The vivid nightmares fuelled by the sound of Isha’s desperate crying and screaming as you- her mother, was hauled away- abandoning her- served a punishment the inhumane conditions capitalising Stillwater could never compare to. Yet the determination to reunite with your only child had kept you thriving.

Isha would be 8 now, and part of you feared she wouldn’t remember who you were- that was if you ever found her. If she was even alive. But you were her mother and you wouldn’t not give in- even if weeks of searching were taking a toll. Everything was dull, the world was monochrome. What if you’d really lost her- until a blur of blue and brunette hair darted past you, followed by the loud clack of a helmet dropping against the concrete of the alleyway besides your feet, had you snapping out of your thoughts. it could’ve been any kid. But as the little girl turned in a panic to retrieve it-and the two of you locked identical amber eyes, you realised it was her.

Isha.

Your kid, her expression was almost a frown conveying confusion and- familiarity, you know, because it is your expression of concentration. Isha looked undeniably like you.

Instinctively your arms reached out- only to be halted via a cold rim of metal, the brunt of a gun, pressing harsh contact to the skin of your forehead.

“Not so fast”. A sharp tone warned. Blue hair and protective magenta eyes distinguished the identity of the woman. The undercities loose cannon- Jinx.