Epilogue II: The Broken Path We Follow

Fiona Andrea Samswell

Haddonfield was practically deserted during Sunday mornings. This was due to the fact that nearly every single soul in the town gathered at the local church, celebrating their Lord and Savior. During her childhood, Fiona loved going to the church. She had been taught from a very young age that it was the proper thing to do, and each moment she spent their felt like she was in the presence of a holier, wiser being. She recalled the feeling to be sensational, hearing the stories of her past and the eventual future. In some ways, it was all that really mattered to her.

As of late, she wished the place would just burn to the ground. The only good thing that ever came of it was that it emptied the streets throughout the town, giving Fiona plenty of peace and quiet as she wandered about. It gave her time to think without the risk of being hazed. Then again, she wasn't even sure if anyone would still recognize her, or if anyone would still care. She preferred not to take a chance.

She wondered why she ever bothered coming back. Her movements for the past countless days were entirely automatic. She never stayed in any one place for more than a night, just to catch a few hours rest. She would have felt horrible about stealing one of the cars from Camelot, but her emotions had been rather muted recently. She suspected that her judgment might have been muted as well. It was the only reason why she would return to such a horrid place.

Then again, perhaps it was really the only place she could have gone to. She didn't have a home anymore. She didn't have a job. She didn't have any friends. Her life had become so messed up in such a short period of time that, perhaps, she craved the familiar. It didn't really matter what had happened there. She just needed evidence that her life wasn't falling apart. She just assumed that was why she remained so calm throughout everything: she searched for something to attach to. That was all she was, really: a parasite, leaching off of the feelings of others to sustain her own sense of worth.

As she continued to walk about the central square, she considered what she was going to do next. At first, she considered calling Jacob, who was probably the closest thing she had to a friend at that point. However, she quickly realized that she had no means to contact him. Tara was the one who knew his number. She remembered to share it. The sheer thought of Tara nearly brought out another bought of tears, but Fiona managed to suppress herself down once again. She tried to make herself feel better by repeatedly telling herself that it was a dumb plan, anyhow. What was she supposed to talk to him about? Her incredible, daring life as a secret agent? How she just lost the person she cared for most in the world? He probably wouldn't understand, or worse, tell her to get herself "help for her illness".

Fiona left the square without even realizing it. Her mechanical movements meant nothing to her. Unconsciously, she drifted about the town. Fiona wondered where she was going to live. She had rented out a motel room on the outskirts of the town, but could barely afford to pay for little more than a week. Surely, at some point, she would have to move on. The main problem was that she had nowhere to go, and if she were honest with herself, she didn't want to leave anyway. Despite the hurt, Fiona needed to stay in Haddonfield for as long as possible, just until her life got back on track. She supposed she could try to get a house, but she quickly realized that it was an impossible feat.

Before Fiona knew it, she had entered an avenue lined with houses. She walked forward aimlessly. Most importantly, Fiona thought about what to do with her life. Everything really seemed meaningless to her. Ever since she was young, Fiona had a deep fascination with animals; after all, it was her major. Yet she doubted a school would accept her given the lack of money. Not to mention, she couldn't stand to look at animals anymore. If she looked at animals, she thought of the book. If she thought of the book, she would have thought of her. Her mind was too distraught to come up with any other logical options, even though she was sure they existed. It was impossible to face the future.

But then, Fiona realized that she didn't have to face the future at all. In the town square, there was a clock tower, easily standing twenty feet tall. She knew the way up to the roof. If she wanted to, she could end it all. There would be no more pain, no more mourning, and no more regret. She wouldn't have to be alone anymore. She wouldn't have to face every new day with uncertainty.

She would be able to see Tara again.

Fiona stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't realize why. She knew that she wasn't paying attention to where she was headed, but she had not expected to walk so far. Her actions were out of her hands. Something in her bones simply told her to stop moving at this particular spot. Fiona realized she had been staring at the ground, so she looked up. Her surroundings felt far too familiar. The houses, the trees, and every other little detail cause a knot to get stuck in her throat. Fiona froze in absolute terror. Slowly, she turned her head to the left.

She was standing in front of her house. It was barely recognizable. The once blue paint that lined the walls was now chipped and peeling. The windows, which were always kept open in her childhood, were shut. There were no longer any cars left in the driveway. The grass was now brown and dead and the entire structure stood in place like a specter. It seemed to have been abandoned a long time ago.

Fiona stared at the house for a very long time. So long, in fact, that her eyes had begun to water, either from the intensity of her stare or the sheer emotions she was facing. This was the place her life was ruined. It was in this house that she lost faith in everything that was good in the world, a faith that would take six long years to be restored. If she believed in anything evil, it would most certainly be the building before her.

Fiona clenched her fist and growled. Desperately, she searched the ground for stones. She managed to pick up a cluster, and began viciously throwing them at the house. She threw the stones madly, unable to aim as the hatred burst out from within her. With each stone throw her cries increased, until she finally let out all of her rage that had built-up since she had arrived. One stone managed to break through a window on the bottom floor, although the majority simply bounced off of the framing.

Once Fiona had run out of stones, she simply stood in the driveway, breathing heavily as the tears welled up in her eyes. She hurriedly brushed them away. She began to back away from the ghost, trying to regain her composure. She knew that nothing had changed: she was still alone, lost, and confused. Throwing stones meant nothing, especially to something that was already dead. Not wanting to handle any more emotional stress, Fiona quickly walked down the street. She had to leave town. She had to get out before the pain came back. She needed to get away as fast as possible, at whatever the cost, even if it was her own life. As she reached the end of the street, Fiona gave one last glance to her old life.

CRASH

The next thing Fiona knew, she was on her back. She rolled to her side, and noticed that some girl was on her hands and knees, panting heavily. The girl roughly looked about Fiona's age, although Fiona couldn't see her face to prove it. The girl, whoever she happened to be, had long, silver-blue hair, that ran over her shoulders and down her back. Fiona shook away the sudden shock.

"I'm so sorry," Fiona said quickly, slowly getting to her feet. "I didn't mean to—"

Without any warning, a large man charged at the young woman, kicking her hard in the stomach. She fell over, holding her arms over the wound. Through the hair fallen over her face, Fiona could make out a deep red. The young woman seemed very badly wounded.

"Don't try to fucking rob me!" the man screamed, kicking the girl in her side once more. At once, Fiona jumped up, and tried to push the man away.

"Hey! Leave her alone!" Fiona stated in a panic. She had no idea what was going on, yet her instincts guided her. She had allowed far too many people to get hurt in the past, and she refused to leave someone helpless to die. However, she was shoved away forcefully, forcing her to the ground.

"Stay out of this!" the man ordered. "This has nothing to do with you. Just go and get out of here." He punctuated his sentence by kicking the girl in the side again. Fiona growled, and stood back up again.

"Get away from her!" Fiona said angrily. Without any warning, the man whipped around, and attempted to punch Fiona head-on. However, she effortlessly slid to the ground, wrapped one leg behind his, and sent him sailing into the pavement. By the time he reached the ground, Fiona had grabbed onto his arm, and rotated it sharply backwards. The man screamed in agony as Fiona held his arm at an improper angle.

"Now, you're going to leave this girl alone, got it?" Fiona said sternly.

"Oh God, you're breaking my arm. Let go of me!"

"Got it!?" Fiona repeated, increasing the strain. The man started to nod desperately.

"I got it! I got it!" he yelled. With a grunt, Fiona released the man, and he ran away in fear. She thought to go after him, but realized that she had much bigger matters to attend to. She wiped the hair out of her face, and knelt down beside the wounded girl.

"Hey, are you alright?" Fiona asked softly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," said the girl. She let out a groan as she rose to her hands and knees.

"You're bleeding a lot," Fiona stated. She reached out a hand. "I think we need to get you some help."

"No, no, I'm fine," the girl stated hurriedly. "Just… just give me a minute. Ugh…"

Fiona placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Look, you need help. Let me see your face."

"I'm fine," the girl repeated, more sternly. She sounded very weak to Fiona, which only gave her more encouragement to help. Without a second thought, Fiona lightly grabbed the girl's head, and rotated it towards her.

"I need to see your—" Fiona's eyes went wide, and she froze in place. She began to tremble. It seemed absolutely impossible, yet there it was right before her. She stared directly at the girl's face for what felt like hours, unable to let go. She thought she was about to cry.

She was looking at Tara.

Fiona tried shaking the idea out of her mind. Clearly, it wasn't Tara. It couldn't be Tara. It wouldn't make any sense. Yet there Tara was, staring back at her with a bloody forehead and confused complexion. Slowly though, Fiona began to notice slight differences in the girl's face. Her eyes were wider than Tara's, and her nose was not nearly as rigid. Her lips were fuller as well, although Fiona wondered whether it was natural or simply an effect of the girl's lipstick. Either way, the similarity was uncanny enough to make Fiona stumble.

"Does it really look that bad?" asked the girl. Fiona stammered about uncomfortably.

"Uh… no, it's… it's not too bad," Fiona said nervously. "But still, you should get that looked at."

The girl groaned in frustration, wobbly standing up. "I can take care of myself. Thanks." However, she quickly fell back to her knees. Fiona caught her, and supported her weight.

"That's it. I'm getting you to a doctor," Fiona stated. The girl suddenly became terrified.

"No doctors!" she said forcefully. "No medical attention. I can't afford that… in more ways than one." The girl wrapped her arm around Fiona's shoulder, carefully balancing her weight. "Just… can you take me to your house for a few minutes? I don't really have a place to stay."

Fiona opened her mouth to say something. Such a request was ridiculous. She had no idea what the girl's name was, and she was thinking of inviting her into her home (which wasn't much of a home at all). However, Fiona couldn't help but agree. How could she possibly say no to a face like that?

With a nod, Fiona and the girl began to slowly make their way to the motel, which luckily was not terribly far away.

"So, what's your name?" Fiona asked lightly. The girl put on a slight smirk.

"I, my friend, am known far and wide as the Great and Power—" The girl suddenly gasped in pain. "Okay, screw fancy introductions. This really hurts. It's, uh, Trixie. Trixie Langstrom."

"Fiona Samswell."

"Well, Fiona, thanks for helping me out back there," said Trixie. "That guy was a fucking psychopath."

"Why was he attacking you like that?" Fiona asked curiously. "And also, what was with the 'fancy introduction' anyway?"

"It's my stage name," Trixie replied. "I'm, uh… working as a magician. It's sorta my passion."

"A magician?" Fiona asked, almost doubtingly. "Like… with a rabbit and a hat?"

"Street magician," Trixie corrected. "I'm more of a fan of card tricks than rabbits. Also, please never mention those magicians again. I hate stereotypes."

"Sorry," Fiona said honestly. "You still haven't told me why that guy attacked you."

"Yeah, well, I've been traveling around a lot. It's hard to find a place to settle down when you constantly have to find new gigs to live. I was passing through here on a way to a gig in Charleston. I… well, I didn't have a lot of money left, and I had done some things like this before, so—"

"Wait," Fiona said shocked. "You actually robbed somebody?"

"Eh… technically," Trixie said bashfully. "It was more of a scam than anything else. When you're good at sleight of hand, it's not too hard to learn the tricks of three card monte. I just… it was a stupid mistake, alright? I'd rather not think about it."

Fiona said nothing throughout the rest of their walk. Trixie may have borne resemblance to Tara, but she certainly was not the same person. Even based on the few minutes they shared together, Fiona was easily able to tell that the girl was not the kind of person she would like to spend time with. Trixie seemed brash, irresponsible, overconfident, and a tad bit rude. And yet, why did Fiona want to remain close to her? Why was she so intent on helping this girl to the very end?

Without even realizing it, the girls had reached the motel. Trixie looked at the building with a raised eyebrow.

"Huh. Not really the best of living conditions, are they?" she said mildly. Fiona quickly opened the door to her room, and helped Trixie inside. Very carefully, Fiona helped Trixie into the bed, hearing the wounded magician's moans all throughout the process. Once Trixie was settled, Fiona took off towards the bathroom, searching for anything she could to treat the wounds. The medicine cabinet was mostly empty, save for some gauze and a few bandages. Fiona took it all, and then found a wash cloth, wet it in the sink, and carried it all back to her patient.

"This should help you," Fiona said, pressing the damp cloth to Trixie's forehead. Trixie held the object in place as Fiona began to apply bandages to her arms.

"Hey, thanks for helping me out," Trixie said honestly. "It's… not really something a lot of people would do for someone they just met.'

"It's not a big deal," Fiona said, not looking up. "I try to help people whenever I'm able to."

"Look, this is really sweet of you. I owe you big time."

"You really don't."

"I really do. How about I buy you a cup of coffee or something? It's the least I can do for you."

"I don't drink coffee," Fiona stated. Trixie sighed.

"Fine then. I'll buy myself coffee, and you can come along to watch me drink it. It'll give us some time to hang out."

"I… I'm not sure," Fiona said nervously. For a moment, it sounded like she was being asked on a date. She supposed she was, but she also doubted that that was the original intention. She still had no idea what she was going to do with her life. Meeting Trixie was never a part of the plan, and she really wanted to just forget the whole incident ever happened. However, something kept drawing her back in.

"Pleeeeeease," Trixie pouted. Fiona couldn't help but admit to herself that the childish plead sounded adorable. She finally sighed in acceptance.

"Sure. I'll go watch you drink coffee," Fiona said with a small smile.

"Damn right you will," said Trixie. "Just… not tomorrow… or the day after that. In fact, let's just wait until after I make sure I don't have a concussion. That cool?"

"Uh, yeah," Fiona said, continuing to work on bandaging the wounds. "Whatever you say."

Satisfied, Trixie closed her eyes, trying to soothe away the pain. Fiona couldn't help herself but stare at Trixie's face. It was one of the strangest feelings she ever had in her life. No matter what she did, she couldn't look away. Even as she continued to work, she kept glancing back at the face which so closely resembled the thing she loved most.

__________

Rachel Elizabeth Germain

Rachel could have sworn that the taxi driver was trying to kill her on purpose. By the way she kept bouncing around in her seat, she had come to the solitary conclusion that this particular cab driver hated Europeans, and the sheer thought of driving one around was driving him to insanity. She couldn't help but recall a family trip to London when she was much younger. There, the cabs were quite elegant, and the drivers treated her with far more respect. She always knew things would be different in the States. She just had not expected it to be so ugly.

She should have felt excited. New York City was one of the most, if not the most famous city in the entire world. The variety of activities was simply unbelievable, so much so that it seemed almost unreal. Unfortunately, two things were currently ruining the entire experience for her. The first was the taxi, which drove far too fast on a narrow road packed with unaware tourists. The second was the exact nature of why she had come to the Big Apple in the first place: a doctor's appointment.

Two days beforehand, Rachel was surprised to have received a note from none other than Bridgette Celestia. Although the exact details of the note were vague, Rachel was essentially told that her "case" had been informed of to a prestigious doctor, and he had requested that she come at once to his offices to visit him. Despite the fact that there were several cases that Celestia could have been referring to, Rachel reluctantly set an appointment, and took the day-long trek from her newly-rented apartment in Connecticut to New York.

Rachel was violently thrown back to reality when the cab suddenly stopped, and Rachel was jolted forward. The cab driver shouted something in Indian, and Rachel quickly handed over whatever money she had in her pocket. She got out of the vehicle without hesitation, thankful to be back on stable ground. If anything good came out of her sudden bout of panic, it was that the adrenaline pumping through her veins allowed her to see everything around her.

Luckily, she discovered that the building she sought happened to be right next to her. A quick brush of her hand against the nearby wall revealed the location of a plaque with the address on it. She also was able to discover exactly why she had been summoned: the address was written in braille.

Interesting, Rachel couldn't help but think as she entered the building. The first thing that hit her was a sudden rush of cold air. It wasn't particularly hot outside, yet the air conditioning was turned up very high. Secretly, Rachel had begun to wish that she brought a coat. The next thing Rachel noticed was the vastness of the room she was in. Her feet planted firmly against the floor: it was tile. She heard music echoing from far away: the room had plenty of height to the ceiling. She heard the light tapping of shoes: she was not alone.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" a woman called out. "Do you have an appointment?" Rachel quickly turned her head towards the voice.

"Um, I think so," Rachel stated, slightly unsure. "I received a message telling me to come here. Would you know anything about that?"

The woman said nothing for a few moments.

"Oh, wait," she finally spoke. "You must be that young woman we got the email about." Then, the woman muttered to herself, "What do you know? She really is hard to miss."

"I heard that," Rachel said, slightly puzzled. The woman then went silent again.

"Please come with me, dear," the woman said again. Rachel heard a door squeak open somewhere near the woman, and walked towards it. She thought that she heard whispering around her, although she could not make out what they were saying. From past experience, she suspected either people gawking at her like a trophy, or people grumbling bitterly about being cut in line for seeing a doctor. Either way, Rachel cared to ignore it.

As the adrenaline wore off, Rachel began using her cane once again to guide her. From the banging of the walls, she realized she had entered a tight corridor, almost claustrophobically so. It was probably to prevent the more disabled patients from getting lost, but it didn't make her feel any more comfortable. Eventually, she was led into a small room, and instructed to wait on an examining table for her doctor to arrive. The door was shut behind her, leaving her alone.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time, Rachel?" she asked herself as she pressed her palm against the wall. She inched her way around the room, feeling around for the supposed table. It took her a few moments to finally find her way, which annoyed her very much considerably. Anytime her blindness interfered with her life (which became more and more constant as time went on), she secretly hated herself. It made her feel just a bit more worthless each moment. He knew she had no right to complain, given the rare abilities the MACER Device had bestowed upon her. And yet, she couldn't help but live with a sense of disappointment in herself.

She should have been thankful to just be alive. The thought struck in her head like a bolt of lightning, making her tense up. She knew she was acting quite selfish. A life of sightlessness was better than no life at all. She shook away the thoughts all at once. Rachel refused to let her mind settle on that particular issue. She had other things to think about at the current time. There would always be a time for mourning. It just wasn't now.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and the sound of footsteps entered the room.

"Ah," said a baritone voice. "You must be Rachel. I've heard quite a bit about you."

Immediately, Rachel felt a sense of bizarre relief. "Oh my God, an Englishman!" she practically shouted. She threw her head back to the table, sprawling her arms out. "Damn, that's wonderful."

"Um… am I supposed to be celebrating that or something?" asked the man in a half-joking manner. Rachel straightened herself out.

"No, it's just… I don't know why, but it feels really good to hear someone talk normally for once. After the past year, I need some familiarity."

"I can tell," he said, taking a seat. "You look absolutely buzzing with anticipation. By the way, I'm Dr. Blue."

"Rachel, but you already know that," Rachel said. She was wearing down from a high that she had never known started. "Essex, by the way. Just… just want to make that clear."

"You know, I do actually have something important to talk about," Dr. Blue said.

"Sorry," Rachel said hastily. "Quick question, though: how exactly did you find me?"

"Well, I got an email from some 'Celestia' woman. She told me about your… problem, and asked me to help."

"And by problem, I assume she means these," Rachel said, pointing towards her face.

"Correct," confirmed Blue. "You probably have no idea who I am; I'm not actually an optometrist."

Rachel tilted her head in confusion. "But the sign outside was written in braille."

"Well, yes, most buildings in New York are like that. I'm pretty sure that a lot of buildings are like that in first-world countries."

Rachel thought about it for a moment. She suddenly felt like an idiot. It had been a long while since she had been a part of the normal world that such a simple thought had slipped her mind. It wasn't like it was something that she noticed before anyway, but she felt like she should have known something so obvious. It actually worried her a little. If she had forgotten something like that, what else had she forgotten? What common knowledge about the world was pushed aside in order for her to become a soldier?

"I'm actually a bit of an engineer," Dr. Blue continued. "I spent ten years studying human biology in order to make more advanced prosthetic limbs for those in need of them. Coupling that with a minor in robotics, we've been able to make some outstanding things over the past few years. It's been a slow process, but as technology becomes more advanced, the more we are able to produce. Now, we're… well, trying something new with our abilities."

Rachel took this in. Could he be serious?

"You're not actually suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you Dr. Blue?" Rachel asked nervously. She gripped the bed tightly in anticipation. If she could she, she would have seen the doctor smile to himself.

"Miss Germain," he said. "How would you like to see again?"

Rachel said absolutely nothing. The joking manner of the conversation had been completely swept away. In its place, she felt nothing but disbelief. It took her a long while to let the words sink in for her. She wasn't entirely sure what to think. It seemed like a dream. At any moment now, she would awaken, return to her life of darkness and abandonment. Yet as the seconds ticked by, she came to the conclusion that she was not, in fact, asleep at all. She was actually being offered a chance to regain her sight, her life.

Rachel let out a laugh.

"That's… that's impossible," she stated with a smile. "You can't help me with that. No one can help me with that. I have seen a lot of crazy things in my life, but there's one thing I'm certain of: you can't get your eyes back."

The doctor let out a sound of amusement. "I'm not trying to get your eyes back. I'm going to replace them with something better."

"Better?"

"You see, the eyes are like a camera," Dr. Blue explained. "Their sole purpose is to send data in the form of impulses back to the brain for interpretation. It's a process so incredible that—"

"It can't be done," Rachel interrupted. "I looked into it. We don't have the technology to match the incredible complexity that is the human eye. Trust me, I know."

"And that's where you're wrong. I think that I have come up with something just like that: an incredible micro-camera that accurately records and displays information in less than half of a second, even faster than the standard reaction time for a normal human being. Its connected to a series of neuron plugs that—"

"Directly send the feedback into my brain. Of course, in order to do that, you'd need—"

"A constant flowing, self-contained electrical current that can mathematically predict which colors to appear in which order to allow your brain to process the information, as well as a filter to cast out excessive dust particles and a high-definition range that only accounts for the space of the tip of your pinky."

Rachel stared wide-eyed at the man, her glass eyes gazing off to the left of his head. She had to admit it: she was impressed.

"So, I'm assuming," Rachel said hesitantly. "That this process to attach these 'miracle eyes' isn't very safe."

The doctor remained quiet for a moment. "Well, it requires lengthy and delicate surgery involving splitting your skull apart to reach your eye sockets, removing the damaged nerve tissue, attaching electrical wiring to your brain, and making sure nothing explodes, as… well, human testing hasn't been much of an option. There aren't too many people in the world who have no eyes in their head. To be perfectly honest… there's a very high chance you won't survive. Even if the operation were to go off perfectly, the results of using the eyes could be very unpredictable."

"Then why did you even bring me here?" Rachel asked, quite annoyed. "If you know it's not going to work, then why even bring it up?"

"Because it will work," Dr. Blue stated firmly. "I've spent years of my life researching this. If we are right about this, it could just be the beginning. Imagine robotics revolutionizing the world. Your friend, Celestia, told me that you once provided schematics to robotic legs for your friend who had injured herself. I've heard you speak right now and you sounded like the smartest nineteen year-old I've ever met. Clearly, you know where I'm coming from on this. Don't tell me the idea doesn't sounded exciting to you."

"It's not that," Rachel said, more restrained. "I just… I used to think about throwing my life on the line for cybernetics. I never thought I'd actually want to do that. It just seems a little—"

"Please, think of all the good it could do," the doctor begged. "If your surgery goes well, the funding we'd get is astronomical. We'd be able to help people all over the country. It's risky as hell, but the payoff is by far worth it. Wouldn't you like to make your life worth something extraordinary?"

Rachel opened her mouth to speak. She had damned science many years ago, and it had set her on a path of heartbreak. She had thought that it would be wrong to return, to turn back on her life now that everything had already been lost. Maybe though, she had it wrong the entire time. Perhaps running from what she cared for did not protect anyone. Perhaps, it just hurt them more.

Even for the blind, she saw a final chance to redeem herself for what she had done in the past.

"Alright," Rachel said softly. "I'll… I'll agree to be your guinea pig. For science."

"Excellent," Dr. Blue stated. "We've been preparing for this for a long time. If you want, we can perform the operation in two weeks' time."

Two weeks, Rachel thought to herself. In two weeks, everything would change, for better or for worse.

"I… I think I could do that," Rachel agreed. "I'd be out the entire time, right? Wouldn't feel a thing?"

"Wouldn't feel a thing," the doctor repeated gladly. Rachel nodded. She realized deep down that she had no other choice but to accept. She needed something to do with her life other than wallow with her friends in grief. Tara's death made her realize just how short life actually was. She couldn't afford to spend it moping. She needed to be free, to explore the world. And she couldn't well do that if she was blind.

The next two weeks flew by in a haze. Rachel spent the entire time getting her affairs in order. She had high hopes for the surgery, but she needed to prepare for the worst. She called all of her friends, leaving messages for them telling them that she cared for them dearly. She attempted to contact her mother who wanted nothing to do with her, and her father who wasn't even sure if she was still alive. She talked to neither of them. Most days she spent lying on her bed, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. She felt a constant feeling of worrying and regret. But deep down, she knew everything would be okay.

Everything will be okay, she thought continuously. Everything will be okay.

Rachel thought this when the day of her operation finally fell upon her, and she traveled back down to New York City.

Everything will be okay.

Rachel thought this nonstop as she was forced to disrobe, and was put in a hospital gown.

Everything will be okay.

Rachel never let go of hope as she lied down on a medical table, and heard the sounds of doctors and nurses around her. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths as a needle entered her arm.

"Are you ready?" asked Dr. Blue, who hovered above her. Rachel made light of the topic.

"Ready to die at your hands," she joked.

"Glad you're so optimistic," he said. "Supplying the anesthesia now. Don't worry. You won't feel a thing."

"Got it," Rachel said breathlessly. She knew that at any moment, the drugs would take over, and she may never wake up again. Considering this greatly, she suddenly spat out, "If I survive this, I'm getting a doctorate in cybernetic engineering. It's… it's what I want to do with my life."

"And you'll be great at it," the doctor reassured with a smile. "You're a natural."

Rachel took another deep breath. If she had the ability to cry, she surely would have done so.

Everything will be okay. Everything will be—

—okay.

Suddenly, Rachel woke up. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep. However, there was one thing that made her understand what had happened, and become absolutely shocked. It wasn't the faint sounds of relief by the doctors. It wasn't the splitting headache she had. It wasn't the feeling of a pillow against her skull.

The ceiling was blue.

__________

Patricia Marie Patrikson

Someone had just attempted to spike her drink. Pinky was sure of it. She had set her punch down for one minute, and she noticed a group of guys walking nearby. She didn't trust any of them.

Pinky, several years ago, was known as a "party animal". Of all of the insane and ludicrous stories that Dash had made up about her, that one actually held some truth. Granted, she wasn't a fan of drinking or smoking, or doing any sort of drugs during said parties, but she did enjoy them. They were a simple escape for her. The music, the dancing, and the atmosphere gave her a place to relax. There were no worries to be had at a party. She had all the time in the world to think things over. This was exactly why she bothered taking the two hour drive to Hartman College. She needed time to think.

As a rule, Pinky never let herself be sad during parties. It defied the reason for parties even existing. As such, she didn't cry when she thought about Tara. It was actually quite sad for her to think about. What she was different, however, was not that she was sad because of what was lost, but because of what she never had. Pinky, when she really thought about it, hadn't known Tara all that well. At the very least, she hadn't formed the same everlasting bond that Fiona or AJ had. As she recalled, most of the conversations she had with Tara usually involved her being yelled at for doing something stupid, or being ordered to shoot someone. They had never talked casually, which Pinky saw as quite a shame.

The only time Pinky really noticed that she and Tara were close was during the fiasco with Chrysalis. Pinky very fondly remembered bonding over a cupcake, and talking quite seriously about loss. Pinky remembered the exact look of surprise on Tara's face when she opened up about her past. For some strange reason, everyone at P.O.N.Y. had a preconception that she was dumb, and had no real knowledge of the world. Pinky herself only partially agreed with that. She had an entire journal to describe otherwise. So, when Tara had shown such surprise at Pinky being able to feel more than one persistent emotion, Pinky merely shrugged it off as typical behavior, and continued telling her story.

It seemed so long ago, yet it was only just over a month. So much had changed so quickly.

Pinky needed a change of pace. She had been waiting by the wall for far too long. The fraternity house she was in was filled with purple and green people and obnoxiously loud music. Pinky slowly waded through the crowd of drunken college kids, trying to find a relatively open center. She eventually found what she was looking for in the form of a living room, covered with posters of sleazy women. There were still teenagers mindlessly dancing around her, unaware of the true horrors of the world. If only they had seen what she had seen. If only they could understand the pain she had felt. Maybe the world would be a safer place if they did. Pinky closed her eyes, and allowed her head to bob up and down to the rhythm of the techno drone that never let up.

She wondered if anyone hated her. It was always a thought that occasionally crossed her mind. She knew full well that people found her grating at times; a never-ending stream of consciousness would do that. However, she specifically wondered if any of her friends had hated her. She supposed she wouldn't want to spend nine months with someone as imaginative as her either. The jokes were probably tiresome.

She took a brief pause from her worrying to notice how nice it was that she could think about these things without being stressed. And then, someone tapped her on the shoulder, and her solace was gone. Someone else then bumped into her other shoulder, and then someone rubbed against her back. Pinky then remembered that she was at a frat party.

"Hey, babe. How's it going?" someone asked her.

"Holy shit, you're hot," said someone else. The comments began to flow one after another.

"I got you a drink."

"Do you want to dance?"

"How about we go upstairs?"

"Ever kissed a girl before?"

"I am so high right now."

Pinky groaned internally. She was never going to get time to herself. One of the only downsides to being at a party was that she had to spend time with other partiers. Several years ago, she would have loved their drunken shenanigans. But she was a changed woman. It was almost like she finally grew up, despite the fact that to her it sounded terrifying. She just wanted some simple peace and quiet. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Hey guys, look!" Pinky suddenly shouted, pointing off in a random direction. "Alice and Jane are making-out with each other on the table!"

As she predicted, the majority of the partiers turned their heads, despite the fact no two women probably existed. Breathing a sigh of relief, Pinky dashed off from the group, moving quickly through the crowd. She pushed her way past horny teens and cups of beer, trying to find a place where she could be alone with her thoughts.

At some point on her travel, Pinky finally realized that she had probably changed for the worse. She was at a party, a place meant solely of one's entertainment, and she wanted nothing to do with it. She was too depressed to fully let herself have fun. In fact, having fun seemed to be a very bad thing to do. She felt as if someone would slap her for even attempting it. Many years ago, she made a promise to herself never to let life bring her down again. She was supposed to prove that she was better than what the cruel world wanted her to be. She made a promise that she would never let her spirit go. And now, all she wanted to do was slink down into a corner and rest. Perhaps she was just growing cynical. Perhaps, she was just growing up.

Suddenly, someone placed a hand upon her shoulder, and spun her around. Pinky nearly jumped out of her skin at the contact of someone else's flesh. She found herself staring eye-to-eye with a boy her age. She made a quick series of notes about him in her head. His hair had a fair amount of gel in it, so it remained slicked back when gravity should have denied it so. His eyes were hazel, a most unnatural color. His clothes were not that of modesty, indicating that he thought high of himself. He had a cocky smile, which meant that he thought he could get anything he wanted. Pinky quickly realized that she might have been the intended prize.

"Hey, slow down there," said the guy, who Pinky had imagined was named, "Ricky".

"Hi, hello," Pinky said with a small laugh. "You really have a grip there. I mean, that's pretty impressive for a skinny guy like you. Not to say skinny guys are bad or anything or don't have any muscle, if that offended you. I'm just saying—"

"You talk a lot, don't you?" asked Ricky.

"Oh yeah, what isn't there to talk about?" Pinky said quickly. Her words began to come out faster and faster, a technique which she knew how to use quite efficiently. "I mean, when I'm not talking I feel like I'm wasting time, and talking is just such a good way to know people because without we'd barely have any society left functioning, right?"

"Um… okay," Ricky said. "Say, I haven't seen you around here before. What's your major?"

Shooting people, is what Pinky resisted to say, although she would have very much liked to.

"Oh, computer stuff, gizmos, things like that," Pinky said nervously. She couldn't help but notice that Ricky was inching his way closer and closer to her. "Look, I hope you don't mind, but I've got a friend to meet up way over there, so I have to go now."

"I'll come with you," Ricky said, grabbing onto one of her gloved hands. "Or better yet, we could just get to know each other for a little while. I'm sure your friend can wait."

"Heh heh," Pinky said, slowly pulling her hand away. She was rapidly changing from nervous to disturbed. "I think it's great that you're trying to help me, but I really need to go—"

"But there's still so much we have to do," Ricky said a bit more forcefully, tightening his grip on her hand. Suddenly, Pinky became very worried. She tugged viciously on her arm, but Ricky's grip was consistently strong.

"Hey buster, let go of me," Pinky said sternly. "I'm not interested."

"No one's interested unless they take a chance," Ricky said, sounding more intent on reaching his goal. "Maybe I'll get you a few drinks; loosen you up a little. You won't be so arrogant then."

"Seriously, dude, back the hell off," Pinky snapped. Her fear had transformed into irritation. She was ready to unleash her fury on Ricky at any given moment.

And then, she was forcefully shoved to the ground. She never saw it coming. She was suddenly on her side, groaning in pain. Barely anyone around seemed to notice, and if they did, they were too drunk to care. Ricky stood over her with a scowl. He was finished playing games. Thankfully, so was Pinky. She glared at him as she slowly bent over, and removed the glove from her hand.

"Alright, you bitch," Ricky said, grabbing onto Pinky's arm. "Why don't you—"

Without warning, Pinky screamed and jumped to her feet. She lunged on top of Ricky, and aggressively pressed her hand to his forehead. He went wide-eyed as pain quickly ran through his mind. Pinky gripped his flesh tightly, feeling his memories soak into her mind. She saw his history of pampering and given gifts. She saw how he treated the maids who worked at his house. She saw that through everything he had been given, he had never once showed compassion to someone.

However, he saw all of her pain as well. Within his mind flashes of death and torture appeared, along with the tormented souls of those who were lost. The pain was overwhelming. He could not think straight, and began to spasm where he stood. It was a full sixty seconds before Pinky let go. When she finally did, Ricky stumbled backwards into a wall, and collapsed to the ground with a loud thud. Everyone around was attracted to the intention, and Pinky did the first thing she thought to do: she ran for the exit. It was in a panic that Pinky burst a hole in the crowd and managed to get out of the frat house. Her head was killing her, and she found that she was short of breath. She rested her hands on her knees, and she stood in the front yard and observed the house.

She had just transferred her memories to that man. She no idea she could even do that. For the brief moment that they shared contact, Pinky had shared her curse with someone else. She made them experience her entire life's worth of pain in a moment. It was both exhilarating and frightening all at once. Pinky had absolutely no idea what was going to happen to Ricky. He could have been traumatized for life for all she knew. He could have died from the shock. It probably wasn't as bad as she was making it out to be, but then again, Pinky did have a very active imagination.

Pinky immediately turned to her left, and walked away. The party meant nothing to her anymore. The entire night was ruined. In fact, her entire life was ruined. She still had so much on her mind from before. She began questioning every decision she had ever made. Pinky considered going to college in California, but now, she wasn't so sure if that was possible. Did she even like computers anymore? Wasn't she a bigger fan of baking? Or was that all nonsense too? Pinky did not know the answers. However, she was able to understand why, at the very least, she felt like this.

It was loss. Pinky couldn't handle loss.

When she lost her family as a child, Pinky swore to keep her emotions locked deep down inside. She refused to become another victim of the world. She would forever be youthful and happy, making the world smile all the time. However, this wasn't helping her. This wasn't helping anyone. She knew now that running from the pain could not prevent more of it. She swore to live and innocent life, and yet Tara, one of the only people she knew who came close to experiencing the same hardships, died anyway. Maybe, the answer to dealing with loss wasn't to suppress her emotions. Maybe, the answer was to learn from them.

There were so many problems left in the world, Pinky realized. Perhaps there was something she could do about them. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Why bother retreating back to school when she had the gifts to face the outside? Why bother hiding behind a computer screen when she could accurately hit a target fifty feet away with ease? Why bother taking someone's death in vain when she could use it as inspiration. Tara kept fighting for what she believed in after she lost her siblings, so why couldn't Pinky keep fighting? Who was to say it was over?

There were so many problems left in just Philadelphia alone. She couldn't possibly leave the city yet. Discord was still on the loose, and whispers had it that the Smiling Dragons were about to make a grand return. How was Pinky supposed to let that go undetected? She still had the ability to use her powers for something good. After all, responsibility was all a part of growing up.

With newfound determination, Pinky walked down the empty street as the blaring music continued on in the background.

__________

Anna-Jean Samantha Balle

"Why did you do it?" Celestia asked angrily. AJ kept her head down. It was enough of a struggle as it was. She didn't need to be yelled at for it. She already recognized her mistake. Now, it was just more torture than necessary. She had been sitting in the Briefing Room for what felt like hours, listening to Celestia's never-ending scolding.

"Will you just answer me already?" Celestia demanded. "Stop wallowing and talk! We need answers, and we need them now. Why. Did. You. Do it?"

"You wouldn't understand," AJ said quietly. Celestia growled. She had managed to restrain her frustration around the other girls, but she had no reason to hold back with AJ.

"I wouldn't understand? Tell me what I wouldn't understand! You go on an undercover operation without informing anyone of your status for a week. You purposefully leave your friends in the dark about your true motives. You cause hundreds of thousands of dollars in property damage. You allow your friends to suffer immensely before you so much as lift a finger. And, when you do finally decide to take action, you don't even manage to kill the target. Maybe your right: I don't understand how someone like you could continuously do something so foolish!"

"Have you thought that maybe I did all I could'a done?" AJ asked, somewhat offended. However, she could hardly get fired up when Celestia kept beating her back down.

"Clearly, you didn't!" Celestia said. "If you did, you would have shot Balle the first second he turned his back to you."

"Maybe I didn't want too, okay!?" AJ snapped. Celestia eyed her carefully, looking at her with a mix of shame and confusion.

"Are you actually suggesting that you had no intention of killing him?" Celestia asked accusingly. AJ sighed.

"It's not that," AJ said softly. "I would have done it anyway. I had to. He could have hurt a lot of people if I didn't. It's just… he was my father. He still didn't deserve a lot of the shit that happened to him. How was I supposed to just kill him?"

"By following a sense of honor," Celestia stated without hesitation. "You swore your life to us. Unless you've forgotten, you're a soldier, and soldiers follow orders. What if everyone just stopped caring about their responsibilities?"

"I'm not saying that—"

"What if people just did whatever they wanted whenever they wanted? In our lives, we don't have the luxury to live freely. The only good thing that has gotten us is a lot of grieving, and a lot of dead."

"If you would let me—"

"No, stay quiet for once!" Celestia demanded. "You need to understand what you've done. Do you know how easy it would have been for you to tell us what you were planning instead of leaving us in the dark?"

"You wouldn't have let me go to him," AJ said sternly.

"And yet you failed to tell us afterwards!" Celestia retaliated. "You found out who he was and you never let us know! What about the friends that you allowed to be brainwashed? Did you care at all that they could have been seriously hurt in the proceedings?"

"I tried to warn them," AJ said defensively. "I told them not to get involved, but they kept coming back. I tried my best to avoid hurting them, but they made it so difficult."

"Don't try to pass the blame onto them! You're the one who was too irresponsible to take out Balle when you had the chance."

"I… I needed to know what he was doin'. I barely knew anything about him, or his plans. I… I was just trying to see if he could have been saved."

The truth made AJ cringe. She had caused so much damage based on the blind hope that her father was redeemable. Even after all of the times he attempted to hurt her friends, she thought he could have been saved. It was a pathetic, stupid, childish hope that was not worth the risk. And worst of all, AJ knew it from the start.

"Well, congratulations, AJ," Celestia said plainly. "You tried to save a psychopath, and now, Tara is dead because of it. I hope you feel happy with yourself."

AJ opened her mouth to defend herself, but said nothing. She simply lowered her head, and hit her face underneath her Stetson. She felt guilty. Her father had killed Tara, and yet she knew that she was truly the one to blame. She never should have lied to her teammates. She never should have gone out by herself. She never should have risked their lives like that. In fact, she realized that she never should have brought them in the first place. They only joined P.O.N.Y. because someone attacked her. Their lives would have been better if she had simply never met them. It was a said but simple truth that AJ could not deny no matter how much she wanted to; everywhere she went, she brought death and misery with her.

"Look, that came out a bit… harsh," Celestia said quickly. Her expressions had softened. "I didn't mean to sound so angry. I just… it's been a long week. I'm not sure exactly how to feel about everything. It's not all your fault. A lot of people are to blame for what happened, including me. I'm sorry if I offended you before."

AJ scowled. Celestia's words sounded artificial to her.

"Look, I'm sure you did all you could," Celestia continued. "You never had any intention of letting someone get hurt. You couldn't predict what would happen. I know how much that girl meant to you. She was… talented. Very, very talented."

Celestia sighed, and walked over to her desk. A file was placed on top of t, and she opened it up.

"I know you probably aren't in the mood right now. I wouldn't be either. But AJ, you do realize that this is your job. People die all the time in this business. It's not the prettiest work in the world, but if we don't get it done. No one else will. We need our soldiers to be ready to fight at a moment's notice. So, I understand that you are mourning, but you can't be allowed to for long. We need you to be ready for whatever may strike. P.O.N.Y. was a complete failure, but you aren't. You still have limitless talent, and that is still very, very useful to us. You need to forget about those girls right away, for the sake of the mission. That's an order, Miss Balle. Do you understand?"

AJ remained silent for a very long time. Finally, after thinking about it for a long time, AJ nodded her head slightly.

"Yeah," she said tiredly. "I got it."

Celestia put on a small smile. She looked down at her files. "Excellent. We have just gotten a report from our intel agents. There have been a series of robberies at top secret government facilities we need you to look into. All three targets have been broken into by mysterious means, with no security footage available to capture the incidents. Most of the details have been restrained to the FBI, although they themselves have come up with no discernable leads. However, members of our staff have detected very faint traces of gamma radiation, possibly suggesting something to do with a MACER Device. If Macers are involved with the break-ins, it would explain the bizarre nature of these events. In conjunction with this, we have also been secretly gathering information on an organization known solely as 'P.U.R.E.' We suspect that this organization, based on their strange goals and funding programs, may have something to do with the robberies themselves, possibly even being the culprits. That is where you come in. Your job is to infiltrate the P.U.R.E. organization and find out whether or not they had any involvement with the robberies in any way, shape, or form. The mission is black: you'll receive no help from anyone on the outside, and you will be cut off from all communication with us. You are not allowed to be discovered by the members of the organization, nor are you allowed to initiate in any acts of violence with them. You will leave on a flight for Washington in two days, where P.U.R.E. activities are expected. You shall be supplied with—"

"No."

Celestia paused suddenly. She looked from her files, and saw AJ looking down and away from her, focusing very strongly on something. Her fists were clenched.

"Excuse me," Celestia said, quite confused. "What… what did you just say to me?"

"No," AJ repeated. "I'm not doing it. I'm not doing anything for you people anymore."

Celestia was not entirely sure how to react. AJ did not sound angry, just confident in her words. Celestia stood up from her desk, and opened her mouth, carefully considering her words.

"AJ, what the hell are you talking about?' Celestia asked. AJ spoke on in a drone.

"I'm not going to be your pawn anymore," she stated. "I'm done with fighting, I'm done with killing, and I'm done with taking orders from you. I've been here my entire life, doing whatever the hell people want me to do. I've never once questioned my orders, or thought that I was doin' somethin' wrong. But that's changed. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of this job. I… I quit."

"You can't quit, AJ," Celestia said sternly. It sounded less like a command and more like a plea. "Do you have any idea how many lives could be at risk if we don't do what we do? We need you to help us."

"To do what?" AJ asked accusingly. "To force more children to fight for you? To strip anyone else away of their lives just so you can feel some sense of accomplishment? Why should I have to sacrifice my life just to make yours better?"

"We saved your life! You should be thankful that we even decided to let you live!"

"After you tried to kill me. You stole my life away from me. You know, my father may have been wrong about a lot of things, but he was certainly right about that. What you do to people is wrong. Mac knew it was wrong. My friends knew it was wrong. My father knew it was wrong. The only person who doesn't seem to understand that is you."

"Maybe it was wrong!" Celestia said angrily. "Maybe I didn't want to force this life upon you, but it's too late to turn back the clock now. The past is in the past, and you have a sense of duty to uphold the lfie that was given to you. You always should have fought for us not because we made you to, but because it was your honor to fight for your country."

"Tara died because of me!" AJ snapped. AJ stood up, taking deep breaths to calm herself after her outburst. Celestia finally stopped fighting back, and allowed AJ to speak. The bitter girl spoke much softer now, as her emotions wore down. "Tara fought for her country to. Tara dedicated her life to making sure that we got our job done. But all we've ever done is hurt people. All I've ever done is hurt people. I made a promise to her, a long time ago, that she would be safe with us. I lied to her so that she would 'fight for her country'. She died because I was too selfish to finish the job when I should have. She was shot dead because I didn't have the strength to fire first. What kind of honor is that?"

AJ sighed. Celestia sat back down at her desk, and twiddled her thumbs.

"So… where are you going to go?" the chairwoman asked. "Your whole life has been spent inside of here."

"Who knows?" AJ responded honestly. "As long as I'm far away from here, I'll be fine. Anywhere that I won't have to think of this place."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Celestia asked in a pathetic plea. "You're so important to us. Who's supposed to fight for us now that you're gone?"

"I'm sure you can find someone," AJ said bitterly. "I just want to be as far away from here as possible. Let someone else be your toy soldier for once. It's over. Goodbye."

With nothing left to say, AJ turned around, and walked to the door. She placed a hand on the knob, and then paused.

"Oh, and one last thing…"

AJ suddenly turned back around, stormed over to the desk, and slammed her hat down in front of Celestia's face. Celestia watched her expressionlessly.

"Keep the hat," AJ said simply. With that, she turned back around, walked out of the room, and left.

AJ walked past the many rooms of Camelot with no feelings of joy. She just felt emptiness. She refused to have any reminders of the past. She needed an escape, a place where she could finally move on with her life. She had spent far too long as a pawn in someone else's game. AJ honestly had no idea what she was going to do once she left. She knew nothing else about the world except how to fight. Her sheltered existence was created solely for her to remain prisoner in the underground tomb for as long as possible, and horrifyingly, it worked. AJ was about to enter the world completely unprepared.

However, that did not deter her decision. If anything, it only strengthened her resolve. Her life had been stolen from her, and it was finally time to reclaim it. Her father had told her over a week ago that she was a ticking time bomb. Half of her life was already over, wasted through years of meaningless violence and bloodshed. She did not have much time left on Earth, but she refused to spend the rest of her days as a tool. She had no idea what to do with her life and she had no idea where to go, but AJ knew one thing more certainly than anything else in the world:

For the first time in her life, AJ was going to live.

__________

Rebecca Jennifer Dawson

The birds chirped merrily in their thick nests. The sun beat gently down upon their little blue heads, and even though they lacked a sense of understanding, it made them chirp and chirp constantly. There was not a cloud to be found in the sky. It was just past noon, and the sun shone directly overhead onto all beneath it, its warm glow encompassing the Earth and her creatures. It would surely be a day that young children would be outside playing games, or romantic couples would be having picnics in the park. There were no happy feelings in this place of death however. There lay only a heavy atmosphere, and endless divisions of stone tablets jutting from the ground. Some were grand, some were extravagant, some were even fully decorated. Many had flowers rested beside them or stones, attempting to bring joy back to the unloving souls who resided beneath the crust of the earth. However, only one was special.

The dirt crunched softly beneath her boots as she wandered through the endless maze of the dead. Her eyes scanned emotionlessly from name to name, constantly searching for something to pop out from the gray. So many names surrounded her that all individualism had been cast away within the haze. In death, all were equal. In the hot sun her green jacket had grown heavy and thick, and she tugged on it lightly to allow her skin to breathe. Her green pants were getting thicker by the moment, bogging her down in the dirt. Her sunglasses helped to block out the brightness that illuminated the world allowed her, allowing her the much-needed gift of sight.

Her eyes suddenly locked onto their target, and she began her approach. She calmly walked to the stone which called out to her in silence. She stopped just a yard away from the tombstone, observing it carefully. Slowly, she pulled off her sunglasses, folded them up, and placed them in one of the pockets of her heavy jacket. She ran a finger through her raven black hair, shaved so short that barely any remained. She read the imprinted words automatically.

Tara Sullivan. Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Friend. April 14, 1997—March 21, 2016

The words sounded foreign to Dash's ears. It had to have been her fifth or sixth time reading them, and she still barely understood their meaning. She couldn't help but wonder about Tara's family. How did they feel about all of this? Did they even know what had truly happened, or were they just fed lies to stave off their appetite? She could only imagine how hard it was to lose so many people close to her so quickly. It was miraculous that she had never experienced such loss.

"Hey, Spark," Dash said with a slight smile. "How's it going? I, uh, know I've been bothering you a lot lately. Probably just my stupid mouth running longer than necessary. I'm trying to work on that."

The grave said nothing in response.

"Oh yeah, you're probably wondering about these?" Dash said, giving a slight tug on her clothes. "It must be weird seeing me like this. In uniform. I wasn't that big of a fan of it either. I'm still not, not really. But I guess it's needed for my job." Dash briefly looked away from the stone, letting out a small, breathless laugh.

"I… I enrolled in the marines," Dash announced without enthusiasm. "I figured… hey I could probably use the discipline, right? You… you always said I sucked at following orders, Spark. So, here I am. Dressed here like an idiot in really sweaty clothing. I even shaved my head and everything. I guess the rainbow thing was bullshit anyway, but I… I kinda miss it. It's like letting… letting go of an old friend."

Dash aggressively rubbed something out of her eye. The tombstone stared at her accusingly, judging her. She knew exactly why.

"Look, I'm… still sorry I never told them about you," Dash said, her smile fading. "I know, I know. It was wrong of me to lie to them about it. But I… I couldn't, alright? They'd hate me even more if they found out you did something so stupid as to kill yourself for me. Don't try to tell me otherwise. None of those really like me. They all just find me intolerable. Maybe it's just cuz they all love you so much. Hell, one of them literally loves you, Spark. Her loss, right?"

The joke was met with the sound of chirping from the birds of a nearby tree. Dash's kept on a faint smile as she talked to the dead.

"I… I still don't know why you would do that for me?" Dash admitted. "You had everything. You had the better friends, the better powers, the better life, and you took those goddamn bullets for me. Sometimes, I feel like you did it just to spite me, just so you would know that I could never do anything as selfless as you did. You can be a real bitch about that sometimes. I just don't know anymore. I can't understand why anyone would sacrifice themselves for anyone like me at all."

Dash blinked away some moistness in her eye. She wasn't concerned about it, as she did not cry for anything. She was Dash, after all. Something must have gotten in her eye. Nothing else.

"I know this probably isn't going to be enough," Dash stated sorrowfully. "I mean, compared to what you could have done if you were…" Dash cast aside the thought. There were some words she simply could not pronounce no matter how hard she tried. "But… I'm doing something, Spark. I'm not going to waste my life anymore. For the first time in… well, ever… I have a purpose other than hurting someone else. It… it actually feels pretty good, you know? I wish you could have felt it."

The silence continued on, poisoning her with its emptiness. Dash licked her lips, and looked up into the sky. She still held her smile, even though her cheeks trembled slightly. She could feel herself start to break down. Of course, she could never really have a breakdown. Dash didn't have breakdowns.

"I really fucking hate you, you know that, Spark?" Dash said bitterly. "I hate how everyone fucking loves you. I hate your stupid political agenda. I hate how you act so stuck up all the time. I hate how everyone loves you when you don't deserve it. I fucking hate how happy you can make other people feel. I hate how goddamn perfect you are, Spark. Really, I do."

Dash bowed her head, swallowing a lump in her throat. Her eyes were moist again. Dash did not cry, she told herself. Dash did not cry.

"I... I hate you for saving me that day. I hate you for choosing wrong. But… I'm gonna make it right, somehow. It'll probably take the rest of my life, but I won't let you down, Spark. I'll make everything right again. You'll see someday. I'll… I'll make you proud."

Dash raised her head once more to look at the stone. It smiled back at her, although stayed mute. A single tear fell from her scarred eye. Dash did not cry. Rebecca did.

"I'm… I'm gonna miss you like hell, Tara," Dash said softly. "I… I have to go now. Sorry I can't stay longer, but I, uh… have to get some stuff ready. So… goodbye, I guess. I'll… I'll see you soon."

Dash took one finger, and wiped the stray tear out of her face. She looked at the grave for any final remarks it had to offer her. Like always, it had none. Dash gave the stone one final smile, and walked away. She put on her sunglasses once again, partly to hide her face from the sun, and partly to hide the world from her face. The dirt crunches softly under her boots as she walked away, leaving her emotions behind.

The birds chirped merrily in their nest. The sun beat down upon the earth brightly. The many stones lined the ground in perfect order under the cloudless sky. The dead were at peace, and all was well.

The End.