***
It was time for the pyrokinetic woman to hold up her end of the bargain. With the sort of great precision only diligent training could have provided, Firebird threw her hands out and bathed the two closest guards' weapons in fire without endangering any innocents close to them, making the goons drop their weapons accompanied by a simultaneous scream. As a third mobster at the ship's far end levelled his automatic rifle at the passengers, it was dropped moments later, the weapon’s foregrip and trigger glowing red and making it impossible for any bare hand to hold on to.
***
Clinging on firmly to Roger’s body and his trigger hand in particular, Sasha propelled her body forward using her magic, driving Roger towards the door. To her great relief, he was still too stunned to be able to offer much in terms of physical resistance. With the moment of surprise still completely on Sasha’s side, she broke the much stronger man’s balance, making him stagger further backwards. His free hand was furiously flailing for some support to hold on to, but not finding any. One of his feet was already stepping into thin air outside the door, as he finally got hold of the door frame, stopping the momentum for one brief second.
But it was too little and too late to enable him pulling his armoured body back into the ship. Sasha coldly stared into his red camera eyes.
“Is this suit of armour waterproof, Roger?” Sasha snarled, her eyes having reduced to thin slits.
A terrified growl from inside the helmet told Sasha the answer. She quickly threw one last glance at her parents, giving them a final nod.
***
“Sasha!” Firebird yelled as she realized what was about to happen, but before she could attempt to run to Sasha and help her, more guards came from topside, forcing her to focus on them, and protecting the civilians aboard the vessel. Sasha had asked her to do exactly that and she would not let her down now.
***
Sasha uttered a primeval roar as she finally pushed Roger out of the ferry with the full weight of her body and her magic.
Still firmly clinging to his armour and holding his right hand shut, preventing any thought he might have had about triggering the bomb, Sasha and Roger splashed into the chilly ocean water and immediately submerged, dragged down by many hundred pounds of steel.
As they rapidly sunk down to the bottom of Burrard Inlet, Sasha concentrated hard on keeping her telekinetic lock on Roger’s hand intact, and not allowing him to shake her off. He violently thrashed and kicked at her, but Sasha ignored the blows and the pain they caused, putting all her focus on Roger’s hand. Keeping his fingers from opening was the only thing that mattered now. All the while Sasha counted the seconds and calculated. The SeaBus travelled at roughly twenty kilometres per hour, meaning it would take slightly over one minute for it to cover the 400 meters needed to leave the maximum range of the remote bomb trigger.
That’s how long Sasha would need to keep Roger’s hand closed.
Sasha’s count reached twenty seconds when she and Roger hit the seabed, roughly twenty-five meters below the surface. Their combined weight blew a large eruption of mud and slick up from the ground, temporarily clouding Sasha’s vision. The water pressure was immense, and in contrast to Roger she had no protection against it. But Roger’s armour otherwise didn’t do him any good in the water. There was no way he would be able to resurface while wearing the heavy suit. And neither would he be able to shake Sasha off - the soft seabed wouldn’t offer him enough leverage.
At the forty second mark, Sasha felt the first effects of oxygen deprivation, her survival instinct urging her to resurface. But she couldn’t do that. One hundred and fifty lives depended on Sasha overcoming her own body’s will to live. Defiantly, Sasha held on, even as she felt her strength waning. She looked up to the surface, where she could see the daylight reflecting on the water. With a sad thought Sasha realized that she would never breathe fresh air again. But she had known in advance that this would be the price she would have to pay, and accepted that exchanging her life for one hundred and fifty innocents was not so bad a deal.
Having barely any magic energy left, Sasha thanked the circumstance that Roger’s armour was more a hindrance than an asset under water, where it added to clumsiness rather than strength, and more or less immobilized him. His kicks still hit her, but Sasha’s numb body didn’t feel the pain anymore.
Shortly after the minute mark, Sasha’s hand began to tremble as her magic was exhausted, and Roger’s fingers started to gradually open. Sasha felt the last weak kick of Roger’s leg against her thigh before he stopped resisting and went limp. Sasha glanced at Roger’s motionless figure and although she couldn’t see his body inside the suit of armour, she instinctively knew that he was dead. But Sasha still needed to keep his hand closed for a few more seconds. Her hazy brain was no longer able to count the seconds, though.
Desperate for air, Sasha’s mind urged her lungs to inhale. She knew that she was about to reach the breath-hold breakpoint, where she would no longer be able to resist the breathing reflex, no matter how hard she tried. With one last act of will, she pressed against Roger’s hand once more and held on a little bit longer.
Finally, Sasha’s strength left her. Her feeble hand slid away from Roger’s and his dead fingers opened. Through her blurred vision, Sasha watched the bomb trigger sliding out of his hand and dropping to the muddy seabed.
Sasha’s mouth opened, and cold, murky water shot into her lungs. The drift tilted her head slightly upwards. In the far distance Sasha spotted the shadow of the SeaBus on the surface. No explosion had happened. No fire was visible. The shadow was still slowly moving forward. It meant that the ship was intact.
Sasha closed her eyes with the comforting thought that 150 innocent people would continue to live.
***
Traversing the line between life and death, Sasha did not notice the red streak shooting towards her like a torpedo. She didn’t feel the bump as Firebird grabbed her body and quickly propelled back to the surface, breaking the waterline with a thunderous splash and lifting her into the air. She couldn’t hear Firebird’s pleas to hold on to the thin fibre that still connected her to the world of the living, nor did she feel the temperature change of the soothing aura Firebird had conjured up, trying to restore her body's warmth. She couldn’t see the paramedics swarming over her as Firebird placed her on the ground next to Canada Place, or even noticed them pressing the water out of her lungs.
But when she finally opened her eyes and stared into the relieved faces of her parents and Firebird, Sasha smiled.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Firebird said, slowly shaking her head, a reassured smile upon it all the while.
May 7th, 2011
For the first time since her newest close encounter with death, Sasha had left the house and now casually strolled through the neighbourhood. Her regenerative body had long taken care of the physical aftermath of her endeavour. It wouldn’t of course help her much with still having to mentally digest what had happened - and thinking about what she planned to do now, after the sole focus of her existence was no more.
The Stinger gang was believed to be all but eradicated, and with having lost its leader nobody expected them to be back in business anytime soon. Sasha had no doubt that multiple new gangs were already fighting over the vacant territory left behind by the Stingers. In the war against crime, there would never be a final victory - only a few won battles every now and then. But even those were worth fighting the good fight.
Sasha had watched a live TV newscast the day before, when police divers had recovered Roger’s body from the bottom of Burrard Inlet. Previously, she had been uncertain about what sort of emotion she would be going to feel when seeing the pictures: Remorse for having taken his life - or perhaps even satisfaction for having avenged Jennifer. But when she watched the metal armour that had become Roger’s sarcophagus being pulled out of the water, she didn’t really feel anything at all.
She was just glad that it all was
over.
***
Sasha passed a small neighbourhood mall, when suddenly a male pedestrian bumped into her from the side. The impact made Sasha stumble and her handbag slid from her shoulder in the process, clattering to the ground and spilling its contents onto the sidewalk.
“Oh, blast it, I am so sorry,” the young man said and pointed to a Translink bus waiting at a stop around twenty meters away. “I wanted to catch that bus and didn’t pay any attention at all.”
Sasha smiled. “Don’t worry about it, go catch your ride,” she told him.
“You’re sure that you’re ok?” the obviously concerned man asked.
Sasha waved him off. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks, and again, I am truly sorry about this mess,” the man said before he charged off to the waiting bus, while Sasha collected her belongings, putting her cell phone, makeup-case and lipstick back into the handbag - grateful that she wasn’t the type of woman who carried around half of her household in her handbag.
Her wallet had opened, spilling her entire assortment of plastic cards all over the sidewalk. Sasha collected her driver’s licence, credit cards and grocery store customer cards, making sure that none was missing. She stopped when she picked up one particular card she had totally forgotten about even still having: The banking card Roger had given to Sasha on the fateful day when she had found out who he truly was, and left him.
Holding the card in her hands, Sasha stood up. Her gaze fell on a waste bin next to the bus stop and she thought about just dumping it there and getting rid of the last physical remainder of her marriage to Roger Brooks. But then her curiosity got the better of her and she walked into the mall instead, sliding the card into an ATM. She punched in the PIN Roger had conveniently written on the backside of the card, and waited. Sasha was surprised that the ATM accepted the card and PIN. Roger had most likely forgotten about the account just like she had, and never revoked her access.
When the screen showed her the account balance, Sasha gasped.
Roger had left her a millionaire.
May 12th, 2011
Matthew Finch chuckled in satisfaction. He hadn’t expected this outcome at all, but things had certainly been going his way. With the death of Black Vortex, the Stinger gang had dissolved. Like vultures, the remaining Vancouver gangs had swooped into Stinger’s territory, quickly taking over Stinger’s business and customers alike. They were already fighting each other for the juiciest pieces of the cake, resulting in even more work for the cops, who had their hands full with a rapidly spreading and very violent gang-war in progress. Not surprisingly, the homicide rate in Vancouver had gone up through the roof, putting the city on track for a new all-time high of annual murders.
But not all of Stinger was gone. The organization no longer existed, but the people who had made it of course largely remained. While many of Roger Brook’s hirelings had been going to greener pastures, there were a great many for whom changing loyalties was not an option for one reason or another. But of course that didn’t mean they were going to be returning to a civilian, law-abiding life either. The ex-Stinger mobsters needed a new home and a new perspective. Matthew Finch had given them both.
His gang was still small and had retained only a fraction of Stinger’s former glory. But it was all his. He, Matthew Finch, was calling the shots and nobody else did. For the first time in his life, he was the top dog. And while the other gangs had at first attempted to put a quick end to the new competitor, Finch’s gang and its veteran members had been proven strong enough to withstand any attempt by its rivals to wipe it from Vancouver’s underground map.
Matthew Finch would make sure it would grow in members and power - and be profitable enough to buy him all the things he had ever dreamt about having. One day they would be in a position to settle a score with a certain someone, too. Matthew Finch glanced at this desk, where a photo of the person in question was lying in front of him.
With a wicked smile, he took a red marker and slowly drew a crosshairs over White Sasha’s face.
May 25th, 2011
Sasha excitedly rushed to the door when she heard the bell ring. There were only a handful of people aware of the fact that Sasha was living in this house in one of the quieter roads in North Vancouver, and Sasha didn’t expect anyone else to come, so she knew very well who was standing at her door right now. She just wondered why Firebird hadn’t just flown in and landed on her deck as she had instructed her to. Sasha hadn’t seen her since the day they had rescued the hostages from the SeaBus and was excited about meeting her again.
When Sasha opened the door, she was surprised to see not one, but two visitors. They were both familiar to her, though.
“Hi Sasha! It’s great to see you again. I hope you don’t mind getting another guest, but Blue really wanted to meet you again,” Firebird said.
Sasha finally regained her composure, smiling at both newcomers as she ushered them inside. “Of course not! Nice to meet you again, Code Blue!”
The blue skinned hero tipped his hat when he passed his host. “Just call me Blue,” he said.
Sasha led her guests through her home and out to the deck, from where there opened a glorious view on the downtown peninsula located just across Burrard Inlet. She pointed them at the set of four deck chairs arranged around a round table, and then rushed back into the house to return one minute later, expertly balancing a tray with three filled drink glasses on her inverted palm.
“Ok, that looks professional,” Blue said.
Sasha gave him a wink. “It’d better. I am doing that for a living.”
Blue choked. “Wait a second...you are a...?”
“...waitress, yes,” Sasha said, nodding twice, as she planted two glasses of what looked like piña colada in front of Firebird and her own seat.
“I thought you’d care for a less girly drink,” she told Blue and handed him a glass containing a golden liquid. “It’s Canadian Whiskey. I gathered from your accent that you’re a southerner, and I take it that you’d probably prefer Bourbon, but my bar isn’t that well equipped I am afraid.”
Blue sniffed at the drink, tilted his head, and smiled. “I know the brand. Plenty good enough, and I thank ya for thinkin' of me. While in company lovely as this, though, I'd drink whatever's put in front of me, even vodka.”
Sasha quickly turned around, to hide the slight blush suddenly shooting into her cheeks. She let herself slip into her own deck chair, and rose her glass to toast to her guests. For a long moment they all three just sat there, enjoying the view and the last warm sunrays of the early summer day.
“I love what you've done with the place,” Firebird said, after taking a dainty sip from the drink, in an obvious test to verify that she had gotten the non-alcoholic one. It drew a giggle from Sasha, who had obliviously given Firebird an alcoholic drink once - and for that reason was now well aware of her body’s extremely low tolerance for alcohol, which had earned her the nickname ‘Lightweight’.
“Thank you,” Sasha said. “And yes, I love it here. About time I got my own place again. And since Roger had my old home destroyed, I thought it was only fair that he’d pay for the new one.”
“Any plans what to do with the rest of the money?” Firebird asked.
“That’s already sorted. It would seem the city just received some unexpected funding for a new homeless shelter.”
Firebird smiled with approval. “They know where it’s coming from?”
Sasha shook her head. “They never will.”
“So what’s White Sasha plannin’ to do now that the deed’s done? Goin’ back to your civilian life?” Blue asked, making Sasha turn at him, her wide open eyes betraying her surprise at the unexpected question.
The white-haired woman shrugged and sighed.
“Had you asked me that question a month or two ago, I’d have answered with ‘Yes, of course!’ But...I guess I have finally accepted what and who I am. Vancouver is not exactly a crime-haven, but
keeping the streets safe for everyone can still be a challenge. Roger is no longer at threat, but others will step up and take his place, there can be no doubt about that. Who’s going to stop them if not people like us?”
Both Firebird and Code Blue smiled at Sasha and nodded their approval.
“Are you going to join your dad’s RCMP force then?” Firebird asked.
Sasha winked. “Yes and no. Given my past experiences, I am still hesitant about joining organisations of any kind, but dad and I have reached a deal we both can live with and that will satisfy the requirements of the law. It would seem I have been deputized by his department, which gives me roughly the same rights and obligations regular cops have. I will mostly work alone, still. Except when they will need me for a particular case, which is just fair enough. I am happy to help out, as long as I can remain independent.”
Code Blue laughed. “For some reason, I expected somethin’ like that from you. But...if you ever need someone to have your back, you know where to find us, right?”
Looking into the sunset over downtown Vancouver, Sasha smiled and toasted to Code Blue and Firebird. “It is great to have friends.”
###
Acknowledgements
White Sasha was born as a role-playing character long before I thought about writing a novel about her (which might also explain the slight oddity of her sharing the first name with her writer!). The latter happened not until I met a special group of similar minded writers and artists that drove me to develop this character far beyond the depth I formerly considered normal for a role-playing character. These people I want to thank for the inspiration that made a writer with no particular connection to the world of comics (where superheroes commonly tend to exist in) write a novel about a superheroine. I hope you like the result!
Joshua and Brandon: I want to thank you for your feedback and fruitful discussions about my character and superheroes in general. White Sasha wouldn’t be White Sasha without you!