Registry of the Evolved Database
File #03 Dec 2010 05:50
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 Sammi Hanratty |
My name's Koshka. No, it's not my real name but it is what I prefer to go by. It’s what I’ve gone by since before I left home, and only what my friends called me. I was actually named Bethany Faith Ruslan. And if you're wondering, I didn't always live out here on the streets. I use to live in an apartment; more importantly, I use to live with someone who actually cared. Why’d I leave? I ask myself that too, since my life didn’t start out all that good but ended up turning around for the better. But things happen and people change. I regret the events that led up to this, if I could go back and change things… But you can’t change the past. All you can do is learn from it. And while I run, I try to learn from my own past.
My mom came from an older neighborhood in the Bronx. I guess it use to be only Irish-American there, because the Irish blood still runs thick. But it was usually a place where family was important. It’s still the kind of neighborhood where everything was family owned and run and even the youngest hands could find work on the weekends. But there was representation of other people there, too; Italians, some Russian and German folk. As for my mom, she came from Russian stock. She was fourth generation or something, her great-great-uncle or other grandparents having migrated over a hundred years ago or so. But as I said, the family was far from typical; not sure what happened, no one ever bothered to enlighten me. As for Mom, she /never/ got along with my grandparents. For her fifteenth birthday she received a suitcase packed with her clothes and was shown the door.
I suppose you could say some of it came down to the times. Things were rough for everyone. Money was tight, rent was high, and the threat of an apartment building being burnt down was a real thing. I know, I'm fifteen and that's history from thirty years ago. Library's got Internet and books and newspapers, so it’s not hard to find information when you want to. As I was saying, all these things probably added in to what decided my grandparents on showing my mom the door. She did the best she could, though, spending nights staying with friends and sleeping on couches. She quit school that summer and started working wherever she could find it. Don't think much of it was glamorous. At least it helped keep her fed and clothed.
So, Mom moved around a lot for two years, and keeping a job wasn't easy. She didn't have a Sweet Sixteen, and seventeen looked like it was going to be just as uneventful. She started dating, if you could call it that. The men were often older, easy access points for booze and drugs and found she was willing to go just a little further if it meant getting a hit of something to ease the pain of the real world. Not surprising to find she became an addict and careless. Sometime during this …"phase" is where I come in.
It's nice to think that Mom actually made an attempt at cleaning up her act when she found out she was pregnant. She stopped using and sleeping around, and she managed to get a steady job back in her old neighborhood bagging groceries. It didn't pay a whole lot, but any income is better than nothing. She managed to save up enough to get herself a small one-bedroom apartment for us, and furnished it by taking things that had been left out on the curb or visiting second hand stores. She really did try hard in those nine months, and I find I can't entirely blame her. We weren't close, but she made some effort at first. She worked right up until I was born, February 28, 1995. She took as much time off as she could afford to after I was born, sometimes bribing a coworker to take me between shifts. It was a stressful year, Mom’s job was always on the line and then things take a turn for the better. She’d had word several months back that my mom’s younger cousin Elijah had moved into our building in the year before. He was going to college and some form of contact with him. She went to him and convinced him to watch me for her. And even though she wasn’t able to pay a lot in compensation, but she somehow managed.
This arrangement went smoothly for about three years. Then things started slipping. First it was little things, late to work or late picking me up. Then it was the occasional calling in sick yet still taking me to Elijah’s. In time it wasn’t even calling in, she just stopped showing. That’s when /he/ started showing up at our apartment. /His/ name was Jeremiah Manson. He was an abuser in the full sense of the word, and absolutely creepy. Chemically, physically, mentally. It’s a stroke of luck that I was able to continue going to the Elijah’s, I think he suspected what was happening behind closed doors and wanted to help keep me somewhat safe.
It wasn’t the ideal conditions for any child to live in, yet it lasted for several years. My mom had slipped down into the dregs of society and became a druggie all over again, and the only stability in her life was /him/. He was such an enabler, and if she didn’t feel like taking a hit with him he’d badger her into it! Verbally, physically, if he wanted her to do something, he found a way. I hated him. I hated him for the way he treated my mom, and for the way she in turn treated me.
Living in the apartment with my mom and Jeremiah was like walking on eggshells. Jeremiah was a loose cannon and liable to fly off in a rage over little things. He was always complaining over money and how much things cost. How much /I/ was costing them. Because, you know, buying second hand clothes once a year and shopping at the discount market twice a month for cans of Spaghetti O’s and bologna costs /so/ much money. And if I crossed him… Let’s just say that I learned to duck and be quick on my feet. He never broke anything, but I had a few bruises. Once he’d even caught me with the metal end of his belt; that left a one-inch scar on my shoulder.
Elijah Ruslan was the only source of normalcy in my life. Fate had a strange way of changing the way of things so I was spending more and more time with him and less time with my mom and her boyfriend. We bonded rather quickly and grew close, it was like having an older brother, one who actually too interest in my life. We spent hours together, me doing all the things young children do and ‘Lijah working on homework or talking to me in Russian. That’s probably where I picked the language up from. The kinship between us continued even when I finally started school, and even then he was still there if I needed him. See, not everything I dealt with growing up was horrible.
And, speaking of school, I was so glad to start going there. It was another easy escape from home. I wasn’t the smartest kid in the class, I’d say I was probably pretty average, though better in math and science thanks to help from Elijah. I could usually count on him if I got stuck. Never gave me the answer, but he did teach me to think my way through and solve it on my own. Which helped a lot with academics and just regular problem solving.
The biggest problem in school was explaining away a bruise, or why I had no lunch that day. If there’s one thing I learned in school that was useful, it was how to lie and how to spirit myself away and avoid being caught. I wasn’t often without lunch, a lot of days Elijah would manage to catch me before I ran off to school and give me a bag. Those were always the best days. A couple cookies, a real sandwich, sometimes a piece of fruit as well. But on those days I didn’t bring something with I’d come up with excuses or I’d find a way to hide myself and avoid the cafeteria all together. As for the bruises, I think people were content to believe I was just accident prone.
But life wasn’t all bad, like I said. Yeah, it had more downs than ups in the beginning. But sometimes if you wait long enough, if you’re patient, something good comes along. After nearly five years of willingly avoiding my own home, I managed to convince Elijah to let me stay with him permanently. Or until I was an adult. He agreed and the battles began. Long days and weeks were spent in courts and writing up documents and talking to lawyers. It wasn’t as though my mom had wanted to keep me. Hell, she’d hardly seen me in five years. But the courts take a long time to move things. There was so much paper work, so many things that had to be done. I don’t even know all of it, but in the end the judge granted guardianship to Elijah.
The news only got better. Soon after my mom wasn’t responsible for me any longer, Elijah had gotten some job he wanted. A really important job, doing work for Primatech Bronx. We moved out of that crappy apartment, away from the bad memories and subdued but lingering threat of living next door to Jeremiah, and into a condo in a much better part of the Bronx. It had a doorman and everything. I had new neighbors who were nice enough, new school and classmates. No one there knew about where I came from before and I didn’t tell them. Didn’t want to ruin the fresh start.
From then on, everything was pretty great. I did better in school, mostly because Elijah pushed me to work hard. He was patient and helpful, just like before, but I know he also wanted me to succeed. I don’t think he really needed to be strict about it, I liked school, but sometimes I think he expected too much from me. Not that I slacked any. And we had fun, too, that first year. We took a few trips, mostly to museums, but once we visited an amusement park and took a weekend trip to one of the nearby state parks. Few as they were, each trip was a blast. I may have missed classroom learning for some of our trips, but ‘Lijah, true to his word that I’d have a good education, made sure I never missed homework.
It was good times though; but like all good things there’s an end. That end came in November 2006. You’re probably wondering, what about September 2001, right? Well, I was six years old then, and Elijah did a pretty good job keeping me sheltered from that horror. But 2006, I was eleven. We were actually on vacation for the week when the bomb went off, up in the Catskills. ‘Lijah had rented a cabin and we took a very rare “camping” trip to celebrate some promotion or something with his job. We actually didn’t find out about the explosion until we were on our way home a couple of days later. It took us an extra day to get home, there were so many check points to get through. It was a scary, quiet return. That we’d just recently been having a lot of fun was quickly forgotten while we listened to the news on that long drive.
When I first heard about the attacks, I was angry. Irrationally angry. And scared. How could someone do that? What was that guy thinking, taking all those lives, creating that much damage? As time passed without any answers, I became restless. Why hadn’t anything been done yet? This was way worse than what happened in 2001, I knew that. More, I knew I wanted to do /something/. I wanted to go and help with the clean up and rescue. I had to do something other than sit and watch events play out. Of course, it led to the world’s biggest argument between me and Elijah. He wouldn’t hear of me wanting to go out there, believing strongly that it was safer to stay with him and let the “grown ups” handle the problem. But might have known people who were out there, and even if I didn’t they were still a part of the greater community of New York City. Why shouldn’t I try to help them?
Time moved on, and though the argument was the first of many, it was eventually forgotten. Blame was tossed around, aimed at the Middle East and North Korea. Life, what was left of it, continued. To say things were harder is an understatement. It took more money to live, to eat and keep a roof over our heads. ‘Lijah’s job saw is through the worst of it, though. And, oddly enough, I still had school. Informal and done after Elijah’s work. That man was determined to get me an education of some sorts. History, math, science, Russian language. And he was harder than any teacher I ever had.
Just when we thought things were beginning to settle into normality, a finger was pointed. A man they called Syler was responsible for the explosion in Midtown. You’d think that finally having a face and a name to blame for the chaos would be a good thing, right? Now they’re telling us about this man and about an ability he has. That ability is what caused the explosion. What’s more is there are /others/ who have abilities. And they looked just like everyone else. It was scary. I could have been one, or Elijah. What /if/ one of us was Evolved? The only real comfort I found, when the Evolved were revealed to the world, was that these abilities weren’t all the same. Not everyone could make an explosion like the one in Midtown. Just like not everyone is evil.
It was, though, a real surprise to find out that people could even do some of those things. The possibilities were uncountable. Sometimes, late at night, I’d lay awake and scare myself silly wondering what it would be like to have an ability. Or how things would change if Elijah had one. How could we change the world if we could do special things?
After the shock of the Evolved existing passed, we really strove to become more normal again. Work and school continued without fail. I enrolled into a correspondence school, took classes online so I could get through high school.
Then came the next argument to end all arguments. Registration.
I still can’t believe that they wanted the Evolved to register. What’s it any business of theirs who can do something or not? Anything in the wrong hands can be dangerous or a tool for death and destruction, and really, it’s not any different from what Germany did during World War 2. I refused outright to do it, if I ever manifested a power. It wasn’t anyone else’s business if I could do something special or not.Of course, Elijah argued that I should register, even if I proved to be Evolved. Just like he’d register if he had to, like he /did/ register once it became necessary for everyone to do it. I didn’t listen to his reasoning, even though I know he was just trying to look out for me. I didn’t care. The whole idea was just wrong and crazy, only around because of people being afraid and not understanding. Just a lame attempt at controlling the population. People are going to find a way to cause harm regardless of their status on the registry, if they really wanted to. All it does is keep the honest people honest and create a scapegoat out of those people who The Man thinks is too dangerous to live amongst “normal people”.
Even more angering was when they decided to make it /mandatory/ just a year and a half later. Now it really /was/ sounding like Nazi Germany. Next thing we’ll have to wear a badge or an armband, something that loudly says ‘I’ve registered and I’m Evolved or not Evolved’. It’s asinine.
Unlike the first argument where he wouldn’t let me help with the rescue and clean up of Midtown, this one festered for a couple of years. It would crop up whenever we’d disagree over something minor. This argument followed us when we moved. In 2009 we moved to Chicago. I don’t know the details. It’s another thing Elijah kept me in the dark about. But I know it had to do with his work. Even up there we were still bickering over the registration. It was everywhere and it pissed me off. I wasn’t quiet about my dislike for the idea either, especially aver we moved and despite Elijah’s best efforts to get me to see the other side of it. Didn’t matter, I was against it. And in the end it acted like a catalyst.
The catalyst. It was during an argument over registration that, lo and behold, I manifested a power. I was evolved.
It happened in August 2010. Elijah had convinced me to go out for some ice cream for supper after I spent the previous four days not speaking to him. We just had to make a stop on the way. I only agreed, not for ice cream, but because I wanted things to be okay between me and ‘Lijah. I didn’t like fighting with him but I really wanted to agree to disagree agreeably with him.
We parked about a block from the ice cream place and sat down together, enjoying the cold treat. We made small talk, as well as apologized to each other for our disagreements. We’d never see eye to eye, but we finally agreed to try and understand where the other stood. We were having a really good time, we decided to walk off the ice cream and return to the car later. The conversation continued on to lighter things. School was fine, I was still maintaining a B average. His work was still something of a mystery to me. I knew it was government work and he’d answer with vagueness that implied everything was going well.
While we were walking, I began to get the feeling that something more was up. ‘Lijah looked like he was bracing for a storm. The conversation moved on from every day things, back onto the very topic that we’d just made amends over. That’s when I noticed where we were headed and when the fun ended. He was taking me to a neighborhood clinic to get registered. I was in shock, but for some reason I continued to walk with him. I even listened while he explained patiently yet again why I should be registered. It wasn’t only because it was mandatory for everyone, but I could get a job with the government, or in law enforcement. There were so many more opportunities. But I still didn’t care. When we arrived under the awning I grabbed onto my convictions and fought back.
I’m not sure how it happened. I began yelling at him, telling Elijah that I hated the whole thing. That registering was not what the world needed right now. How he stayed calm while I ranted and made a scene, I’ll never understand. Through it, my guardian, my friend, came toward me to embrace me, to tell me that it would be alright. But I knew it wouldn’t be alright. The instant he placed his hands on my shoulders I snapped.
I can’t explain what I did. I raised my hands to push his away and the very dust from the ground rose as well. I slapped Elijah’s hands away with one hand, the dust billowing up, temporarily blinding him. But it didn’t stop there. I kept fighting, hitting and pushing and driving more distance between myself and the Russian I’d known my whole life, the only person who had a real interest in my well being. The more I raged, the more damaging my whirlwind of dirt and debris became. Fine particles of sand and grit cut into his skin while I sent him to the ground with fists and feet.
It lasted only seconds, but we still drew a crowd. As sense returned and my fight became less driven, the dust literally settled as if it hadn’t just swirled and blew about. I realized then what had happened, and I think ‘Lijah knew, too. Elijah never fought back, never raised a hand to stop me, and when it was all over he /still/ tried to help me. In just a few words he told me to avoid companies, gave me a wad of cash, and told me to run. I tried to apologize, but with the crowd growing and mutters about police on the way, I took the money and I ran.
I didn’t know where I was going at first, but I knew I couldn’t stay in Chicago. What was worse, I knew the money wouldn’t last long enough to get me as far away as I would have liked. I did the best I could, though, I had enough for a train ticket to get me well out of Chicago and on my way to New York. I figured since I was from there, and because of the population size, I could blend in. It hadn’t been more than a year since I’d left, either, I could try to find some familiar faces and maybe earn a little sympathy. My hopes were shot down fast when I arrived. I never expected to find New York in such a state. It seemed like everyone was jumping at shadows, yet life as usual was going on. You could feel in the atmosphere that something big was coming.
Still, I persevered, made my own way. I’m not proud of the rout I chose, but I had to survive. I took to pickpocketing and visiting food pantries. Only living with Jeremiah for those first eight or nine years had made me quick enough and daring to even try anything like that. Especially since I’d never tried pickpocketing before. I was caught several times at the beginning, enough that I was nearly discouraged. Only the lying I had been so good at as a child saved me, and the times that it didn’t… Well, there’s usually always some form of dust around and I wasn’t planning to pull punches any longer. Oh, I took my share of scrapes when I fought back, I’m not invincible and I’d never had a lesson in fighting in my life. Yet with the dust I was able to at least scare the botched target away if I couldn’t knock them out.
But I learned to be more sneaky, using my new-found ability to my best advantages. Usually that meant throwing a little dirt into someone’s eyes, then snatching a wallet. My control wasn’t that great, though I was able to achieve what I wanted most of the time. Still, sometimes more than one person was affected or it was too strong and I’d injure the person as well. However, in time I was even able to practice the craft of picking pockets without the use of my ability. It was really the pantries, and other charities, to picking pockets. Not only was there usually a full meal to eat, but most of them offered a place to sleep at night. There was also clean clothes and no one asked questions. There wasn’t a risk of getting caught by the wrong person. That wouldn’t do, when I was living on the fringes.
I thought I’d met that person who’d be the end of me, too, when I tried to pick the pockets of a man from Ireland I’ve taken to calling Touche, but have found is named Seamus.
He was huge and most people might’ve found him intimidating, certainly not the best choice for a target, but I thought I could get away with it. I’d barely brushed against him and I had his wallet in my hand when this hand like iron clamped down on my wrist. Instinctively I tried to fight back, but it was too public. Too much risk to use my ability so blatantly. And something about the look he gave me told me my chances of being successful even in violence were slim to none. Wordlessly, and with an unbreakable hold on my arm, Touche towed me away from the street and around a corner where he glowered down at me. I was sure I was going to die that day. Fate had finally turned her back on me.
Or so I thought.
That cold, hard stare broke finally, my wrist was released, and Touche actually clapped me on the shoulder. Even more to my surprise was when he’d smiled at me and winked, saying that I’d have to let him buy me dinner before getting that fresh with him. I never asked why he didn’t strike me down on the spot, and I’m not even sure why I stopped fighting. There was something about him. Something that made me hope to trust him, just a little. Before he went on his way, he treated me to a hot dog vendor and offered some advice on pickpocketing.
That wasn’t the first time I’d run into Touche. I managed another time or two to find him and mooch a sandwich or another hot dog. So glad he took pity on me, things were so tense, it was becoming too dangerous to pickpocket even during the day. I managed, but only when I was certain of success. After one of the encounters with Touche, I followed him. He probably knew what I was doing, not that I cared. Found out that he worked at some antique kind of store, one of those shops that sells second hand clothing that went out of style decades ago and furniture that survived the last hundred years.
That area of town became more of a permanent haunt of mine. At least until the riots began. And Touche was an infrequent companion, but someone who sort of reminded me of Elijah. In his own way he sort of looked out for me, at least as far as giving me pointers in pickpocketing and hiding during all the violence that washed over New York City on November the 8th.
Behind the shop my new-found acquaintance works at is where I’ve made home. Only the employees ever used the dumpster and it made the perfect hideaway for after curfew. What’s more, I was tucked away safe and sound, once martial law was enforced. Talk about scary, though. I was running around the city, alone, no solid contacts, no ID, and the city was under martial law. And it’s been worse since the riots. I need to find something more permanent if I’m going to stay in the city.
Staying there isn’t so bad. I take off in the early morning, sticking to alleys and darker parts of the city until there’s enough of the population around that I can fade in. The smell isn’t too bad. I stay as clean as I can, usually by visiting a nearby church. I’ve become quite adept at sink baths. I know it isn’t much of a life, but it’s what I have right now. I am trying for better, with what little I have. Can’t really draw attention to myself, or the companies or worse might find me.
I’ve heard rumors of a network. People who think kind of like I do about the registration. That’s where I’ve decided to start. I’m going to follow the rumors and start with this network. Hopefully it isn’t too late.
Koshka is a wildcard and believes herself alone in the world, and because of that looks out for herself first. Theres no telling where her loyalties will fall, but a simple kindness goes far with her. With most shes a bit of an artful dodger with a normally easy going nature, though she's prone to use confidence and even arrogance to hide the deeper longing to be part of something. Those able to get passed her walls will find that desire in the form a frightened youth.
Shes passionate about what she believes in, holding tight to her convictions while vocally and sometimes physically eschewing those things shes against. This is especially true when it comes to the Registration. Alternatively, she falls silent if conversation turns toward the Evolved now unsure of how to regard them. The revelation that shes Evolved has shocked her, though she doesnt shy away from using her powers.
Koshka tends to be a liar when caught in a questionable situation. She prefers to rely on wit and cunning to get out of a bad situation, only using her ability when theres no other options.
Koshka has manifested an ability to manipulate dust, sand, and other small allergens. While still very new with her ability and having no solid understanding or control over it yet, she has found that she’s able to generate a cloud of dust. She’s discovered two uses for this ability, so far. Most commonly she’s able to generate a cloud of dust and dirt that then irritates the eyes enough to cause momentary blindness. However, she’s also found that she can further change the make up of the particles, sharpening the edges of the dust and changing the force of the manipulation to tear through cloth and skin alike.
Like all things, there’s a limit to how far she can extend her will, and likewise how far from her person these dust storms can travel. Presently she can control within a ten foot radius around her. That control diminishes to little more than causing harmless dust motes at fifteen feet, and no control past that. As well, she’s limited to what’s in the environment. A hospital, for example, would be more likely to render her ability useless while a desert would be her playground.
This ability doesn’t come without its cost either. Using her ability requires a lot of energy. To counter this, Koshka needs to eat. In fact, the longer she uses her ability, the more her body metabolizes, and in turn the more she needs to consume. That said, she can currently go a solid two hours of actively using her ability before she begins to suffer effects much like low blood sugar. She will begin to feel nauseated, her skin will become cold and clammy. After four hours of active use, on top of the first symptoms, her heart rate will increase, vision will blur, and her she will become unsteady on her feet. Provided Koshka is able to press through and last another two hours she will pass out; the length of time she’s unconscious depends on just how strenuous the activity that she had been doing was. While the lesser levels of physical limitations can be taken care of quickly with food and rest, the worst level poses a health risk if she’s not given some kind of caloric intake and can last for days or longer.
Alternatively, these side effects can be staved off for a short time if she’s able to snack while using her ability.
This ability is not always active. Koshka needs to actively summon these clouds of dust. When she is using her ability, her skin takes on the appearance of sand. Her skin doesn’t change in its actual composition, but the surface does look like she’s been sculpted out of sand. This typically starts from the ground up, and the speed of the transition is dependent on how quickly and devastating her manipulation is at that time.