New York, New York, Baby... (Solo)

Summer 2010 – New York City


The sun burned brightly in the sky, wrapping the metropolis in a blanket of heat and light. Every so often, a cooling breeze would wash up from the harbour waters, caressing Mat with it's soothing touch. Made a change from the cold winter he left behind in Australia. Basking in the glow of New York, Mat stood by the railing and smiled what was probably his first genuine smile for some time. Since Melbourne, at the least. His persistence had paid off, and it was time for his new beginning.

He looked out, over the water, to the towering object that he had raced to glimpse the moment he had first arrived. Torch raised, tablet clutched in her iron grip, her robes flowing gracefully. The Statue. Lady Liberty. America's symbol of freedom, of justice. The guiding light. The icon of his new home. He was really here.

New York, New York, baby.

Staring around, Mat watched the swarming masses as they went about their day to day. His fellow organisms of the world. Japanese tourist groups, a mass of camera lenses pressed against eyes, flashes of memories saved. Euro backpackers, basking and laughing in the sunlight, admiring the scenery. New immigrants from all over, adjusting to their new homes, learning what they could about the place they would now be resting their heads. And of course, the natives, chained to the city with their jobs, and apartments and families. Prisoners to their own lives.

Not that Mat was so much different, he supposed. At least his contract with New York was negotiable, and oh so flexible. Freedom was a wonderful burden.

Since the massacre in Melbourne, and his parting with Trip, Mat had travelled all around Australia. Searching the major cities, the smaller towns. Checking the usual haunts for other homeless mutants. Specifically, one that could transport him to New York. A daunting task, yes. But one that had paid off. Mat's search ended in Perth, in Western Australia, when he had met a Ronnie, the mutant who had created a portal for him. He was here now, Mecca for mutants. The freak capital of the world. He was certain it would be here that he'd find life's his purpose. Australia was all but dead to him. Twice his world had fallen apart there. Twice he had lost everything that held any meaning for him. Now, he would start over yet again.

Third time's a charm, right?

Reaching into his pocket, Mat grasped his bubble-pack of caffeine pills. Popping four out into the palm of his hand, he swallowed them, wincing at the bitter taste. His time in the commune had been good for his sleep phobia. The nights when Trip would sit with him, help talk him through the anxiety that came every time Mat rested his head and closed his eyes. He had reached a point where he only felt uncomfortable trying to sleep, rather than the full-blown panic that had come after his sister's death. During his time in the commune, he had slept more peacefully than he had in years. All it had taken was a fire and the death of those close to him to kick the phobia right back into gear.

Still, it was probably for the best. He was in a strange new city, after all. Best to take his time, to search out somewhere he could crash, to get a feel for the local streeties. To reconnoitor the city. Until then, sleep could wait. Sleep could always wait. And with it being summer here, he was in no dire need of shelter.

A short, squat man pulled Mat from his reverie, a shorts-and-sandal wearing tourist who gibbered away in some foreign language. European of some sort. Possibly Greek, Mat wasn't sure. The man pointed to the blanket Mat had spread out on the ground beside him, and to the miniature Statues of Liberty sitting on it. They were made of bronze, half a dozen perfectly replicated sculptures that Mat had duplicated the day before. Each one completely identical to the real thing. Nodding, Mat lifted one of the sculptures and handed it to the man. Raising four fingers on one hand, and making an 'O' with the thumb and index finger of his other hand, Mat spoke slowly and clearly, in case the tourist didn't understand English very well.

“Forty bucks, mate.”

The man frowned and held the sculpture closer, inspecting every detail. He looked out over the harbour, to the real thing, then back to the replica. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he held up three fingers.

“Thirty,” he said, his voice heavily accented. Mat grinned, knowing the man couldn't fault the craftsmanship. The tourist had decided that he wanted the sculpture the moment he laid eyes on it, Mat had seen that. And the price was always negotiable.

With a grin, Mat extended a hand, to shake and close the deal. “Done.”

Mentally, he smirked at the situation. Him, an illegal immigrant – a mutant nonetheless – who had only been in the city a matter of days, selling replicas of the Statue of Liberty to tourists. It seemed like such an absurd thing to Mat's mind. Then again, the Statue itself was a promise. Of a new life, of better things to come.

Give me your tired, your poor?

Mat was certainly both. Glancing once more to the statue, he gave a little salute, his own small thanks to the monument. He was in America now, his new home.

With liberty, and justice, and all that.