Hours, minutes, seconds of submergence. Beneath steadied waters, stiffened at the neck, bare of noise and discomfort does she find peace amidst outside distress. It's only in the safety of solitude that worry fades away, the warmth of the sun being the reminder of life beyond the silence.
"GASP!" Her body violently ejects from the grasp of mental lock down, emerging from the shallow dead pool to greet the air her lungs are owed. In act of self-preservation she pushes her shortened hair aside, making way for parted breaths to catch their stride.
"Oh my god! Miss Troy, are you okay?" It takes her a second to fully comprehend the question at hand, not through any fault of memory loss, but having been momentarily separated from reality left her absent minded and a bit aloof.
"I'm okay," she retorts firmly, a wave of reassurance overcomes the worried hotel employee as she places a single hand onto his forearm, gently caressing the strained muscle with a believable sense of candor as she looks upward with glimmering violet eyes. "I promise."
Helena Troy, American tourist visiting Greece to reconnect with her ancestral heritage. She's often called a princess by her relatives and can be very headstrong when it comes to matters of the heart and friendship. With hair as dark as the night's sky and skin bathed by the sun's grace; she sounded like the perfect cover for a woman in need of a new identity.
"Now, could you be a dear and fetch me some wine," she feels like a Queen from the commiseration of the Grand Resort Lagonissi, her every whim catered too despite having no card or cash to appease them with. It's a blessing to have ever expense handled by someone other than herself, every bill sent straight too the man whom sent her here....Thomas Newscastle.
"I'd be very thankful," Despite the situation that brought on this occurrence, namely the genocide caused by a warmongering terrorist and the coup it allowed from her former Vice President, the now named Helena Troy didn't allow herself to be bothered by the betrayal too much.
In truth, with her powers instability going through the proverbial roof due to her continued use in manipulating the American people, it was only a matter of time before the veil fell and the realization behind her ascension into power came to light. With that in mind, she bowed out and allowed herself a sound defeat from the intellectual mechanisms of Animus so long as precautions were made to ensure her son, Troy, was protected in the absence of his mother's looming presence.
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"You're a b*tch just like your mother," the bullying never ceased to exist regardless of where his dad set up shop. From Hoboken to Brooklyn to Gothic City, Troy hated attending school ever since becoming the human supremacist president's son.
"I heard his dad's a mutant. Kind of makes your mom an even faker b*tch." No amount of fortune could prevent the verbal lashings and physical altercations that haunted his life. Instead he takes the punishments like a trooper, believing himself to be somewhat responsible for the privilege he represents in spaces where others' don't.
"So, I guess you never had a chance. Am I right punk?" Troy listens to the remarks made by the scorned children of culturally appropriated mutants made fashion trends, aware of their grievances and unknowing of a proper rebuttal. In spite of their understandable rage, he clutches his ribs, inching away from his attackers, too weak and too scared to strike back.
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S.T.R.I.K.E Headquarters
PING!
A file labeled classified appears on Director Gallagher's computer, detailing all the events attached to the former POTUS.......including her alleged demise and private flight outside the United States to Athens, Greece that correlates with her funeral service and the subsequent ascendance of Thomas Newscastle to Presidency.
PING!
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