(A fashionably villainous Brit stumbles upon a blonde teen with no memories.)
The voice was feminine… and panicked. She was crying out for help. In German, of all languages.
Fortunately, Mad Mod was rather fluent in German, having learned during his service in World War II.
“Geht es dir gut?” the redhead called back, checking on her as loud as his hoarse voice would allow.
Thankfully, it was enough.
“Nein!” the girl cried out. “Nein! Nein! Nein!”
She sounded young.
While Mad Mod may have been a villain, he wasn’t about to leave some poor distressed girl in the middle of nowhere. If he didn’t help, who would?
They continued to call to each other in German, roughly translating to:
“Are you hurt?”
“Yes! Everything hurts!”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know! I don’t even know who I am!”
“I’ll help you. Just stay where you are. Keep talking so I can find you. Tell me about yourself. What can you remember?”
The girl agreed and began to speak rapidly, mostly rambling as she could not remember much.
“I can’t remember anything. What can I remember? What can I remember? Maybe I can start easy. What is my favorite color? Let me think. I’ll just list the colors. Red, blue, yellow. Those are the primary colors. I remember that! Then there’s the secondary colors; green, purple, and orange. I think red is my favorite, but something about green is sticking out to me. It feels safe somehow. It almost feels happy.”
“I bet you’ll be happy once you’re out of this particular green!”
“I like the green better than the dark of the cave I woke up in.”
She’d woken up in a cave? How strange, Mod thought.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long until Mod stumbled upon the girl. His phone still had a charge and he had used its flashlight to search for her.
She was frail, bone thin, covered in scrapes and bruises. Her frame was lanky and her long hair was blonde. From what he saw of her eyes before she shielded them from the bright light, they appeared to be blue. Worn bandages covered her body, hanging on by a thread. She was practically nude.
Mad Mod was quick to remove his parka jacket and place it over the teenager, keeping her modest.
The blonde promptly thanked the man. She had no idea who he was. Amnesia aside, she couldn’t see him in the dark. The light was on her, not him.
This was intentional on Mod’s part. On the off chance this girl had any memory of Jump City villains, it was best not to let her get a good look at him.
He was sure to keep out of view as he escorted the girl to the clearing. He stood behind her, head down as he guided her forward. Once the two left the shelter of the trees, it became quite apparent just how hard it was raining and how dark it was.
The teen did ask who Mod was and what he was doing in the middle of nowhere, but he didn’t answer her. Instead, he used the excuse that his voice was going out to stay quiet. The girl wasn’t too upset as her own voice was rough, having been yelling for help for an undetermined amount of time.
The two were quiet as Mod helped the teen onto his Vespa and gave her his helmet.
Swinging his leg over the seat, Mad Mod got settled and place the blonde’s arms around his waist. With a turn of a key and rumble of the engine, the two sped into the night.
The ride home was spent in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The teen wondered who she was and what had happened to her while Mad Mod had to figure out how to handle this whole situation.
Mod had to get her taken care of before he dropped her off at a shelter or the police. He may be a villain, but he wasn’t a monster. He had to make sure she was at least fed and rested before sending her off. Perhaps hire a translator for her. Figuring out who she was would be easier if she could communicate with those around her.
Who was she anyway…?
The Brit was certain there was no way he could know who she was without her telling him… but then it dawned on him. A lean blonde haired blue eyed teenage girl wandering around in the wilderness? That sounded an awful lot like the forever traveling vigilante, Terra.
Terra was not a Titan Mod ever encountered in person, but she had been heavily researched, just as he did with every hero in town. Her name was Tara Markov, the princess of Markovia. The primary language of Markovia was German.
It was starting to come together.
When Terra turned to villainy, she donned a uniform of bandages and armor. She looked the same, she sounded the same, and she was speaking her first language.
He needed to be sure.
After over an hour of driving in silence, Mod finally spoke. Clearing his throat, he did his best to speak over the sound of his Vespa. This time in English.
“Do you understand me?”
Without a thought, the blonde replied in perfect English, “Yes.”
Her eyes widened as she realized she was multilingual. How did she not know that?
“What does this mean?” she asked, being met with a, “We’ll discuss it later.”
The ride continued in silence.
Mad Mod was certain. This girl was Terra… or rather, Tara. She wasn’t a hero or villain at this point. She couldn’t even remember she ever had been.
This was going to get complicated…
