Abigail blinked, then laughed, unable to hold it in. “Something like that, yeah.” She pointed at the white scarf that she was wearing. “Who else but superheroes wear capes?”

“That’s not a cape,” the boy nervously giggled.

“Well... It’s not. But I don’t think a cape really works with my coat here. Do you think I’d look better with a cape?” she asked.

The boy shook his head. “No, not really.”

“Right?” Abigail laughed. “Plus, a cape would get in the way when I beat up the bad guys, you know?”

The boy laughed, and Abigail sensed that the boy was ready for a little bit of movement.

"Here." Abigail slowly held out her hand and presented it to the boy. “I’m Abigail. You?”

The boy tilted his head. “Aren’t superheroes supposed to keep their identities secret?”

“Oh... Yeah, that’s right!” she said in faux surprise. “Silly me. I let it slip. Aw, don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s our little secret.” She winked.

“... Okay,” the boy said, as he put his small, cold hand onto hers. And she gently squeezed, trying to warm his hand.

“Hey, you never told me your name,” Abigail said. “That’s not very fair.”

“Well, I just decided I’m going to be a superhero when I grow up. So I’m not going to tell you,” he said with a cheeky grin.

“That’s fine, but you’re not going to become a superhero by sitting here, are you?”

The boy pouted, then rose to his feet. Abigail grinned and stood up as well, knowing that the situation was now under control.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Abigail said, still holding the boy’s hand.

***

When they walked out of the building, the world flashed in red and blue as the police vehicle's lights continued alternating their colors. The men she had sent running away earlier were reluctantly lining up, bickering as they waited to be transported in groups. After noticing her presence, they seemed to quiet down, perhaps fearing the possibility of ending up thrown around like the owner of the prison.

The boy was forced to remove his hand from her own as he was taken in by the police outside the building. Or perhaps it was the other way around–it was she who forced herself to remove her hand from the boy, regretfully unable to accompany him further.

“Bye-bye, Ms. Superhero!” the boy shouted, waving his hands excitedly before the door shut on him.

“Farewell, take care,” she whispered under her breath and waved her hand in return.

As the police vehicle quietly drove away from her and the prison, she wondered what would happen to the boy. Perhaps he would truly stick to his words and become an ally of justice. But she doubted it, although she didn’t want to admit it. 

When the boy's mother had divorced her husband, she was forced to flee underground to try and make a living for her unborn son. Yes, the boy–Jack Moore–was born and raised in Oneiros, the underground city of nightmares; a cesspit of crime and tragedy. A city that lacked a sky yet somehow seemed to always be edging towards a tremendous rainfall that would cause everyone to drown. To think that the boy could defy the harsh environment and remain pure and righteous was wishful thinking.

The boy was born on the wrong side of the world; he would almost certainly become another victim of the endless cycle of tragedy and rage. She had no choice but to accept this as a likely possibility–she had seen too much to deny how the world worked. What she had given him today was not true salvation.

In the end, the only thing she could do was do her best to try and make things just a little bit better for the people that she saw in her view. And here, in this underground city, there were plenty of people in her path that needed saving.

But things were different now. The world was ending, and she was now forced to choose her priority–saving the needy minority or saving the world entire.

She shook her head. No, not saving the world. Only preventing it from ending. It's not the same thing.

She still wasn’t entirely focused on the big picture at the moment. All she wanted to do was truly save someone for good–even a single person–instead of being the one responsible to cut them down. But despite everything, she seemed to have enough sense left in her brain to prioritize preventing the world from ending. The numbers seemed to speak for themselves.

And so, Abigail Kovacs began walking back to her hotel to pack her belongings, looking up at the dark ceiling of the underground city, trying to avoid eye contact with the streets filled with eyes that were awaiting a savior. And knowing that she had little power to save them, she wondered what the supposed gods of this world were doing.

There was no visible sky in Oneiros; the heavens were not visible from here.