Her fingers unconsciously rise to her throat, brushing against a set of thin, ropy scars.

Memories rise, unbidden.

"If you're not going to take over the family business, you're not going to live to inherit anything at all," he snapped, tightening his grip on the wires in his hands.

She shakes her head sharply, slamming her fist against the wall of her apartment.

No. He doesn't get to poison her victory. Besides, he's long dead. She killed him for what he did to Roman, and what he did to her.

She kicks her boots off, grabs a beer from the fridge, and flops onto her couch.

A few hours of TV and a microwave dinner later, she drifts off to sleep.

Her dreams are fitful and restless, with visions of a stone mansion the likes of which she wishes she could own, or roof-hopping in a cityscape, or conjuring illusions in the middle of a spar. 

She wakes, and the next few weeks are easy and restorative. She puts in time helping some local street rats, looks at options for future jobs against some of the gangs that took over the wreckage of her father's empire, and goes clubbing every night.

The dreams continue, and better ones show up in the mix as well. The best ones feature the kind of ocean beach she'd love to retire on, getting fucked hard by beautiful people who just beat her in a spar, or doing the same to them after her wins.

Those nights, she wakes up gasping, panties soaked through, pussy desperate and throbbing. It takes her a while to get back to sleep.

Eventually, everything snaps into crystal clarity. 

She can feel things around her. They feel almost like pinprick holes in the world, except she could fall through them if she tried.

One feels like quiet peace and respite and solitude, and it's right there inside her. One feels like it's way off at the docks. Another feels like it's a mile down the street, and one's underground, probably in the subway.

Huh.

She tries the one inside her.

In barely a blink, Neo vanishes from her apartment and finds herself in a comfortably appointed bedroom with stone walls. It's the underground home from her dreams.

What.

No seriously, what.

Okay, apparently her dreams were of real places? That's kind of awesome? She has an apartment that is safe from every enemy she's made, now. 

She spends the next few days gradually hauling the possessions she cares about most over to the stone house: her TV and computer, her sex toys, a photo of her and Roman from back when she was just a little teenage runaway he took under his wing, when she first dyed her hair.

She explores the stone house and figures out the mirrors, then leaves one tucked behind some shelves at a coffeeshop with free wifi.

And then it's all done.

All but one last thing.

She goes to a cemetery across town, buying a few orange tulips on the way. Stands before one grave in particular, and lays the flowers there.

Roman Torchwick

1983 – 2013

Beloved brother to a lost girl, stolen from us all too soon.

Five years gone and she still misses him. He's annoying like that.

She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, then walks off to the docks. 

Time to see what the worlds look like.