Second Skin
Part 1: Changes
I wasn't always Mason Black, ex-Alliance marine, ex-Blue Suns merc, resident of the Citadel's Lower Wards. Once upon a time I was someone else entirely.
But time changes you. Events change you. People change you. Even places can change you if you hang around long enough. And none of those things necessarily change you for the better. I may not be a better man than I was when I started out – being a man, I mean, and not a naïve kid. But I'd like to think I've broken even, at least. Sometimes that's the best you can hope for when you've led the kind of life I have.
Chapter 1 - Lions
Songs: The Bane Rendition by The Raconteurs; Ethnic Majority by Nightmares On Wax
East Los Angeles. 2154 CE. Three years before First Contact.
Getting shot at is one of my least favorite pastimes. Unfortunately it comes with the territory living on the outskirts of gangland central in East Los Angeles. At least I've never been a deliberate target. Well, not that I know of. But there have been occasions when I've been lucky I didn't catch a stray round from the crazy bastards that haunt the streets of the shithole city we live in.
By "we" I mean myself (Sam Blanco, to most), my baby sister, Celine (Celie, to me), and our dad, Sam, Sr. (or "asshole," as I prefer to refer to the man, though never within his earshot). A year ago, "we" would have included my mom, Marcella, too. But Mom's been gone for awhile... complications from a stroke. The adjustment hasn't exactly been the easiest on any of us.
I had a habit of dwelling on our situation while drawing, my pen recreating lost images that were only held locked in my mind. My brain was kind of special, too, and would never let those images go, no matter how hard I wished I could forget them. So I would draw as an outlet, and I had what I hoped was a good plan to capitalize on my skill. I continued sketching my sister's studious visage while I tried to come up with a suitable plan.
I heard a soft noise that drew me out of my thoughts and I looked up from my sketchbook. Celie was looking at me with her mouth crooked to one side in disappointment.
"That looks more like Mom than me," Celie said from her spot across the picnic table we'd been sitting at in the shade of our building. She was staring down at the sketch I'd been working on for the last half hour, her mouth crooked to one side in disappointment. I didn't realize how deeply focused I'd been on her frown and the sadness in her eyes. I stared at the sketch. She did look just like Mom before she died."Mom was beautiful, like you are," I told her. It was the truth. She was stunningly beautiful. She had Mom's striking features, her straight nose and square jaw, and she had Dad's black hair and ruthless, calculating attitude. I'd acquired the opposite features from our parents: Mom's thick, wavy brown hair and dad's cleft chin that I'd still cut shaving on a weekly basis. Celie and I had both inherited our mother's cool, grey eyes as well as Dad's towering height.
She looked me in the eyes and held my gaze for a moment, sharing the same look that always passed between us whenever the subject of our mother came up. Words we were both thinking but we would never say out loud. Memories of the fresh bruises that would appear on Mom's skin whenever Dad was on leave. We'd see them when we came home from school. Big purple marks on her arms or neck, or even on her face. At first we were too young to understand what was happening but it didn't take long before we put it together. We still never talked about it, even now. I remember when the doctors told us the cause of death. Celie and I just stared at each other and both avoided looking at our father. The doctor had already explained days earlier that the stroke had been caused by head trauma. My sister and I had a pretty good idea what that meant, but would never say it out loud, not even to each other. Celie looked like she aged ten years that day. Fifteen-year-olds shouldn't have to deal with the kind of shit she's dealt with in her short life.
"Do I really look that... sad?" she asked.
I stared at the sketch and took a deep, exaggerated breath. "You look..." I paused for emphasis. "Like a girl who hates history homework."
She snorted softly and I could tell her usual sarcastic sense of humour was returning.
"Did you ever think happy thoughts doing history homework?"
I grinned at her. "History was my favorite subject, after art. I know everything there is to know from Armstrong to Eezo."
"Yeah, but you still need to learn the alphabet, dumbass." She grinned back at me.
"Hold that pose," I said and flipped to the next page in my sketchbook, tossing down a few quick strokes to capture the lines of her face now that she actually had a smile on it for once.
She rolled her eyes at me.
"What are you planning on doing with that doohickey, anyway?" She pointed at the worn out plastic toolbox by my elbow. The glint of metal inside the open lid reflected the afternoon sun.
"Hopefully make some money. Then get us a new place somewhere nicer." Somewhere the fuck away from the asshole, I thought but didn't want to say out loud.
"What is it, anyway?" She reached for the box and I grabbed it quickly before she could pull it towards her.
"It's a delicate piece of machinery, is what it is." Expensive, too, but I wasn't about to tell her how many creds I'd blown on it, or that I'd sold my beloved bike to raise the funds, too. I figured it was worth the investment. If I played my cards right it could pay for itself in a week and I could get a new bike soon enough.
"You don't even know how to use it, do you?" she taunted. I glared at her.
"I'll learn."
"Show me," she challenged.
"After I finish this sketch. Hold still." She huffed softly and went back to studying, but the smile lingered on her face.
"D'you hear that?" Celie asked several moments later, her smile disappearing. She lowered her hands and set the datapad she'd been doing her school work on down in front of her.
It took me a second to make out, but then it was there: the low hum of the hover car coming around the block preceded by the obtrusive, rhythmic pulse of music.
"Fuck me, not those assholes again," I muttered under my breath. "Get inside, baby girl, this is going nowhere good."
"They won't hurt me with you around, you know that. Ramona says it's Leo you have to worry about with that crew. Benny and those guys? Wouldn't hurt a fly without Leo's say so."
"And what the hell would Ramona know?" I narrowed my eyes at her.
What I really wanted to know was when my little sis had talked to the notorious gang groupie. Sex on legs, I thought, easily picturing Ramona's lush curves and seductive lips. Images of her had been burned into my mind since the first time I'd laid eyes on her. Hot as fuck, but definitely not the kind of girl I wanted around my little sister. Celie had always been a bright girl but was too friendly for her own good sometimes.
She blushed but held my gaze defiantly. Too strong-willed for her own good, too.
"Ramona's Leo's girl now. Going on a few months already from what I hear."
I forced myself to suppress a completely irrational twinge of envy and just shook my head. My dreams were the only place I'd ever been close to Ramona, and that wasn't likely to change.
"We'll talk about it later. Just get your ass inside and let me deal with Benny."
She sighed and gave a wary glance back to the five-story prefab apartment building we called home. She hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded and stood up.
"Give 'em hell, bro," she said with a sideways smile. She tossed her backpack over her shoulder and roughed up my hair as she passed by headed toward the door to our building.
I didn't blame her for hesitating. Sometimes I'd rather take a chance against the local pachucos than the disgruntled naval pilot sitting inside guzzling beer. With any luck he was passed out cold by now anyway.
I briefly contemplated retreating inside, too, but I knew the crew that was headed our way. We weren't necessarily on friendly terms, but it didn't pay to turn the other cheek with them. It'd taken one rude awakening when I was thirteen to realize I needed to be someone they wouldn't fuck with. I started the very next week, returning that rude awakening with all the force and anger pent up from enduring similar beatdowns from my own father. The hell if I'd let some punk like Benny have the upper hand on me. Over the next five years I worked my ass off to make sure I maintained that first impression.
I still knew to always keep my eyes on lowlifes like them. What's that old saying? "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." I subscribe wholeheartedly to that ideal. I care about my friends. I have few enough of them – only one I'd ever go out of my way for – and he means a hell of a lot more to me than my own reputation.
Of course, having a dad who was no better than the worst of them was as instrumental to me growing a thicker skin as anything else I did on my own.
"You're a goddamn fucking waste, kid. You know that? It's your mother's fault. Fucking French whore. If I'd been here to help raise you, you'd have turned into a real man. Get a fucking haircut."
And that was when he was in a good mood and not driving his point home with his fists. I knew the words by heart now. Heard them in my sleep. It didn't even matter to the man that I'd joined the JROTC when I started high school and got a fucking haircut. He still saw me as a pansy because I liked to draw, but it was one of the few things I was any good at, besides working out.
At least I'd scraped up a measure of respect from the local gang-bangers as a result of becoming a tougher-looking son-of-a-bitch than most of them and refusing to back down. Either way, I still sat there hearing the loud music approach, prepared for the worst. My muscles tensed as the car's grille came into view and the music began to vibrate the air around me. They might just start shooting for all I knew. I breathed out a sigh of relief once I confirmed the identity of the owner of the car that shortly came to a stop on the street in front of our building. This was just a social call.
"Sammy White," the car's driver said in a latino drawl when he stepped out and sauntered toward me.
The locals, particularly Benny, seemed to have a mental block about calling me by my actual name. Dad had latino roots, but I supposed the nickname was because I'd inherited my mother's paler complexion and grey eyes. I could still fit in with a good tan, but that didn't change their perception of me for some reason. It annoyed the hell out of me but I didn't see any point in correcting them.
One thing I'd inherited from my dad was his stature and broad shoulders, which I suppose I should be thankful for. I would have stood up, but being a head taller than all three of them and about 30 pounds of muscle heavier Benny's boys might have misinterpreted the gesture. The only man I knew bigger than me was Dad. And he was still the only person since I was thirteen who'd had the balls to take a swing at me. He never missed.
"Benny. Don't tell me you're still out recruiting. I figured everyone worthwhile's already joined M18 or the Dukes." I watched him steadily as he came to stand a couple paces away with his compañeros giving me equally threatening looks. What a fucking tool. The scar over my right eyebrow itched whenever I saw him as if to remind me of that rude awakening five years ago. I rubbed at it.
I wondered if they realized how ridiculous they looked standing there like that.
"Naw, you misunderstand me, amigo. I'm just being friendly." Benny sniffed and spat on the dusty ground.
I watched cautiously as he strolled over to the picnic table and settled down in the seat Celie had vacated. Just being friendly my ass. I shook my head at him. The gangs these days were as persistent as religious cults trying to recruit new members. He should have learned by now that most of the local residents treated them with the same disdain, too, when they weren't being terrorized. The one consolation was that our neighborhood seemed to get deferential treatment from some of the gangs and I liked to think it was because this particular hard-ass had a soft spot for it having grown up here. We'd known each other since we were kids. He'd been a little shit back then, but after our run in we'd developed a mutual respect for each other that bordered on a kind of odd friendship.
"You know, Benny, if I didn't know better I'd think you were interested in more than just being friends the way you keep coming around like this. What kindof gang is Valla Blanca anyway? Or should I call it Valla Rosa?"
I probably shouldn't have taunted him, but I got the impression he was just bored today. He usually seemed to appreciate my sense of humor if he was in the right mood.
"You're a funny guy, Sammy White. Or should I call you Sammy Pink? Anyway, we go by Los Leones now, since Leo took over."
The name change was news to me, even though I'd heard of Leo taking over. Word was he had ties with the Mexican Mafia and was turning the gang around in a... well if not a strictly good way, at least a productive way by their standards.
"Nobody worthwhile to go shoot at, culero? You have to come here and flirt with me instead? You should know I need a little romance before I'll let you into my pants. Maybe bring me flowers next time." I smiled at him so he'd know it was all in good fun.
He shook his head and smiled back at me.
"You're not pretty enough for me anyway, maricón, ever since I gave you that scar when we were kids. I did you a favor with that – now you're too ugly to fuck."
He eyed me jovially as he reached across the table to pull my sketchbook towards him, then flipped it around and opened it. He paged through it and turned it around, showing me one of the stylized designs I liked to draw when I locked myself in my room to avoid Dad's nightly ranting.
"You're good at this."
"I practice."
He spied the glint of metal in the toolbox beside me and his eyebrows shot up.
"Tattoo gun? Man, you've been holding out on us. Are you any good with that thing?"
I shrugged. I had yet to use the machine, intending to practice on myself before trying to capitalize on my talents with the locals. Judging from some of the rough work I'd seen adorning the skin of guys like Benny I had a feeling I could make some easy money. Those guys always seemed to have creds to spare somehow, and they loved their tattoos.
Benny kept flipping through the sketchbook more attentively now. He paused at a sketch of Celie and made an appreciative sound.
"How old's your sister now?"
"Too young for you." Too good for the likes of him, too, but he'd just get insulted if I told him that. He ignored my comment. He knew better than to push me about my sister.
"This one," he said. He held the book up and showed me one of my heavier blackwork designs.
"You want me to tattoo that on you?"
"Yeah, loco. What else you gonna do with that thing?"
I cleared my throat. This was starting out easier than I'd hoped.
"I don't work for free."
He grinned at me. "We'll take care of you."
It sounded like there was a catch.
Benny stood up and started walking towards the car with my sketchbook still gripped in his hand.
"What are you waiting for, amigo? Let's go."
Shit. He wanted me to go with them. I suppose it was too much to expect for them to come to me. It looked like I would definitely have to work for this if I was going to get anything out of it. But as little as I relished the idea of joining them in their den I knew I could handle myself around them, and keeping them placated was never a bad thing. I hoped I wasn't wrong about that, at least.
I tapped a quick message to Celie into my wrist comm. Going out. Be back later. Almost instantly she replied, Be careful! I'll be at Em&Rosie's when you get home. Dad's off the hook.
Dad. Shit. I hesitated for a second then let the thought process. Celie would be fine at Emilio's until I got home at least. Emilio was my best friend and knew our dad's habits. He'd watch out for her.
I grabbed my gear and headed into the lion's den.
"So, tell me about la cueva," Emilio said in an ominous tone later that evening. "Was it the way they show in the gangster vids?"
We were seated at his kitchen table in the apartment he shared with his mother and sister in our building. I'd stopped by to get my sister when I got back a couple hours earlier. As usual, Mrs. Vega had insisted we stay for supper.
I laughed and stuck a toothpick between my lips. "Nothing like it at all. It was almost... ritzy. They had air conditioning. And it was clean. I think this is gonna work out good for me, Em. They have the creds to spare, and I have the talent and the tools they want."
He snorted out a laugh. "You sound like some kindof gun for hire, man. I still think you're loco for letting them take you over there. What if they'd inducted you by force or something? They've been after us both for the last two years, and I wouldn't put it past them to pull some shit to compel us to join."
"Nah. I don't think Benny would let them do that. We have a mutual understanding."
"Ever since you were thirteen and he kicked your ass... I remember how pissed you were after that. The best part was when you got him back the next week." Emilio chuckled and shook his head at the memory.
"You still remember that?"
"Hell yeah. That was epic. Everyone remembers it. You were my fucking hero after that."
"I kicked his ass to the fucking moon," I said with a grin, chewing on the tip of the toothpick. "That was the only way to get that punk to respect me."
I cringed when I saw Mrs. Vega standing in the kitchen doorway scowling at us.
"Ah, sorry for the language, ma'am."
She shook her head at me. "Lo bueno es que tu hermana es tan inteligente, niño tonto."
I caught a severe look from Celie where she stood behind Mrs. Vega drying dishes. She rolled her eyes at me. I shrugged sheepishly. I guess one of the less than ideal things I'd inherited from Dad was his penchant for swearing.
"Only another month or two and I'll have enough creds saved up to get outa here," Emilio said, drawing me back to our conversation.
"Damn, you're way ahead of me. But if things work out with this, I should be able to catch up by the end of the summer. Where are you guys gonna go?"
"I'm thinking San Diego." He gave me a hesitant look and said, "I decided to enlist... but I want to get Mama and Rosie settled first, somewhere close to the base."
His confession hit me like a ton of bricks. He wanted to fucking enlist? Our dads had both been military men. Mine was still, if you counted him sitting on his ass lamenting the good old days when he was still flying starships and not saddled with two brats. But Emilio had had a much closer relationship with his own dad so I supposed he didn't have quite as bad an impression of soldiers as I had. I wouldn't touch the Alliance with a ten foot pole if I had any choice. I'd only joined the JROTC in high school because Emilio had, and I thought it would help with my image around guys like Benny.
"Man, why the fu- why would you want to do that? The Alliance Navy is just a glorified, well-funded gang, in my not-so-humble opinion. Just look at that waste of breath sitting across the hall right now."
Emilio pursed his lips. "I know how you feel about it. But it's a good plan for someone like me. You should think about it, too, hermano. At least they'd get you out of this goddamn city. And you might as well get some recognition for running into war zones, right? Here, you'll just end up in a body bag. I worry about you, man. I don't like this path you're headed down, no matter how much money you're making off those pachucos, you know it can't end well."
"It's just temporary, until I can save enough up to move Celie and me out, too. With any luck we'll be able to go at the same time as you."
"I hope so, man. For your sake, and your sister's. Just do me a favor and be careful with those assholes. I've heard about this Leo guy. He's not someone you want to mess with."
"I haven't even met Leo yet. With any luck I won't, either. But Emilio, just a couple months' worth of work with what they'll pay me for fucking drawing on them will get me enough to be able to move to San Diego, too. With funds to spare. I can set up a shop there." It had been a dream of mine for the last year to own a business that let me do what I loved. Ink on skin seemed like the ideal medium to me and after today I was more certain of it than ever.
"You only just started doing tattoos today. Now you're sure it's your calling. I don't know what to think of you sometimes." He shook his head at me in disbelief.
"You know I've wanted to do this for awhile. Now it's finally starting to pan out. I have to start somewhere, youknow."
Emilio shrugged. "Alright, man. Just... be careful. But at the end of the summer I'm outa here, with or without you."
"I'll be with you, Em. You can count on it." I shot him a cocky grin and took the toothpick out of my mouth to point it at him.