Chapter Text
Pandora Parker woke up, naked and sore - in a dumpster. I know this because I’m the one who woke up in a dumpster with a ID card that has my face and the name Pandora Parker on it. I’m also pretty sure the various bruises and cuts across my body aren’t from a fun night on the town.
My knuckles being purple and blue kinda give off more ‘fight’ vibes, ya know?
Curious about who I was fighting? Wish I could tell you. If it wasn’t obvious already, I don’t remember much of anything. That ID is the only thing I’ve got - besides a USB that’d been shoved under my tongue. Nearly swallowed it when I woke up.
In a dumpster, if I haven’t already mentioned that.
My only consolation is that I’ve been blessed with a dumpster full of dirty old clothes and random items. So yay! I’m not naked anymore! Just suffering from massive amounts of pain and confusion! Fucking ow.
I heave a sigh as I pull out of that particular internal monologue, cause my answers on who Past-Pandora was aren’t gonna be found in here. From the open part of the dumpster lid, I can see heavy grey skies and the brick walls of the alley both it and I are in. When I finally get around to pull myself free, a blast of frigid air almost makes me crawl back inside where the piles of dirty, dirty clothes could keep me warm. All I have out here is a thin purple dress with my mystery USB and the ID card in its pockets.
I don’t even have shoes.
“Come on, Pandora,” I tell myself, “Let’s find out who we are!”
With that, I force myself out onto the street - and immediately get utterly fucking drenched as the clouds open their flies to start pissing rain. I am now very much annoyed with the world at large as I huddle beneath the store awning of a second-hand store. Probably the one who owns the dumpster I woke up in.
“Fuck the dildo of life, that shitty thing never comes lubed.” I mutter. Another sigh works it’s way out as I settle against the store’s brick wall. I’m not even sure where to… go…
Wait a second.
I scramble for my ID card. Beneath my number and my name is my birthday, December 9th, and then some random details, but at the very bottom is one thing I really ought to have noticed before. My address. 20 Ingrahm Street, Queens, New York NY.
“A lead.” I breath.
Ignoring the icy rain is much easier when I have something to focus on. Between the sheets of water I had spotted a bus stop down the sidewalk and across the street. So I pluck up my courage, push down my jay-walking guilt (not that that I actually had any), and book it. There aren’t too many cars out and those that are don’t even bother honking. A shudder shoots through me when a particularly cold raindrop runs down my back.
Then I’m slipping beneath the relative cover of the bus stop, gasping in between my rampant shivering. There is a metal bench welded to the four metal poles that support the dirty yellow glass roof. Years worth of various spilled liquids have eaten away at it’s green paint, exposing rusted steel and sharpened rivets. The trash-can has overflown onto the gum-covered sidewalk, with cups and papers lovingly shoved right up against the posts under the bus stop’s two walls. I can feel the grime soaking into my bare feet.
But the street map on the wall, half covered in graffiti and posters, keeps me from leaving.
As it turns out, I’m actually in Forest Hill, Queens, where Ingrahm Street is. Past-Pandora must have gone on a walk or something, gotten mugged and then dumped in (I pause, peering back the second-hand store) the Second-Hand Life’s dumpster. The USB is probably just from my job and I didn’t want anyone stealing it.
(A burning pit in my stomach tells me I’m missing something. The slowly growing ache at the back of my head agrees.)
A flash of lightning overhead and booming thunder rattles through both me and the bus stop.
“Down this street, left, up, left, right.” I repeat this over and over as I set off running yet again. More flashes light up above me as I run past brick stores and offices, then a small park, and finally past row after row of townhouses. 14, 16, 18 - 20! I almost trip into a puddle as I grab the stair rails and yank myself to a stop.
The rain has lightened up ever so slightly, so I take a moment to peer up through my wet bangs at the place Past-Pandora called home. Limestone blocks make up the bottom storey, then neat brown bricks for another two, with elegant limestone details around sturdy wooden door and windows. Windows that were almost all dark - except for the left window on the second floor, where a warm golden light glowed.