Chapter Text
A walking dead man. Well, woman. As it would be in the case in Nichols mind; it was a feeling she often struggled to define even in her brightest moments. But, as she makes her way through the vastness of New York’s Central Park she realised that Her life is more like the last light of a shooting star. The end is inevitable. Big but without reason. To anyone that caught a glimpse of it, felt they were honored to have witnessed something so special. But also aware that it was temporary. That’s what she felt. That it was all coming down to an underwhelming finish.
The only questions that were up for any type of debate were do you play till the buzzer? Or do you accept it? Tap out, and call it where the chips lay.
Nichol tucked her chin more into the collar of her oversized winter jacket and shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. She pushed on to whichever path her feet fancied. Her mind was going over and over this debate in her mind; it was the only thing really worth debating about in her mind these days. So with each new day, that day provided with it a fresh perspective.
The routine of walking daily through the park at last light developed gradually but it now had become so significant in processing the day’s events. So much so, that anyone who knew her, would know where to find her at this time of day. The only time she wasn’t there at last light was if something job related got in the way of it. She would always make the rounds when she’d finished for the night in those cases, no matter the weather.
Tonight was a crisp example. It was blistering cold. Light snowfall had begun an hour or so before, and the wind reddened whatever part of her face she had left exposed. Her stature being a broad shouldered, solid build, 6.1 woman dressed in clothes typically found in the men’s section. Considering that it was the only size to fit her without being restricting. She has short auburn hair, soft skin, and deep brown eyes. All that plus the way she walked, hunched shoulders and determination. It did a great job of hiding her from standing out to any prospective mugger.
Taking the occasional glance around for any suspicious people, her thoughts would return once again to the debate.
An unregistered amount of time later, she would find herself at the edge of the park. Taking stock of where she was mentally, the decision to continue walking or head home would typically follow. Some nights required more time in the park, some not. After sensing her mind had seemingly resigned to see what tomorrow brings, tonight, she turned for home.
Twisting the lock and shouldering the door open, she took stock of her studio apartment. Eyeing for anything out of place. The affectionately named “eternal lamp” was on as it always was, shedding soft light on the small but cozy space. Seemingly satisfied nothing had been touched, moved, as well as nothing amiss to cause the small hairs on her neck to stand up. She kicked the door shut and shrugged off her jacket, throwing it in the basic direction of where her coats went.
Now, it was shower time.
Shedding the last of her clothes, she turned the water on, finding a comedic comfort in the symphony of groans and protests the pipes always sang this time of year. Water now at optimum temperature, she stepped in to wash away the last of the day’s drama. She stood with her hands against the wall with her head hung low, allowing the water to cascade down her body.
Although she would never admit it sober, the injuries she sustained on active deployments still flared up from time to time or would come back with vengeance if she wasn’t careful. Her gift and burden. Her age was showing now as well, for her knee could apparently predict colder weather.
To sum up the life of this 32, ex-military, ex-travel volunteer’s life would simply be….complicated. Her job was always an internal battle of morals over beliefs. Today was no different. Digging into other peoples' sorted history was never consciously ethical in her mind, but if those secrets could cost innocent lives, she’d be okay overruling her morals.
Stepping from the shower and toweling dry, her thoughts turned to dinner. Food wasn’t something that bothered her. As long as the smell didn’t set off the gag-reflex, anything in the belly was good enough. Tonight’s selection was a choice between the two stocked microwave meals she always had. Lasagna or sweet n sour chicken on rice. Chicken on rice sounded good for tonight. While that circled its way in the microwave, Nichol went through the selection of TV shows she normally cycled through. Something she read once in a psychology magazine whilst on a case said, that having a familiar movie or show on can help relax one into a familiar routine or something like that. True to it’s words, she did find it weirdly comforting. She never watched normal tv broadcasts, she only found solace in the familiar background noise. Smart people still know some things.
With dinner done, dishes recycled, medication taken, and show selected, she crawled into bed. Hopefully tonight would be a dead sleep. Dreams were never a pleasant experience because they were never played anything good.
>>>
Nichol shot up out of bed, poised in her defensive stance covered in sweat and breathing hard. Her conscience caught up with her as she frantically scanned the room.
After realising it was just a dream, she relaxed and shook out her hands whilst slowly walking a circle in the apartment. Stupid dreams. Rolling her neck, she went through her mantra. What can you see, what can you hear, what can you smell, what is missing? The last one seemed completely unorthodox, but she found it worked to calm her down and remove all traces of thought from the past back into the present.
What could she see?
Shitty apartment
Snow falling outside the windows
Soft glow of lights outside
Her eternal lamp
What could she hear?
Grumbling pipes.
Distant police sirens.
Cars driving by.
Her breathing.
What could she smell?
Her air freshener
Soft smells from the Chinese shop bellow
The distinct smell of ‘old building’.
Her breathing started to slow….
What’s missing?
Blood
Screaming
Explosions
Gunfire
Kinda like…..if those aren’t your reality, life’s a shitload better than before.
She stopped pacing, bending at the waist putting her hands on her knees. Just a stupid dream. If there was a dream fairy, that fucker didn’t fight fair.
Nichol looked at her modest queen bed in the corner of the room, contemplating trying for more sleep. A humorless laugh left her lips. “Yeah, right,” she thought.
She might as well read up on some projects she had running for work. It was always a good tactic to refocus from how much of a mess she was by focusing on how much of a mess the world was. Judgment was always humanity’s defense tactic. Or so was her learned opinion.
Digging out her laptop, she logged in and went through the steps of kick-starting her computers internet ghost app. The set up she had, had access to was astoundingly insane. Networks connected to other networks, that would autscan whatever search properties you happened to be investigating. Ghosting through the DMV engines, social media, social security, and whichever system she wanted. Her work gave her access to secrets people couldn’t even imagine were topics, let alone government secrets associated with them.
But alas, if you look into those, someone will always be able to look back. It was dangerous knowing things that could implement powerful people into some nasty-no-good-ness. It makes people nervous when their secrets are so vulnerable. Someone could easily get themselves erased off the earth without anyone missing you. Especially a nomad like her.
As the computer ran its usual security checks, she took a long glance out the windows, watching the city lights through the gently falling snow. She drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out.
No one had missed her in years.
Whilst her systems boosted, she put the kettle on. Coffee was indeed needed at these hours of the morning.
Sitting down with her brew in hand, she opened her emails.
She scanned the headings, frowning when her contact had marked one as urgent. Placing her coffee to the coffee table, she clicked the associated file and began reading.
Marked priority.
Her other cases were handed to other agents.
This one was her eyes only, and aparantly her only priority.
Her interests definitely peaked. She never got taken off cases before they were completed. It sort of undermined her whole starting jobs in the first place if she couldn’t run them through to finish.
Her job technically didn’t exist. Technically. If anyone asked her what she did for coin, she would usually make something up on the spot. Letting her creative side loose in whichever direction it wanted to take. Not like she was going to ever see them again. It depended on where she was really, though. She drew her inspiration from the situation she was in at that moment. If someone said she looked familiar, then asked where she worked, she’d look them directly in the eye and say she did porn. That would send them running. To others, she could be a free-lance IT specialist. Traveling photographer. Mortician. Whatever to get them to leave her alone. She aimed to be noted, but easily forgotten. Focus off her and back to their menial lives.
Realistically, she was a double informant; A fly on the wall between government agencies and state officials. If they wanted dirt on someone, she’d dive deep and find it. If they wanted reasons for a situation, subject, or fundamentalist cause, she would dig, dive, or research. She would talk to workers, friends, allies, or friends of friends. She had the ability to blend in easily. With her smooth persona, charm or whatever, that coaxed information out of the most unsuspecting people.
If it was of a sensitive nature she would go operative. Stashing bugs, monitoring devices, or implants to whichever house, computer or phone needed to get the job done. As long as she was never caught, she wasn’t doing anything illegal. Only a few in the headquarters of the core government officials knew her job existed, let alone what she looked like. She was literally a hired ghost, to drift into people’s lives and leave nothing but a chill on the back of their necks.
Her work came pretty easily, which was concerning. And she was good at it.
It didn’t hurt that she was strikingly beautiful and could muster confidence that could place her at home in any situation. She also could bend her looks to draw the men or their wives.
It was complete and utter bullshit in her opinion. What she was capable of was a front. A practiced front. Who she was, really was…was a broken shell ex alcoholic who was scared of the dark and socially awkward goofball.
The burden of knowing so many secrets could be difficult to bear at times.
It was definitely a lonely life, but she had made her peace with solitude many years ago. Her only interaction with people that could be deemed “normal” would be at her group therapy at AA on.Tuesdays and Thursdays.
“Shit”, she thought. “What day is it? Had to be Wednesday, no, yesterday was Wednesday. Wasn’t it?“
She shook her head. Letting out a small “Focus would you” under her breath.
Her new assignment was strange.
She had to gather the information and background for the one Hera Oaks. She tilted her head.
The movie star?
Not that she minded the freshness of something new. But a movie star? What would the government want with a full profile on Hera Oaks?
Whatever.
Wasn’t her job to ask. Only to follow orders.
Nichol flexed her fingers and set to work.
By the time her stomach reminded her coffee wasn’t a food source, it was 10 AM and she had gathered enough information to satisfy the flamingo’s who asked.
She smiled at her nickname for the big bosses.
Seeing them in groups, they always looked like a flock of flamingos.
Thanks to her research, she could now tell them everything and anything about the singer, turned actress-extraordinaire.
From the way she liked her coffee to who she dated during recess in the second grade.
Finishing off her report, scanning it for any final changes before she could send it off.. Something odd did stick out to her, though. This information was easy to get.
Almost too easy.
She made that little note at the end, then hit send. Closing the laptop, she now set off to focus on breakfast.
Cheerios or Capt’n Crunch?