After the Second Fall Pt. 01.1

John reflected on this for a few moments. "So how slow are we talking here? Half speed? Slower?"

"I don't know," groaned Pip. "How am I supposed to know how to answer that? It's not like I have any reference for this kind of thing."

"Yeah, okay." After taking another moment to think, John said, "What if you did -- have a reference I mean? Do you think you would remember?"

"Sure, probably. What are you thinking?"

"Well, I already looked at the fight footage. Let's play with the speed and figure out which setting matches what you experienced."

After seeing the brief fight at various speeds back in the small video control room next to the training arena, Pip nodded and said, "The second one you did is the closest. For me, the fight seemed just a little faster than whatever that was."

"Really?" asked John, surprised despite himself. "When you said time slowed down, I was imaging some sort of super slo-mo deal where everything takes a long time to happen. The speed you picked is only about a quarter slower than regular. And that was enough of an advantage?"

"I guess so. Remember, this is all new to me, too."

"Sure, sure. Alright, well that's part of the puzzle. What about the punch itself. Did you mean to hit him where you did?"

"Well, yeah, of course I did. Where else would I have been trying to him him?" asked Pip, more than a little confused at the question.

"Sorry, that was poorly phrased," soothed John, before recounting his conversation with Doctor Shepard.

"So what I meant was, did you mean to drive his rib into his heart?"

Pip looked pensive for a moment before replying. "Well, when it comes down to it, I guess I sorta did. I connected cleanly with the point I was aiming for, so that was intentional. I was hoping to break the bone and maybe puncture the lung, but I didn't really consider hitting the heart. Keep in mind that I wasn't really following any sort of strategy. Hammer liked that overhand strike which opened up his left side: I just took advantage of it."

"Yeah, I understand. So you meant to do it, but it worked even better than you expected."

"Sure," said Pip with a small smile, "something like that."

"Alright, good enough for now, then. You know that if this is something that can be duplicated, it'll be a huge thing for us, right?"

"Sure, John, I guess, but most Adams aren't going to lift up their arms to expose their ribs like that."

John stood up, preparing to leave. Then he smiled and clapped the young man on the shoulder again, causing Pip to grimace. "Just details, Pip."

Chapter 2

Rieckenburg was founded by a cooperative of poor farmers looking to further themselves through collective bargaining with larger towns and cities, well before the Second Fall. When the cataclysm came, it was far too small to be of any significant value, and thus survived through a combination of chance and indifference, like most post-Fall settlements. In the time that followed, survivors organized themselves, grew the settlement into a town, and eventually into a city.

Many years later, a young woman, called Roxy by the few that knew her, huddled in a side alley deep within the Fourth Quarter. This district, universally recognized as the worst in Rieckenburg, was generally dirty, always dangerous, and never a place to be caught out alone at any time, but especially at night. As a longtime resident Roxy knew all of this, but her options had been limited: either go with the men who had accosted her, or flee and hope that she didn't meet someone worse.

This situation, like most that Roxy had faced, was largely the result of her own poor choices; however, Roxy was especially good at rationalizing and deferring blame, and this time was no different. So as she huddled between two large trash containers, hidden from anyone that might happen down this particular alley, she ran through the list of people responsible for her current circumstances.

She started with the most obvious: her boyfriend, J.T. To most people in the city, boyfriend would be too strong a word for their relationship; casual acquaintance might be more accurate given the singular focus of the arrangement. To Roxy, however, this was the life she had known, so she raged silently, planning how she would curse and ridicule J.T. for not taking care of her. How dare he trade her? Didn't she mean more to him that a bag of cack, or whatever he was into now?

Apparently not.

So J.T. wasn't much of a find, but that just made it her friend Jeska's fault. She'd hooked the two of them up. What was Jeska thinking? She knew what a trashboy J.T. was -- couldn't she have warned Roxy?

No: that wasn't really fair. Jeska had been a good friend. She shared her food, even when she didn't have enough herself.

This really all started before she was out on the street, when Jasmine threw her out. So what if she missed her share of the housing dues twice. She had paid the first one.

And she wouldn't have missed those payments if that assclown Higgens hadn't fired her. She was only a little late one time after he warned her. How could anyone change overnight? What was he thinking? She had really tried to be up in time, but that party the night before was sick.

What was she supposed to do? She could have left earlier, maybe, but that would have made her out to be a loser to the guy throwing the party. Tim? Ted? Whatever.

If he hadn't had so much good stuff there, she would have left straightaway. What was he thinking, inviting desperate girls to that kind of party. Of course she had stayed. When would she get another chance like that? Certainly not any time soon, now.

Dammit. He was probably just trying to be nice: help out poor local kids with a decent meal. Whatever.

But if it wasn't Tim-Ted's fault, whose was it?

Sister Margaret? That nun never liked Roxy.

Sister Jan? She was no better. Stupid lady was always trying to make Roxy do things she didn't want to do.

The Rev? Absolutely not. He'd never done anything to hurt her, but he gave Roxy the creeps. No, thank you.

Her Mom? Ha! What Mom?

By this time, Roxy was sobbing, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to stay silent. If she got out of this, she would change. She would have to, or she'd end up like Jeska: half-starved, cut up, and face down in a street with no name.

The crying eventually wore Roxy out and she slid into an uneasy, twitchy sleep. By the time daylight arrived, Roxy was truly exhausted, the sleep having tired her out more than if she had just stayed awake. Even so, Roxy forced herself to get up and moving as soon as the sun was high enough to turn the shadows in the alley from black to a dull gray.

With no alternative she could find, Roxy made her way directly toward the First Quarter, stopping only briefly at a handout kitchen on the way for a piece of salted jerky and a half cup of water.

Having started early, Roxy reached 9^th Street, the unofficial boundary of the First Quarter, before the eighth bell. Here she slowed her progress, knowing that she would be reasonably safe in the most upscale of the four Rieckenburg districts.

As Roxy walked the streets toward the center of the Quarter, she took note of her new surroundings. Sure, the streets were old and made from pavers, but they were clean. The buildings were old, too, but the outsides looked well cared for. She even passed a park that was more grass than mud, complete with a circular sand arena for the local kids.

Roxy couldn't help but feel resentment, longing to be part of a place where everyone had enough to eat and drink, and didn't need to be constantly afraid. She wrestled with her feelings as she walked, knowing they wouldn't be helpful in what was to come. She still hadn't completely handled them as she arrived in front of her destination, but was pretty sure she could fake it, until she looked up at the building. Her resentment and jealousy faded into the back of her mind, replaced with a sense of awe.

The structure was huge, stretching the entire width of the block. It was uniformly built from a tan stone, with two large wings on either side that seemed to wrap around her as she walked slowly toward the entrance in the outwardly curving center. Roxy became even more intimidated as she approached, seeing that there were massive double doors in the forward facing wall, which was itself up a flight of enormous stairs.

Roxy paused at the foot of the stairs, unsure of what her next step should be. Walk up and knock? Look for someone that worked here?

Eventually, without her even noticing, a man joined her, having himself walked along the entire length of one wing. He stood just behind and to her right, looking up the steps with her. When she didn't acknowledge him, the man slowly scuffed his shoe, letting her know he was there.

Roxy snapped out of her daze and turned to look. When she did, she saw a very, very large man dressed in black, and despite her immediate inclination to take several steps backward, she stood her ground.

"Um, hello. Do you work here?" she asked.

The man appraised the young woman. Dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, she was not wearing shoes. Her hair was cut to a medium length, just past her chin, but not well. Her head reached up to the lower part of his chest, making her quite tall for a woman, and she was slim, probably from malnutrition like many of the city's poorer inhabitants.

He was intrigued: one did not tend to find such people close to the Complex. "Yes, I do actually. And what can I do for you?"

It was at this point that Roxy's resolve, bravado, and composure broke down. Instead of answering, large tears formed and subsequently rolled down her cheeks. Roxy, ever the opportunist, tried to make this work to her advantage by playing up to the man's sympathy, but found that she truly couldn't form coherent words.

For his part, John stood and watched the young woman break down. She wasn't hysterical, but was clearly at the end of her emotional strength. After some time, perhaps two hundred beats, she came to the end of her tears and was able to pull herself back from whatever precipice she had been looking beyond.

Still silent, John cocked his head to the side and raised and eyebrow when she finally looked back into his face.

Roxy couldn't help but let go a short, sharp laugh at his expression, even as she wiped the tears away with the ratty collar of her shirt. "Sorry about that," she began before taking a deep breath. "It's been a rough... well, it's been rough. It just sorta caught up with me, is all."

John gave her an indulgent half smile, allowing her a little more time to recover what composure she could find.

One more deep breath and Roxy started again, "I'm looking for some sort of job. I don't really have any skills, but I'm desperate, so I'll do anything that lets me eat."

"Not much of sales pitch," John replied in a mildly amused tone.

"No, I guess not, but I haven't always been so good about being honest, and I want to -- no, I need to make a fresh start."

"Sales pitch isn't really improving," said John, who was now clearly amused. "Maybe you should start with the positives -- that might go over better."

Roxy smiled, just a little, and sniffled. "Yeah, maybe you're right.

"Well. I guess I'm pretty good with people."

"Yep," said John, looking at the tear tracks on her dirty cheeks. "I picked that up right away."

"And I think quick. Resourceful."

"Don't forget good under pressure," he suggested.

"Yeah, that, too.

"Dammit," said Roxy mostly to herself. "Look, I know you're probably trying to cheer me up, but please don't make fun of me. I don't even know how to do this. I'm not sure what I'm doing here, except that I couldn't think of a single other thing to do. If I'm back in the Fourth Quarter for another night I'm going to end up face down come morning. I really don't have any options.

"Can you help me? Like, can you tell me who to talk to so that I can try to find a job? I don't have anything to offer you, but it would really, really mean the world to me."

John stood silently for a few moments, glad to see some spirit coming back to the young woman. "Alright, let's start over. My name is John, and yours is?"

"Roxy. My name is Roxy, and I'm from the Fourth Quarter. I've been on my own for the last five years, so you know I'm tough, and I'm smart. And I'm resilient. I've never done drugs. Not any. I mean it, not a single time.

"And now I'm here to work. I'll learn quick, and I'll give you one hundred and ten percent. I'll do the really bad jobs that nobody else wants. I don't care. All I need is a chance." Roxy looked the large man directly in his eyes. "Will you give me a chance?"

John smiled fully for the first time. "Much, much better. I think you should go with that pitch."

Roxy's face fell. "So you can't help me?"

"Well," started John before pausing, "let's see what we can figure out. Follow me."

He turned and started striding up the steps, looking like he only had to stretch out his legs a little to walk normally. Roxy did follow, and soon found that she needed to jog to keep up, especially since it took two and a half of her steps on each of the stairs. He led her through a maze of hallways and open spaces, eventually depositing her on an oversized chair in some back alcove. "I need to do some checking. Someone will come get you after a little while, okay?" Rosie nodded appreciatively, and John moved off down the hallway, his long legs quickly separating the two.

Two bells later, John was out of ideas and nearly out of patience. With a deep breath, he rang the announcement bell next to the door in front of him. A young woman soon opened the door and beamed up at him. "Hello, Mr. Rogers. Here to see Madame Bower?" He nodded gratefully and she disappeared with a smile.

Faster than he had anticipated, the door opened. "Good morning, John."

"Good morning, Ruthie," John replied back with a warm smile. "Do you have time for a quick talk and a favor?"

The woman gave him a skeptical look and stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her. "A talk, yes -- we'll have to see about the other part." John grinned down at her mischievously and she frowned, then narrowed her eyes. "I don't like it when you get that look, and you know I hate it when you call me 'Ruthie.'" John shrugged innocently, then pivoted on his heel and offered her his elbow. The mismatched pair walked slowly, John leading her toward the nearest green space.

Ruth Bower seated herself gracefully on a bench in the small open area, glad she had brought her shawl to deal with the crisp morning air; John plunked himself down on the ground unceremoniously, making her roll her eyes. Sitting like this, they were almost looking eye to eye. "Okay, out with it then," she said.

"I need you to find a place for a girl," he said without preamble.

Ruth's eyes went wide. "That's some favor, John. You know we have a waiting list well over a hundred long, right?" He smirked and she rolled her eyes. "So, yes, you did know." Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly. "Tell me about her."

"Well..." he hesitated, acting a bit embarrassed for the first time, "I don't actually know much about her." The look that Ruth gave him was incredulous and he nodded. "Yes, yes, but you know I can't help myself."

"So you picked up another stray?"

"It's worked out before," he said with a smile, placing his large hand on her knee.

Ruth folded her arms with some indignation and sat back. "We're finally square after this, though, right?"

"You don't owe me anything, Ruth," John said affectionately, squeezing her knee before removing his hand. "All I did was get you in the door, and you've made me look like a genius for a long time now. Meet her, and if you think I'm wrong, give her a good meal, give her some clean clothes, and send her on."

"There's nowhere else that can take her?"

John shook his head, frustration showing through. "I checked. The kitchen and laundry are full, Personnel doesn't need any clerks or assistants, and neither does Maintenance; maybe there's a spot open in one of the administrative functions, but I don't know the department heads to ask, and I'm certainly not going to Cassidy."

Ruth sighed again and John could see he'd won. "Alright, what is she like."

"Underfed, ragged, and overwhelmed, but I caught a few glimpses of a cute, feisty girl trying to make a change for the better." John recapped the brief exchange on the front steps and Ruth nodded.

"Alright, I'll send someone to round her up."

"Thank you, Ruth," John said warmly, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it. Both were reminded of an earlier time, when they had shared something more than friendship; John winked and Ruth gave him a dirty look, then returned his smile.

Back in the hallway, Roxy found her anxiety building. John had left, promising that she would be taken care of soon, but it was possible that his definition of soon was as oversized as everything in the building.

As she continued to sit, Roxy realized she was as excited as she was nervous. Her new attitude was already working: she'd taken a bit of responsibility for her life, and now something was happening. She just hoped that whatever it turned out to be was good, which started the anxiety building again.

Before she had time to thoroughly lose herself to panic, a woman turned the corner and hustled down the hall, her loose brown curls bouncing chaotically. It was immediately evident that the newcomer was shorter than Roxy, probably by at least a hand, but she walked tall and her stride was full of confidence. As she practically skidded to a stop, Roxy stood, taking in the woman's honey colored eyes and what looked like a natural smirk.

"Hi, I'm Maggie. Are you Rosie?" she asked.

"You mean Roxy?"

"I'm not sure. Mr. Rogers talked to Madame Bower, who told me to come collect a young woman named Rosie, and you're the only one here."

"Alright then," said Roxy deciding, "Rosie it is. Consider me collected. Where are we off to?"

"I'm to take you to get cleaned up and outfitted, and then get some food. Once you've eaten, we'll head over to meet Madame Bower. She's the one that runs our department."

"And which department is that?"

"Oh," said Maggie, obviously surprised. "Physical and Emotional Therapy. We're the ones who take care of the Adams." With this last statement Maggie smiled broadly.

"But I don't have any training at all. How am I going to do therapy?"

The other woman's face showed her obvious surprise, but the woman recovered quickly. "Don't worry, Rosie, you'll figure it out," she said, her smile widening further. "Come on. Madame Bower will be expecting us, so let's get going."

The women didn't chat as they walked, given the hurried pace that Maggie set. Soon enough, they had arrived at their first stop. Roxy, now Rosie, looked at the large open room with the tiled floors and walls. "What is it?"

Another surprised look on Maggie's face told Rosie that she had once again said something wrong, so she tried backtracking. "I mean, I haven't seen one quite like this. Maybe you can show me how it works? I don't want to break something my first day here."

Maggie took in Rosie's ratty hair, dirt stained skin, and torn clothes, for the first time really seeing the young woman. "Um, yeah. This one's pretty complicated.

"Here, just do what I do." With this she started taking off her uniform, folding her garments as they were removed, and placing them on a knee high shelf.

As Maggie undressed, Rosie took in her form with a mixture of astonishment and envy. Maggie was curvy like nobody Rosie had ever met. Her breasts were full, as were her hips; she even had a little padding around her belly. Maggie was, without question, the most feminine -- and the most beautiful -- woman Rosie had ever seen.