The spring winds were blowing. It was time to leave Citadel City and go back to the farm for good. She snuck into the train yard early one morning and hopped on a freight headed south. She climbed to the top of the car. As it picked up speed the wind blew in her hair. She was alive. She felt accomplished and unstoppable. She learned so many things that winter. The most important one was that, things took longer than you wish them to, but if you stuck with them, you would get what you wanted. You just had to keep working, and cling to your hope.
She truly felt like a new person. She entered the city as Betty but was transformed into Pandora. She had all the tools to destroy the monsters that ruled the Citadel. When Pandora returned to the city, she could dethrone them one by one.
It was a long ride south. When she saw the old Johnson granary, she knew she was close. She hopped off the train and walked the rest of the way. Over the flat landscape, she saw her old home in the distance, but it took awhile to get there. For over two hours she walked along dirt and gravel roads. She didn't see another soul during her entire trek.
The area south of the city was undesired. People had no reason to come out here. There was nothing but abandoned farmland, as far as the eye could see. No one other than her wanted her farm.
Once she arrived, she looked for any evidence of intruders, but there was none. She immediately went to the barn, where the big black car had been entombed. She unlocked and rolled open the huge barn door, and sunlight struck the dormant vehicle for the first time in months. It remained untouched and looked brand new.
She retrieved special gloves from a box hidden in a stall. Then carefully disarmed the vehicle's self-defense system. Then she opened the door and started it. The car woke up and the engine growled. It was ready for action, and so was she.
It was time to take back the family farm once and for all.
PART 03
HEIST
It was very late and moon shadows stretched across Citadel City as a majority of its citizens slept. A half demolished building struggled to retain its stature in the skyline. It was constructed at 1321 Desolation Avenue in 1896, at the dawn of the new industrial age. It was named the Paragon and at the time of its construction, the headlines called it an "Architectural Marvel," and an "Engineering Feat that would stand for a 1000 years." That estimation may have been true if certain vested parties actually saw it as a respected landmark, instead of a vulnerable property.
For decades the impoverished and immigrants of all nations called the Paragon their home. It protected them from the rain, and kept them warm in winter. It was the place where newlyweds spoke of dreams and where families experienced life. Countless babies were born, and the elderly died within its walls.
In 1938, headlines about the Paragon read, "Remove the Indigent Blight," and "Making Way For Progress." The articles used words like, dilapidated, and rundown. Everything's time on Earth was limited. Things rarely chose when they would perish, especially when something benefited from their demise.
Most of the building had been reduced to bricks and bulldozed into piles. The walls that remained were pocked by wrecking-ball holes. The next day the crane operator would finish the job. The deconstruction and reconstruction project was funded by monies set aside in Washington D.C. It was part of the WPA and intended to help the down trodden find jobs, but there were middlemen eager to cash in.
Carson, the President the Citadel Bank, was an unapologetic greedy man. He prided himself as a deal maker and a master at acquiring unallocated government funds, and diverting large portions of it into his wallet. Like in all business deals, there were winners and losers. Carson liked to win big. The more opponents he defeated in a single deal the sweeter the victory. He and his associates felt that an undesirable element infested their city and they wanted them out. They wanted the tenements gone and replaced with luxury apartments that would increase the value of their recently acquired property. Although that’s not the way they presented the deal to others.
The tenants failed to see necessity of tearing down a solid, safe building to put up another one. They tried to obstruct the plan. But by chicanery they missed their day in court. Due to a questionable legal maneuver and a colorful interpretation of eminent domain law, their home was destroyed with no chance for appeal. The tenants didn’t drop the issue. Everyday since the demolition began they've picketed at the edge of the property. They were persistent and started to bring attention to what seemed like a crime. Carson and his partners didn’t like it.
The evicted tenants protested all day, calling out for justice from anyone that would listen, but at night they rested. In their stead a mysterious black car lurked in their place. Through one-way, night-vision windshields, the driver surveyed the demolition site with binoculars. Betty wore a gray suit that was woven from a special material that protected her body. She wore long dark gloves and boots with rubber soles to keep her steps silent. A hood and goggles hid her features. She called the ensemble her costume.
For weeks Betty followed Carson. She hated him. He foreclosed on her family's farm. He ruined their lives and Betty wasn't one to let a grudge die. In fact she was willing to go to extreme lengths to exact revenge on her designated enemy. She wanted to punish him. She wanted to hurt him.
She originally thought that when Carson took her family farm, he was stealing. But she was forced to concede that he had done nothing illegal as she researched the matter. But that didn't stop it from being wrong. And that didn't mean all his business dealings were on the up-and-up. How many legitimate business meetings took place at 3 AM?
Her plan was to catch him doing something illegal, and then turn him over the police. Unfortunately, she discovered it wasn't that easy. Men like Carson committed crimes all the time, but they were slippery creatures, and good at not getting caught. She'd been spying on him for weeks, but discovered nothing. She was frustrated. This was his second visit to the old Paragon. She saw him go in but wasn't sure if he was still there. Even with her night vision windshield there was a lot of debris and plenty of places to hide on the site. He could have easily snuck away. It wouldn't be the first time she lost him during her pursuit. Spying wasn’t as easy as she had imagined.
She wondered if she could get some kind of listening device to help her. The thought was interrupted.
BANG!
A single crack of a gunshot echoed through the demolition site.
Betty slinked out of her car to investigate. She slid into the site and glided through the shadows. The city seemed to be made from them. She heard the sounds of digging and crept in closer. Movement caught her eye and she froze.
Two men were up to no good. One was mixing cement in a trough with a shovel. The other was dragging a dead, black man to a deep pit. She didn't recognize any of them, but it wasn't too hard to identify who the bad guys were. She plotted her attack, but before she could move she felt a presence behind her.
A man’s voice said, “We don’t like being spied on.”
She ducked as the oaf tried to bear hug her. She dropped to the ground to avoid his grip then slid her body between his wide stance and got behind him. She kicked out the back of his knees and he fell. As he came down she delivered a powerful kick to the back of his head. He went over. A second man came around the corner in time to see her strike. He turned and yelled out, "Hey Rube!"
Others came running. There were a lot of them. Maybe she could have taken them all, but why risk doing it on her own when she had a car that was built like a tank and ready to oblige? She just needed to clear a path to it. The men circled around her. She picked the one closest to her. His nose was broken before he realized the mysterious woman had moved. Another one lunged at her. She used his momentum to flip the attacker onto one of his cohorts. Their attacks were uncoordinated and slow. She would have had fun, if two of them hadn't drawn pistols and fired.