the rain is the rain

The rain is the rain. That’s what Jax always says, that’s what we repeat when we are nervous that the dust is going to catch us, even in a downpour. This is a different kind of rain though, rain of fury, rain of fire, this is the rain of retribution for my city’s crimes. This is Shreve’s judgement day. It is terrifying and earth shattering, but we deserve it. One hundred thousand dead in Paz. More in Victoria, but we took over so fast there was never a public count. I have to find a place to hide, I’ve gotta find Jax.

I get up from under my table, the ground is still rumbling but the fire fight seems to have moved further away from my building. I squeeze out of my front door, the glass slices my jacket, just a scratch. Nothing some surge can’t take care of. Not for the first time, I think, what would have happened if the Pretty Regime continued? Not this. Not bombs. Not a dictator, and certainly not some surreal admission from our First Daughter that she’s actually a twin. That is some rusty era shit.

Theoretically I would have been miserable as a Pretty, I’m stubborn, emotional, creative, a little hot headed, and I don’t like crowds. Everything a Pretty is not. However I wouldn’t have known since I would have been a happy bubble head not getting bombarded by air strikes.

I dodge the rubble in the street, make it to the subway just as hellfire rains down at the border.

“River my dear!” I hear Jax say from around the corner. I see him and some other friends from Crime gathered round a small handscreen. “You made it.”