Sonja's Background
When Yar Von Kritzkoh launched his attack on the east coast of the US, the populace was given scarcely enough time to prepare for the warhead about to be dropped into their laps. Many piled into bomb shelters built back when the threat of cold war prevailed in the minds of men. Most others vainly attempted to outrun the bomb's reach, only finding themselves trapped by their panic, leaving a parade of vehicles still lined up like a giant's playthings left in lieu of milk and cookies. Some ran underground, into the mass of tunnels beneath the city - into the subways. These tunnels stretched nearly a mile deep in some points, plummeting into sewers and places where light had not been seen since John Jacob Astor built his doomed travel system for the wealthy and desirable of New York City.
It was here that Sonja Sashenka took her first breath, and here, in the bowels of New York City where she grew up. Sonja was lucky, for as time went by, children became feared for their cries that permeated the life sustaining silence that kept the unfortunate victims of fallout mutations in the higher levels of the subway system from knowing of the presence of the humans below. "Nomads" they'd nicknamed themselves, for one could not stay in one section for long before the blinded cannibals of the upper levels discovered them. Sonja was one of the few children that had been born post-war and stayed quiet enough to avoid execution. Her mother took great pains for her baby's survival, with the dream of someday being able to raise her daughter on the surface, a feat few had attempted.
It was on one of their frequent migrations that the Nomads came upon a previously undiscovered water source, an underground stream who's rapid flow masked the sound of the group's normal activities, and they began preparations of a permanent settlement there. Unfortunately, the water also drowned out the approach of the horde above, and it wasn't long before the keenly auricled mutants discovered them and veritably massacred the entire group. Of over 100 people, a third of the corralled victims chose to risk the rushing water rather than be eaten alive. Of these, only two survived: 13 year old Sonja Sashenka and Trace Vallance, a boy of 14.
Though pounded by the raging water, Sonja and Trace were able to hang on to a piece of a rotten wood, and after several hours in the frigid water, they were thrust into a pipe that gurgled upward, tumbled about breathlessly until finally, the two teenagers caught their very first glimpse of sunlight as they were spewed forth into the Atlantic Ocean. After a decade of living in almost complete darkness, it nearly blinded them.
Their skin was ghostly white, and the cloudless sky was merciless on their tender skin. Because they couldn't see, they knew not which direction that land lay - nor that there was any land at all, and the current began carrying them and their withering flotation device out to see.
After about five hours, the sun began to set, and slowly, as darkness fell, Sonja and Trace were able to open their eyes and see the outside world they had heard so much about for the first time.
Shortly after the sun set, a small boat paddled up - the occupant, a man with graying hair, dressed in several layers of clothing. He helped Sonja and Trace into the boat without speaking, as if it were something he did every night. As he paddled, the lull of the boat rocked them to sleep. The city's lights soon faded to nothingness, and in front of them loomed the metal skeleton of a long inoperative oil rig. The two teens were awakened and taken aboard.
Sonja and Trace spent the next 7 years on the rig with the community that had escaped from the city many years before. Adopted into the rather large family without question, they were well cared for. Life on the surface was difficult to become accustomed to at first, as their sensitive eyes prevented them from being topside at all during the day for a good while. Eventually, dark sunglasses aided their acclimation to the sun's rays. As children, their main duties on the rig were basic upkeep chores... cleaning mostly. Sonja fished, was taught a bit of rudimentary first aid, and how to cook. Trace was instructed in minor repairs, and often went on excursions to shore. Sonja never left the rig.
The group rather brusque bunch, constantly practicing their fighting skills - martial arts, automatic weapons - even sword fighting. Sonja and Trace were taught as well, and Sonja became rather skilled in a fighting technique that combined various principles of taekwondo and jujitsu. They weren't, however, allowed near the weapons for many years, and even then only long enough to learn how to point one in an emergency. Sonja once asked why everyone was so intent on their defense, but she was given a cursory "just in case", and the matter was dropped. While she found it odd, she wasn't going to push their hospitality. She'd learned when she'd asked what was in the forbidden room that questions weren't always answered, and most times, were avoided entirely. But these people had been nothing but good to her, so who was she to ask questions? She was happy here... with them, and with Trace.
One night, the two of them were awakened from their bed by frantic shouts from above, and they dressed hurriedly, running topside. What was waiting for them proved to be an answer to all of Sonja's curiosities, as the FPO was scrambling over the rig like ants, corralling the men and women into separate groups and shouting back in forth to each other while interrogating the rig dwellers. Questions of drugs and illegal weapons fell mostly on deaf ears, as either everyone knew nothing - as did Sonja - or they were hiding it well.
By the day's end, everyone had been separated into groups of age and sex, and shackled in the bottom of a boat, they were taken ashore. Blindfolded, Sonja was lead into a plain white room with no windows, and left for several hours. Finally, two uniformed men arrived, describing the activities aboard the rig, and while seeming sympathetic to her situation in that not everyone had been privy to the unscrupulous goings on there, they informed her that no one could go unpunished. They gave her the choice of prison, or joining the military. She chose the military.
On more than one occasion, she wished she'd chosen the other. Surely prison couldn't have been as difficult as the grueling training she was put through for 6 months. She eventually survived it, and moved on to serve in a patrol group in her home city of New York.
It was on one routine night patrol that Sonja came across a group of teenagers breaking into one of the food warehouses used to house military surplus. Calling in the incident as she'd been trained, she gave chase after the 3 boys, pursuing them into an abandoned building where they seemed to have disappeared into the walls. Proceeding cautiously, she paced through the building, popping into doorways with her weapon drawn, expecting to find them at any time. Curiously, they were nowhere to be seen, and she assumed she must have seen them go into a different building, and proceeded to leave.
As she was heading out the door, she was grabbed from behind and flung to the floor. Finding herself facing the barrel of a weapon, her attacker began to shout in a language unfamiliar to her, but then he stopped, and dropped his gun to the side, pulling away the ski mask covering his face. It was Trace.
After the shock wore off, Trace began explaining what had happened aboard the rig, and after they had been taken. There had indeed been drug trafficking going on, however, it wasn't a contraband of a different sort. In the room they were never allowed to go into, medicines were being produced and distributed... for a price, of course, but mostly for trade of weapons and basic necessities for the group living on the rig. Apparently it had been assumed their operation would be discovered eventually, as the military took great efforts to control the amount of medical goods distributed to the poorer peoples, and they didn't take kindly to others undermining their methods of population control. A stroke of luck allowed Trace to escape their clutches during a prison riot, and had made himself a home beneath the city, where they'd had their beginnings of life. Even that had changed, as the upper levels were now safe from the threat of mutants, who'd been nearly eradicated by military action.
Sonja never returned from her patrol that night. After radioing in trouble, the last transmission received from her was the sound of gunfire. She was presumed dead.
Sonja stayed with Trace, giving of her skills to the underground community he'd been a part of since his escape... keeping watch, assisting in raids for food and medicine. It was a life wrought with peril, but she felt she belonged with this group, with Trace.
She'd been there almost a year before Trace went out on a routine scout, and never returned.
Sonja had been searching for him ever since.