 
Dwindle

Audrey Higgins

Copyright 2013 by Audrey Higgins

Smashwords Edition

Originally Published: 11th March, 2013

Publisher: Audrey Higgins

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise transmitted without explicit written permission from the publisher. Circulation of this publication for resale with any other party in any format, professional or otherwise, is strictly forbidden.

Thank you for respecting the hard work and dedication of this author.

This book is dedicated to Will, for being one of my best friends who still cares about the faraway War in the Stars and for reading this idea before it was even a coherent thought.

Table of Contents

Prologue: The Interrogation Room

Chapter One: Great Deviant

Chapter Two: The Ambush

Chapter Three: The Night Shift

Chapter Four: The Wraith in the Grey

Chapter Five: Things Found

Chapter Six: Hunter, Hunted

Chapter Seven: Safety and Peace

Chapter Eight: Uncomfortable Introductions

Chapter Nine: Elusion and Discovery

Chapter Ten: A Reverse Set of Questions

Chapter Eleven: Reporting the Incident

Chapter Twelve: Relations and Relationships

Chapter Thirteen: The Beginning of the End

Chapter Fourteen: The New Watermaster

Chapter Fifteen: The Silent Cartographer

Chapter Sixteen: Upsetting News

Chapter Seventeen: Order and Argument

Chapter Eighteen: And Then There Were Two

Chapter Nineteen: Secrets and Dreams

Chapter Twenty: New and Powerful Beginnings

Chapter Twenty-one: The Birth of a Murderer

Chapter Twenty-two: The World as They Saw It

Chapter Twenty-three: The Name Game

Chapter Twenty-four: The Past of Oliver Dark

Chapter Twenty-five: Impossibility

Chapter Twenty-six: The Path for Coming to Terms

Chapter Twenty-seven: The Nature of the Beast

Epilogue: Death in the Snow

Prologue: The Interrogation Room

The man with the silver face sat. He didn't breathe. He didn't move. He just sat. Motionless. Staring at me without eyes, scowling at me without a mouth, accusing me with his posture of all the things I already knew I'd done.

He was terrifying to me. Only the dim light that emanated from a light bulb, of all things, shone from the ceiling, casting pale shadows against the harsh corners of the silvery table that stood between us like two hands separating a fight.

"Are you the one they call Elizabeth Myth Fisher?" his face asked coolly.

I blinked, but remained still otherwise to hide my surprise. There was no mouth. And yet, I heard the voice of a man as clearly as day. No, not quite that of a man. Something different. Something bad. It had a vibrating quality to it, as if he might have had a severe cough the prevented his speech to produce regularly. The vibrating quality seemed evil to me.

_Clearly the product of science_ , I couldn't help but to think.

"What are you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes where I thought his mouth might be..

"I am an electronic platform that is being contracted by the Primary Reconnaissance of Overpopulation of Biological Entities."

I recognized the acronym.

"Probe?" I asked. I glanced at Ollie, who didn't appear as if he'd heard me.

"We're at Probe?" I asked him, sitting forward.

"It would be best if you answered my questions directly, Deviant," he persisted.

"I don't understand many of your words," I said to him honestly. "From where do you hail?"

"The creation date and origin of this platform is irrelevant," he said immediately.

I sat back. This response, though a little mysterious, struck me as very rude.

"Have I done something to offend you?" I asked him.

"Identify yourself, Deviant," he said instead of answering, so I sighed.

"I have a lot of names. You pick."

"What is the name on your birth certificate?"

I shifted uncomfortably, squeezing my hands into tight fists in my lap just out of the silvery man's line of sight.

"I don't have one," I said quietly.

It made a small noise of disapproval. I felt inadequate, and this made me angry, but I was too afraid to voice it.

"Where are your registration papers?" came the silvery man's vibrating voice.

"I...I'm sorry, I don't have those either," I explained.

"Your passport and visa?" the vibrating voice pressed.

I didn't reply, but my silence was answer enough. I felt red with shame. What were these things that it required of me? And why was I without them? If it was etiquette in their land to have these items on your person, I must have appeared very rude, indeed.

"Where can I get them?" I asked hopefully.

It made something close to the clucking of a disapproving mother explaining something to an ignorant child.

"Passports are given with birth, as are visas. One does not simply apply for one like they did in the Old Times."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know anything about the Old Times, but I felt like this thing knew this. His tone of voice infuriated me.

"I'm not dumb," I said to it quietly.

The silvery man ignored this and asked,

"So you have no verification of your name or birth date?"

"No," I conceded, and irritation spilled into my tone like a wound might spill blood through clothes. "They must have forgotten to shove one up my ass when I was unconscious. But that sounds sort of like an internal problem, don't you think?"

He made a whirring noise that I took to be anger.

"I'm sorry," I said, not sounding at all very sorry, "to what do I owe this malice? Have I done you wrong, strange creature?"

"You have mutilated, perhaps irreparably, two other platforms like this one, and you have broken the arm of and disfigured an Exterior officer of designation three two one four. Harm of such officers can and often is punishable by death."

"Death?" I asked, smirking.

This was the only word I caught.

"That seems a little harsh, doesn't it?" I pressed, leaning forward with the feigned confidence I'd grown famous for in my homeland.

"Exteriors are the law," his vibrating voice explained with what seemed to be exasperation. "If the law is broken, in this case literally, there will be lawlessness. Weakness of any kind cannot be tolerated."

"Then your man wasn't doing his job properly," I said, smirking again.

"This platform does not recommend flippancy, Deviant," the silvery man stated coldly. "You would do well to remember where you are."

Something in the way Ollie shifted gave the enduring smirk on my face pause, and it dripped away into the creased flat line of worry it had assumed for so many weeks prior to this. I felt uneasy. The silvery man sounded powerful, and his anger inspired in me a degree of fear I hadn't felt up until that moment.

I shuddered as I thought of all the terrible things Ollie had taunted me with when we'd first met. He'd warned me repeatedly of the terrifying capabilities of his precious government agency, Probe. It hadn't occurred to me until just then that this Probe department might actually have all that power and more.

I was backed into the wall. My defenses flew up, and every muscle in my body tensed. I felt the first drippings of a cold sweat peeking out of the pores in my skin, and the tense fists below the table began to weaken and wobble under the duress. My weak and tired body reacted poorly to the stress, and I felt anger at the change the silvery man's voice could invoke with so few words.

"What is your name?" the silvery man asked.

"Why do you even care?" I asked bellicosely. "What's this even about?"

The silvery man – and Ollie – chose not to answer.

I was just a bad dog to them, I suddenly saw, a thing to be trained and used for their pleasure, a thing to condemn when it attempted access to free will. My name was to be given only for the purposes of ownership, nothing more, nothing less.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked loudly.

"The very nature of that question, my sad little Deviant friend, reveals that you are far denser than you already appear to be."

I did not understand, but I could hear in the way that the thing spoke that he was mocking me. I glanced at Ollie again, but he stared stoically forward, as if my feelings of fear and anger were magnified by a hundred inside of him. I felt angry at this change in him. The Ollie I knew never backed down, even after it was inappropriate not to yield. And there he was, next to me, in the face of my suffering, yielding.

It melted something warm, gelatinous, and disgusting in my center, oozing out to my extremities. It tasted something strongly of bitterness.

"If I am in trouble," I finally said, tearing my eyes from the man I'd thought to be my ally, "I do not understand why I am not being punished. Get it done and let us be on with it. Why the dramatics?"

"We must more thoroughly understand the status of your condition," the silvery man said.

"What kind of condition?"

"The condition of your existence. It is inconvenient for our war effort that you are alive."

I opened my mouth, but closed it again. Even behind the wall of fear, this felt like a blow to the stomach. I had not believed Ollie's stories, that my very existence was offensive to some. It should not have come as a shock, given the prejudice of my own people against me. I carried it everywhere.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why do you foster a pathological fear for being inside?"

I shifted, pulling at the sleeves of the new clothes strangers had handed me wordlessly.

"I don't, but..." I glanced at Ollie. Still nothing. "I felt sick. The water here tastes...strange. I do not like it. I wanted to find some like it is where I live."

"There is no water like that here," the silvery man interjected. "What you call 'your water' is full of contaminants."

I felt that melting speed up, and the form of it began to sag inside of me, making me feel strange and deflated.

"I refuse to believe that your quest for water caused you to become violent," the silvery man said.

I opened my mouth more aggressively this time.

"Two strange men with these – these black faces came into this very small square I was sitting in and took my arms. They spoke nonsense to me, and I –"

"The English language is the only recognized language by the High Council," the silvery man stated matter-of-factly.

I scowled at this.

"Well, fine, be that as it may, your English is not _my_ English, and I didn't know what they were doing. I was..."

"Yes?"

"I was frightened, and I attacked them. So what?"

"So, Probe is deliberating on whether or not to keep you."

For the first time, Ollie made a small noise.

The phrase "keep me" rang loudly in my ears.

"A person can't be kept," I said, feeling confusion, but also mild alarm. "Nobody can own another person."

"Probe owns you," the silvery man countered.

Tears entered my eyes.

"What about the sky?" I snapped. "Does Probe own that too?"

No answer. I sat back again, sagging further.

"There is no sky here," I whispered dejectedly.

"Even if you had escaped, there would be no sky for you," the silvery man offered.

"Why?"

"You are a mile underground, and you're in Probe's jurisdiction."

"A mile?" I asked, and for the first time, I could tell Ollie was listening because he said,

"A really long way down."

"Down where?"

"Beneath the Earth and many buildings."

"Beneath it?" I asked loudly, shifting to stand up. This caused me some alarm. "We need to get out then. I want to get out! The Undead live here, we cannot just sit here like this!"

"Holes aren't as dangerous here as they are where you're from," Ollie said gently, reaching his hand out to stop me.

"Oh really?" I shouted angrily, reeling on him. "And why should I believe anything that you say?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ollie asked loudly.

"'Kingdom will be great,'" I said in a high pitched voice that clearly mocked him. "'You'd just love it there!'"

I saw him squeeze his fists into his pants, but he said nothing. This constraint of his anger was unusual for him. As was his yielding. As was his gentleness. I swept it aside quickly with the fear that laid behind his eyes, and I saw what was there. His eyes told me that we were not equals, not quite, but he and I were more on the same team than we ever had been in all of our acquaintance. It was us versus them. Or rather, it was do-whatever-it-takes versus them.

Ollie would throw me at them to save himself.

More than I had in some time, I felt the need for progress – whether it be towards a conclusion or a new beginning. So I asked,

"Can we get on with the execution, please?"

"Do not toy with me, Deviant," the metal man ordered.

I glanced at Ollie for security now, my only familiar light in a land full of strange darkness, but still found little. He would not look at me.

"I want to expedite this – whatever this is," I quipped. "Do what you will or do not, but suspend the dramatics, please."

The silvery man replied with that same clucking tone of the disapproving mother.

"I cannot help you with this nasty mess if you do not allow me to assist you," the metal man said. "Where will we be with that kind of attitude?"

"Am I supposed to play your little game?"

"This is your last chance," the metal man said. "Final warning."

I glanced at Ollie. He said nothing, so, in spite of him, I laughed and lean forward, challenging the metal man to move.

"Or _what_?"

"Or we will rip the answers from your mind without your permission. We can do it this way, or you can be processed. One way or another, we _will_ be hearing this story from you."

Ollie stiffened at the word "processed." Whatever it meant, it wasn't good.

"You are to give a recorded report of your experiences up until the present moment of your interactions with Probe and all of its officers, which represent the companies interests at all times," the metal man continued. "In this way, a proper background can be established such that, at the time of your hearing, you will be judged appropriately and with accurate context given by your own words."

I noticed that the metal man called officers, officers like Ollie – surely – "which." Ollie was a "who," not a "which." Fear and sadness of the power of this agency began to inundate me.

"What is a hearing?"

"Judgment," the metal man said.

"For _what_?" I shouted, standing.

Ollie finally stood and faced me directly. He extended his hands appealingly, but I was too angry to care.

"No! Don't you – don't _touch_ me! What is that thing?"

I pointed to the metal man beside us.

"He's a computer," Ollie explained, hands raised in supplication. "Remember I told you about computers? Electricity brains. He's here to make sure you're not crazy."

"And what would that take?" I shrieked. "For me to exist? Does the nature of my existence render me insane? Since when? You've _seen_ me, Ollie, I'm not crazy!"

He shook his head in a way that was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. Ollie knew I wasn't crazy. But the look in his eyes revealed to me how helpless he made himself to be. He might as well have been tied.

"Why are you letting this happen?" I asked with a high voice. "What if they decide I am crazy? What then?"

"Then he'll process you," he said urgently. "And that isn't okay, Fisher, you can't let him process you."

"But this isn't fair," I said to him quietly, "and you know it. Why am I being tried? For existing?"

His mouth scrunched up with a moment's pain that he hid well from everybody but me.

"...yes," he finally whispered.

I leaned back, and the single word slammed into me.

"Then why did you bring me here?" I asked him quietly, to the floor in front of his feet. "What motive have you?"

The silence bubbled until his words burst through it.

"Your home is scheduled for planned demolition," he said to me.

I could feel his eyes on me, but it was my turn to avert my gaze.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"They're going to destroy it."

Numbly, I sat back into the chair beside me. Ollie took his place also. I didn't move. I could hardly breathe. I tried hard to hide my tears. As much as I hated it there, it was my world, my entire world. There was no longer an option to go back there for any reason. It was gone.

"What will they do with me?" I whispered to my lap.

There was a long silence. He was a slave to their forces too, and he knew it. I knew it. We all saw it. He was not the person to be asking for answers. The metal man was. Ollie was a prisoner, just like me, but in a slightly altered way. He was one of the lucky ones. Indentured servitude with a place of "honor" on an involuntary basis. I could only imagine the desperation to get out, to escape, and I knew he would risk everything to get it. Even me.

And for that, I knew, with sadness I did not expect to feel, that I would be lost for it, even if he had kept me safe for the present. It would be him or me. Of course, he would choose himself.

"I didn't ask for this," I finally whispered to my lap.

"Neither did I," was his reply.

I still couldn't look at him, but he stared at the side of my face. I knew that look. He looked almost human when he came close to apologizing. Not that he ever did. I was too good at giving him the benefit of the doubt. One of those days, I was positive, my patience would snap and the both of us would bleed very inwardly at the violation of this trust.

There were many things that I just assumed about him that he had never voiced. He rejected me repeatedly, but his eyes told the truth. He devalued me, debased me, and yet I insisted I was important. I was naïve to think that his budding affection for me – and the going of such growth had been so painfully slow – would be able to overcome his instinct to survive and to run away from Probe or his Master.

There was a pained silence. Ollie kept opening his mouth to say something, but nothing came out of it.

"You interact with each other as if I am not here," the metal man observed abruptly.

I said nothing.

"Why are you concerned?" the metal man asked me.

"I am afraid to die," I said bluntly. "I believe his actions will bring about my death."

Ollie stiffened, and the metal man made a strange noise.

"Afraid?" the metal man asked. "Deviants don't feel fear just as much as they cannot die. Dear girl, you are not _alive._ "

Tears brimmed in my eyes. I couldn't ignore the small noise that escaped Ollie, a small sigh of frustration and powerlessness, like that of a wounded dog that could not walk. Was it wanting to defend me? And if so, why didn't he jump to my defense? That he did not was wrong.

"I know," he whispered to me, leaning a little bit closer.

He saw the tears. He recognized the hurt. He wanted to console me.

"I know," he said again, but all I heard was "I'm sorry."

"If you know, then act on it, coward!" I snapped back.

He blinked, almost like he'd just been slapped.

"Nothing? Shocker."

His eyes glowered with new malice now, a purer hatred that I'd yet seen in him. There was the start of something terrifying, the welling of a monster I didn't want to see. It was anger – real anger. Wrath. It was a caged beast beyond the influence of Probe, but within its boundaries, he was a weapon to be unleashed. He was like a light bulb, and Probe was electricity.

And I felt very small.

"You've taken everything from me!" I said to my palms, and my tears finally broke the wall of my resolve, spilling down my cheeks silently. I turned up to look at him in anguish. His eyes roved all over my face, but his face was stoic, the perfect visage of a liar. Only his eyes spoke.

He felt desperation, but again couldn't speak.

"I'm so sorry," he finally said, but I just made a noise of disgust. I wanted him to be sorry, not to say that he was, not for my benefit. So I said so.

Instead of a reply, he reached under the table and squeezed the tips of my fingers into his leg. I tried to remove my hand, but he gave them another squeeze. This contact was unique and unusual, not in that it was unwelcome but in that it was in a different manner of contact. He asked for my fingers with his. He did not demand it as he had before. This was progress, comforting.

And distracting. His skin was soft in my palm, sweet, and the way his thumb moved a fraction upwards and downwards over my pointing finger forced chills to raise and fall on my skin. His hands were as beautiful as I secretly thought his face and body was.

I glanced at him shyly, and he at me, but his eyes broke the spell. I saw there, on the other side of a coin, what was hidden, what was waiting. Part of him, no matter how small, would take my throat with those beautiful hands and hold me in the air against a wall somewhere until I died. I tore my hand away, and his eyes crunched together with a myriad of emotions that I was sure even he didn't recognize.

"You have corrupted him," the metal man accused me, turning his flat "face" in my direction.

"So it would seem," I replied dejectedly.

"How did you do it?" the metal man asked. "Did you seduce him?"

My eyes widened, my face turning red.

"No!"

"Did you drug him?"

I began to feel overwhelmed.

"No!" I said again.

"Then you threatened him?"

"No!" I shouted louder. "I didn't mean it! I didn't want to –"

"What did you _do_?" the metal man asked louder.

"I don't know!" I shouted, covering my ears. "I don't know! I'm sorry! I don't know!"

Ollie cleared his throat, but otherwise didn't even shift to come to my defense. I felt so pitiful.

"You're embarrassed of me..." I said, clamping my eyes shut tight. "No wonder you hate me."

He finally couldn't take it anymore.

He took my hands, and brought them beneath the table. He leaned over to me then, pressing his lips into my ear. His breath was ragged against the cool flesh of my neck, and my hair brushed against his nose as it pressed against the soft part of my cheek. It was the closest he had ever been to me.

And he shook to his core.

"Everything you say now they _will_ use against you, Fisher," he said, and when his lips pressed together to form words, they almost seemed to kiss the lobes of my ears. "If you show them, they'll use it. Please, _please_ be quiet."

I felt small.

But I nodded, seeing through the look in his eyes, a fire in the fog.

"You are impeding her cooperation," the metal man said abruptly. "Dark – leave."

"But I –"

" _Now_."

After only a moment of hesitation, Ollie stood and left, without even looking at me. I almost wanted to stop him, I even shifted to get up, but I didn't as I was suddenly aware that I was being watched.

"Who can see us?"

"That doesn't concern you," the metal man stated firmly.

"Where is he going?" I asked.

"Out of this room."

"Is he going to be okay?" I asked, turning to face the man.

"Unknown," the metal man replied coldly.

I struggled to swallow suddenly.

"If I...if I talk, will you help him?"

"Yes," was the immediate reply.

"I have nothing to hide."

"Such is the way it always starts," the metal man replied. "I will begin." He cleared his throat. "Primary Reconnaissance of Overpopulation of Biological Entities, Progression Headquarters. Primary Log, Deviation case 314,159,265, subfield Higher 712, 462. 4:08 ante meridiem, January 2, 2298."

I made a sound of disgust, knowing not half of the terms he spoke, knowing there was nowhere for me to run, nothing for me to hide behind.

"Where should I start?" I said, scowling with disdain.

"Wherever need be."

"The end of the world was slow, and we were packaged into a region you all call the Dead Zone. We call it Dwindle, and it is comprised of three sections known to us as the Colonies. Hand, Turk, and Stronghold. They were havens, of sorts, safe holes in which the un-immune hid and the immune rested from a disease-riddled world. You call our sickness Necrosis, its victims Necros, but we called them the Undead, suffering from Undeath.

We were survivors, but not for our skill or resourcefulness. It was in God's hands what happened to us, and he found it humorous to allow the first survivors, people we call the First Families, to live. Living became the high road, however, as it became increasingly clear that death would be the easier route. Undeath was a fate worse than death, and no soul who was lost to it would ever be buried, damned to wander forever with the Horde until the body collapsed.

The people on the inside knew it as a more fearful and real thing than any, and they were trapped within a cage to keep the rest of the world healthy and alive. We called the cage the Wall, its entrance the Great Gate. It penned us in like animals.

This sacrifice was not one our First Families took lightly, and they hated the outsiders, people we called Outlanders. Stories were told only of their Great War, but the rest of their influence was silenced. Quickly was it learned to forget the outside of Dwindle, of Washington D.C. you say it was once called, but never was it taught to forgive.

It was because of science that the world had turned so dark for us. And so science became a forbidden art. It had been science, after all, that had allowed the metal birds to drop the great fire from the sky on the Bad People. It had been science who had made the Bad People in the first place. Science's only benefit was that it allowed the Bad People to become good, to change over time in their nature. Despite this very small benefit, science was still almost entirely frowned upon.

To dabble in science was to dabble in the ways of the warmongering Outlanders. Such things were imprudent and unacceptable, and when any did, they were exiled from a Colony for exactly one day. It did not take a genius to learn the lesson that was taught to those who survived the rite of exile for that one day. Giant massive holes dotted the road every few hundred feet. There were huge craters to remind us of the day it had all started. And every day, new buildings crumbled, fell, and died. The ghosts of old wars wandered the streets, their zombie shells remaining behind to fester and to feast. It was because of science, because of the Great War, that our life was as it was. This was the only life we had ever known.

And it was as such for many, many cycles. You call this time period years, I believe, and for that I will attempt to acclimate to your vernacular to more effectively communicate an understanding.

When I came to the picture, it was two hundred and fifty nine cycles since the metal birds had dropped the great balls of fire from the sky on the Bad People. After so many cycles, our ways had changed, and other rites became necessary if our younglings were to survive our lands. The Rite of Tasks was one, and all who reached the age of fourteen were required to take it. While there are many others, the Rite of Tasks is the one most pertinent to this story.

A lesion is made at a location of the child's choosing and blood is taken to be sent to the Healer. The Healer takes the blood and determines the tasks of that child for the rest of their days. If the blood is Tainted, and such a thing is inherently rare, only a few per generation, then the child is ordered to walk a different path, apart from the rest of the children.

Such a child is to be an Outsider, one who is allowed to traverse on the outside of the high, safe walls of the Colonies. In all other instances, going outside is said to be highly illegal if not accompanied by an Outsider, and most times those who do so without the watchful eye of a guardian are deemed exposed. The decision is made then to allow reentry or to exile such individuals. In most cases, and there have only been a hand's worth in all the cycles of our time in Dwindle, exile is chosen to protect the many. It is said that it is better to risk the lives of few to ensure the continuance of the many.

On my fourteenth year, they took my blood, and it was decided that I was Tainted. I was trained to be an Outsider, and, beyond that, a Cartographer. I was a navigator. A mapper. An elite among my peers. It was not an honor, but those around me said it should have been.

Being a Cartographer was a title with many jobs. I took it very seriously, as there was little in my life that required such attention, and I sometimes felt that I obsessed over it to keep from missing things that I had lost. My job required the most detailed of evaluations in all areas of life. It was up to me to investigate and eradicate hives of the Undead, and to know the ins and outs of medicine such that I could vilify all those would were lost to Undeath. It was up to me to heal myself without the assistance of a Healer, as my blood was Tainted, and as such I had to take care of myself almost entirely.

It was also my place to keep a vigil on the borders near the Great Gate where the Outlanders hailed from. It was forbidden ever to venture beyond there. I also kept a vigil on the land, kept surveillance on the creatures that lived among us, and gathered new resources to be examined by the Inventor.

It was a tiring, boring, difficult job, considering the landscape, and I found myself diving into this with all my heart and soul to avoid remembering what was lost to me. The list was long, one I tried to hide underneath my responsibilities, but it was one that never grew shorter.

People held Outsiders in high regard, and yet they were reviled by society for the Taint. Needed, but feared. Kept at arm's length. And yet, they were called upon in nearly all matters of great importance, like if a Colony should be relocated, where the nearest Undead hives were, who the next leaders should be.

This regard, however, did not seem to apply to me. I had been reviled even before I became an Outsider for the history of my family. As such, the stories I tried to tell others of the evolution of the Undead rang on deaf ears, and I was ignored. Warnings of the end were judged as paranoid ramblings, and I was brushed away by all but only the closest of my friends. Better stories were told of the treachery of the Outlanders, of the crimes of the Bad People, that kind of thing.

People needed stories to keep from the knowledge of our impending doom, so the Insiders called those who saw the coming truth liars, thieves, murderers. Foot, my friend, was a story man. He was my right hand in our affairs outside the Wall, though by law he wasn't allowed outside. Accordingly, Skate, my cousin, was my left hand man, and he was my very closest companion. I found this to be extremely appropriate as I was predominantly left-handed, as was I predominantly reliant on Skate than on Foot. I thought my uncle knew of their crusades with me outside too, but he hadn't the heart to actually arrest them for it. Especially after Skate disappeared.

It didn't take much to stir people up where I am from. Skate and I were the only ones who knew this life was a secret joke – that this higher power was playing games with His land with strings. We liked to make it a game to trick this String-man. But Foot was a more superstitious kind, more respectful, so I held my tongue around him when talking of such blasphemous things. This, among other things, was one of the many unspoken truths between us that should have been said.

Chapter One: Great Deviant

"Myth!"

I flipped around when I heard the deep rumble. I knew that voice, a man's voice, and it was one I loved to hear – especially when it was saying my name.

"What is it?" I asked, laughing as Foot jogged towards me.

He caught up with me.

"It's...getting dark..." he said breathlessly, as if he ran to warn me. "We...should probably leave, you know?"

"I'm not afraid of the dark like a baby, Foot."

I smiled at him as he punched my arm.

"I'm not a baby!" he said, smiling.

"Really?" I asked, smirking. "Could have fooled me."

"Well, any sane Insider would know better than me not to come out after you, but I just thought, you know, with the resurgence of the...Undead..." He shuddered at the word. "That maybe you should play it safe lately. Especially with the recent disappearances."

"I don't get paid enough to play it safe," I said, trying and succeeding to quell my discomfort at this topic.

I did not want to talk about the recent disappearances and what they meant to me.

"You don't get paid at all," Foot said. "Besides, you hate this. Let's just go in. Come on."

"This is my duty," I reminded him sternly. "Out here, I get to be away from everybody. Be alone. Considering how the others treat me, it's kind of a welcome break. I don't mind it."

His cheer faded somewhat.

"What do you mean? You don't want me here?"

"No, no!" I said, recanting my tendency towards foul moods. "I don't mind." I felt nervous. "No, I like it. Really. It's just thankless and dangerous and lonely, sometimes, is all I meant. But it's what I have. It's what I know."

I looked to the horizon, feeling the familiar stab of loneliness take me away for a brief moment.

"Well...are you okay?" he asked, obviously uncomfortable.

I swallowed my own discomfort and smiled, nodding.

"You need not worry on my account," I lied.

"Don't be lonely – I'm here."

I said nothing. He was with me, that was true, but he only came when it was safe, when it was convenient for him. Sometimes, because Skate and I were awful people, we spoke poorly of him behind his back because of his fear of the outside. And only after Foot began bedding girls who were not me.

I smirked with both bitterness and amusement as I thought this, ignoring the guilt that came.

"If you wanted to be here out with me, why didn't you just ask your father to be an Outsider?" I asked after a moment.

I knew why. He valued his place in the Colony too much. To be an Outsider would shame him horribly. It made me feel sick, so I tried hard to focus on his words instead of my feelings.

"I wouldn't be able to do it," he said, shrugging. "I don't have the constitution. Not many people do."

"I do," I said.

"Yeah, you do, but you're special." He seemed to become aware of himself. "I mean, unusual. But not like...bad unusual. Just..." He stopped himself. "I'm just not like you."

The thought did not brace me.

"Why did you really come out here, Foot?"

He opened his mouth to reply when a howl, far off but close enough, ripped through the air, making us both jump and then freeze.

"Myth," Foot said, gravely now, "we should really just go back. Whatever you're doing, can't it wait until morning? Come on." He added, "I worry for you out here."

"I'm almost done marking this path," I said back, ignoring the jump in my pulse at the words.

I glanced back. I'd been kicking the debris in the fashion I always had, to let myself know I'd been there before. To an average person, it would have just look like a pile of crumble on either side, but to me it was obviously a path.

"But the dogs, Fisher, should we not –?"

"I wouldn't be worried about the dogs," I said, shaking a chill out of the depths of my soul.

"That's not what Evergreen said," Foot said, looking about with his gun. He looked suddenly grim and so were we. "She told me to look out for dogs. Told me just a few mornings ago before she left."

"You know she's never liked dogs, Foot, her prejudice says little of the truth in real life."

I was trying to brace him, but I did a poor job.

"I don't know..." replied Foot seriously. "Evergreen seemed to know what she was talking about when she spoke with me this last time."

"Since when are you and Evergreen such good friends?" I asked defensively. I felt rancorous. "How did you even approach her without her shouting at you?"

"She's not too bad – once you get her talking." He glanced at me. "She likes you, you know."

"Yeah, right," I said, laughing bitterly. "She doesn't like anybody – awful witch."

He drifted close to me.

"You shouldn't speak ill of her in her absence."

"Why?" I asked harshly. "You think I speak ill of the dead? Have you decided that for her?"

He said nothing.

"She could last out here for weeks if she stayed away from certain places. She may be aged, but she is not stupid."

He hesitated before whispering,

"You shouldn't be so harsh about these things. People don't like it."

"Do you think people would like me if I chose not to speak this way?" I snapped, harsher than I'd meant to. "I'm more of an Outsider than just in title, and you know it."

I kicked a rock sullenly.

I thought of Skate. He was the only one to keep me in high spirits, the only solid, unbreakable connection I fostered between myself and our Colony. Skate was my beginning, really. He was what started my waking up to what was. Skate is the beginning of this story.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Foot asked softly.

I nodded grimly, determined not to look at him.

"How long has it been?"

"Two weeks..." I whispered, my voice hard to prevent tears.

He heard it.

"And what of your aunt?"

"Crabby Gabby?" I snapped, sneering. "I don't care for her any more than I'm sure she cares for me."

"Myth..." Foot admonished half-heartedly.

"She is always speaking poorly of me. The only person who stops it is..."

"...Skate," he finished for me.

His voice hardened me.

"You know, _you_ could help me too. I know it would damage your perfect reputation, but I might get a few less bruises here and there when Rhyme beats me."

I felt more than saw him stiffen next to me.

"You know that I want to."

"Do I?" I asked.

He stopped me now with a gentle hand on the shoulder. I turned to look into his breathtakingly handsome eyes.

"What's wrong with you today?" he asked. "Did you see something?"

I shuddered as her removed his hand.

"No," I finally said, turning back to my path-making. "Just the opposite. No sign of them."

My voice began to crack, and he noticed.

"Let's talk about something else," he suggested.

"Hey – how's Iris?" I asked suddenly, if for nothing else than to change the subject from myself.

But the new topic wasn't much better for my emotional well-being. I thought of how beautiful she was, if he thought she was as beautiful as he used to think I was – if he loved her as much as he had once loved me. A sickness curled around inside of me at the thought of the two of them, and I could hardly look at him for knowing that he had everything that I wasn't – a beautiful, appealing woman.

He blinked awkwardly next to me, and I found that I suddenly couldn't look away.

"Uh...good, I guess. She's good. We're good."

Jealousy coursed through me as he said this, but I kept my voice expertly level, saying,

"Oh. Well, that's good. I'm...I'm really happy for the two of you."

"Yeah...yeah."

He nodded slightly, distantly. We'd never talked about her before.

I cursed my stream of consciousness inwardly, wishing with all my soul for a lock on my tongue. But I was already dug into the hole, I thought, so I might as well probe a little. Just to see how he felt. Sate my burning curiosity to curb my jealousy.

"You love her?" I asked, trying to sound playful.

I failed. Miserably.

And silly Foot was always so honest. Honest to a fault to everybody except to himself.

"Yeah," he said fairly, nodding his head. "Yeah, I think so."

I felt regret, hate, jealousy – and respect, which was worst of all. For everything I'd done, he was still friends with me, after I'd rejected him, after I'd excluded him. He was a good man. That was the worst. I couldn't hate him for being who he was.

And I wanted to. But I would be in love with him, in either case, so it didn't really matter.

"Do you know how hard it is to love somebody that's not there?" I whispered out loud to myself.

But he heard, of course, and became flustered almost instantly.

"Oh, I..." He trailed off.

"Skate, I mean," I lied, shrugging nonchalantly. "My mom and dad. All of them."

But it was a lie. I meant Foot. I meant to tell him how hard it was, and I knew it. I reaped all of the detriments of the relationship and none of the benefits. I was in love and told to wait, to hold on, while he thought or moved on. There was no time to wait and think. Our lives were too short. It was such a waste.

"Watch out," he said, catching me as I tripped.

"Yeah – sorry..."

I chopped at the low feeling silently, knowing it was insignificant to all but me. It was my fault he and I were the way we were, and I had to live with those consequences. I had to live with having nothing and no one. I had to live with the fact that only Chess, the Inventor, could cope with me now.

Suddenly, there was a crunch. I stopped. Foot bumped into me. Our breath was noisy, too noisy. My heart began to pump. He obviously hadn't heard it, but I had. My ears were prone to the noises of a predator's steps.

I could see the edge of the crater that we lived in, the fallen, underground array of flooring that was Hand. We were close to the Skyway, a gate named because of its facing the sky. It was fenced in by a line of debris and toppled cars that my First Mother and First Father played a part in creating. I could hear people talking. I could hear life within that hall.

Dogs never came that close. They knew to stay away from me. They knew to stay away from the noises of life, mostly because that was where I lived.

So it was not an animal. It was something far, far worse.

"What –?"

"Sh," I said.

"Myth –!"

"Shut up!"

I squeezed his wrist. He stopped at the contact. The impulses of anxiety were flowing from my fingertips to his. I sensed his panic.

The shuffle came again, unsteadily. I flipped around. Foot shouted and swore, drawing his little handgun instantly, where mine was already cocked and loaded.

There was a woman, or what had once been a woman, standing before us. Her skin was pale. She gasped every few moments, as if chills ran through her constantly. Her face was distorted and flaking. Skin peeled from there in vast quantities. She was soaked through with sweat and grease, almost gray. Blood dripped from her face, wounds formed in the shape of a jaw, a bite-mark. A single bite-mark. It was a dark, dark greenish black with foam forming around the outside, white dots appearing all around it and moving out from there.

"That's Evergreen," I said without realizing it.

My eyes wouldn't believe.

"What?" I heard Foot ask, far off.

Tears began to enter my eyes, aching at what they were seeing.

"That's Evergreen."

He said nothing. Maybe it was shock.

"That's Evergreen," I said a third time, looking her up and down through my blinding tears. "I can't believe it."

"She's Undead?" Foot asked himself. "How?"

"I don't know," I whispered, feeling tears. "I don't understand."

All thoughts of action were jammed.

"Myth, let's go!" Foot said, tugging my elbow. He was incredibly urgent. Fear became his driving force, and he tugged at my arm harder. "Let's go. Come on – let's go now. Now! Right now! Myth, she's an –!"

"I know," I whispered softly.

He didn't let go of my arm, like I was his light in the dark, but my voice stilled his fear.

I stared at her unseeing eyes. They searched wildly for something, tears pouring out of her in gallons. Her chest heaved with sobs. Her hands stretched outwards desperately, twitching occasionally. She muttered continually, gibberish. She shouted every few moments, like she couldn't control it, like something was trying to get at her.

"Evergreen!" I shouted to her. "Evergreen, can you hear me?"

"What is hap – what is, oh..." She shouted again, as if in pain. "Something is hap – something..." She shouted again, sobbing. "I need you – tell me – what's going on..."

Blood poured from her eyes – blackish and purple. The eyes themselves were yellow. The irises were an unnatural, sickly green. Her tongue was a disgusting purple. Sick white foam poured from her mouth like water. She shook entirely. Her weak hands flailed out for me in her darkness. She screamed and screamed, trying to find me, shuffling around for me. I saw the fury behind her eyes, the hunger, even if she couldn't see anything else. Undeath made you blind for the duration of its gestation, and when Undeath was complete, that was when the eyes were granted again to the individual.

"Can you see me?" I wondered aloud.

Shaking overtook me. _What did it matter?_ I thought. I knew what was to come. I just had never needed to perform the rite on someone I had personally known. They had always been bodies. It was always sad, true, but bodies were never faces. Never names and memories and histories.

"Evergreen," I whispered desolately.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" she screamed abruptly. "GET AWAY!"

I instinctively shoved Foot behind me even further, and he lost his footing. He recovered well enough to shoot the ground near her feet, just barely, and she withdrew.

"Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me..."

Foot readied his gun again, a sidearm only, but I shook my head.

"Don't shoot her..." I put my hand to his raised gun and lowered it.

"Myth..." he whispered, as if he knew what I was feeling.

"Shut up, Foot!" I took a breath without taking my eyes off the woman. She came at me, slowly, and I was afraid.

" _Myth_ ," he said firmly, but all I heard was, "Do it!"

"Don't kill me," she pleaded, dropping to her knees in supplication. "Please, don't kill me, don't kill me, please, I'm begging you! Please!"

"You know what you have to do, Myth," Foot told me with a shaking voice.

"Hold – wait!" I shouted back. "Just – just wait a second!"

"Don't kill me," she pleaded. "I can help you, I can help you...please, I can help you..."

"Myth!" Foot snapped, anger penetrating his fear.

"Shut _up_!" There was instant silence. "Just – shut up, okay?"

I tried hard to think of what else I could do, knowing what I had to do. There was only one solution. I knew it. Foot knew it. Even Evergreen knew it. I released the safety on my gun, a small clicking noise, and Evergreen heard it. Her face gave away her knowledge, and her lips upturned in despair. That was the worst.

It broke me to see her broken.

"No..." the woman said.

She shook her head emphatically.

"I'm immune. I'm immune. I'm immune."

She said it over and over again. She began to laugh hysterically and her neck twitched too. I felt terrible that she was so lost, and confused as to why she was at all. Then, I thought of our stories that had been ignored, of the evolution of the Undeath sickness.

If it began killing the Outsiders, we would need miracles to save us.

"I can't!" she mumbled to herself. "I'm immune! I'm immune!"

"You're not immune, Evergreen," I whispered.

"But I am!" she shouted back fiercely, with anger that didn't make sense.

Her mouth began to slur her words. It wasn't her mouth to speak with anymore. It was the mouth of an Undead.

"Find Myth. Find Myth. Find Myth." She began to chant this instead, rocking forward and back. "Myth?" She looked around blindly, as if just waking from a reverie. "MYTH!"

"I'm here!" I called. "I'm right here."

"I have to find Myth. I have to find Myth. She's a Cartographer, you know!"

"That's true, Evergreen," I replied, feeling a sad smile tighten on my face. "What do you need?"

She suddenly reached into her clothes. She pulled out a worn box – one of the smallest I had ever seen. It had a small, thin white box on the inside. There were symbols on the dark, outer box. Maybe the inside was paper. It looked rare, whatever it was, and surprisingly well preserved. Most things were burned or destroyed. This looked fresh. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

"I have a book for Myth. Myth. Myth." She laughed again and her eyes began to twitch involuntarily. She arched her back and howled ferociously before speaking again. "It was from the Gallery. The Gallery. My Gallery – the place I keep my things. All my things. Nice things. Shiny, nice things. I keep them there."

She laughed maniacally. I narrowed my eyes.

"You've never shown me your Gallery," I replied gently.

"It was a secret!" she snapped viciously, like an animal defending food.

I always thought there was something there she didn't want me to see, but I learned later that she was right to keep me away. I wouldn't have been ready for what I might have found there.

She coughed again.

"Myth's mom is dead." I felt pain. Evergreen threw the box down, as if its noise solidified this declaration. "But not in here. Her mom is always alive in here – nice and safe and warm."

She was speaking in crazy tongues. My mom was dead. That was that. She didn't exist anywhere. Not anymore. Not in the way I needed her to, anyway.

"Books have stories," Evergreen continued conversationally. Her words were insane. But she seemed oddly lucid. "It's Myth's. She is now keeper of...secrets. All kinds, dark secrets. And she's alone!"

She screamed and lurched within herself, like something wanted to get out. The more she spoke, the more obvious it was that it was next to impossible for her to speak.

"There are Deviants and people. Myth is a –" She shook her head and screamed to the sky, her genuine nature slipping through. "HELP ME!"

"Who is it from?" I asked. "Evergreen? I need you to stay with me. What's in that book?"

Perhaps, I thought with excitement, there were magics only she knew of that could bring my mom back. I had heard, back in the Before Time, that people had ways of making others appear before them without them being truly there through strange metal portals.

But this was the stuff of science, and science and the magic it spawned was universally scorned. I felt hesitation and guilt as much as hope that these forbidden arts might give me a chance to see my family again.

"Is my mom in there, Evergreen?" I asked hesitantly.

"Words!" she shouted. "Words only! But memories! Hidden memories! Secrets, hidden...hidden from you!" She laughed again. "Mommy, mommy, had to hide, mommy, mommy, went and died!"

She laughed hysterically. I felt a world of pain as I asked,

"What secrets, Evergreen?"

"Secret of you – of we! All of we here to keep the secrets of the few! The big secret!"

"What secret?"

Abruptly, Evergreen threw her hand across her face and her knuckles slammed into her cheekbone. The force was sickening, and I heard something inside of her crack as she howled like a feral animal.

"I'm not sick!" she shrieked in every direction, foaming at the mouth. "Not sick! I'm immune. I'm immune..."

I had to remain collected. Evergreen was deteriorating, and in a moment of clarity, I realized she'd likely gone to retrieve whatever this "book" was exclusively for me – and she was dying for it. I had to ask the good and necessary things fast, or I would lose my chance forever.

"What's a book, Evergreen?" I asked softly.

"War," she answered simply, giggling maniacally.

I furrowed my brow but couldn't resist a shudder. I'd only ever heard of war, and its remnants were all around me.

"Will it bring war?"

"No, you are war."

I retracted now, thoroughly insulted.

"I am not!"

"The book has war," she explained. "Your family is war. It's Myth's war now, her book. Only when ready, mommy says, only when old. Myth's though, that be..." She nodded, like making a valid point. "Myth's..."

"Yes, I know, Evergreen – the book's mine. Okay. What do you mean my family is war? What does that mean?"

"You are," she said matter-of-factly.

"No, what does that mean?" I asked louder.

"Great Deviant!" She twitched again, and her laughter became all the more disturbing. Then, the laughter faded into something sinister.

"That is why we hate you!" she growled. "That is why you'll BURN!"

She lunged forward blindly, missing us by many feet. She screamed out in frustration and tears came out of her eyes as her chest heaved up and down with the fervor of her hatred.

"But what is it? Evergreen?" I grunted with frustration and fear, but she lashed out again.

"YOU ARE GREAT!" she screamed. "AND YOU WILL BURN IN A THOUSAND HELLS FOR IT! YOU ARE THE VILEST, MOST IMPURE SCUM IN EXISTENCE AND I HID IT FOR YOU! AND NOW I'LL DIE FOR YOU, DEVIANT SCUM!"

I didn't know what to say.

"YOU AIOS HAD BAD BLOOD, AND DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE! BUT WE ALL DIE FOR YOU JUST TO KEEP YOUR LEGACY ALIVE SO YOU CAN ESCAPE AND RUIN THE REST OF THE WORLD!"

"What is an Aio?" I shouted back, full of tears.

Foot had put a hand on my shoulder. It seemed he could tell the effect her words had on me. So much loathing.

"ALPHA AND OMEGA, YOU IGNORANT SLUT!" she snarled. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY ARE! HOW LONG OUTSIDERS HAVE EXISTED TO MAKE SURE THAT YOUR FILTH ARE PAIRED TOGETHER WITH COMPATIBLE HUMANS – LIKE ANIMALS THAT ARE BRED TO TRY TO CREATE AN OUTSIDER WHO IS ALSO IMMUNE!"

"I'm so sorry, Evergreen!" I finally sobbed. "I'm so sorry for what I've done!"

"IT IS NOT WHAT YOU'VE DONE, IT IS WHAT YOU ARE!" she shrieked. "AND I AM GOING TO DIE FOR IT!"

"Why are you going to die for it?"

"Because I have to warn you!" she snapped, quieter now. "Outsiders exist also to serve people..."

"How does your death serve the people?"

"Run through a hive..." she whispered. "Got to Gallery, ran through hive, and I saw."

"What did you see?"

"They are coming!"

"Who?"

"THEY ARE"

" _Who_?"

"Your destroyers...the death of all things...the end of our world."

My blood turned cold.

"The Outlanders," she explained, twitching. "They will see. They will find the hidden people with their science and they will destroy us all!"

"What?"

"The Bad People! The Gate exists for the Bad People."

"Are they Bad People?" I asked, feeling faint.

She began to laugh.

"No..." She laughed harder. "No! They will see _you_ and kill us all! Deviant scum..."

"What is Deviant, Evergreen?"

It was important to me. It sounded familiar in so many ways.

"Deviant is an Aio...the start..."

"I am?" I asked. "I'm the start of what? War?"

"You are an Aio. A child of a Deviant."

"I don't understand – explain it to me...please, I don't – where's my mom alive?"

"Myth is the beginning..." Evergreen stared up at me finally, seeing me for the first time with new, Undead eyes. "And Myth... she is the end." She laughed. "Alpha and Omega. Aio. Beginning and the End."

Her body stopped shaking. All in a moment, she looked healthy – but she was suddenly far, far from human. It was time for her to leave our world. I raised my gun with bated breath and held it there, trying hard to see my friend. I couldn't find her. Her mouth was sunk, her eyes milky, her pupils growing larger and smaller every second. Her hands were claws, long, long double jointed stubs. She bent over onto them, like this was the position she was born standing with. It was the position of an animal. Not my once mentor. Not Evergreen.

I closed my eyes as she began to run at us. She was so close I could smell her when my finger pressed the trigger. I heard a wail, a mixture of beast and friend, and I clenched my eyes closed even more. I waited for her to get up...and I heard nothing. My eyes remained closed.

I waited. And waited. I heard the echo of the single shot ring through all the land to create instant and ultimate silence. The noise stayed away for a long time.

"Myth," Foot said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "She's dead. Come on – let's go."

I opened my eyes. A pool of blackish blood was spreading about her body from a hole in her brain. It poured out there like a faucet of deep crimson. Pink flesh fell about her, slabs of meat that looked like raw food – not a human. Not my mentor. Not Evergreen.

I stared at the hole for a long time, unable to move. I remember wondering why she was dead on the ground. I remember feeling pain and weakness. My hands and arms both shook and I blinked hard to rid my entire soul of chills.

But I couldn't fight the inevitable. A sob swept through me as I stared down at her face. I didn't even know her that well, didn't even like her really, but she was alive. She was supposed to always be alive.

Because now...now, the fate of the rest of the Colony rested solely on my shoulders.

Chapter Two: The Ambush

"You don't understand," I said emphatically to the robot. "She doesn't understand what is going on – how we do things!"

"She will be made to understand," the robot replied calmly. "Just like all the rest. She may be unique, but she is no exception to every protocol we have established up to this point."

"Show her to me," I ordered.

A hole in the wall appeared, as if it suddenly turned to water, and I saw her. Her mouth was fluid, and she leaned forward, lips moving rapidly. I blinked in surprise.

"How did you get her to talk?" I asked, my voice shaking noticeably.

"We told her to talk," the robot said back plainly.

I turned back to it.

"And she didn't fight?"

"We exploited her fear. A thing easily done. You should be familiar with this."

It was a veiled question, and my stomach churned at the thought of its implications. The memories it dug up were painful. The haze of forgetting was now lifted, and I was back again to the only life I'd ever known.

"Exterior?" it asked me.

"I'm not an Exterior," I said. "Don't call me that."

"Your records indicate –"

"I don't give a shit," I snapped. "I'm not an Exterior."

Through the silence, there was the distantly mechanically whirring of his parts processing this and analyzing it.

"She has changed you," it said.

I said nothing and stared pointedly at her through the one-way mirrored window. I did feel different – changed for the better. I didn't want him to call me an Exterior. It just didn't feel right. Not anymore.

"You've never let a subject bother you before, Exterior."

"If I corrected you again, would it matter?"

"Probably not, no," the robot replied.

"Well, I don't like what you're calling me. And I sure as hell don't like what you're calling her."

"The term 'subject' offends you?"

"Yeah," I said into the one-way, watching her but not seeing. "Why do you do that? Call them subjects? They have names, you know. Feelings too, believe it or not."

"Feelings?" it said back with something close to disdain. "A Project has no more feelings than a dog or a horse."

I ached inside with the words.

"I won't be able to go in until we both tell you what you want, will I?"

"Correct," the robot stated.

Strangely, it hurt to know that. I put my hand delicately onto the glass, feeling an even stranger, unpleasant sensation in the depths of me. Just the vision of her had an effect on me now. I felt almost sick, and I didn't know why, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant. It was a dull, aching agony I didn't understand.

The robot broke the silence again, asking,

"Why now, Oliver?"

"Why now what?"

"What is physically affecting you? You shiver."

I shrugged.

"Your temperature is approximately .06 degrees above normal."

"I'm tired," I dismissed.

"Your heartbeat increases when you look at her, and your pheromones spike," the robot stated again.

Finally, I turned to him, feeling panic to reject something I didn't understand.

"Okay, maybe I have the flu or something! What about it?"

"She affects you," the robot explained. "Is it because she is female? Attraction has been known to occur between prolonged exposure between humans and their Deviant counterparts."

"You think I've been _exposed_ to her?" I asked, snorting.

"I think you've been away from physical intercourse for a very long time," the robot explained with that same painful honesty. "Unless, of course, you and she...?"

"What?" I asked, all laughter gone. "No! No, of course not!"

"Human beings are full of needs," the robot pressed. "It's possible that your need to mate is overcoming your –"

"Woah, woah, woah!" I said loudly, feeling the shivers the robot described worsen. "You have _no_ idea what you're talking about!"

"Well, then how do you explain the sudden shift in behavior? It isn't possible for you to have _feelings_ for her."

I said nothing now. I had also once believed it to be impossible. Right up until it wasn't impossible.

"She is just a Deviant," the robot remarked. "A machine."

"She bleeds!" I snapped suddenly.

There was a silence.

"Do you want to make her bleed?" the robot asked delicately.

"What do you mean?" I asked dangerously, turning to face it. "We're _not_ doing that! Not here! You asked for her to talk, so she's talking! End of story!"

"It was only –"

"Nobody gets to _touch_ her, least of all me!"

"Your records merely imply –"

"Whatever," I said.

I didn't want to hear about what my records implied. It wasn't like before. It would never be like before again.

The words drove me to look at her once more. It made me uncomfortable again, seeing her so outlandishly anxious. She had the most infuriating poker face, but under the light, I saw everything. Fear. Pain. Sadness. Anger.

"This is so different," I said suddenly.

"This is fairly obvious."

"But more than – I don't know."

I watched her mouth move fast with the rhythm of her long story, and I knew it was far from finished. I didn't want to hear some of it. I knew some of it, a lot of it, maybe, would be about me. I didn't want to hear.

"There are...some cases...after prolonged exposure, of course..." the robot began, "of Exteriors becoming what we call emotionally compromised."

"Yeah? So what?"

"Have you been?"

"Been what?"

"Emotionally compromised."

I wanted to hide. The panic that had emerged at the mere suggestion of fostering any desire for her emerged once more, heaving inside of me, causing me to feel nauseas all over again with feelings I didn't understand.

But I couldn't be. If I was emotionally compromised, she would be all alone out here. I couldn't let that happen, no matter what I felt or how strongly I felt it.

"I'm not emotionally compromised," I stated – firm, like I had been before, I thought. "It's just been a long time with her. Maybe I've been exposed, but its okay." I forced a smile onto my face that savored strongly of poison. "I'm back now."

"Eleven months is more than the recommended duration of time logged with a Project subject," the robot admonished.

"Well, it wasn't like we could just up and leave!" I retorted, but the anger wasn't there.

"Eleven months" rang in my head.

It felt like such a short time with her, but I felt a kinship with those months. The time was beyond Probe order, beyond the pressure of what was right and what was wrong. Without Probe control, there were no obligations. There was freedom to do what I wanted – to know Fisher like I wanted. That was how it was supposed to be. That was how I wished it still was.

"You are attracted to her," the robot declared.

"Look, what do you want to hear?" I snapped, beginning to pace to work off my nerves. "That I like her? Okay, yeah, fine! But are we _involved_? No! Hell no!"

"This does not change the fact that she means something to you."

I rolled my eyes with a reluctant smile.

"I blew every chance I had with her the second I took her off that rock."

And part of me deflated at the truth behind the words.

"So you admit that you wanted this 'chance?'"

I sighed, even as my insides shook.

"She seems to trust you," it persisted. I felt something deep inside of me, something wonderful. "Can you tell me what you're feeling right now?" I knew he could tell what it was, even if I couldn't. "Can you explain that to me, what you are feeling right in this moment? That flighty feeling?"

"No, because I don't understand it!" I cried out with frustration.

I looked back at Fisher, wondering what it was that I felt. I found myself drawn to the curve of her neck where I knew on the other side lied the mark. It looked warm there, and soft. I wondered, in a moment's weakness, what it actually might feel like. I'd looked at her lips in that room, just half an hour before. They looked so much different, and I had wanted them.

It had taken everything out of me when she flicked me away in fear.

I realized the direction of my thoughts and slammed down the barrier, keeping all thoughts of her away from my fiendish impulses. I had always been good at that, severing ties to keep myself alive, and I felt confident that I was successful, even if, right then, I felt weak to do anything to defend myself against her.

In Washington, I had to do it a few times a day to remind myself of what she was to me. If I let it be more, if I gave in to those impulses, she would instantly be nothing. I had to preserve this, at least. Even if we weren't friends, I still wanted her to mean something to me. Besides, she was a Deviant, right? How could I of all people ever be interested in a Deviant?

"We can help you, you know," the robot said reassuringly.

The sagging part of me perked up with hope.

"Yeah? How?"

"Someone else can come in to help you," it said. " _After_ your debriefing."

"Okay..." I said wearily, and I began:

"I started this story as a petty murderer. A killer. A professional, of course, but a killer all the same. You bred me to kill, raised me for it, so I guess you should know this. But I guess your stupid records need thoroughness, so for posterity's sake, here was my life before this.

I hunted down beasts. Sometimes "unwantables." Other times, most times, I killed Deviants. For record's sake, Deviants are clones – and I assassinated entire camps of them in a matter of minutes. A professional killer of Deviants, actually. Oliver Dark, super soldier.

Maybe I don't have a right to look back at all the morally unacceptable things I had to do for our cause and question it, but I still do. Some of it was necessary. I took the muck others didn't want to see and I buried it. I did the hard things so that other people don't have to.

Some of it, though, some of it was just...sickening.

But I was compliant. I didn't ask questions. I did my duty. Plain and simple. I did it not because I cared for the cause but because they were Probe's enemies. I was told to do, and I did. I was nothing to them because I was invisible, a non-entity. I was a lethal weapon that couldn't be seen or heard, if I didn't want to be. I was a force unseen until it was too late.

But I knew too much. I had left the Exterior force, elected to abandon the cause, despite the shadowy rumors that few would survive very long after that. In a way, my departure from their illegal program was like suicide. But a week went by then two then five then ten. A long time went by, and I didn't die. I was good at hiding, I thought. I'd always been exceptionally talented. A diamond in the rough, I was told. But I stopped trying to hide when the guilt dried up my resolve, and they found me again, tucking me back into their little flock as if I hadn't left.

But it was different after my return. I wasn't back in Probe's arms. I was caught between its clutches, waiting for the worst assignment imaginable to be sent on to die. That was where Washington D.C. came up. The Dead Zone. And that was okay with me. Going out with a fight was better than drowning in beer somewhere dark, even if it was with a shady agency I knew I could no longer trust.

But I wasn't the only lucky winner to be sent on this fantastic vacation.

The first on our little "team" was Alison Bright. She had a tendency to be extremely cruel and unreasonable. Something seemed off about her. She was cold, calculated, but she played the part of the selfish and greedy freelancer. I didn't buy it, and I thought there was more to it right from the beginning. I just didn't know how much more.

The second was Pierce Tanner. I enjoyed his refreshing ability to deal with my surly antics. Needless to say, I don't always play well with others. Most people were either offended or scared out of their minds, but then again, most of the people that I'd ever met in my life had seen me as nothing more than a suit of armor that was usually followed by death.

Pierce didn't care. He said it was because he was out of the Army, and I didn't question it. I knew the Army was one of the few tough legal organizations left. I was part of an elite force very unlike that organization, a force weaker people might have even called terroristic, and I was employed under the utmost secrecy because my very existence was illegal. I was an Exterior, allowed outside the walls, allowed to work outside the law. Pierce and I clashed because of this disparity in philosophy, but I respected his courage, ethics, and leadership. Even if I wouldn't show it.

Paige was this man's husband. Compared to the rest of us, there was, definably, nothing wrong with her. I wondered why she had come at all when I found out that she was a psychologist, not a soldier, who'd been studying the evolutionary emotional development of Deviants. I didn't like her immediately when I found out about this, but I didn't say anything. She could come and watch me exterminate D.C., but that didn't mean I had to talk to her about it.

Besides, she was more right than I want even now to admit, whether you think she's radical or not. You haven't seen what I've seen.

Anyway, I was in charge of these soldiers probably because I was the only one who had ever been owned by Probe before. Usually, their oldest dogs retrieved the biggest bones, so I headed the expedition unto death.

The official story was that we were sent just to look. To see if we could re-colonize it. It didn't matter to me, really. If I was there to die, I would die. It was as simple as that. It wasn't my call. I was the hand, after all, not the mind that used it.

Besides, at the beginning, like I said, I willed death with open arms.

We trudged on, trudging being a very appropriate word as we sort of meandered in a given direction, moving forward determinedly but with a resignation I found fitting for our situation. I walked beside Paige, and she turned to look at me occasionally. Long before she even spoke, I knew she was gearing to say something, so I remained by her and waited patiently for a chance to tell her to shove it.

Finally, she asked,

"Why did you take this job, Mr. Dark?"

She didn't look at me but waited just as patiently as I had been.

"They told me to take it," I answered.

But then I scowled, caught in her trap of paranoid psychological questioning. There was little I could do because I broke the unwritten code of answering. That meant she could continue – whether I liked it or not.

"Do you feel this is enough reason for you to take this job?"

"They tell me to shoot, I pull the trigger."

I glared at her for daring to speak to me about such things. To question my authority had been taboo up until that point, and it was sort of like the beginning of the end after that.

"You don't feel anything about it at all?"

"That's how it is," I snapped. "They told me to kill everything here. I'm good at it. You're not. That's why I'm here. That's why you shouldn't be."

"You don't mind killing things?" she asked levelly, maintaining her nauseating judgment-free voice.

"No, I feel numb," I admitted bluntly.

I hadn't meant to sound so weak, I remember thinking.

But I had, so I stopped talking, feeling what I could feel of discomfort at the time. I couldn't really feel anymore at all, that was true, but, like I said, this was the beginning of the end when all sorts of things started to unravel inside of me. But right then, I didn't care about anything. The furthest I got to caring that I had no family, no friends, was...

Well. I honestly don't remember a time.

"I suppose you've killed Deviants before then, haven't you?" she asked. "You're an Exterior?"

"Who told you that?" I asked edgily.

"You just did," she said, laughing to herself.

I just shrugged, hiding my surprise that she didn't seem to be at all bothered by this.

"I don't have to be an Exterior to hate those things," I explained.

"The Deviants, you mean?"

"Obviously," I snapped, rolling my eyes.

My hate created in me a cancer of ice around my heart that would not melt for anything or anyone. I thought it was good sometimes, even useful, but other times I secretly hoped and prayed for a single drip of happiness or sadness or fear to slip through the cracks.

"Probe knows you well then – to send you here after...that."

She glanced at me, trying hard to surface a reaction.

"I guess," was all I said – curtly.

"You're not afraid of Necrosis, Mr. Dark?" she asked me quietly. "Of this place?"

"It's Ollie," I finally said. "And if it happens to me, it happens to me."

"Necrosis, you mean?"

"Yeah..."

"You've seen it and you don't even care?"

I didn't reply. I'd only ever killed a few Necros. The one I remembered most clearly was too far for me to notice. Probe had procedures to make sure nobody ever got within five hundred yards of them. It had been a woman – I think. I couldn't tell.

"I only know what they tell me," I said dismissively.

"And what is that, precisely?" she asked.

I spoke exasperatedly.

"The Great Deviants created a virus two hundred years ago. Necrosis. Five original clones – you know they're called Great Deviants, right? The perfect models?" She nodded. "One of them went crazy and built more Deviant scum, created a virus that would kill us all, and then proceeded to drop bombs on Washington's doorstep, invoking a war between man and machine."

"That's the Probe version," she corrected cautiously after a moment. "Now what's the truth?"

I snorted.

"You don't think they're the same?"

"They rarely are," she said with wizened boldness that I had not expected out of the woman.

"Okay," I said, "so what do you think happened?"

"I heard that the Great Deviants were invented to further human knowledge. They built Necrosis, which human interest groups then weaponized. One of them went insane and rebelled to stop it, but all but only a few were then silenced. To defend themselves, they were forced to weaponize the very knowledge they had helped create to protect humanity, and they used it against us to survive. We handed the world over on a silver platter just because we decided to end violence with violence."

"That's a cute little story you have there," I said nastily. "Tell me, does that justify the mass genocide that followed? Does that justify this?"

I motioned around me.

"Those things did this," I said, my hatred so well-rehearsed and so deeply ingrained into my soul that it had been printed there. "We built them, and they got out of hand. And look where its gotten us. They deserve _no_ mercy. None."

"Brutality in war is always on both sides, Mr. Dark," she whispered quietly, but not submissively.

"Whatever," I said, flinging my hand out towards her as if to shoo her away.

But she didn't go.

"What did they tell you was the mission's purpose?" she asked abruptly.

She probably sensed it was a good time to change the subject.

"Why is it your problem?" I asked, looking down at her.

"I'd just rather like to know why I'm being sent to die and figured I'd ask you."

I considered the question out of something close to pity.

"They want to build a city here," I said finally. "They want to re-colonize – we're running out of room in Freedom's Progress and we aren't making much ground outside in the colonies, no matter how many we slaughter."

"Why?" she asked, sounding for the first time genuinely curious. "It seems impossible to come here, where it all started, to build a new city – I mean, look at this place."

"It's a military move," I said quickly, impatiently. "I just follow the Masters."

"You trust the Masters and your Council?" she asked. "Respect them?"

"No," I said flatly.

To admit that I did would give away that I was an Exterior.

"Have you ever even seen them?"

"Not in person, no. I don't need to to understand what they want from me."

"But you're an Exterior. You're the Master's eyes and ears."

"I told you already," I said exasperatedly. "I'm not an Exterior."

"You didn't tell me that, no. Were you Army then?"

"No."

"Then what were you? Deduction leads me to believe you are either a murderer or a liar. Which is it?"

"I was young and I was stupid," I said quietly. "That's all you need."

"But you're here," she said pensively, almost like it was interesting to her.

"I'll support their crusade against the Deviants," I conceded, feeling irritation that she was questioning me at all. "But I'll never work for them again after this. The Council is corrupt. Arrogant. Ignorant. Wrong, even." I looked to the horizon, where the grey sky met the rocky debris. "But they've granted me clemency, not that it matters to you."

"What did you do wrong, then?" she asked. "Did you defect?" She smirked. "Or you really are a murderer?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You wouldn't need clemency from Probe unless you're the reject. And usually...they don't let you live much longer after that. So...we're obviously here to die."

She was right. It was obvious, after all. They wanted me to die on this mission. There was no real reason to send me in to such a dangerous place. Like I said, I was nonexistent, and I knew too much. And I was going to die. What was strange too was that the thought of death did not bring me fear. The wounds that I would receive were nothing. I could ignore the pain, like I always had. Sometimes, I almost willed it. I wanted my guilt to end.

"We're getting close to something," Ali called back.

"To what?" I asked impatiently. "Where the hell could there possibly be?"

"How about we drop the attitude, princess?" Pierce asked me.

"Just shut up and keep moving," I ordered, nodding ahead of us unnecessarily.

It was the only solid thing that stuck above the hills of rubble for miles.

"What a brilliant plan," Ali said. "Are you open for suggestions?"

"No," I snarled to her, turning around.

She didn't.

My mind slowly returned to its own world as we trudged on the path to nowhere in particular. And the single thought rang deep within my head: I was going to die very soon. I couldn't help thinking it over and over again, bitterly, almost indignantly. The world had done me countless injustices and I was still going to die like this.

But I'd asked for this, I found myself thinking. I'd wanted it. I didn't deserve to feel indignant or even bitter.

I looked around at all of them, projecting the inner hatred I felt outwards towards the world. How weak my team was, gathering together – needing each other. Ignoring their fate. I didn't need other people. I never had. I didn't need home. I didn't even have one. But, strangely, in that moment, I was honest with myself. I found I wanted to go home anyway – wherever that was.

I accidentally sighed. Paige was passing me.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" I was frustrated with myself. "Let's move faster people."

It was an unfair request, but they obliged, as usual. Their compliance annoyed me. Hell, everything annoyed me.

I kept telling myself that I was doing it for the will of the Masters. I breathed, I ate, I slept for my Master, and the strangest thing was, I didn't even know why. He continued to ask things of me, demand them, and I never failed to disappoint. I followed him like a dog, an irrationally loyal animal that would fight and die to defend whatever it was that he needed me to defend. I hoped, before the end, I would just be able to see what that was.

Especially when I knew the end he'd decided for me would be so soon.

I just didn't want to do it anymore. I had never hated life so much, never willed it so much to be over. I left Probe for a reason, and I hadn't so much as stepped near it after I left the force. It had only been a couple of years, yes, but it was long enough for me to have forgotten what it felt like to be in their web. That I was back forced me to remember. And I didn't want to remember anymore.

I knew I would have to give up everything, or Probe would take everything. I just had so little to give anymore. I didn't even have a will. I was pathetic, in a way, and I could only despise myself even more. I would fight the world until the end out of spite, but what happened didn't really matter either way.

But I didn't want to fight death anymore. I was so tired of running.

"What's a P-2?" Paige asked beside me.

I sighed audibly and looked at her exasperatedly. She was good at interrupting my internal conversations. I was so used to having them, being alone all the time, that I often had no idea how to speak out loud. So I mumbled,

"What?"

"A P-2. What is it?"

"Outside Progress, there are two kinds of people. Priority Twos, who work mostly in intelligence, and Priority Ones, who work mostly in the field. That answer your question?"

"I'm a P-2 then?"

"Yeah, I guess, if you really want to be. I'm a P-1." I sneered. "I'm your superior."

"How did that happen?"

"I told you already," I said, clenching my free fist impatiently. "I've already worked with Probe."

"Pierce is a P-1."

"He only worked for the Army."

"Only?" she said, with the first flash of anger. "He gave forty good years of his life –"

"– to a cause that hasn't gotten any further than the Master's plans have," I finished.

She huffed and walked ahead of me a bit, obviously irritated and angry with my opinion. A flicker of internal panic made me consider apologizing, but I couldn't, so the matter was quickly dropped. It kept her away from me anyway, which was as it should have been. She wouldn't have to miss me when I was gone.

"What time is it?" Ali asked from the front.

"Four," Pierce said. "We're almost done for today. Keep your eyes open. The Necros come out at night, remember."

"Yeah, we've heard the bed-time story, old man, okay?" I rolled my eyes. "The scary things come at dark. We got it."

"I just love your sunshine, cupcake," Pierce said sarcastically. Then he stopped us. "Watch your step here – there's some sort of..."

He trailed off. It was a contraption that hung from the ceiling of a house we walked through. It was only a piece of the frame, hardly two walls and a support, but it was a solid enough building all the same. I looked the contraption up and down.

"Good thing this isn't a trap," I said, setting it before the others could walk through it.

I walked ahead of them, rolling my eyes at their awe.

"Let's move!" I ordered.

We began to walk through an opening to the other side. There was a small valley in the rubble where walls rose and fell on either side. It went on like that for a long way, almost like a –

"Is this a road?" Ali asked. "It looks cleared out, doesn't it?"

"We don't have time to double back," Pierce said, which was true.

We had already walked for at least a good thirty seconds. Turning back was no longer an option. If it was another trap, we were already in it.

"Let's go," Pierce said.

He glanced at me for an okay, but I wasn't listening. I looked around, feeling the air get colder and, with each moment, more and more dangerous.

"I have a really bad feeling about this," I whispered to myself.

"Wait!" It was Ali. There was panic in her voice. We all stiffened to her – a soldier's stance – and she was motionless for a moment before saying, "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Paige asked.

They all cocked their guns at the same time. I didn't because I didn't care. I didn't have the capacity to. I already knew my fate. It didn't matter if I lived or died trying.

"Bright, hear what?" I was the impatient-voice-of-reason-that-knocked-people-to-their-senses kind of guy. So I didn't play with dramatic antics. "Hey! Bright! Respond!"

"No, I hear it," Pierce said.

He tilted his head. I tried to hear it too, walking over next to Ali. We were surrounded by buildings, walls and falling frames. I looked about continually, hearing a faint shuffling noise. It came from above. It was sort of a rustling sound, but it wasn't too far off. Maybe it was getting closer. And then I felt it. My sixth sense of tension kicked in. It didn't matter if I valued my life or not, my adrenaline would punch me into doing everything it took to keep myself alive.

"Something's wrong." I turned to Pierce. "Turn around." We had walked a good hundred feet from the trap in the building. "Turn around – go!" I looked at the walls as we began to jog back to the trapped building. "Walk faster – go, faster! Go! Hurry!" I heard the noise again. I knew, if I turned around, I would have been able to see it. "RUN, MOVE, GO!"

"LOOK OUT!"

I jumped out of the way as a dog flung itself at the space where my head had just been. I stumbled and fell to the ground, my gun preventing me from catching myself, and my head bounced painfully on the ground. The dog recovered faster than I could have and it bit at my side. Immediately, pain exploded from me like it hadn't in years. The dog tore a piece of my skin off with the sickening rip that I knew, and I immediately started punching at the place where it was. I heard it yelp as I did it, but it was determined not to let go.

I heard gunfire and the dog fell limp. I began to bleed even more heavily at its release. Pain made me cry out a little and gasp as I tried to sit up, tried hard just to breathe. Throbs pounded through my head as I realized the sun would soon be setting and all the predators in the world would descend upon my bleeding flesh.

I yelled out. There was no time. There was no medic. There wasn't anything to help me. I was on my own. I remembered what my Master had said to me.

"The Council does not expect you to survive this mission..."
Chapter Three: The Night Shift

"What does she mean?" I began to mumble to myself. I started pacing. "What is a book? My mom can't be alive in the book..."

I looked at it. No, it was definitely much too finite for my mother to fit. Even all the magics I'd seen from wayfaring travelers hadn't made me believe that someone could be brought back to life. I sighed and tried to let the noises from my mouth calm me. But it didn't work. The voice I needed to hear was Skate's. And he was gone.

"What is Deviant?" I looked to Foot and spoke a little louder without realizing. "What is a Great Deviant?" My voice was croaky, my eyes swollen with tears that still needed to be shed. "Do you know?"

"I...I'm sorry – I don't know, Myth."

It was all so confusing and mixed up. It couldn't mean anything. The book wasn't mine. It was no one's. I was no Deviant, let alone a great one of whatever that was. I wished I had had more time.

"Maybe it has to do with the Bad People from the Great War?" Foot offered hopefully.

I didn't know. Neither of us did. After a moment of standing, I realized it had quickly become dark.

"Go to Hand," I said suddenly, turning to Foot. "Tell them there's an Outlander – maybe more – coming. Make ready the gate early. You must hurry."

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice full of trepidation that I'd never felt before.

"I have to search her body," I explained dismissively.

And I had to burn it, but I wouldn't tell him that.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

He was sweet and gentle, the way he said it, but, once again, I knew I didn't have time.

"Yeah – go, Foot. And hurry up. It's getting dark."

I squeezed his wrist and pushed him in the direction of the town a little. He stared at me for another long moment before turning back to the town.

I leaned over and snatched the little box she'd died for before too much blood could stain its contents. I held it in my fingers, twirling it slowly, and it opened, revealing the other boxes I'd anticipated. I'd seen other boxes like this, with markings just as strange, but they were mostly burned. The paper on the inside would have been valuable if it was not, but the paper always was. So this made the boxes with paper on the inside just plain old garbage. Nothing special.

These boxes, I saw immediately, were new, and the markings on the inside were not faded but dark and deliberate. A chill passed over me as I realized that this was something that had been preserved from a different time and that it was very old.

But I decided to look at it later. I tied it to my waist with the twine that spun around it, and it stayed there fast.

I quickly grabbed the emergency bottle full of alcohol from my pack, crashed it on my now dead friend, and lit a priceless match from my wallet. I found myself staring at that match until it burned me. And then it burned her too, dropping from my hand to share in its wealth of destructive power. The fire warped her skin immediately, too thin to do anything else, and then it evaporated into the air above her head.

I felt the need to speak, so I whispered,

"You were a good mom when you needed to be." I looked down at her. I swallowed hard with guilt and confusion. "I spoke poorly of you before..." She was almost completely gone now, and I spoke to ashes. "I'm sorry."

And, with that, I turned my back on her ran. Running felt so good. I was fast. Faster than some boys, even. It was unusual, even for Outsiders, but I always had a way of sticking out. Often, when I cried the hardest, I found it best to run far, far away just for the adrenaline of it. Such was the case in this instance. I ran to feel better.

It didn't help because I was not running _from_ but instead running _to_. Hand was surely waiting for me.

I made my way to the silver stone chair, knowing the secret second entrance was just beneath it. The Skyway would be closed by then. I opened the hidden metal hatch, a hump in the ground, and I jumped down inside without thinking. I shut the roof behind me, feeling new urgency, and I peered down the levels. For perspective's sake, I will describe Hand for you.

Hand was a hole, an entire building that was covered underground by fallen rubble and walls. But it was not a complete hole, not like this one. Half of the building had been ripped from the second half, and this allowed the building to have collapsed slightly on its side. Against the deep rubble of the outside, though, it allowed the levels to appear as rows of rooms that each family dwelled in, gathering at the center for trading, eating, cooking, or conversing. Above the little hole was the Skyway that allowed light to flood in on clear nights and bright days, convincing the little rats that wanted to remain caged that they would forever be safe in the ground.

I jumped down the stairs to the courtyard, where people had already started to gather. I looked from face to face, looking for someone, anyone. I saw people, lots of people, but I didn't see faces. Tears overwhelmed me.

I heard more than saw Chess emerge from the crowd and relief filled my every bone. He ruffled his dark hair and smiled in his way, lopsided, confident and shy all at the same time. He was tall, much taller than I was, and somehow built strong enough to lift many bundles of food that were traded when the Outsiders from other Colonies swept through. His pale skin stood out in the crowd, as did his scent. He smelled of fresh dirt, not rubble or dust, and of wood, a musky smell that I recognized immediately because of long nights spent together talking in the weeks preceding the events that I am describing.

He was really good to me after Skate left. He'd always been good before, but he seemed to know that I needed someone. It was a shame that this all happened the way it did.

"Hey," he greeted me, his voice lower than Foot's and a little more sarcastic, a little less cocky. "Foot said you were right behind –" He stopped when he actually looked at me, when he saw my tears. I tried to look away, but he put a hand on my shoulder.

"Myth, what's happened?" he asked seriously. He pulled me closer to him as someone bumped into me from behind.

"What's wrong?" he whispered to me. "What's happened?"

"I..."

I couldn't continue for a moment. My entire body shook. I found it difficult to look at him, at how kind he was. Something about his kindness was better than Foot's had been. So I closed my eyes, turning my head from his ardent gaze.

"Evergreen's dead," I finally whimpered.

"Oh my..." He took my hand and squeezed it. "I'm so sorry, Myth."

"She..."

I couldn't speak for a moment, but I knew the now was not the time for tears. I swallowed painfully to fight it and was, thankfully, composed.

"She said war was coming. What did Foot –"

"He said that you were bringing news of Evergreen, not that she was dead!"

I ran my hands through my hair, feeling panic.

"That's not what I told him to say! The coward didn't want to bring the news himself!"

"Who shut the gate!" a booming voice called from the thirty among us.

I turned around slowly, almost wincing as the man spoke. I had not considered, foolishly, that I would face the awesome wrath of my abuser. I twisted my gun around to my front again, almost as if to protect myself. My knuckles became white with fear as I squeezed the familiar handholds. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chess draw himself taller, stiffen, and I could see by the look on his face that he also loathed the man that hit me.

Rhyme approached, and the sea of people parted. Rhyme smiled evilly as he came. He was a slimy sort of person with mousy hair and a mouth that twisted so much when he smiled out of either joy or spite that it was disturbing to witness. His mouth would curl upwards so deeply that his face took the shape of a cup, and his beady eyes and bulging neck would become the means by which insults would be thrown at me. The rest of his body was massive, but he was not a fat man. He was just large and angry.

And I was small. Resourceful, cunning, but small. In closed quarters, I was no match for a grown man. Fear enveloped my entire being, but I would have been damned if I would ever let it show.

"There is a reason, if you'll let me," I said formally. I tried hard to hide my tears. He said nothing, so I continued. "Miss Evergreen was mapping. She must have gotten hurt. I'm not sure. I..."

I trailed off, clearing my throat as best I could.

"What happened then?" Rhyme asked impatiently. His eyes remained unmovable and harsh, but I could see anxiety creep into his face. "Let's go – we haven't got all day."

I cleared my throat a little, horribly aware that the eyes of every person were on me. The silence was chilling, overwhelming. They'd been waiting for this moment.

"She was...uh...She was..."

I put my head down. I didn't want to see their faces.

"She was Undead," I said.

A gasp resounded through the crowd and the silence increased to a murmur.

"She was," I said, nodding. "I don't know how she, but she was."

"Where does that mean she travelled to? To be Undead?" Rhyme looked at me intensely. "She is immune, so surely it took a special kind of sickness for her to have developed this as she had."

I was intimidated. My opinion had never mattered. It had always been Evergreen's spot to tell what was and was not. She had been the master, and I the lowly, and willing, apprentice. Evergreen was the decider of matters of the outside. It took me a little more than a moment to realize that this responsibility was now mine alone. So, for the first time in my life, I voiced my thoughts.

"Stronghold, maybe," I suggested nervously, shrugging. "To be honest, I am not sure enough to guess. I am...confused. She could have gone to Stronghold...or...she could have gone to her Gallery. Or Peak, I guess."

I shuddered at the foolish thought of it.

"Where is Peak?" he asked, noticing this chill. "Are there lots of –?"

"It's the nesting ground."

I thought more, trying hard to breathe and struggling to. I could just imagine how scared she must have been, wherever she had ended up. I wondered why she had even travelled out there at all, what she could have possibly been doing, wishing I could ask.

I had noticed that she had been gone for a few days, probably more, but it was not unusual. And I spent my days avoiding her when I arrived home anyway for fear of her judgment. I made it my business not to know where she was.

Rhyme lost patience.

"How far –?"

"It's far from here. Miles and miles..." I squeezed my gun. "It's a massive white house. You wouldn't know of it. It is near the Great Gate where the Bad People once lived."

"Well, if it's so dangerous, why would she go there?" he snapped. "She's not stupid! To a white house? Near the Great Gate? Why would she tempt the memories of the Bad People? That's absurd! I've never heard such a thing!"

"Maybe her Gallery was there – I don't know." The words were truer than any I had said that day. My voice finally broke. "I don't know why...but...you asked for my opinion, and I've given it." I realized he'd see this as rude, so I finished with, "Sir."

"But you don't know? You don't know where her Gallery is?"

"No, it is a luxury shared by close friends only, and never to me."

"Why?"

"I am competition, sir, it is merely tradition."

"Why would Evergreen be so stupid?" Rhyme asked me belligerently.

His disrespect was almost more than I could bear, and the tears I'd been shedding ran away.

"She was probably out looking for _your_ family!" I shouted.

"What happened to her then? Did she say anything? Any news?"

He looked suddenly enthusiastic, and I observed bitterly the change when he wanted something nice. I swallowed my wicked eagerness to disappoint him and kept my eyes level.

"No news of your family," was my reply. "She said only that there were Outlanders coming...to Hand." Rhyme said nothing, so I clarified. "Here, sir."

"This is all the news you have for us?" he asked eventually, after a truly agonizing silence in which I suffered the stares of a thousand doubters. "Evergreen's dead, and there's no news of anyone useful! Just your imaginary friends?" I heard the crowd begin to laugh. "You think we're supposed to believe this ridiculous nonsense?"

"You asked for my opinion, and I gave it! What reason would I have to make something up?"

"Because you're an attention-loving, snobby little bitch starving for attention." Rhyme shoved me backwards, suddenly serious. I looked away in shame. I felt Chess near me, and I couldn't stand it. "You probably killed her on purpose, didn't you? So you could make a grand entrance? Take her spot? It won't work. You're pathetic, and you'll never be any different. Do you understand?"

I said nothing. He grabbed my chin violently, squeezing it so hard I had to bend to him to try to stop it. But I had to look at him.

"I asked if you understood."

"I heard you!" I yelled, ripping out of his grip.

"Do you understand?"

"Evergreen's dead," I whispered through clenched teeth. Tears of fury blinded me. "She is dead and you're making this into a power-game! She's dead, you stupid idiot! She's _dead_! Do you even understand that? EVERGREEN IS DEAD!"

He was calm.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"She's dead, you stupid moron, you idiotic piece of trash!" I wanted to lean forward and hit him, but I knew he was stronger and faster and meaner. "She is _never_ going to come back! NEVER!" My voice shook with absolute hatred. "She's saved your sorry ass more times than you can probably count, you imbecilic waste of space! And you're making this about me! About you and me!"

"Answer my question," he whispered in warning.

I heard the danger in his voice, and I knew what would happen – what he would most certainly do to me. But I didn't dread it. I willed it to come.

"I bet she died looking for your wife and son, you _maggot_! But there are things bigger than her happening here, and we need to prepare for them! And you're going to sit her and sidestep my authority – the _only_ authority – just because you're wetting your pants that I don't have better news?"

All I wanted to do was throw curses at him, but I found, right then, that the personal insults would work just fine, especially if children were present.

"We've been warning you for months that the Undeath is growing stronger, and you have ignored us because we are Outsiders and because you are bigots who act out of fear! We have searched day and night for your stupid family, _uncle_ , breaking our backs, losing valuable hours of our sleep – all for a thankless, dim-witted loser who can't keep his pathetic excuse for a family on a tight enough leash!"

"SHUT UP!" he shouted, hitting me square on the face with the giant palm of his hand.

I spiraled before hitting the ground and slammed into it with more force than I had expected. Dirt and sand and debris cut painfully into my hands as my cheek began to throb. Tears of blind frustration won, making me yell after him in the most pitiful way.

"Why does it matter when the gate is closed?" I called after his disappearing form. "There are Outlanders coming! We must ready ourselves!"

He turned back a little.

"Fine," he snarled over his shoulder at me. "Then, _you_ will wait for these...Outlanders." He laughed at me. He knew how tired I was, how impossible this task was for me to handle alone.

"You will not sleep," he ordered. "You will not eat. You sill simply wait."

He paused again as he turned back, shaking his head and saying,

"You're just like your mother."

He made it sound like something I should have been ashamed of. And, for that, I had never hated him more.

Chapter Four: The Wraith in the Grey

I knew that our party was in a very bad way, but Pierce refused to leave me, even at the urging of both Ali and myself to ditch me in some hole somewhere so they could get away.

The sky had dimmed and turned dark minutes or hours before, I couldn't tell, but it was too long for us not to seek any means to keep ourselves safe. But we were being pursued, and that prevented rest or shelter or anything else.

Pain coursed through me oddly. It made me think that I had somehow contracted a disease from the dog, one that numbed the pain. I couldn't know, really, but I assumed that if I was going to die, dying of a sickness like that could certainly be one of the ways to go about it.

Unless it was Necrosis. And the thought chilled me, filling my stomach with dread.

Right then I thought wistfully of a warm bed and what it might feel like – and I didn't know why. Somewhere that I could just close my eyes and rest for a while. A real bed of my own imagining.

The hands dragging me slowed somewhat as they began to fire over my head. I felt shells pierce my face painfully and wished, longingly, for my own gun. My hands even itched for it. Ali had it in her hands. We were running out of ammunition – fast – and the creatures that we had so underestimated continued to barrage our morale. If she gave it to me, I was sure that I could fix the problem that they had created. I was the solution to problems like that.

"We need to get to that building!" Pierce yelled out. It sounded so far. "Which way was it?"

I rolled my eyes. If I wasn't so tired, I'd have a snide remark about their lazy attitude concerning shelter – and how, now, without it, we'd like all die.

"They're right behind us!" Paige said.

Her voice sounded higher than usual. Her breath came in quick rasps. I found myself rolling my eyes again, but again, couldn't summon the energy to speak.

Someone yelled,

"LOOK OUT!"

There was more gunfire above me, and the deafening flashing that came from it brought on instinct and fear. I tried to stand – I couldn't. But I wanted to help. I knew I could help. I had to. I was a legendarily ruthless assassin. I was an ex-soldier and had developed a set of skills that made it very difficult for aggressors to survive the very minute. I tried to stand again.

"STAY DOWN, SNACKSHACK!" Pierce yelled over me.

It normally would have bothered me, being talked to like that, but he was second in command and I was in no position to lead any type of excursion. So, with an air of a teacher observing a student, I quelled my instinct, returning to the ground.

But after what seemed like just a moment, the hands gave up shooting and grabbed me. I held my wound again, and I resisted the impulse to cry out now, waking me up to anger and resentment at those above me. I had known my end from the beginning. I was just blessed with the knowledge as to when. It was like a game. It came, and I knew it.

And these interlopers were trying to put it off because they pretended like they cared for me.

I was suddenly flying, moving much, much faster, and my wound stretched painfully. Their urgency was contagious, despite my dark half telling them to give me up, and I found it difficult to breathe for the blood pouring from me.

I was going to die. I nearly willed it. I almost wished though, for them, that they would drop me to save themselves. They weren't the ones who really needed to die. They weren't like me. They didn't deserve it.

The quickness slowed after an eternity. I saw that we were under the thick, stone wall. An equally stone table and chair sat off to one side beside another rock surface in the ground with odd looking knobs on it. It was unusual to see any kind of solid wall like the one before us, especially not a tall one. I realized that we had finally reached the structure from the daylight hours. We had expected shelter, but none seemed to be had there.

"There's nowhere to run, Pierce," Paige said quietly. I heard her flip around above me. "There's nowhere to go – _Pierce_! Why is there nowhere to go? We're here! It's still not safe!"

He began to answer her, but his voice wasn't frantic. If anything, it was appeasing, comforting. He was like me, but a lot kinder. I suddenly wished in a moment that I could get a chance to reach his age and be able to comfort someone who loved me the way he was right then.

I was just too tired, too injured, too blatantly exhausted to think of anything useful. I felt almost betrayed at the acceptance of the soldiers above me. I wanted them to defend Paige. I wanted them to fend off these wild animals so that she could walk free.

I bet the only reason she was even here was because she'd insisted to die with her husband.

I felt a pinching inside of me. The situation had deteriorated quicker than I would have liked.

I fumbled around for a gun, finding none, but I suddenly knew we were out of bullets so it didn't really matter anyway. I was powerless, and all I remember now besides the pain is that I wanted Paige to live. Her fear was real. The panicky, inexperienced kind that made me feel sick to listen to. I laid my head back to the ground and breathed slowly, or as steadily as I could, and my eyes rolled back into my head as I fought to remain conscious. My end was finally coming. It had taken so long to arrive.

But it was sour now knowing that it would come with the others I'd only hours before considered scum. Regret floated around in the haze of my bleeding, so my eyes were closed when the shots were fired.

It took me only a moment to open them again. It wasn't our gunfire. We had nothing to shoot with. Something was shooting _at_ us. Paige and Pierce above me ducked slightly while Ali flipped her head around to find the source.

A blackened blur flew over my head, over my vision, and landed on the other side of the street. The figure bent over the dogs somewhat, and as my eyes adjusted I saw that it was not a figure, not a wraith, but a girl. A _human_. A _live_ human. In the Dead Zone.

I sat up a little bit further, intrigued and – abruptly – distraught. It was impossible. There were no people or animals or beasts or creatures besides those who thrived off of the chaos. There were dogs, yes, and Necros. There was even the occasional crow here and there. But there were not – could not be people. And if she wasn't a person...

I shuddered at the alternative. That would mean that she was a Deviant.

She looked so small, like a child.

It was one thing to say I hated them, to rant on and on about the cause, but it was another to have to hunt and kill them again. I'd vowed never to do that.

My first thought was that she would destroy everything. I would have to kill her, going back on that same vow. D.C. was the virus, and if there were people within it, occupying it, keeping it, I knew that we would kill them because they were the virus too. My second thought was that I had never really conceived of actually having to do it. I didn't think I'd last that long. I found myself wondering if I could still kill without blinking anymore.

The girl stood slowly. Her fingers moved quickly to bottles at her side, which she smashed over the bodies of our pursuers. A match was lit and the corpses of the animals before her burned. She gasped after a moment and flipped around, as if realizing the immensity of what she had just done. The moon was so bright that the vision of her was startlingly clear.

She wasn't a Necro. She was breathing normally and her head full of short black hair. There was no blood in her disarmingly vibrant eyes. She was short, but her frame was long and slender, curvy and appealing in all the ways that were dangerous. Her face was a tannish shade, but it might have been from dirt. It was a pleasing, worked shade from day-in, day-out, bone crushing labor, I guessed. She had long fingers and held the gun like she knew it well, which surprised me. She didn't look a day over sixteen.

She stared at us motionlessly, almost like she were prey that detected predators.

Her eyes. It was her eyes that got me, maybe. Her eyes lit up the darkness, twinkling in the brightness of the moon. But it was more than the silvery hue that encapsulated me. Her eyes were so bright that they were expressive, and it was a stark contrast to the evenness of her face. Her gaze was extremely direct, so direct that I felt exposed and indecent. They were powerful and commanding and cold. She was judging me. I wanted to cover myself up and show her that I would stop bleeding if she demanded it – that I would be better, if she so wished.

She was making me feel more than I had in years, just at a glance. I drowned in unease. Her eyes had caught me, right from the first glance, and I felt stifled. So I slammed down that wall, that shield in my mind, in a desperate attempt to nip the affection in the bud.

But I couldn't hide my injury, and a noise escaped me. And she straightened, backing away further into the shroud of the darkness. Intense aggravation seized me as another thought dawned on me. She had interrupted my game with death. Death wouldn't be very happy with her. As soon as it got the chance it would devour her too, unless I held that death off of her.

She'd done it for me. I suddenly knew that I need to return the favor.

She turned to run, but Pierce finally spoke.

"WAIT!"

She spun around and whispered something that wasn't our language. When we did not reply, she approached me hesitantly. She looked down at me, tilting her head a little, and she bit her lip. The girl glanced over her shoulder again and then back at me. I shifted slightly, self-conscious for the first time in my memory.

The girl bent down over me. She smelled of wood, I remember, and of wind. Like a soft, sweet smell that was completely natural. Her touch was painful and I cried out. But her wince was worse.

I wanted to tell her that it was okay, tell her all the things that I knew weren't true, that I was clean, that I was pure. She made me feel respect that I had never felt for anyone but my Master, only the difference was that I wanted to respect her. With my Master, I had no choice.

My hands felt an itch to touch and make real the beautiful person who knelt in front of me. Mine were covered in blood, though. I was sure she'd be reviled. But the building itch grew into desire that magnified into need. Finally, when I couldn't resist any longer, my hand flipped out and grazed the tip of hers.

The girl winced back in fear, and it was my turn to recoil. Disgustingly, tears came. She was afraid of me, and it killed me inside. Her hands had eyes. They knew what I'd done. I wanted to touch her again to let her know that I would never do any of those things to her.

But this was a lie, I realized in anguish. I would have to kill her. The thought struck me with torment. She had reeled me in before she had said a single word to me. Her face had moved me in a way that I normally did not allow. And I would have to kill that face.

Abruptly, as I was taught, anger came barreling through that vulnerability. I felt security in that rage. What I felt right then was irrelevant.

But, even then, the anguish was so strong that it would not be quelled. I knew in a moment that I couldn't stop her death, but that I would always regret it. I begged with myself in a moment's panic, begged myself to let her go, but I knew I couldn't. My hands were tied.

Or I made them to be.

_Why is this happening to me?_ I wondered, clenching.

The girl flipped around, as if hearing something. She wiped her hands quickly and purposefully. They moved like mine did – they were the hands of a killer. They were, in essence, my hands only much smaller, more nimble and, by the looks of it, heavily scarred. It made me sad again.

I was a mess of confusion and conflict.

Suddenly, she turned around and ran. She disappeared as if she'd never been, and there was a moment of silence before those above me broke into fits of whispers so furious I couldn't tell who said what. I just heard things like:

"Let's stay focused – this doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't change anything?"

"Are you insane?"

"How can you say that? It changes everything! This is terrible!"

And it was. With her existence, we'd have to kill her. There would be blood and war and genocide. Then again, I was in no state to lead it, nor were we in any position to report back. Maybe, just maybe, it could wait.

I made an angry, skeptical noise. The world breathed because Probe allowed it. I'd be punished if they found out. But, as I heard her voice in the darkness, I thought that maybe putting it off and keeping that a secret would all be sort of worth it.

There was a man's voice now, too – it sounded almost Slavic, maybe Italian or Greek. They materialized from the dark, and the shock of it all was too much. I passed out, too exhausted to fight anymore.

Chapter Five: Things Found

My eyes challenged the darkness, but with a weary eye. In the tower, there was one oil lamp, but it was so dim that our position was not as noticeable as it would have been if it was fully lit. Every so often I saw an Undead crawl across the road with unnatural gait far in the distance. They huddled themselves together as they ran, scurried to wherever it was they went when they went.

"I wonder if it hurts," Chess asked suddenly, waking me from my pained silence.

I glanced at him. He'd seen what I'd seen.

"What?" I asked.

My insides clenched and then unclenched. I knew very well what.

"Becoming...you know." He shrugged. "I wonder if it hurts."

"It does," I said quickly, glancing at him.

"You would know, I guess."

"I don't want to know," my mouth said tiredly.

But he was trying to distract me from my thoughts, and for that I was profoundly grateful, even if he failed.

"Do you really think people will come, Myth?" he asked me.

I blinked hard and was forced to compose myself. At the end of the day, it was an almost impossible task.

"Hm?" was all I could manage.

"Outlanders?" he asked. "Do you think they're really coming?"

"They might."

I shrugged, leaning back against the wall of the platform. We sat just above the stone table, above the hatch I had climbed through not hours before.

"They might not even come at all," I whispered.

"I think you should believe in your gut," he said, nudging me gently. "It's good for you."

I shrugged wordlessly now.

"You should have seen Foot though. He was in a panic."

This attempt to drag a wriggling, fighting smile from me was more successful, and I laughed lightly.

"I wish I had," I said with a genuine smile, nudging him back. "That son of a bitch didn't do what I said."

"Maybe he was frightened," Chess suggested.

I shrugged.

"I deal with it," I whispered, feeling my wounds throb. "This is what happens when he is too cowardly to bring the news himself."

Chess' face darkened, but I couldn't look at him.

"I'm sorry it is that way," he said with a tone I rarely heard. "I wanted to stop him, but Foot..."

"He held you back, I saw," I finished quietly. "Don't worry."

"Don't say that," he said with a strangled voice. "I do."

I smiled again.

"I know," I whispered. "Thank you."

I peered at him closely, and he looked away, flushing in a way that was also rare.

"What?" he asked nervously.

"Nothing, I'm just thinking...I'm...grateful for you. That you're here. That you're my friend. That's all."

He laughed.

"I'm not that special."

"You are to me," I said quietly, looking into the darkness.

There was a moment of hesitation slightly too long.

"Always seeing good in people, even if there is none. That's what I love about –" He stopped himself and let out a breath, smiling strangely. "That's what I appreciate about you."

I laughed warmly.

"They're lucky to have you here, Chess."

There was a long pause.

"Why do you always do that?" he asked.

I looked away from the dark to his face in surprise.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You say 'they' instead of 'we.'"

I thought for a moment.

"I don't know," I said, shrugging. "I just feel the people of Hand don't like my family very much. And I am more of my family than I am of Hand."

His face didn't move. I became uncomfortable.

"That sounds strange to you," I said sheepishly.

"No, it's not strange..." He smiled sadly. "But your uncle is also part of your family, is he not? And he is an invaluable asset to Hand, whether this be a positive or negative aspect in your...personal life."

I winced internally and put a hand lightly to the dark bruise that had already started to form on my cheek. There was a second one on my neck, days old. I let out a breath, but it shook.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean – I didn't want to upset you, I..." He seemed flustered. "I shouldn't have, I...are you alright?"

"I'm – I – yeah, I'm fine." I smiled weakly, knowing what would come. "Or...I will be."

"I hate when he does that to you," Chess said ardently.

He reached for me, but I winced away, and his fingers curled up like they'd been shocked with pain. The look on his face seemed only to mirror that same pain in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, dejectedly.

"No," I said firmly. "Don't be."

But he was anyway.

So I gently put my gun down and took a deep breath. Then, I took his hands in mine and moved them slowly to my face. My hands shook, but his eyes were still wide, like being so near me filled him with awe. When his fingers finally made their way to my bruise, he exhaled and closed his eyes. He opened his mouth a little before biting his lower lip, and I felt hot all over in a way that Foot had never been capable of making me feel. Then, his hands brushed across my tears, and he retracted once more, as if burned.

I couldn't look at him for shame at being perceived as disgusting for my weakness. I wished I felt less so that I didn't have to cry more. It was exhausting to feel so much.

The spell was broken when I cleared my throat and looked away, wiping my tears silently.

I could almost hear him desperately trying to change the subject.

"So, Foot went to meet you today," Chess finally said with a strange tone. "What did he want?"

"I don't remember," I realized, staring into space. "Nothing good, I bet."

"So...you and he...you didn't..."

I said nothing, but felt red again. This time, the warmth felt unpleasant and bitter. I felt shame rather than bliss.

"No, of course not," I snapped.

"I'm sorry, that's none of my business."

"Don't be crazy," I said, nudging him again. "We've talked enough. My business is your business."

"So did you and he talk about things? Did you fight?"

I shrugged.

"I guess we're...better," I said, clearing my throat. "I was a little jealous today, I guess. We talked about things – him and Iris."

"And?"

He eyed me carefully. I just smiled bitterly.

"He said he loved her."

I squeezed my fists, feeling that need to run again. But I didn't want to cry. So, in a way Skate would have been proud of, I made it a joke.

"I guess Fade will have to start worrying about you now instead of him seeing as he's taken and all."

Chess rolled his eyes with a reluctant smile.

"You know how close I am with her," he said, laughing. "It doesn't matter that, you know, she'll love anyone that's near her or –"

"She's actually pretty nice. She is only sixteen."

"And she has the experience with men of an old woman! I'd be surprised if I didn't catch something from her."

"Hey, be nice!"

" _You_ like her?" Chess asked. "You don't like anybody!"

"I do so!" I argued with a half-appreciative, half-defensive laugh. "I'm just saying _she's_ available now – without Foot to chase – and _you're_ available."

"Do I get a say in this?"

I shook my head jokingly.

"Of course! You get to choose who you love!"

"Why do you choose Foot?"

He asked it as if it made him sad to say it, as if it had slipped out. The look on his face broke my heart, full to bursting with restraint, full to bursting with another, caged emotion I barely wanted to admit to myself that I recognized.

So I distracted myself and thought on his question. I knew the answer. Foot was frustrating, confusing, and sometimes undeniably disloyal right when he needed not to be. He crumbled beneath the pressure of my uncle. But I didn't care. I wanted to keep our relationship alive.

"I miss the past," I said quietly, finally. "I was happier there."

"And now?"

"Now is... _hard_."

We both looked sad, considering how happy we had just been. I was tense.

"I'm still a little a girl to him..." I shrugged. "And that's all I'll ever be."

"You're not a little girl..." Chess said with something close to anger.

I shrugged.

"I shouldn't have told him to leave me alone," I whispered quietly. "I feel angry with myself that I did. I don't like the way he makes me feel."

"I don't either," Chess admitted, exhaling deeply. "He's crazy for making you feel anything less than you are."

"I can shoot better than Iris," I explained tearfully. "I'm smarter and wittier, I think. Friendlier, I'd say. I mean...maybe I'm not..." I found my free hand straying to my cheek lightly. "Maybe I'm not as pretty as she is, but that can be looked around, right?"

I saw Chess' jaw clench.

"Don't compare yourself to her," he said firmly. "You're so far beyond Iris in every way."

"I'm not as pretty as she is," I said forlornly, feeling pathetic. "I'm all covered in cuts and bruises and I have to keep my hair short and –"

"Myth!" Chess said, finally taking my cheek and hand in his own. "You're beautiful to loads of people. Why else would Foot go visit you if you weren't absolutely gorgeous?"

I opened my mouth to reply when my brain registered this.

"You think I'm gorgeous?"

I heard him swallow, and he let go of me.

"I just think he's crazy, that's all," he finally amended.

_Oh_ , I felt myself thinking, feeling deflated worse than before.

I sat in pitiful and far off silence for a good long while, just wallowing in the events of the day.

"Myth?" Chess asked suddenly.

"Yes?" I whispered, hardly listening.

"He will never deserve you," he whispered. "Not ever. Never trick yourself into believing that he is your better because he has another woman."

Tears began to barrage my eyes as I blinked hard to keep them down. It was an uphill battle, one I would not win, but I tried hard anyway. Evergreen would have liked me to try. She wouldn't have cried about men with their petty problems. I wondered if she had ever had problems with men. I supposed she probably had. She must have been pretty once. She had to have been. No one was born as war-hardened and bitter as she was, no one as old or as cruel. People were made that way. I wondered, after a long moment, if I was being made that way.

"Myth?" Chess asked again.

I jumped and blinked, feeling my composure collapse at my feet. The thought of Evergreen shook me, filled the very bones in my body with sorrow and remorse. Admittedly, she was a horrible lady. She had told me that I had always needed to be better, that I was never good enough. The way she said it wasn't inspiring but mocking, but it was the only voice that I had ever heard that could motivate me as hard or as strong. It was a terrible, mean voice. But it was alive.

"Not anymore," I whispered, putting a cold hand to my mouth.

"What?"

"Evergreen...she's dead..."

It was clear he didn't know what to say. A tear fell from my other eye as I waited for him to speak, but his eyes followed it like he was trapped by its motion. Finally, he said,

"She lives with God now. She's safe...and happy...and warm..." He finally looked away. "I'm...I'm sorry." He looked back to me and moved his hand up to my face. "Don't cry. Please, don't cry."

"I don't know what to do, I – I don't know what to do!" I couldn't breathe. I looked around only to see distant shapes and silhouettes. "I can't do what she did, I'm only – I'm only eighteen, I...I'm not good enough to – I don't know what to do!"

"Hey..."

He leaned over to me and pulled me closer to him. I clutched his shirt, feeling the need to, and I waited for him to tell me what I was supposed to do.

"It's gonna be okay," he said softly.

I nodded emphatically, to tell him I listened, even if I didn't believe. I clutched his collar tightly, finally letting him hold me. He slid me into his lap and I was sure he felt and saw and heard all my weaknesses at once. My whole body ached and shook.

"I'm tired..." I whispered softly.

I felt my body tense and then relax as I said it, almost like it caused me pain.

He put a hand to my head to lean it on his shoulder. I began to weep there, holding onto him like I had never held anything for a long, long time, before or since. He listened to me, and he didn't say word one about how I should be better or different or stronger. He didn't tell me what I should have done. He just nodded, over and over and over again.

When I was finished, he sighed and whispered,

"You're too good, Myth..." His hands moved down my hair. "You're too good for bad things to happen to you."

Fatigue bettered my tongue.

"I don't feel so bad now," I whispered.

A rumble of laughter came from his chest.

"Is that so?"

I giggled tiredly right back.

"Yes, I'm very happy where I am."

He squeezed me.

"I'm happy where you are too."

His hands stroked my hair and he shushed me as my breath caught occasionally from the aftermath of my tears. Something about his voice lulled me to sleep. I fought the dreams hard, but in the end, I could not fight what was inevitable. I fell asleep quickly, warm in his arms.

Oddly, I remembered waking up to chills of cold, shivering, and I sat up. Chess now sat across from me. At first, I was embarrassed, feeling I had done something wrong or awkward to make him move away in my sleep, but I realized after a moment that this was not the case.

He held my gun in his hands. Immediately, my senses began to shuffle into their places, returning to the world of the waking slowly. It made me uneasy.

I reached over and shook him to wake him, still feeling shaky and weak, but he was a heavy sleeper. I shook him again, but he curled inwards towards the gun as if to dismiss me. I stood up and looked around. The darkness was intense and greedy. I could sense the tendrils of its fingers clawing to reach me to poison me with the fear Chess had had.

With the thought, I started to hear noise. It was nothing like a noise I'd ever heard before. They were voices, I thought – but twisted. The voices were calling out, saying something I couldn't decipher. I wanted desperately to know what it was, and I listened hard. It took me another moment to remember that it could have been the war Evergreen had spoken of, and I tilted my head to the side to hear it better. It certainly didn't sound like war. But I wouldn't really know. I had no idea what war sounded like.

I climbed down the frame, along the ridges of the hollow, and I perched myself atop a broken building at the other side of the road. When I finally heard them, I was surprised. The Outlanders sounded human, not strange creatures as we had foreseen. I had always imagined Outlanders the way I imagined the Bad People – like twisted monsters that came from the opposite of God's wrath.

But these were not creatures, they were people. And they were frightened.

Chapter Six: Hunter, Hunted

I hopped back into the tower for a better view of the strange Outlanders. I counted four voices, two men, two women, both old and young.

"Chess!" I whispered softly. "Chess, wake up! Look with me!"

He didn't wake up, so I swung back out to my perch.

They had been running hard – from what, I didn't know – but I heard their breathing. It looked like they were carrying something heavy. I wondered if it was one of the bombs, for I had heard bombs were very popular among warring folk. But I quickly dropped this idea when I remembered bombs made fire and were carried in huge metal birds in the sky.

The words were spoken in tongues I could not understand and I could decipher very little of what was said. They ran from dogs. I smelled as much as heard the snarling beasts, and I wondered with a clenching how long the Outlanders had been pursued.

The Outlanders were in the worst and final stage of the hunt. The waiting part.

Abruptly, one of their males shouted,

"Ali – shut up!"

There was quiet.

"Chess!" I moved over to him and shook him. "Hey! There are Outlanders! Wake up, you stupid..."

I sighed and looked back at them, my Outlanders.

Their accents were definitely foreign. It didn't bring me the excitement I had always dreamed it would. Awe, yes, but not joy. Not exactly. It brought me fear and confusion. They were not magical creatures, not tall, knowing bringers of truth from the Kingdom of Death beyond the Great Gate. They were humans. Humans in terrible danger.

I considered stopping it, stopping their deaths. But it didn't take me long to contradict myself. Outlanders brought no end to trouble, probably, and Hand didn't need trouble. We were up to our neck with it as it were. I thought, in the words of Evergreen, live and let live.

At the same time, I knew not to help would be cruel. I would not be letting them live. I would be letting them die. I was not like that, no matter what Evergreen taught. I hated killing things. I knew Evergreen had enjoyed it because she was horrible, but I liked to think that I was different. I hated, absolutely hated, killing things.

"We have no ammo left, Pierce," the older female said.

She spoke to the Elder man, and the last word she said sounded unfamiliar to me, so I guessed that it was his title. It was an ugly title, I thought – not like one I had ever heard of. Our titles represented an aspect of our birth. Foot's was because his foot had been malformed when he was born, but it grew in better with a healer. Chess was named as such because his mother said his eyes were checkered with color, like a chess board.

The name Pierce was without meaning, without code, and it seemed dead to me.

"There's no ammo left," she said again.

Live and let die was not my philosophy.

"Where did it all go?" the youngling woman asked. "You said we had more! Where did it go?"

"In the wolves' hides, I'd guess," the man called Pierce said quietly.

I heard the word "wolves," and I guessed that he referred to his lack of ammunition in correlation to the hunters that were after them. Smart.

The woman named Ali dropped to the ground and my eyes moved down to her.

"Find something to throw," she ordered.

I didn't know what she was saying, but I believed, in her panic, that she was searching in vain for some sort of weapon. Her foolishness was amusing. Or it would have been if I didn't know she was minutes, maybe even seconds, from death.

"We have to defend –"

"Get out of here, dammit!" the voice on the ground said.

His was the last voice.

I heard by his tone he wasn't used to being ignored.

"Just go!" he shouted.

It sounded like he was in pain and that he was obviously exhausted. I wondered if he had been the thing that they were carrying.

And then, finally, I understood. The man on the ground was injured. The wolves hunted his weakness, and he offered himself. Smart _and_ brave.

I whirled the gun around so the strap was in front and began to climb down to the surface of the rubble on which they stood. Upon reaching it, I looked about and realized how different the familiar scene was in the dark. I raised my gun again, squeezing it with white knuckles, and peered at the group from behind a corner of the wall. I turned back quickly with a racing heart. They were, indeed, human and were therefore worthy of salvation.

I stared around for the enemy. I took safety from the fact that it could not be an Undead, as Undead couldn't hide or hunt. They just attacked. It had to be a dog, and where there was one there were at least three. I switched my gun to automatic with a loud click.

"What was that?" the man named Pierce asked. "Did you hear that?"

I peeked around again. They ignored the wall, and me as much as the wall, so I decided I did not need to hide around the corner. They would not notice me, regardless.

The woman Elder was shaking her head, like she wanted to deny the inevitable.

"We can't get out of here, Pierce...not with him."

She gestured to the invalid on the ground, the young man. She cried hard, afraid. I didn't understand a word of what she said, but her acceptance, instead of saddening me, annoyed me greatly. I was like the injured man. I felt a kinship with him.

"Don't be a baby..." the young woman snarled.

I heard the word "baby," and I decided to pity the Ali woman. Perhaps she had a child on her. I searched her stomach for a protrusion. There was none. I was confused at her words and where it was that her baby was located. It occurred to me that perhaps Outlanders left their children away from them sometimes. It sounded barbaric to me. I couldn't imagine doing it to any child. But I did not know their customs. Anything was possible.

The thought annoyed me more than disgusted me. These were no angels of death. Just people. My annoyance turned to blatant exasperation, and my need to save them was replaced only by my obligation to do so. I knew that I had fought with death many times and won. I could help them out surely, even if it was sort of like cheating.

I suddenly saw the dogs. They had their heads down and their shoulders up. The eyes flashed at me. They lingered briefly. After a moment's confusion, they continued towards their original prey. It gave me chills as they passed. Only the strongest would survive, and that usually meant the smartest. Those without intelligence, things like dogs, were given sense.

I climbed back up the wall to get a vantage point, deciding that it was best not to risk the dogs losing their senses and attacking me instead. The dogs surrounded the group by the time I reached the balcony in which Chess still slept.

I held the gun up to my face, waiting for my turn to strike. A scope told me where the chest of the largest and closest dog was. He was the alpha male. Just like my uncle. And I hated Rhyme more than I could breathe. With this thought, I took up my adrenaline and fired. Each time the animals fell, I took a breath and fired at the next one. It was a liquid, fluid motion, and I knew the hunter was hunted.

I jumped down over the group, and landed before my victims, catching myself with a slight stumble. The dogs were starving, I saw. It was the second time in a day I had put down what was not mine to put down. Hunger should have taken them, but I had interrupted the chain and done so instead. Surely, I would feel the wrath of God later on. Even if it was a better death than the slow one they had been given, it was not my place or my responsibility to perform the rite.

I pulled out another bottle of alcohol and broke it on top of them without thinking. A match was lit. I stared down at them in a new panic as I saw their skin ignite beneath the flame. They weren't just dogs. The dogs, I saw, were Undead. Their skin was pale, and much of the hair I had anticipated to be there was nowhere to be found. The pallid skin underneath was a sickly, veiny color, and the faces and teeth of the creatures were twisted and yellowy. Their tongues were black, and their blood was black. Just like the Undead.

And they had been slinking in the dark.

I tried to tell myself that it was impossible. Animals with the Undeath didn't live. I had watched the dogs run right into Hives, and I saw the effects. It wasn't pretty. Usually, the dogs just wailed and shook and ran around in circles until something, some force, made them stop moving. That was how it happened. That was how it had always happened. That was how it was yet supposed to be. Their bodies were not compatible with our sickness.

But, all in a moment, I saw that things were going to change again.

The Undeath had evolved, and it was so be that no one would be safe anymore. Not even me.

A gust of wind suddenly blew embers at my face, forcing me to face the change I had just made for those Outlanders. I held my breath, taking them in. I could do nothing to undo what I had just done. I had beaten their deaths. They were dependent on me.

I suddenly had the feeling I had done something very, very wrong. I began to run.

Chapter Seven: Safety and Peace

"WAIT!" Pierce said loudly.

His voice sounded different, kinder than it had been. I halted my footsteps and flipped around.

"Don't leave," he said, holding his palms out to the sky.

I was suddenly indignant of myself as I stared at his forlorn face, his sad eyes, and I realized, right in that moment, that he was truly heart-broken by something. I knew, with that moment, that I could not have done a bad thing to help out that pathetic situation, that sad man.

I walked up to them and then moved to the man on the ground. He could not be Undead. I felt myself wanting him not to be.

I was relieved after I checked his body. He was not delirious with blindness. I waved my hand back and forth in front of his eyes. The irises followed. It was not his turn to die. I thought this with strange relief. I then leaned over him. He stopped making noises in what appeared to be...nerves? I made him afraid, and he seemed ashamed. I didn't understand it, so I ignored him. My hands moved to his side, lightly touching his clothing but not his person. I knew not of Outlandish customs in the matters of skin. I did see that he needed healing, though, and despite custom I would have to breach that space to touch his flesh

The only thing that I could think of was how extraordinarily lucky he had been to be bitten by a dog that was no Undead and pursued by others that were.

Suddenly, he reached out a hand to touch mine. I winced away in fear, but it made in me a small trust build. And he would die before the night was out if he was not given medicine. If I could trust him, I could heal him.

I heard my name.

"Myth!"

I stood erectly and felt my ears tune to the words. Even so, the man's blood was on my hands. I wiped it off with an intense desperation, a need. It was on my pants then, but I was satisfied. As long as it was not on my hands. There was to be no blood on my hands. There couldn't be.

"Myth!"

Chess. I walked off a bit, looked back at them, and made a motion for them to stay. They seemed to understand. Or at least they didn't move.

I climbed as fast as I could back up to the tower. When I was close enough, Chess grabbed me.

"Oh, thank God!" He shook me a little. "You were out _there_? Are you crazy? Didn't you hear –?"

"No, Chess, listen – you have to see –"

"I woke up and...and you were gone – dammit!"

He pulled me closer to him suddenly. I was surprised that I cared so much that he was worried for me as much as I was nervous to be in his arms.

"I'm sorry," I said.

I pulled away from him. He held his hands on my shoulders. I smiled guiltily and found it hard to speak when looking into his eyes. The look in his eyes made me feel hot again – and dizzy this time. I couldn't help myself. I put a hand on his face.

"I...listen..." I removed my hand and pointed over my shoulder uselessly. "I need you to come with me."

"No. Not again. No more. You're staying right here." He glanced out into the darkness and pulled me to him again. "You really scared me, you know that?"

I pulled at his hand at my waist gently in an attempt to lead him, but he resisted.

"You'll be with me," I whispered.

I offered my most confident smile, and I could see that, while he was comforted, his fear overcame all else.

"It's not just fear," he replied firmly. "You've been through an ordeal today, Myth. Rest now."

"No," I said bracingly. "You have to see this. I wouldn't ask you if I thought you weren't safe. This, I swear to you. Come on."

I squeezed his hand softly, remembering that it had just comforted me in more ways than I could explain. It had only been hours ago, but it felt much longer than that already. I found that I liked holding his hand.

"I won't let anything hurt you, Chess," I whispered.

I let go of his hand and climbed down. After a moment's hesitation, he climbed after me. When we reached the ground, he hesitated again.

"I'll be right here," I whispered. And then, "Look..."

I motioned for him to follow me up to the group. They were silent again as I approached. Chess could hear, but he couldn't see. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted.

"What is it, Myth? What's that noise? Who's there?" He walked beyond me when I motioned for him to do so. His eyes widened.

"Where did they come from?"

"I'm not sure. They came that way."

I pointed with my gun into the darkness, the abyss beyond which no waking eye had ever seen. I wasn't even fool enough to go into the west. I went as far as my duty called me to go, to the edges where I was able to see the Great Gate through a scope on a gun. Beyond that, that land was far too wild for me. I heard a howl in that direction.

Chess stiffened.

"There's nothing over there!"

"I know!"

I glanced at my new charges, ashen faced but clearly at a loss. Just as I had trouble with their words, they seemed to have trouble with mine. My nerves grow to excitement, thinking of their language and culture. I was frightened too. I wasn't sure why. I cleared my throat, asking,

"What if –?"

"They can't be Outlanders. Myth, that's impossible. It's just a story! I admit, they're here, but there must just be another colony that way."

"It can't be a story!" I snapped. "Look at them!" I gestured exasperatedly. "Evergreen –"

"They can't be from the outside, Myth, it isn't possible. No one has ever gone through the Great Gate and lived."

"Why don't you believe it?" I demanded. "Why? Look, at them, Chess! They're right in front of you!"

"It's never happened before!"

"Just because it hasn't doesn't mean it won't!"

I looked away from him to the dying man. There was a silence.

"They need help," I whispered earnestly. "And I'm going to give it to them."

He glanced back and forth between us.

"Do you have any idea how much Rhyme is going to kill you?"

"Like I could have done anything to –"

"You know what I'm talking about!" Chess said. He sounded concerned. "What he did to you today was only the beginning."

"I don't give a _damn_ –"

"I _do_!" he whispered loudly.

I clenched my fists at how sincere he sounded, like my pain really did matter to him.

"You know what he'll do to you for this," Chess murmured.

I glanced at the wounded man. He was now unconscious.

"You know this is right, Chess," I whispered.

I searched his eyes.

"I need you to help me with this. That man is dying!"

He looked into my eyes deeply, looking sad. Maybe he saw my resolve because he yielded.

"What would you have me do, Myth?" he asked.

"Can you get us through the Skyway without it making noise?"

"I'd have to loosen the –"

"I don't care. Can you do it?"

"I think so,"

"Then do it," I ordered.

He nodded, squeezed my arm affectionately, and jogged off into darkness. It was quicker than usual. He didn't like the dark. For some reason, I didn't think any less of him for it.

"Is there trouble?" Ali asked, standing taller as I looked at them.

I tried hard to interpret with little success. She asked the question again. I thought for another moment, trying to decipher the words – the accents were difficult but they were, contrary to my original belief, of my own language.

Finally, I shook my head. I put a finger to my lip and motioned for them to follow me. There was blood staining all of them, a thing emphasized by their obvious exhaustion and filth. My eyes went down to the younger man. I decided I would commit them a further service.

"I will carry him," were my first words.

"What are you doing?" the Elder man nearly yelled, stepping forward aggressively.

I backed up, glaring. I tried hard to remind myself that I didn't know their customs. They could kill me in an instant. I saw it in their eyes. That sadness had passed, replaced with wrath I did not understand. I warned myself to be cautious and repeated my charge.

Paige seemed to understand and whispered my words to Pierce. He backed up and nodded a little. But he wasn't happy about it. Indignantly, I took the mysterious man's arms and wrapped them over my shoulder, holding his body across mine. He was heavy, and his armor more so, but even with all his covering I still felt his blood drip down my back. Further, he was heavier than I would have expected from strength I had not seen. I had to use the full capacity of my strength not to buckle beneath him, but I had volunteered, and to yield then before them would look weak.

We arrived at Hand through the Skyway, just hidden around the corner, and I hurried them down the small opening. They would have to stay at my place in the secret room in the back. My parents had made it for me when I was a child, but they had never told me why. To protect me, they'd said once. It was only after they'd died that I'd showed it to Foot, Skate, and Chess. But my normal one-roomed place was not large enough to fit all of my new charges, and I would have to extend the knowledge to them as well. It annoyed me somewhat, but I felt bad then for being so heartless.

I saw nothing of Chess until I reached the clearing before the collapsed hallways that led to homes we'd need to sneak by. There was a secondary switch here that he had seemed to rig to open at the same time (because two handles were required to open the Skyway, one in front of me in the clearing and one nearest the gate, where I assumed Chess was.) As I put my hand on it, he caught up with me, loosening the rigging, and the Skyway closed once more, sealing us in. He glared at me, but my eyes made him smile reluctantly. The way he smiled made me feel warm, almost like he was proud of me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Hurry up," he whispered back. He glanced over his shoulder. "I'll keep watch the rest of the night alone."

"You sure?"

"Yes, you must heal the man," Chess said gravely. "If he is exposed, promise me you will kill him."

I smiled.

"I promise," I said back.

He put a hand on mine before climbing up the ladder that led to the secret entrance I had used early that same day. It would lead to the balcony, and he'd sit out there alone in silence. Poor thing.

"Sorry!" I called in a whisper through the silence.

"Just go!" he whispered. Then, I could have sworn I heard him laughing and muttering, "You owe me..."

I hurried them along, feeling the need to get inside where it was warm. Their faces looked like they were stunned by a flash. Paige's head turned continually, nearly spiraling at the place as if it were God's Kingdom itself. Pierce stared straight ahead, swaying every few moments, and Ali had her arms crossed, almost like a child did when it was sour about something.

"Be silent," I said to them.

I put the hand that wasn't holding the injured man's legs to my mouth.

They moved as quietly as they could with their gear and with the exhaustion that obviously plagued them. I saw the way they lugged their own bodies as if they weren't used to such weight and I saw the way their guns were slack in their hands. I pitied them again.

We arrived at my house, and I hustled them all in. I closed the door behind me and locked it. Then, I hustled them to the side. I gently placed the man on the ground and removed a panel in the wall that led to a back room. It was partially blocked off by rubble and dust. I stopped and ushered them through, carrying the man to the back corner. I heard him moan a little with consciousness and I pitied him for the pain he would soon experience while he was awake. They all collapsed onto the floor, bags and all. I turned on an oil lamp and it burned brighter than usual. They squinted at it. Then, they stared as if they had never seen anything like it before.

"You will be staying here," I said quietly. "I will be back in moments soon."

"What?" Ali asked, barely opening her mouth.

I looked around for another explanation.

"Stay," I said.

They nodded.

I ran to the front of my place and grabbed a thin piece of metal I used to undo locks. I ran out of the house again and crossed the clearing to the medicine hall that the Healer used. I knew most of the medicines by heart out of necessity, for I had gotten numerous scars over the years of my countless journeys. Having to operate on myself, as all Outsiders must, it had been something of a terrible pastime of mine. However, I was always supposed to ask for permission before medicine was issued.

With my discretion, I had no such time. I hustled in, adeptly ripping open the lock, grabbed the medicine box, and left without another word.

I was back with them in moments, as promised. But they did not trust me or my room. I saw this. I saw fear in the faces of all, and I felt bad for making such a poor first impression.

"Safety and peace, Outlanders, safety and peace."

***

Forward and back. My head rolled. Pain – a lot of it, but it wasn't a bad feeling. It was coming from a distance. Why? Blood. A lot of it. My Masters would punish me.

The girl. She would see. My eyes rolled open. She _did_ see. She touched me, but I didn't feel it. I moved to hide my body, so that she would not be repulsed. She resisted me. I tried again. Again, she resisted me. I wanted to hide. My Masters would've hit me. But she did not. In fact, her brow furrowed with concern and the corners of her mouth pursed with worry.

Her concern repulsed me. I felt ashamed now but for all different reasons. Something about her seeing my blood seemed like an intimate experience, and it frightened me. Already, she seems too good to be stained by the blood of my inner demon.

There was pain again. It came from far away. She'd drugged me. I tried to talk. I failed. I tried to move. I failed that too.

Finally, I forced my eyes open, despite the pain, and I took her in. Her eyes, just like before, made me feel still inside. They were steely grey, amazingly clear. Her face curved in all the right lines, her skin soft, her cheeks plumpish. If her eyes were closed, she would've looked almost girlish. But they were open, and I saw what was beneath. She was nothing short of a woman, even if I didn't want her to be, and I found myself attracted to her.

I tried to make her look at me, but she winced from my weak hands. I was so used to forcing people to do things though that what came next was natural to me. I grabbed her chin and made her look at me. Her eyes, so clear and full of fear and confusion, wracked me with guilt. She did not even know me, and yet it seemed as if she saw all my crimes written in the dark corners of my eyes. It was now I wanted to look away, but I could not.

I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe. And I began to feel something deep inside of me that I couldn't access. It took away from some of the numb, but this feeling was agony. I was a wound. She ripped the old and rotted bandages from it, making it bleed all over again

Again, I found myself wordless, paralyzed.

I ached for her, suddenly. It was as if she was a beautiful goddess, and she was offering herself as a salve for my own redemption. She saw all that I was, all that I had done, and she brushed it aside to see the man behind. I felt a need I never had before for another human being. I was terrified.

I released her, and she moved my hands to my sides. I closed my eyes in agony at not seeing hers any longer, but also in relief. I could hide away from her magical gaze. Hide. Rest. Sleep.

The drugs were strong, and I felt myself nodding off once more.

With the uneasy hope that I could hide again in the morning after I was beyond the influence of drugs and fatigue, I succumbed to her diligent ministrations.

Chapter Eight: Uncomfortable Introductions

It was morning when I woke. My eyes were heavy, and my body moaned and cracked with fatigue. And then I remembered the day before. Somehow, it may be no more tired than I was before sleep.

_Maybe it had been a dream_ , I thought wearily.

After a moment of debate, I stood to look at my refugees. They were still there. The two Elders slept in each other's arms. I noticed because of their locked hands that the two had strange golden bands about their fingers. They were spouses, I guessed.

"I had forgotten what that looked like," I said to myself sadly.

Eventually, I forced myself to look to the other two. The young woman slept alone. She was beautiful, but in a terrible sort of way. I remembered her tone from the night before. She was unkind and harsh, maybe even cruel. It was no wonder she slept alone.

I forced my eyes to the youngish man. His skin was a pleasing cream color, obviously the skin of a younger man. But his brow with long, dark, and harsh – set like an older man's ought to be. The brows were mobile and expressive, though his eyes had told me last night that he didn't want them to be. The eyes themselves I had seen in the night before to be a darkish color. They were a little narrow, and the long eyebrows arched out near the end slightly His nose, a sort of large thing, pointed down a fraction of a millimeter at the tip, the obvious result of having been broken several times. His mouth had a shade of hair around it, a shadow that reached to his thicker hair. It was so dark brown that I would have called it red. He was beautiful to me.

But I've seen the way he looked at me. To him, I was an unwelcome alien.

I decided I could not trust him, but that did not mean that I would do my job halfway. I had started to heal him, and I would finish my work. I reached out to his clothes, but even before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and twisted it.

Somehow, my eyes found his, and I saw that he wanted me to struggle. I found the best way to disappoint him was to do nothing about it, so I merely waited through the pain. When he realized that I was not swayed by his aggression, he released me, and it took all of my willpower not to massage the new bruises on my wrist.

"Who are you?" he eventually asked.

"What?" I asked brusquely.

His tongue was English, but hard English, and I resented our first encounter beginning with bruises.

"Your name?" he pressed.

I motioned to myself.

"Myth – Fisher."

His eyes told me that he did not understand.

So I repeated myself.

"My name is Myth Fisher," I said again.

"That's the first time I've heard that name," he said guardedly.

"It is unique," I said.

"It sure is," he said, but in a very pandering way.

His tone irritated me.

"What is yours then?" I asked.

He blinked with an air as if it was the first time he had heard this question in a very long time.

"Oliver Dark," he said of himself. "Just Ollie."

"Ollie?"

He nodded.

"Your name seems just as strange to me," I said. "No meaning. Just a sound."

He made an amused sound. Something about it showed a pleasant side of him, and I remember my manners. I held out a reluctant hand, which he took just as reluctantly, but when our hands touched he seemed to size me up again.

"You have rough hands," he said, rather rudely, I thought.

"Well, my rough hands worked well enough to fix you up last night," I parried.

"That's right..." He seemed to think. "That was you."

"It was," I said.

He surveyed me in silence, as if I were being tested for something.

"Aren't you a little short for a doctor?," he finally said, bluntly.

I could tell he was trying to offend.

So I smiled.

"Last time I checked, one's height played next to no role in the quality of one's healing abilities."

He seemed uncomfortable.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Hand."

I spoke slowly, but he still didn't catch it.

"Where?" he asked, raising an eyebrow – again, rather rudely, I thought.

"Hand. You dwell in Hand."

I pointed to the ground with irritation at his foul manner.

He laughed skeptically. It was a strange, misused laugh, and it became obvious that he was mocking me.

"Hand?" he asked.

His tone spoke with the voices of a thousand spiteful and malicious souls accustomed to cruelty and manipulation. I found myself actively resisting the growing scowl on my lips.

"This town is named Hand." I shook my head behind wiggling fingers. "Not this." I put my hand down to the dirt beneath us. "This."

He eyed me motionlessly.

"I don't understand," he finally admitted.

"Figures," was my only reply.

He eyed me again.

"What language do you speak?" he asked.

I raised my eyebrows in confusion. He pointed to his mouth.

"What do you speak?"

He motioned from his mouth to the air in front of his face, as if he intended something to come out of it. I tilted my head at his condescension but decided to be amused.

"Are you planning on throwing up, Mr. Dark?"

A hint of a smile picked at the edges of his mouth, which he quelled expertly. He just spoke slower and louder.

"Do – you – speak –?"

"Yes. I believe so. English?" I actually smiled. "This is English?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"You don't know?"

"This is English, is it not?"

"A variation, I suppose."

His voice was cold, as was his evaluation of me.

But I tried to greet him with patience and grace. It was hard for me.

"Are you from beyond the Great Gate?" I asked.

He furrowed his brow impatiently, but I saw he was attempting to confront the question.

"Are you from beyond the Gate?"

I tried to speak slowly, but I had hundreds of questions that I wanted to ask him.

"Do you come from the Outlands? Or the Kingdom of the Dead? You're from the Great Gate, aren't you?"

"What's the Kingdom of the Dead?" he asked, finally catching _something_.

I searched his eyes for a joke and then rolled my own, finally losing my patience.

"I'm not playing this game, Outlander."

"No, no, I'm serious..." And he was at last. "Where is that?"

"What? Washington? No, Dwindle. This is Dwindle."

I felt unsure all of a sudden, like he knew better than I, despite the fact that I had resided in Dwindle all my life. Once again, the not knowing scared me. I said,

"You're in Dwindle."

"What's the Kingdom of the Dead?" he asked again. "Where's –?"

He cleared his throat to compose himself, as if his enthusiasm threatened to overcome his cold demeanor was inappropriate.

"Where's that?"

"Hm. There are three Colonies. Dwindle is made of three that are known to us."

"Okay," he said, nodding.

"This one is named Hand. Then the one north of here is Turk. The one south of here is named Stronghold. The Kingdom of the Dead is closest to Dwindle. It lies beyond the Great Gate where the Bad People live."

He narrowed his eyes at this.

"The Bad People?"

"People and descendants from the Great War many cycles ago."

He seemed familiar with this.

"And they came from beyond the gate?"

"We name it the Great Gate," I explained. "I don't know where they come from. That was a time for science, not like now."

"What do you mean?"

"It is forbidden to venture there. That land, and the land that lies beyond, is considered the Kingdom of the Dead. That is where the Undead walk among the living."

"Okay," he said again, nodding, but I could tell he might not understand.

"I am a Dwin, from Dwindle, yes?"

He nodded.

"Where are you from?" I asked, motioning to him.

"I don't understand you," he said.

"You...come...from...where?" I asked, shrugging exaggeratedly.

He pursed his lips.

"Not from here," he said cautiously.

I sighed. I should have expected deception.

"Do you hail from beyond the Great Gate?" I asked him.

"Yes," he decided to say.

"You are an Outlander?"

"Yes," he said again.

"What is it like outside the gate?" I asked, my eyes widening at the mere thought. "Was it very dangerous? You must be very brave."

Suddenly, his foul manner seemed less irritating and more a facet of a hardened personality.

He just looked at me strangely.

"You've never been beyond the gate?"

"I've but seen the Gate once," I said.

"Has anyone else?"

"I don't think so," I said. "Only Outsiders are allowed outside the Colonies, and I am the only one left in this one. We are also closest to the Kingdom of the Dead, so I get to see it more than most Outsiders."

"But you've never been there?" he pressed.

"As I've said, I have approached it. Once. It is forbidden here, but I saw it with my parents." The last thing I ever did with them. I blinked the pain away and continued. "But I believe...I am the only one among the quick."

My voice was tight.

"What's that mean?" he asked.

"There are too many things to explain," I said sadly.

"Try me."

I saw a flash of inhuman eyes, eyes that had once loved me. Sunken and dark and yellowy, bloodshot with the blood that turned black after illness. My dad had started the chant of the Undead, a series of words nonsensical to all but the speaker.

"Important...you are important...Important. You are important."

It was only a moment, but for the glimpse of a millisecond, I had the exciting hope of being a part of something bigger than I could understand. It only took a moment for them to disappear from my life forever, only a moment for me to see, truly, what was on the other side of that precious gate. What my life was really worth.

There was only death in the Kingdom of the Dead beyond the Great Gate. Feral Undead roamed the land, pacing, searching for food like animals. When my mom had ended my family by her own hand, the Undead reached through the metal bearings with a ferocity that I'd never seen, drawn to the sound like a predator unto prey. I remembered staring at the wall from afar – waiting for it to come. I had been too afraid to approach, despite the quest my parents had sent me on to go through it. The Undead wanted to get at me, my parents. They wanted to desecrate our bodies, consume our very souls. I heard it in their voices, behind their howls of rage as they clawed to get through a gate they didn't understand.

I ran fast when my parents were dead by the bullets they'd given me to execute them with. I hadn't been able to even do that. My mom had to do it. I ached in the quiet moments of the quiet days at the mere thought of forcing her to do that to save me. If I'd done it, she would not have had to endure the fear and pain and shame by ending my father's life and her own just to save me.

I had always been a coward, deep down. Weak. And I knew it too. After that fateful day, my death – and life, for that matter – was irrelevant. No one would have cared if I lived or died.

We'd gone there to pass through the gate. To leave Hand forever. I had been important, they'd said, and if I could just make it through the Kingdom of Death, I would be free. I could change the world, they'd said.

But I hadn't done that. I'd fled. Like a coward. After they'd been murdered by their own hands, I'd fled back to the stupid little Colony to maintain a tenth of a life that I had lived. Things had never been the same since then, and, though I never thought about it directly, I hated the results of my cowardice.

Their deaths had been for nothing because I was a coward. And I had to live everyday with wondering what might have been if I had made the trek to the Great Gate safely, questioning what had lied beyond that they wanted me so desperately to see.

My exception back into the Colony of Hand was one of the rare instances in which this had been allowed, as I mentioned before. And ever since then, Rhyme had given me hell for it, demanded where I'd gone, where I'd went.

But if I told him, if I'd told anybody, I would be cast out for sure, thrust back to face a quest that lingered in the back of my mind even still. Only my dearest friends knew what had happened. And I was discussing it with a random stranger.

I smiled at him, suddenly, and I tried hard to fix what I had let him see, to undo what I had so foolishly said. It was hard, but I forced a smile and made absolutely sure my voice was steady when I said,

"I'm sorry." I cleared my throat a little. "I become accustomed to thinking. I spend most of my days outside alone. What were you saying?"

He surveyed me for a moment, and then asked,

"How far out do you go from here, do you think?"

"I know the town in and out for ten, maybe twenty hundred arm's lengths. My Reach isn't very far yet."

"What's that mean?"

"I haven't gone far – I'm a Cartographer. Do you know what that means?"

"No."

"It's my job to keep the land outside. I am called an Outsider for this because I am the only one legally allowed outside."

There was a serious moment. And then, with sarcasm that baited a fury from me, he asked,

"So you're saying you think you're kind of a big deal around here?"

This made me very angry.

"You don't get to mock me or what I do!" I suddenly said loudly. "You don't know anything about me!"

"Touchy, touchy!" he said, smirking at the rise he'd gotten out of me. "Why so defensive? It was just a simple question."

"There are no simple questions," I glowered. "Nothing is simple here."

"Don't kill me with your eyes, now," he admonished mockingly.

"I would not need my eyes to do so," I replied evenly.

His eyes came into mine, and it seemed my defiance angered him.

"Are you _threatening_ me?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Because that would not be wise."

"No one has ever accused me of being wise."

"Don't make me defend myself, _girl_. I would dispatch you easily if it came to that."

But he sounded a little hesitant.

I smirked.

"So is murdering your profession then?" I joked, raising an eyebrow. "Because you don't seem to be good at anything else."

"Dealing with death is my profession, yeah," he said, with more than a little bitterness.

It was my turn to hesitate, and I both physically and mentally recoiled. I tried to recover, to undo this backtracking, but he saw it.

And something so very human passed through his eyes, as if they were an open archway that something could just pass through. I saw this shadow from the other side. It was gone again in a flash, and it was anguish, something I instantly recognized – and pitied. I felt guilt at having invoked it.

"We're all killers here," I said nonchalantly to try to fix my error. "But it's best we don't spread that around. Insiders aren't so candid with death."

"How would you know what we are?" he asked harshly.

I bit back a retort.

"No one volunteers to come here," I said quietly. "Why would they?" I snorted bitterly then. "You came through the Kingdom of Death to get here. Besides, you become like the land here or it consumes you. Death must be your business."

There was a moment, brief, maybe even imaginary, where I saw that world of pain in his eyes, and it opened up. The archway that it had been magnified to a degree so intense that I regretted the truth I'd just spoken. It disappeared in a flash, just like before, but it led me to believe that perhaps Oliver Dark was not just a brooding, impolite murderer.

"Don't mistake me, Outlander," I offered. "You do what is necessary to survive, I'm sure. We all do."

"Don't project your tendency toward violence on me, girl," he snapped belligerently.

I'd struck a nerve too close to his heart – and he'd struck one too close to mine.

I decided to yield again.

"I'm...sorry..." I whispered. "I didn't mean to offend you."

He smirked.

"You didn't," he said a little too dismissively.

"Then, I'm glad," I replied, feeling an outpouring of relief that he accepted my surrender, at least in name only.

"So, you said you were an Outsider?" he prodded next.

"Yes."

"But you're just a..." In a moment, he developed a small sense of propriety. His tone changed slightly. "I mean–"

"I am eighteen years old," I said defensively.

He looked me up and down. It was awfully impolite in my land to do so as such.

"Don't look eighteen," he quipped.

"And you don't look rude, but we can both be wrong about something."

"Okay, okay. Sorry. Don't cry about it."

"I am not crying," I replied, furrowing my brow in confusion.

There was an awkward silence. My eyes searched the room.

"Your Elders are unique," I said to him finally, nodding towards the two sleeping together. "Disease is not uncommon in our times. This is why I gave you so much medicine last night. Few reach Elderhood, and I did not want your fate to be sealed so thoroughly."

He didn't thank me. I glanced into his eyes, and it seemed like he wanted to, but he didn't know how.

"Your Elders must be quite wise or strong of body to live so long," I remarked into the silence.

"They're probably barely forty or fifty," he said.

"Very old here," I said, nodding grimly.

This seemed to make him sad.

"Are you in charge here?" he asked, probably to change the subject.

I laughed.

"Absolutely not. I'm just a scavenger, little more. Others do more. I just happen to be an Outsider, and that's why I found you."

"How many people do you have here?"

"Enough. The numbers change daily."

"What do they do?"

"We have an inventor. A mender...a cleaner. On special occasions a cook – no, he died – never mind. A healer – oh, but not for me. Or you too, I bet. We've been outside."

"So?"

"So?" I asked, slightly bemused. "You're foreign, and I'm...Tainted. Unclean."

"Tainted?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Remember the Bad People of which I spoke?" I asked him.

He nodded.

"It is said that all who are immune to Undeath are descended from the Bad People in the Great War. All Outsiders are treated with..." I silenced my tongue, tempering it, before speaking again. "Outsiders are not treated the same as Insiders, despite the grave importance of our station."

"Well, that doesn't seem fair, does it?" he asked sardonically.

I could not tell if his mockery was of me or my people, but either way I did not like it.

"Some are treated with higher respect than others. My mentor was treated with higher respect than I."

"Why?"

"People have never liked me – or my family. I do not know why."

"Maybe because you're descended from Bad People?" he asked, suddenly cautious.

I snorted.

"It's just a stupid story," I said, rolling my eyes. "People believe what they want to justify their bigotry."

My dismissal made him smile. It was small, but it was true. Glorious.

It looked rare.

"But if you're immune there might be some truth to it?" he asked, the same smile fading.

"I wouldn't know," I said, waving my hand. "I'm sure our officials would give you a better story."

"Officials? What could you people possibly need officials for?"

I looked down at my lap then back up at him. I felt uncomfortable with his mockery of what I hated. I felt like I should defend it, though I very much didn't want to. I thought it normal though, as I never in my life had met an Outlander, so I decided to tell him my truth. He would never know any different. My truth was as good as any. And if he did, then he wouldn't care one way or another. He'd hear both sides.

"They are...a government," I said. "Though this term is offensive, and you should not repeat it to anyone you meet."

"Why?"

He seemed to barely be keeping up with the words I spoke, but I was too nervous to slow down.

"Government is a term for liars, brigands, and murderers. I would be put out for speaking such radicalisms. The people here need not another reason to oust me."

Something dawned on his face.

"Wait...you have an organized system of government?"

"Of sorts," I said cautiously. "Does this offend you? In Stronghold, we are mocked for this institution."

"I don't believe it," he said matter-of-factly. "We have a government. But you can't possibly have one. That's too...civilized."

"We are civilized, Mr. Dark!" I snapped. "Just because our highers demand to have this system implemented does not mean that –!"

"Wait – it would be _more_ civilized to have a government, not less!"

I actually gasped, eyes wide.

"Is that how it is in your land?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I...just..." I didn't know what to say. This seem scandalous to me, and I flushed. "Never mind. I don't know."

"So, are you involved with this 'government?'" he asked, looking away from me.

"No." I squeezed my fists, and a cool, sour liquid drained the thrill at his scandalous truths. "Nor would they take me if I asked," I amended.

"Why?" he asked.

"I am in error for thinking this way, but I believe our government to be a foolhardy waste of time. They do nothing but fear-monger, which I find to be unacceptable. However, to question the government is...illegal. As has been the case of all governments since the Great War. And my uncle would not hesitate to arrest me." I shrugged. "I am not alone in feeling this way, though it is not in my power to do anything about it, nor do I have powerful friends to help me were I excommunicated. Not that Hand would last long without me. But, as I said, it is not my place to speak on such things. It is called our leadership only, a nameless thing."

"And you can't speak out against it?"

"Because you will be put out."

"But aren't you important?"

"I am an Outsider," I said again. "This position is supposed to make me important, but I fear it may not. I have just risen to the rank of the Advising Outsider. Just yesterday. But, like I said, I am not important enough, and I fear the assignments with such a title may change just because I am me."

"People hate you that much?" he asked warily. "Why? Because of a story? Or do they have proof?"

I did not want to answer, for I wasn't sure myself.

"It is offensive to brand it government," I said apologetically. "Forgive my initial rashness. It is not my place."

"Whose place is it?" he asked.

"My uncle's," I said, sounding as if I had just swallowed dirt.

I absent-mindedly put a hand to my head and neck to feel the sore bruises that he had put there.

"He's in charge here," I said.

Ollie said nothing and picked up my book, like he'd been eyeing it.

"Tell me where you got this," he demanded.

"How charming you are, asking me all nice."

"Fine. Tell me where you got this... _please_."

I sighed.

"Outside the town – a hundred arms west."

"From that burning thing?"

"That thing was a woman, Mr. Dark. And that woman...that woman...was Hand's best Cartographer."

I looked away, trying hard to compose myself, whispering,

"I, uh...I suppose that's my job now."

He looked away for the first time, at least having the courtesy to pretend to feel abashed. I narrowed my eyes as I contemplated if he really was sorry, but it didn't take me a long while to pass over this speculation like trash.

"Do you know what that is?" I asked, trying hard to tell myself that there was no anger in me. "I've never seen one so new with so many markings."

I pointed to the papered thing Evergreen gave me just hours before. I had not had an opportunity to look at it.

"This is a book," he said.

He reached for it but hissed in sudden pain. I quickly put the book beside him.

"Here. Let me."

I put the towel back into the medicine, restringing the cloth. I reached for his shirt to pull it up, but he grabbed my wrist again.

"No."

He seemed abashed. He masked it well with anger and distrust, but I saw.

"I can do it," he protested. "Don't –"

I smiled at his modesty, which seemed to stun him. I was reminded of his foul character, and I felt the smile slip away.

"I am now more familiar with you than you are, Mr. Dark," I said playfully.

He might have smiled, but it was for the briefest of seconds. He seemed afraid. The emotions that passed over his face over and over were hard to keep up with. Maybe he wasn't used to talking, I thought. He was socially uneducated. The corner of his mouth twitched again, the hinting of a smile, and he finally nodded his consent.

I looked away from him, pulling quickly at his torn, bloodied shirt. It was crusted from spilled blood and past wounds from before even my work. I had bandaged his cut with a long rag I had found from last year's clothing heap. But it would have to be changed. That was the nature of the thing.

"Don't move," I said quietly.

Before he could object, I yanked. He shifted, yelled out, and grabbed my hand again, as if it was less an offense and more a reflex. I was close to his face when I looked up. We were so very close to each other and his eyes were terrifyingly clouded with ulterior motives. Nothing in me trusted him. And everything in him suddenly scared me.

With that thought, I became just as aggressive as he.

"If you grab me again, I'll chop that hand _off_ , Mr. Dark!"

I yanked from his grip indignantly. When I began again, he took my wrist painfully hard and twisted. He was used to hurting people. I saw it in his eyes. So I shoved my knife to his throat with my other hand, a knife that sometimes even I forgot rested on my ankle.

"I don't want to hurt you," I said breathlessly. "But if you grab my arm like that again, I swear I will break yours."

"Cute..." he replied, smirking while giving me a once-over.

I resisted the urge to blush as I glowered.

"Let. Go. Of. Me."

He did. I retracted the knife a little slower.

"You were hurting me!" he cried out angrily.

His voice was frightening and real, like a feral dog that was lost and frightened.

"Don't hurt me again," he ordered, retreating back to the safety of power and giving orders.

"Whatever, you big baby."

I moved again to mend his skin.

"Don't touch me!" he said loudly.

He pushed me away violently. I fell on my hands, causing them to bleed with dirt and grime from the messy floor. They were still sore from meeting the ground after Rhyme's wrath the day before.

Tears came to my eyes with the pain. They throbbed angrily.

"If you hadn't moved, I wouldn't have hurt you!" I managed to say.

"If you hadn't torn the thing off, I wouldn't have –"

"What was I supposed to do? Leave it? Let it fester?"

"Don't rip the damn thing off like that!"

"You'll catch something that I don't want in my house!" I said back. "If you want to stay here, you'll let me do what needs to be done or leave!"

"Who says I _want_ to stay here?"

"Well, _I_ don't want you here either, but you're here away from the death outside all thanks to me! So you'll do what I say!"

"I don't like this!" he finally admitted, his fingers finding his temples with a furrowed brow.

I made a sound of disgust.

"You poor thing. Safe and sound inside with medicine and shelter. I mean, how _do_ you manage it?"

"You shut the hell up!" he said, snarling in my direction. "I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for _you_! I didn't even ask to be here, but I am!"

"Then, you need to just _deal_ with it, don't you? Because you're here, and I'm not going anywhere!"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because you need help, this is _my_ house, and you're _my_ responsibility! Now, I _refuse_ to let you draw the Horde to my doorstep because I was foolish enough to let you bloody up the Colony I live in! So, shut up and sit back!"

Finally, wearily, with an angry sigh, he did. But his eyes asked a thousand questions.

Chapter Nine: Elusion and Discovery

A little while later, he asked me a question that wasn't a question.

"You seem awfully concerned with your...what did you call it? Undeath?"

"It is my job to be." prolific

"But it's more than that."

"Well..."

I sighed.

"My...mother and father were...with me when they caught sick. My mother killed him, then...then herself, to save me...so...I know what it...I don't know. I know that it's something I'd rather not see again."

"Oh, wow, I'm...I'm so sorry."

It was the second time he had enough sense to pretend.

"It's alright." I shrugged and cleared my throat.

It wasn't alright.

"I was fourteen when –"

"You were fourteen!" he exclaimed, sitting back.

He looked about almost wildly.

"Have – have _you_ been keeping this place?"

"Since their deaths, yes."

I remained looking at my work. He was watching my face for any movement at all, and I felt myself blush. I looked up.

"Mr. Dark –"

"Ollie, princess. Just...just Ollie, alright?"

"Fine, then. Ollie." I smiled wearily at him. "I'm eighteen. I –"

There was a knock on my door. I dropped the cloth suddenly, splashing myself, and foreboding took me faster than the set of the sun. The cold medicine woke me, and I shook away a chill. There was another knock, more insistent and ever more insidious.

"Oh, man..."

"MYTH!" a voice boomed from the front.

I stood immediately, almost at attention. Bumps rose and fell all over my arms. I felt the bruise again, how it suddenly throbbed and pained me in more ways than one. It was my uncle at the door.

"Who is that?" Ollie asked quickly.

Paige woke beside me at the noise.

"Hey!" she cried.

There was a sleepy smile on her face.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"He's here," I whispered softly to myself.

I tried to steady my breath. It had all started the day before, only the yesterday of a better time.

"Was it only yesterday?" I muttered, putting a hand to my head.

I wished that I had actually conceptualized what would happen between Rhyme and I when he found out of my business of the night. That way, they would probably all be dead, and I would have been safe in my own bed, unharmed, not waiting for a bruise to come. Still, I knew I had to hide them until such a time was decided by me that this was no longer necessary. Until that moment, the four Outlanders were to remain my hidden charges.

It still resounded though, the knowledge that I had done something and that I was about to be punished for it.

_He knows_ , I thought desolately. _He knows. He knows. He knows._

"Hey, princess!"

I didn't know why he kept calling me that, but it made me upset. Tears blinded me. Ollie grabbed tried to grab my wrist, but I twitched away. He seemed to become even more distressed.

"What's the matter?" Ollie asked.

He made to sit up, as if to defend himself, as if to defend me.

"No." I put a hand out. "You need not protection." I glanced at the light in the door. "You may be unwelcome, but little more. Safety and peace, Outlander. I will hide you yet." I glanced behind my shoulder. It was a desperate plan, mine was, but it just might get me out of trouble, I thought.

"Look, this might sound strange, but I need you to...make me bleed a little."

I glanced over my shoulder at the others, who all appeared to be watching apprehensively, and I handed Ollie the knife.

Ollie just blinked, stunned.

"What?" he finally asked, as if what I'd asked him was an extremely personal request.

Then, I saw the whites of his eyes. It made him afraid. He looked around a little, almost as if to plea with invisible forces.

"I can't cut you – I don't know how."

By the way he said it, I could tell he did know how.

"Just do it really fast!"

"No!"

"Please, I can't do it myself!"

"Why do you even need it?"

There was another knock, louder, more menacing.

"You're not supposed to be here!" The banging was getting louder and more persistent. "Just cut me, dammit! You are a secret!" I looked over my shoulder. "You're my secret! Just – please, he will beat me, Ollie, but he might not if I'm –!"

He finally put the knife into the skin on my arm, skillfully, fast. It was a deep cut, deeper than I would have thought he was capable of, and the familiar lump of pain welled there instantly to make the wound its new home. Tears came to my eyes, and the blood that began to pour out of me caused me some alarm.

"I'm..." Ollie saw my tears and it was clear he was distressed beyond words. He looked out of place. "Are you..." He stopped this too. I just hissed, snatching my knife back from his limp hand.

He tried to say something to me, but my uncle interrupted him.

"MYTH!"

I cleared my throat and organized myself. I wiped my falling blood onto my pants and pulled a better shirt over my shoulders from the clothes pile. I pressed the cloth to the edge of my wrist, where the slit was, and I waited until blood was stained there. I did, in fact, look injured enough to avoid – blood was dangerous in my land.

"What is it, sir?" I finally called, walking to the front and covering the back room with the thick curtain by my bed.

"You know damn well what it is!" he shouted, banging loudly. "Open this door!"

Panic shot through me.

_He knows_ , my thoughts taunted. _He knows everything._

But I could not yield.

"I take no orders from you, uncle!" I said it boldly. "This is my home. You will not charge it!"

I did not understand how he had found out, and I was sorry that he did. I had wanted to tell him. I did not plan on him finding out without my consent.

"MYTH FISHER!" He was booming. "I know damn well what you did last night!"

I felt hurt. That lump of pain in my wrist extended to somewhere under my lungs and between my stomach and my bladder. This was a different kind of pain. I thought of Chess.

He'd revealed what I'd done to my abuser. The night before, he'd seemed so sweet, so loving. That he would act so much like Foot crushed something inside of me.

Rhyme was not patient enough for my thoughts.

"You will come out with your hostages at _once_!"

"They're injured – and were they hostages I would guess you had a better way to bargain for them!" I felt distraught, but my anger shone through admirably. "They are Outlanders. Do not you recall, uncle, that you were the one that wanted me to wait for them? Or was this too a jest?"

"You fool! You should do nothing without permission!"

"They required rest and shelter. It matters not to Hand who gives it to them! What would you have me do? Wake the entire village?"

"You may bring plague unto us all, Myth!"

"I would not threaten Hand, sir, you know this," I said sternly. "I am a Cartographer. And I am immune. You know this too, sir. I don't understand why you're so angry."

"Who are they?" he asked after a moment of weakness.

I glanced back.

"But two men and women, sir. They are the Outlanders I expected. Little to no threat to anyone as of yet." I heard the young woman laugh.

Goose bumps chilled me for the millionth time that day. They _did_ think that they were threats. They were weapons, tools of destruction meant to cause harm. They really were murderers.

I began to regret my decision then as I peered into the face of my worries and not into reality.

"I demand to see them!" Rhyme shouted through the door.

I hesitated, knowing what came next, and then I quickly opened the door. He barreled in pompously and looked about, saying,

"If they were received in a home of _importance_ –"

"I showed them every courtesy I could, sir, as I was the only one on watch last night with the expertise to help them."

I didn't like him in the house, but I took it as a gift that he did not hit me upon entering.

"Well?" he asked, finally honing in his beady eyes on me. "Where are they?"

I stood in front of the curtain behind which they all laid, and the noises of their breathing all became quiet at my shift, like they knew I was trying to hide them.

"They're safe...but...I don't recommend being here, sir. Your vulnerability to –" and before I could finish that he was in danger of catching Undeath, he was out my door.

"You send them to us when you see they are safe," he said.

I looked to floor as I said,

"That was, naturally, my intention, sir."

I closed the door behind me and re-entered my back room. Ollie was standing well, considering his injury, and the rest had followed suit. It made the room seem oppressively crowded, and they were all taller than I.

They looked down on me.

Their eyes showed me hunger and expectation. The burden of what I had done sunk into me as I saw this, and I began to feel fear and irritation. To keep the Outlanders in my house, I would have to feed and harbor them like children. I was never very good with kids.

"This is Myth Fisher," Ollie said quickly, nodding to me with that scowl.

He nearly rolled his eyes as he pointed to the people across from him. He didn't like them, I saw.

"This is Paige, Pierce, and Ali."

I bowed my head to them slightly. I still asked, "How do you do?" as it was a custom in my land.

I received only cold stares now – or blank ones. I couldn't tell. I turned to the others.

"You are in the town named Hand," I said quietly. "You are unwelcome to some, maybe most, but there are among us kinder folk, I think. They'll need...time. To adjust to you."

" _Where_ are we?" Pierce asked with narrowing eyes.

"Hand," I said exasperatedly, slowly.

I hesitated before throwing up my hand like I had done for Ollie, and he smiled victoriously, winningly, because he was not the only one to misunderstand. I rolled my own eyes at the childishness, but it brought me small humor, so I stayed my anger. Paige walked forward a bit and leaned in close to my face. She spoke something back to the other woman – Ali. Ali nodded with a scowl.

"Where are your parents, Myth?" Paige asked.

The answer to that question made all the difference to her, but I just didn't understand why.

"I'm not a child," I said automatically, eyeing her warily.

"She said she's descended from Bad People," Ollie abruptly cut in.

I squirmed at the cool judgment in their gazes at this. I hated telling people that, but it was apparently important to them. They sought an answer, so I offered,

"Yes, it is said I am a descendant of some."

I kept my nose to the ground to avoid their eyes.

"I hope this doesn't offend you."

They were silent and still. Paige, who'd been standing nearest me, finally turned back to them, and I had the sense to look up. Their faces were ashen.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" she asked them.

None of others answered her. Paige, who stood close to me, circled me, eyeing me like I was for sale. I felt humiliation, and I didn't know why.

"Who are these Bad People?" Paige asked me.

My face flushed.

"There was a war long ago between the people and Bad People. They lost. We won."

"We?" Ollie asked nastily. "If you're from the Bad People, can you reasonably suggest you're part of 'people?'"

This stung.

"I've eaten and drank and grown up with these people," I finally said in supplication. "I've laughed and cried with them. Lived with them. I've done this all my life. I am as much a part of the Colony as...the dirt on the ground or the gate above."

Ollie chose not to reply to this, but I had an inkling he wasn't convinced so easily.

For whatever reason, something about the Bad People made him act differently. Say different things.

"Besides," I finally said, "nobody knew who the Bad People were after the metal fire birds came from the sky."

Paige's eyes lit up.

"What do you mean, Myth?"

"The metal birds brought the war to us, but they ended it when the metal fire birds made the land like this." I kicked the dust beneath my feet dolefully. "After that, nobody knew who the Bad People were and who everyone else was. We just...were. Together."

I shrugged. This seemed like a story everybody should have known, but they acted like I was a bad liar in the face of a serious accusation.

Finally, Ollie snapped, like he couldn't take it anymore.

"Let me just address what everyone's thinking and throw it away! Bad People aren't Deviants."

"Sure sounds like it," Paige said back.

They spoke too quickly for me to understand, and by the fervent glances I got from them, they seemed to be taking advantage of this fact.

"She says she's eighteen," Ollie said back. "She has parents. A family. Deviants don't. She has history and feelings. Deviants don't. She exists here in the group. Deviants don't. They aren't inherently pack-oriented. They're efficient to a fault."

"Maybe we were wrong," Paige offered.

Ollie didn't reply.

"So where are your parents?" Ali asked me seriously, tearing me from searching their lips to understand the murmured words they exchanged.

"Dead," I said quietly.

"But you did have them?" Paige asked, narrowing her eyes.

"What?"

"Parents, I mean."

"Yes, people usually do," I replied coldly.

"Oh, yes, of course, I know that," she said dismissively, and so I was quiet.

"What's this about?" I finally asked.

I looked to Ollie, but turned away after I saw him. Ollie's face had turned up to me and his eyes and mouth were suddenly twisted with a mixture of confusion, sadness, and anger. I was glad Paige was between us to create a barrier, for that scowl etched – burned – a hole into my face. He looked at me like I was something he'd never seen before and couldn't quite understand. Like I was something to be reviled and spit on.

"Maybe this is why we're here," Paige whispered. "We're all here to die because the Masters knew they'd be here. They're going to level it with us inside."

"That's impossible," Pierce finally said intelligibly. "This doesn't make sense. If the Masters knew Deviants would be here, then they must have known about the humans too. They wouldn't send us to kill humans."

"Maybe all of them are Deviants," Ali suggested.

Ollie shook his head.

"You heard her. She just said people and Bad People lived together, then and now."

"Yeah, but then what?" Ali asked, scowling. "They grow old. They die. They're infertile."

"Well, they obviously aren't infertile," Paige said, shaking her head seriously. "Unless you think Myth is more than two hundred years old."

This thought silenced them.

"My God, they've been reproducing..." Pierce said quietly, running his hands through his hair. "What does that mean? Is that even possible?"

"Apparently so," Paige said back.

"What does that mean?" Pierce asked again.

"It doesn't matter," Ollie said. "We've killed them before. We'll kill these too."

"She saved our life!" Paige cried.

"Doesn't matter."

"But she was born! She had parents! That's got to mean something to you."

"I came here to do a job, and that was to make sure everything inside of that gate was dead!" Ollie said louder. "I obey Probe's commands, and if you want to live, so should you!"

"Murder or die?" Paige nearly shouted back. "Living the dream, right, Ollie?"

"If she is what you think she is, then it's not really murdering. Not really. More like a recall of bad product."

"Bad product?" Paige repeated dumbly. "She can feel and has a family! You just said it!" She'd backed him into a corner, and they both knew it. "Are you willing to destroy so coldly the person who went well out of her way to save _your_ life? All our lives?"

"If she's a Deviant...then yes," Ollie said back.

"The High Council wouldn't have allowed the species of their creation to reproduce," Ali said. "It would be like allowing a weapon to think for itself."

"You mean like the High Council letting a bunch of computers build other computers?" Paige said back. "That's just stupid, but they do that."

"Paige!" Pierce cried, as if she was denouncing something sacred.

"The High Council is made up of supercomputers that wouldn't know the difference between a clothespin and a human being," she continued angrily.

"That's blasphemy to talk about the High Council like that!" Ali cried.

Paige snorted.

"Being old computers doesn't make them smart computers!" Paige said vehemently. "Just because they say the Deviants can't procreate doesn't make it true. _Look_ at her! Look where we are! Look what she's done for us!"

"She must have found us useful somehow," Ollie said dismissively. "She wouldn't have saved us of her own free will. They don't do that. That's the rule. Humans and Deviants are simply incompatible. We're their prey. They can't..." Finally, he revealed some of his internal frustration, letting out a deep breath. "This doesn't make sense! It's impossible!"

"Whatever your worry is," I offered, "don't let it bother you. I mean you no danger."

I held my palms to the ceiling, glancing at Ollie. But he was afraid of me. It was a fraction of a second that I saw it, but it was there. I was surprised. The surly, belligerent man wasn't as awful as he'd have me believe, or he'd know nothing of fear.

"You have a mark," Paige said abruptly to me, breathlessly. "A mark somewhere, don't you? On your skin? Where is it?"

"Paige, shut up!" Ollie nearly yelled. "The High Council has always said that reproduction is impossible. Always! It isn't in their genetic code! They're infertile!"

"They've been wrong before!"

"The High Council told us when they made the Deviants that they rebelled and started killing us for absolutely no reason! None! And the virus we had them weaponize was suddenly their greatest tool, which they used – repeatedly – on us!"

The first flicker of doubt came to Paige's eyes.

"Yes, this is true, but –"

"What? You want her to be different? Why?"

"She saved our lives!"

"She found us useful!" Ollie corrected. "That's what they do! They calculate! That's all!"

"How have we been useful?" Paige shot back.

"Look, it doesn't matter!" Ollie said back louder. "A Deviant is still a murderer, no matter where we find it. That's what they were made to do. That's what the High Council designed them to do."

Paige still argued.

"But what if the Deviants had something in their immune system that rejects Necrosis, something we can use?"

"It doesn't matter!"

"Of course it matters!"

"They're Deviants. Beyond use or reason. They exist to be purged now. That's all. Deviants are incompatible with our race. Period. It'll only be a matter of time before –"

"They've lived for two hundred years without killing each other, humans and Deviants both. Maybe _that's_ why they sent us here. To silence any chance of proving there can be peace."

"Peace?" Ollie shouted. "You don't get it, do you, Paige? It doesn't matter. They won't care! A Deviant, no matter where, is like a tick. It needs to be burned. And, since we're out of bullets, we'll just have to call in an air strike. They'll want it this way, Paige. Deviants are the lowest of the low. And even if we brought her back, it would be pointless. They'd kill her there anyway – and she'd die in agony. Is that what you want?"

He was nearly shouting at her. I heard the anger there, and I shivered for it. Paige continued to search my body.

I waited. And slowly, ever so slowly, I put together what they had said. There were still large parts of it that were misunderstood, but I thought that I had gathered that, at least, they were definitely dangerous. They intended to do us harm if they deemed us hazardous, which it seemed as if all but Paige had deemed me so. I wriggled out of her grip. I felt sheepish regret that it had taken so long.
Chapter Ten: A Reverse Set of Questions

It was with more than a little doing that I managed to get Paige to stop surveying me like a piece on the market, and it took even more veiled threats to sit them across from me to engage in a civil conversation. The civility of the proceedings that followed seemed difficult for them. In fact, they stared at me from across the room, and the myriad of emotions that splayed wildly across the eyes and faces of the Outlanders would have been comical had the emotions themselves not been so serious. Ollie was confusion and anger. Pierce was disbelief and awe. Ali was disgust and hatred. Paige was apprehension and fear.

And all of them carried a weight of hesitancy, as if I was a diseased animal that had been trapped in the room with them. They gathered, those three, at the furthest corner of the room, I on the other side, and their eyes often widened and their bodies stiffened whenever I shifted or moved.

"Why do you speak of the Bad People?"

I addressed Paige, for she seemed the most lucid of the three – the least like she'd been slapped in the face.

"It is important," she replied carefully.

"Why is it?"

"Probably for the same reason it's important here. The Bad People have done a lot to our people – butchered them. We are afraid of the possibility."

"Of what?" I asked pointedly.

"That you are a Bad Person," she said bluntly.

I snorted, rolling my eyes.

"Stow your fears," I said after her grave face didn't shift to mirth. "It is a story in name only. If I was a Bad Person, would I not know? Would it not be obvious?"

"It's not that simple," Ollie cut in.

"Why not?"

"It just isn't."

I paused.

"Well, that isn't a very good answer, is it?" I snapped coldly.

He finally sneered.

"Yeah? And what would you know? You live in a hole under the ground with a dirt for a floor. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

This barb hurt, but I refused to let it show.

"Say what you must, I am no fool. Just because I cannot understand your hard language does not mean that I am simple."

"But believe me, nobody would _ever_ accuse you of being a genius," he shot back.

"You shut up!" I shouted. "You don't even _know_ me! And who are you? Obviously a great leader to have brought your people _here_ , of all places!"

"I didn't choose to come here!"

"Oh, my, but you're here now," I said mockingly. "How ever will you cope?"

He opened his mouth to retort again when Paige cut in.

"Enough!" she snapped. She turned to me. "Myth, you don't understand the circumstances of our arrival. They weren't as simple as you might think."

"I don't presume to understand anything," was my reply. "But I do have some questions that I think need to be answered."

Ollie blinked.

"What's the matter?" I asked him.

"You're not afraid of us?" he asked.

I sneered, masking the fears I knew part of him could feel.

"Why would I?" I asked, innocently enough. "Do you wish me harm?"

They were silent. Chills scurried up and down my arms, leaving little marks on my flesh wherever they ran.

"I see," I finally said coolly.

I began to think I was a fool to save them.

"Tell me then," I demanded. "From where do you come?"

There was no answer.

"Where are you heading?"

There was more silence.

"What was your _purpose_?" I snapped louder, beginning to lose my temper.

Every venomous silence dripped with perfidious intentions.

"We came in search of survivors," Paige finally offered.

"Of what?" I asked pointedly.

"Of the metal fire birds in the sky," Pierce explained.

I resisted the urge to widen my eyes, and I tried hard to mask the increasing rhythm of my pumping blood through deep, calming breaths.

"Are you to tell me then that there are colonies beyond the Great Gate that search for us?" I asked evenly.

"No," Ollie snapped, staring Paige down with a vileness I'd yet seen. "We aren't to tell you anything."

"How very convenient," I snapped back at him, my mouth rising to the challenge in his tone easily. "And am I then to assume that you find no use whatsoever for your weaponry outside? If you mean us harm, I am afraid that I will be obligated to take them away from you."

"I'd like you to _try_ , princess," Ollie replied nastily.

"I need not try," I said, shrugging. "If you all wish to continue on with this cloak and dagger business, by all means, but I cannot facilitate it. Not here. Not in my colony."

"What are you suggesting?" Ali asked, sitting forward with narrowed eyes.

"Until I am sure you do not mean us harm, I've locked your weapons away."

"Like hell you have!" Ollie shouted. "You'll give our guns back to us _now_ or we'll strangle you in your sleep!"

"That would be quite a feat," I remarked, raising an eyebrow, "considering that you cannot move."

"Don't ignore me," Ali snapped. "I could slit your throat any time I wanted."

"Well, isn't that a cheery thought!" I said back sardonically. "Such a thing would create such a mess, don't you think?" She was silent, and so was Ollie. I could tell they were enraged at being so powerless.

"Besides," I said, "you could not kill me. I have but one hiding place, just one, and it is far out into the wastes. If you want to brave the horde, and the elements, in order to reach it, I dare you to try."

This was a lie. I'd hidden away their weaponry in a lock box concealed in the wall in my front room to keep thieves from cropping up and taking them.

The Outlanders didn't have to know that though, especially when the words "murder" and "butcher" were used in the last hour more than once.

"What's our alternative?" Pierce interjected diplomatically before Ollie could blow up again.

"Wait," I snapped.

Ollie glowered.

"For _what_?"

"Wait until I decide you're well enough to handle a weapon, first of all," I said motioning to his side. "And until I've decided that you won't do us any harm."

"Why?" Ollie asked.

Paige, all the while, had a budding smile on her face that grew more and more widened for the duration of her conversation. Her eyes met mine but once, but they communicated a message of both gratefulness and admiration.

"Because it's my job to protect these miserable jerks from all threats, both foreign and domestic," I said wearily. "And that includes fixing my mistakes."

"Saving us was a mistake?" Ollie asked, sneering. "What a gem you are, going out of your way for us."

"I was beaten for portending your arrival," I replied with sudden graveness, and my hand found my face, where Rhyme had slapped me. My hands too, sore both from Rhyme's abuse and Ollie's, reminded me of the fact.

"Who did this to you?" Paige asked, suddenly breathless.

"My uncle," I replied back, with a tone that dared any of them to belittle me for it. "He accused me of making up false realities in which Outlanders were not bloodthirsty savages."

My eyes connected with Ollie's. He looked at me queerly for a moment before turning away. His imperceptible eyes revealed nothing of his reaction of this to me.

"I humbly request that you do not give him the satisfaction of being right," I finished blandly.

"Look..." Ollie finally said, sighing exasperatedly. "We aren't going to kill you, alright?"

The other three turned towards him in what was obviously surprise. This didn't reassure me.

"We can't... _go_ anywhere until I'm well again," he said cautiously. "So we'll wait and we'll try to cooperate. We don't have to be enemies."

_Yet,_ I couldn't help sensing in the realm of unsaid words.

I eyed them each more shrewdly than the last, finally lingering on Ollie.

"But..." Paige finally said. "Would you mind answering a few questions for us in the meantime? We're very eager to understand you."

I snorted.

"Yeah, _right_ ," she said. "Sure you are."

But I saw she was undeterred and her curiosity, at least, was genuine. This brought a scowl to my lips.

"What do you want to know?" I asked angrily.

"We search for a mark," Paige said slowly and concisely.

Though I'd never admit it to any of them, this method helped me to understand a great deal better than their hurried, shushed speech.

"What kind of mark?" I asked, curiosity peaked.

"A mark on your skin. Like a scar. Or a tattoo."

They had returned to this point many times among themselves, but this was the first time they actually thought to ask me about it.

"I don't understand," I said, and I didn't.

Why it would matter to them was beyond me.

"Marks," Ollie pressed. "Burns. Blackness. Spots. Anything."

"I have many scars. I need a more specific answer."

Ollie rolled his eyes, as if every word I said I did so just to infuriate him.

"I...mean no disrespect, Outlanders," I began, flushing hotly. "But many of these 'marks' are in places that I would not show even to those who were my lovers."

"What did she say?" Ali asked Ollie.

"I do not feel like undressing myself to be examined by dangerous strangers!"

"Dangerous?" Ali asked, feigning hurt. "Oh, but pumpkin, that's not very nice. Why don't you hurry up and tell us where the marks are? Otherwise, we'd have absolutely no problem finding them for you."

I narrowed my eyes at this.

"Just threaten me again, and see what happens," I ordered her with a toothy grin. "I _dare_ you."

Ali's eyes ignited with a challenged hatred that was so frightening even I, with all my bravado, felt a chill. Surely, something was wrong with her – her and Ollie – if they could look like that. No human anywhere knew how to handle that kind of emotion. It was too much for our frail bodies to overpower. Such emotions would rule us if we did not rule them.

But, beyond this, she didn't move. Her hands were tied. I'd caught them in a bind, weaponless, and it made me satisfied.

"Look..." Paige said wearily. "It seems...we've started out on the wrong foot."

I glanced down at my own feet.

"What does that even mean?" I asked her, surely such a nonsensical phrase was mocking, but she redacted again.

"No, no, it just means...we began our acquaintance wrongly, and we apologize."

Ollie and Ali both snorted as if to say, "Speak for yourself."

She and Pierce shot them a glare before she returned her gaze on me with a gentleness that parried the sheer hatred and rage I felt from the other two.

"We just want to make sure we're safe," Paige explained. "This is as strange and scary for us as it is for you. We want to make sure you are not dangerous to us."

"And my marks would decide if I am volatile or not?" I asked abrasively.

But it was restrained abrasion. Paige, of them all, had been polite and courteous.

"Your marks would determine what is to happen next," Paige said encouragingly. "We do not want to be impolite, but it's just...important for us to understand."

"If you worry about my illness, I'm immune. I carry no bite marks."

I extended my hands to them with open fingers, flipping them back and forth as if to demonstrate my sincerity, but Paige shook her head again.

"No, not a bite," she conceded, nodding. "It's more like a dark black spot. It might be hidden or very small."

I hesitated, and she saw it.

"Do you know what I'm talking about?"

I nodded suddenly and gathered my hair together. It was barely liftable – it was so short – but I knew that it covered the only other strange markings that there were on my skin. My mother had always forbid me from cutting the hair any shorter so that it would forever and always remain hidden. She'd made the thing seem indecent, and even to her I did not speak of it, so I felt abashed revealing it to them. I raised it above my ears and pointed to a black mark on the left side of my neck behind my ear.

What came next was noise of magnitudes that I was uncomfortable with. Above the clamor, lost in the chaos, I also hear other things I was sure they hadn't meant to show me: anger, hope, confusion, and fear. Again, I became a background piece, and brief moments of being ignored turned to what felt like eternity. What was more, the Outlanders, ever prone to their exhaustive speculation, talked in so many circles that even I, with my divergent English, found myself to recognize certain phrases.

They most certainly thought me extraordinary, but I still didn't understand why.

Finally, after two solid hours of being ignored and shouted at, with pent up exhaustion, fatigue, pain, distress, and genuine exasperation, I stood.

"I have to leave."

"Where are you going?" Ollie finally asked, sitting up. "You can't just leave! What are we supposed to do?"

I ran a hand over my face wearily.

"You are supposed to _sit_ and wait for my return. You have already consumed much of my time, and I suspect that my energy will forbid me from venturing out the whole day anyway." I sighed. "I fear that you will not trust another that you have not already seen, so I will bring Chess back. He was the man of last night. If you have any questions or concerns, you need only bring them to him."

Saying his name brought a bitter taste to my mouth. His betrayal wounded me deeply, and I would not hesitate to show that to him every chance I got.

But that didn't mean we had to stop associating. Maybe it was all just a bad misunderstanding. I hoped it was, but the presence of these disappointing Outlanders had blackened my hopes, at least for the day.

I found myself not wanting to give them my friend. I wanted to give them straight to Rhyme's mercy. I had learned to despise them quickly, but I hid it well with good grace.

"Will you be back from...wherever you're going?" Paige asked.

"Yes," I replied quietly.

"Can we go with you?" she asked nervously, stepping forward as I stepped back.

The others barely noticed, so strongly were they back to their own conversation.

"No," I said instinctively, but the reaction was harsh.

I paused to think.

"I do not trust you," I amended, but this was not much better.

"You're wiser than we could have hoped," Paige said, glancing at the other three.

"You know more about a mark that's been on my skin my whole life than I do," I said ruefully. "That makes us different, you and I, doesn't it?"

She nodded.

"And that means they'll hate me, won't it?" I asked, nodding to the others, who went on as they had, ignoring me.

Paige just nodded again.

"And for whatever reason you'll go on hating me but tell me nothing about it?" I asked, feeling the first degree of hurt this brought me.

"It has to do with the Bad People," Paige said. "I think. That's all I'll allow myself to say. I'm sorry."

I nodding, waging whether or not to feel angry or blessed to have a half-ally among the new.

"Pierce," I said to Paige. "He is your husband?"

"Yes," she said, eyeing him wearily. "For many years now."

"He is gruff and unlikeable," I said bluntly.

This, too, was harsh.

"I apologize," I said quickly. "I am not used to conversing with people whom I have never met before. I did not mean he is a bad man, he just seems..."

Paige nodded.

"I know what you meant," she said.

"And what of the younger woman?" I asked. "You travel with her. What of she?"

"She is a bit of a mystery, actually," Paige said. "She has a thick history with..." She caught herself. "I'm sorry. I can't say. I don't know much about her."

"And Ollie?" I asked, eyeing him up and down. "What comment do you have about him?"

"He's as mysterious as she is," Paige said with genuine forlornness. "I want them to open up, but they won't. Not to me."

"How is it that you barely know your travel companions? Tell me, woman, was it your wish to die?"

"It was not mine, but I believe it may have been the High Council's wish," Paige said honestly.

I blinked in surprise.

"How cruel..." I finally whispered. "And yet you follow them still? Despite this treachery?"

"I do not, nor have I ever," Paige explained.

She pointed to Ollie.

"He believes in them, and we must do as he says," she said, leaning in to whisper it to me. "We were sort of trapped into coming to you. Trust me when I say it was not our wish to travel through your dead lands."

"That brings me little comfort," I replied. "Your leaders must be very harsh, indeed."

Paige's silence spoke volumes of agreement. Again, I voiced my disappointment.

"This is all very unfortunate," I said, sneering. "None of this even seems real. You do not know how long I have waited to see an Outlander. We thought they were myths. And here you are, speaking nonsense of killing rulers and of young men leading a group of people to their deaths. Now, that's just stupid."

"I'm sorry," Paige said sincerely. "I'll do what I can, when I can. Right now, that's all I have for you."

"Why are you all disgusted with me?" I asked her, eyeing the rest of the group.

They were calming somewhat, distracted by Paige's conversation with me, and I knew my insight would quickly come to an end.

"I am not," she said quickly. "Really. I'm not."

"But they are?" I asked, nodding to them.

She nodded back.

"I should have known better than to believe in children's stories," I said to myself, turning away. "You Outlanders are a big, stupid waste of time."

"Where are you going?" Pierce asked.

"Outside," I said simply. "When are you departing?"

I gathered my gun behind my shoulder from its place on the wall. I was already eager for the departure.

Ollie shrugged but met eyes significantly with the others. It made me furious, again, but there was little I could do but grin and bear it. It was only Paige's sympathies that kept me civil. I sighed with impatience and finality.

"Fine," I said. "I will return, perhaps, by half-noon."

"When's that?" Pierce asked, blinking.

"When it is noon plus half the day is half-noon. Near the time of dinner."

I suddenly felt so disappointed that tears threatened my eyes. I was used to blowing things up and tearing walls down or throwing Undead out of buildings. I was not used to subterfuge and trickery. Subtlety was not our world's strongest point. I was not used to Outlandish ways or customs, to the way they lied and cheated, and I wanted more, even if I didn't like them. I wanted my discovery to mean something, and it didn't – not really.

I stopped just outside of my room, and Ollie pursued me. He was clearly exhausted and in pain. The rest were still in the back room, arguing about something else now.

"Listen," he began, but I cut him off.

"It doesn't have to be like this, you know," I said to him.

"What?"

"Since your wakening, you and the others have shown me nothing but contempt," I said back. "It does not have to be this way. You owe me nothing."

"You saved my life!" he snarled back with a surge of emotion. "I kind of do owe you something."

I shrugged.

"If this is how you see it, so be it, but to me it was a favor that needs no return."

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," he said sullenly. "You took away our guns. We're trapped her until you decide to give them back to us."

I relented, if only a little.

"Please, try to understand my position, Mr. Dark," I said gently. "I do not mean to antagonize you, but I fear for those I care about. Do not take it personally, I implore you."

I put a hand on his shoulder. He was surprised by its presence, as if people didn't touch him daily. I found it disquieting and quickly removed my own, as if burned.

"You have to rest," I said. "The wounds you received were many and deep. Blood attracts the Undead. I urge you to at least consider a leave from your journey, to wherever that may have been, and to stay your anger, for whatever reason it comes."

He frowned. What I said made sense, and he knew it.

"We will stay here," Ollie said to me, "if you deem it necessary."

"I do not," I said warily. "But it is my recommendation."

"We will not survive out there?" he asked, clearly disappointed at the prospect of staying.

I shook my head. He tried, unsuccessfully, to smile at me. It was hard for him, and it made him look like as if he were grimacing than anything else.

I turned away, rolling my eyes only after my back was turned, and I could not stifle a noise of disgust as I ventured out to greet the newest and strangest day I had had in a very long time.

Chapter Eleven: Reporting the Incident

I hated her. The moment she showed me the mark I knew that I hated her because I knew that I _had_ to hate her. They would tell me to hate her, surely, and I had to listen to them. My Master would punish me for even talking to her – that is, if I ever recovered. And if I did, My Master would punish me even harder for being rescued by the filth that I'd spent my life hunting.

And so, when the last of our batteries were finally dying – and I'd finally found a small trace of a signal – I knew that I would be _compelled_ to run back to My Master, beg forgiveness for being so weak, and hope it didn't cost me my head. The thought filled me with dread, but it was my duty to finish the job.

Wasn't it? They'd wanted me dead, but maybe this changed things. Or maybe they'd thought I would not survive an encounter with an Aio. That sent a chill to my gut. That meant they'd _known_ that there were Aios here, and My Master had concealed this from me knowing that I would fight them with the viciousness of a feral animal. Maybe he'd manipulated me into believing that I would die to ignite my will to live so that I could be just where I was, infiltrated, on the inside.

It wasn't the usual job. I was an assassin, not an ambassador.

Fisher was gone. It was midday, and I made sure the rest of them had gone too. It was just me and the empty room, and I stood, holding my projector with shaking, weak hands. When I finally laid it on the ground, I pressed the green button next to it, leaning forward to kneel, head bowed, on one knee just the way My Master liked.

I waited for a long moment. The position began to pain me. Water came to my eyes, and I shook from the elbows, but I knew that I would need to maintain that position for the duration of our interview. It was a form of supplication. I feared punishment. Already, I feared punishment.

I felt so cowardly and full of shame at my failure, so devoted was I to doing his bidding. My survival was a failure. My incarceration here was a failure. I pressed hard into the dirt on the floor as I heard the flickering static that would announce his presence.

He was silent for a moment, just...peering at me. I knew he appeared holographically, and I knew that it was often just a mask I spoke to, never a face, never a pair of eyes. A wall of blackness that was his voice. I wanted to break into tears, but I knew doing so would only increase the punishment I would receive upon my arrival home. If I even got that far. I had to remain calm, dispassionate.

"Exterior 1138," he said coldly.

That was all that needed to be said. His low, crisp voice reverberated throughout the room, and it echoed back to me as if the sound waves were made of burning needles. Chills rose and fell on my skin, and I brought my fingers into small fists on the ground to steady my wavering nerves. Nausea and fear unlike any I'd felt in a long, long time shot through me with the pulse of my jugular, and I was sure that he could feel it.

He was furious.

"My Master," I said to him in address, hoping my voice was harder than I heard it in my head.

"You are...alive," he said coldly.

I dared not look up at him, as custom dictated, eyes glued firmly to the floor.

"Yes, My Lord," I said, swallowing hard.

I felt a blue horizontal line move over my form. It tingled, and I closed my eyes and bit the side of my cheek to prevent a reaction from rising out of me.

"You are injured," he stated after a moment.

"Yes, My Lord," I replied, curling my fingers tighter.

"How are you alive?"

"My Lord," I began, my voice wavering. "I...we have made a discovery."

Another dramatic pause. He knew it pained me, and I was sure that he took pleasure from it. When he said nothing for another few seconds, I knew it was my time to speak again.

"Master, there is..." I swallowed. "There are people here."

He said nothing again, and, for the first time in all the time I'd known him, I was surprised. He did not react, did not say anything.

This was not news to him.

"Forgive me, My Lord," I whispered slowly. "Did you know of this?"

He made a scornful noise.

"Poor _boy_ ," he said with his most spiteful tone, as if he both pitied and loathed my gross ignorance. "There is nothing on this planet that is beyond our sight."

I winced.

"Yes, My Lord," I said quietly. "Forgive me, My Lord."

"Have you discovered the Great Deviant?" he asked almost immediately.

I closed my eyes and tried to swallow. Doing so was impossible. He _knew_.

"Y-yes, My Lord, but I –"

"Where is it?" he demanded.

Again, I winced.

"She is gone," I replied with a mounting desperation in my voice.

" _She_ is gone?" his voice asked, growing with as much spite as I felt desperation.

"It is gone, My Lord," I said, hunching tighter. "Forgive me."

"You have killed it then?"

I swallowed.

"No, My Lord, she – it is clever." He said nothing. "It has taken our weapons and hidden them from us. We are trapped here without them."

"It has taken you prisoner?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, My Lord," I said, feeling weaker by the second. "I have failed you."

"What have you done?" his voice roared after a moment.

I could not open my eyes.

"My Lord, I am so –"

"You have failed me for the last time, Exterior!" he said. "You have..."

His voice faded into static. Such interference would surely infuriate him, and I scrambled forward to get it back, but it reemerged quickly. I fell to my hands clumsily and all over again, I felt like the boy he'd tortured when I was young.

"Master, _please_ , forgive me!" I clasped my hands together, remembering and hating all the desperate hatred I felt for My Lord. "Please, Master, I can –"

"You are of no further use to me," he said dismissively.

"No, wait!" I cried, daring to look up now.

I saw the mask that was his face, never actually a face. Just a black wall of metal in the shape of a head.

"I am...we will kill it, My Lord, but we must wait. Our weapons...the Aio has agreed to give them to us when it deems us safe."

He was silent, still displeased.

"Master, forgive my failure," I begged, hanging my head once more. "I did not know – we did not know this was possible. We are all...a little confused."

"Your understanding is not necessary," he said plainly. "Only your compliance."

"Yes, My Master, but..." I swallowed. "The High Council surely did not know that Aios truly existed?"

"Do you _dare_ question the all knowingness of the High Council?" his voice boomed, clearly enraged.

"N-no, My Lord!" I cried, raising my hands as if to shield myself from being struck. "I just meant...how could such a large development be kept a secret? I thought...we have all been told...that she is impossible. Deviants cannot be capable of reproduction?"

The High Council had deemed this impossible, but there she had been, standing before me as real as day, the impossibility and the possibility meeting right before my eyes.

"You do not need to understand the Council's motivations," My Master spat coldly. "We only desire you to do what you have been bred to do."

"To..." Something surprising and small sank inside of me. "To kill her, My Lord?"

"She is their god," My Lord said spitefully. "Killing her will be the enemy's undoing. You will return her body to us, and we will drag it through our streets and put it on every sign in the Territories to _show_ them what we can do to their _god_."

I tensed now for a different reason.

Fisher was no god.

"My Lord, she is...it is merely a child," I said hesitantly. "Not an adult."

"The Great Deviant is what it always has been. An abomination. We must snuff it out, no matter how old it appears."

The first rule of cloning was that it was the illusion of real life but that it could not produce life itself. Deviants just weren't supposed to evolve like that. The High Council had said so.

I had never needed to kill anyone who looked younger than I did.

"My Lord, she also seems to be...unaware...of her condition. She thinks she is human."

He snorted disdainfully but otherwise said nothing.

"There are large groups of them," I said, eyes closed. "Are we to kill them all?"

"What happens to the rest is of no consequence," he said dismissively. "If their lives are sacrificed to take the Aio's, so be it. It cannot ever escape that gate."

"But...My Lord, how do you know that she is a Deviant?"

"Once many years ago we detected an unusual blood signature similar to that of a Deviant's, but unique. It was very close to the gate."

"Yes, it has told us the story of its parents," I said nervously. "They travelled to the wall to make sure she reached the other side."

"To what end?"

"I do not know, My Lord, forgive me," I replied softly.

" _Guess_ ," he demanded.

I swallowed, nodding obediently.

"Yes, My Lord," I replied, clearly my throat. "If I was to guess, I'd say...maybe they have attempted to breed to create a Great Deviant so that they could make it into our world. Maybe this was their purpose for generations."

Or maybe it was for the abuse that I saw Fisher suffered from regularly for reasons that, in ways that became increasingly obvious, the other Colonists had little knowledge of at all. They didn't even know what a Deviant was, let alone the stories of Aios or Great Deviants or whatever someone wanted to call Fisher.

"This is how you knew of her existence?" I asked quietly.

"Yes," he said. "Since this time, we have discovered that it lived here – among humans, we believe."

His voice scowled for him.

"This is unnatural," he said spitefully. "Deviants do not live among humans."

His words only confirmed what Paige had gone out of her way to discover. None of the others had marks. Paige had lied and said she was a doctor. They'd believed her, the simpletons.

"Master, it exists as a protector here," I said to him cautiously. "If it is removed, all of these people will die."

"Is that so?" he asked mockingly. "And why is that?"

"The Aio is immune to the Necrosis, Master," I whispered.

He was silent now, and for the second time in my life, I felt surprise.

"I don't believe I heard you correctly," his voice spat, trembling. "Repeat last transmission."

"She is immune to Necrosis, My Lord."

"That is impossible,"

Based on everything that I'd ever known, everything about Fisher was impossible.

I could not hide a feeling so overwhelming that I didn't even know how to _begin_ interpreting it. My Master had never been kind to me as a boy, and I hadn't had friends. I was brought up by faceless machines.

Not somebody with a lot of self-awareness.

"What distracts you?" he demanded.

_No!_ I wanted to spit back. _I can't tell you! You will punish me!_

"They are qualms that are beneath you, My Lord," I tried weakly.

"I command it, boy!" he shouted. "Tell me _now_ or you shall suffer!"

Like a dog, I obeyed.

"My Lord, she appears very...human," I said, feeling bile rise up through me at the shame of the admission. "She seems very human and...beautiful. She has saved my life, resuscitated me from sure death. Am I to repay her with treachery?"

Both of those variables rarely came into the equation on a "To Kill" list. No one had ever saved my life before, so I didn't know how to feel.

"It is manipulating you," he snarled. "Do not let it. This is an order."

"Master, she has saved me," I said, feeling suddenly helpless and prostrate before him. "Why did she do that? What purpose does she have to save me?"

"Its existence is incompatible with our own," he snapped coldly. "Do not forget, despite her 'rescue,'" (his tone was so mocking that I had to hang my head to hide a snarl of hatred) "that you still serve me."

"But, My Lord," I dared a final time. "I owe a Deviant my life. It is so...undignified."

"You owe her nothing but a knife in your back," he said viciously.

This felt wrong. I felt wrong all over. She was different, more than he could ever know or understand. Something needed to be said.

"Master, what if she can be brought to our side?"

I felt his scrutinous eyes peer down at me.

"And why would we do that?"

"My Lord, if she were spared, we could rally her to our cause and force her to fight for our side or die. It would be...very demoralizing to our enemy."

"You do not think. You do not feel. You live and breathe exclusively to serve me."

"Yes, My Lord," I said, falling to my hands and knees. "I did not mean –"

"There is more that you wish to confess?"

I felt like I was being whipped.

"No, My Lord, please, I don't –"

"Tell me _now_ what you have done!"

I winced into myself. He acted as if my overwhelming feelings were of my own design, which was far from the truth.

"I sometimes...dream of things, My Lord," I whispered. "That she and I are friends. That she is human. I dream of her often, and I do not know why."

Desperation was clear in my tone, but I couldn't make it go away. It was almost like I was pleading with him to take this feeling away.

"I find myself...watching her, Master. She is unique. I have never encountered a Deviant so...humanlike. I sometimes forget that she is a Deviant and that I am an Exterior. I hear her voice when I try to sleep. I see her eyes when I close my eyes. When she leaves, I ache for her to return. I find her..."

I didn't want to say it, but I knew he would make me.

"She is beautiful to me, My Lord," I said, prostrate and full of shame.

My voice wavered.

" _Why_ do I _feel_ like this?" I asked louder, full of anguish. "I don't understand! What is she _doing_ to me, Master?"

"She is manipulating you," he said, almost as if to encourage these tumultuous feelings. "Your feelings for her are not real, no matter what she'd have you believe."

"How do I stop feeling this way?" I asked breathlessly.

"Strike her down, and you will see."

Pain came at this. As I opened my mouth to reply, the batteries finally fizzled and died. He disappeared with a flicker, and as much as I felt panic at his surely enraged reaction, somewhere thousands of miles away, I was also relieved. He was gone. I could breathe.

I realized I'd been holding my breath on and off for the duration of our conversation. I leaned forward weakly, feeling my wounds ache, and I collapsed against the mat. Exhaustion bettered me, and I fell into a restless slumber that was filled with emotions I couldn't even begin to understand.

***

The next few days made me feel tense. I thought of the admissions I'd made to My Master. I had not even understood them myself, but it felt good to release them into the air.

She was beautiful, and that made everything hard.

But it was more than that kind of beautiful. It was a holistic beautiful. An inside beautiful that I hadn't experienced since I'd killed my last Deviant.

My insatiable curiosity made my eyes watch her. I drank the sight of her up like I'd never drank water before. When I smelled her when she ventured too close or when she made to tend my wounds if I couldn't, I felt as if I was lost in a dream.

She was expressive. My eyes became trained with the sight of her, and I began to analyze what I saw. She carried guilt and anguish. Sometimes, on quiet nights, her eyes looked so lost and frightened and alone. She was also bitter. I heard it in the way she sometimes breathed. And tired.

Always tired.

I wanted to help, sometimes. I wished it wasn't so insane and embarrassing to feel that way, but I did. She was kind, polite, and graceful, even when I made a point not to be.

I tried to remember the fear I felt at the sound of My Master's voice. She wanted something, I told myself. I'm alive for a reason. She needs something from me. She knew of our plan and was spying on us to reveal critical information. To whom, I did not know. But the entire scenario was a ruse. Sometimes, when I let myself get carried away, I thought of what I would do to her if such was the case. It would make the murder personal. Emotional. Sloppy.

But all that much more delicious.

Poisons worked well, but so did beatings. Bullets. Dropping her from a great height. Knocking her out and tying her to a pole so that the elements would devour her. The wolves obviously weren't picky, and the Necros certainly weren't.

I was bigger and stronger. She was a twig, malnourished and perpetually exhausted. Killing her would be easy. Thoughts like this surfaced after an argument, and there were many of these. She insisted on keeping an eye on me on my mat. I tried to make it irritating, but it wasn't.

Actually, I was kind of touched. She tried to make it seem like she was suspicious of me, but I saw that she just wanted the camaraderie. She didn't want me to be alone.

Still, we'd fight, and I'd dwell on my dark obsessions, of the things I'd been trained to do.

At first, this felt normal. These thoughts were reassuring. As the days faded to weeks, the pleasure faded to something pinched in my stomach, similar to nausea. I'd feel sort of sick with myself.

This sensation was new. My nature was to kill and maim. I was brought up to do war. I knew nothing else. And suddenly I wanted not to know. I was beginning to realize that hurting other people hurt me too, just in a different way. That was why I'd left Probe. I'd been hurt by the sacrifices I had made for them, and they didn't care at all when I told them I needed to stop.

That was why I'd run. That was why they'd asked me to come back to dispose of me.

I was feeling, and that made me useless.

And just thinking about hurting her made me feel kind of...squishy.

And I couldn't get her out of my mind. She was all I thought about. During the day, I pined to hear her crisp accent, at night, I ached to hear her laugh, and at night when I closed my eyes I saw her clear gray eyes, haunting me. I found myself wanting her obsessively, fanatically.

But she would snarl when I was rude, lash out in defense when I was what she thought to be belligerent. At first, I didn't know why. But I was beginning to see.

I didn't really understand how to talk to people very well. Especially her kind of people. Deviants.

And I found myself wanting to be better. I felt shame when I was impolite. I felt disgust after a particularly vulgar or gruesome thought crossed my mind.

I was afraid because I was beginning to want her to like me.

When I first noticed I was different, I retreated into myself, avoiding her out of fear. Then, incapable of curbing my desire to have her in my daily routine, I gave up on this, and I just instead settled for a sort of desperate helplessness. Something was happening to me, and I had no idea what.

But I was different – no matter what My Master commanded.

With Fisher, it was impossible to tell how to proceed. I wondered why I found it so hard. I had found hundreds of Deviants – killed many. Hunted them. Studied them. Tortured them. I knew them better than I knew myself, which wasn't saying much, but I knew them all the same. They weren't like us. Deviants were cruel. Cold. Calculating. Not like Fisher. She was warmer to me, and her words were always soft at first. No aggression.

If she was a Great Deviant, a newer, better breed, it could mean the end to us all. An enemy that looked like us, tricked us into thinking they were like us.

I'd have to kill her, I reminded myself every morning. What are you doing, I'd ask myself, because you have to kill her?

But as the days rolled by, the sensation in my lower stomach every time I thought about it, terrible and chilling, grew in intensity. Eventually, it reached a point where it forced my hands to cover my eyes. It took me nearly a week to establish that this pinching sensation was guilt, and when I did, it only ate at me more.

I was becoming emotionally compromised. This was a killable offense at Probe, and the mere thought fueled my desire to remain composed.

And yet, it had taken me about five minutes to establish that I was a walking contradiction around her. I wanted her to be happy, yet I did not. As a Deviant, I assured myself, she didn't have the capacity to be happy. Deviants didn't feel anything but instinctive pain. They were like animals, and everything they played for us when we tortured them was just an act to get what they wanted. They were masters of manipulation. Next to Fisher, I lived in constant fear of being duped. It made me sick to think I meant so little to her, and that – to me – was sign enough that she had done _something_ unusual to worm her way into my rotted insides.

Fisher was the epitome of everything that I hated in the Deviant species, and yet, the possibility that she could be more, that she could be friendly, was too appealing to shut down. It was possible, if barely, that she was the only Great Deviant that existed, the last in a long line of those like her hidden away from time in that desolate place. It was possible that she really was the evil beacon of hope urban legend had made her out to be. But it was also possible that she would save both races from extinction by ending the war.

Or was that just a fantasy?

Was it fanatical to suggest that maybe the Deviants were misrepresented in history? Was it heretical to ponder that maybe they were just like us, walked, talked, and acted like us? Was it so strange to wonder if those same Deviants went out from the High Council and reproduced to make the young woman who housed me? Was it so dangerous to guess that maybe the Deviants were just a convenient scapegoat for a biological virus that was a larger problem than anybody could handle? Was it possible that the urban legends about Fisher as a prophet was something created only after years and years of genocide?

These thoughts frightened me. I'd honestly never questioned them before, and I wondered why. They'd never been wrong, after all. The High Council had written our histories and approved what books we could read. Why would they want war? Then it got me to thinking...if they'd lied about Aios, what else had they lied about? History? Biology? Everything?

Anything?

They had the power. What could stop them?

My kind, Exteriors and our Masters, we were the only ones allowed into the Territories. Everyone else would simply believe what they were told to or be sacrificed.

Was this wrong?

But when we looked and acted so similar, who was who? I'd never spent such a long time with a Deviant before. Everything I'd thought about them was being proven wrong, again and again and again.

This path of questions led me to circles of disturbing maybes, so it was around the time of doubt for my own establishment that I forcibly distracted myself. Even thinking such things felt treasonous. If voiced in Freedom's Progress, humanity's capitol, my thoughts would have me reconstituted for sure.

As I continued to fight with myself in the usual exhausting fashion, Fisher walked through the door and threw something at me. I caught it, jumping.

"What the hell is this?" I asked belligerently.

There was a tired scowl on her face, a tightness there that wasn't normally present. Her eyes looked a little red. She'd been crying. My fierce rudeness retreated into a hole as she said,

"That's food, obviously."

She sounded upset.

"What kind? Normally it's some kind of disgusting plant or watery soup. Is this gourmet night?"

"Mock you my cooking all you want, but this is filling. Pleasure is secondary to sustenance."

It was true. It was better not to starve. The thing in front of me was almost a bready substance, obviously stuffed with a mysterious liquid. I ripped it open. Chunks that looked oddly like meat floated in the semi-solid.

"What's inside it?" I asked hesitantly.

"Meat of wolf and bread the farmer made. He didn't grow it over dead bodies..."

Fisher looked over at me, smirking. I wasn't sure what to say, but a flip of pleasure came from the depths of my stomach. She rolled her eyes.

"That was a joke, my friend." I felt my face twitch to smile but I resisted. She just said, "It's safe – if you don't believe me I can try it for you."

It was a good enough excuse for me to begin stuffing the very essence of that same substance down my throat.

"How is your wound today?" she asked, nodding towards me unnecessarily.

I shrugged.

"Hurts a little," I said dismissively. "No big deal."

Being full kept the worst pangs at bay. Perhaps that was why she had brought me the food. To help me. Again, it seemed impossible for one of humanity's eradicators to help one of its assassins trained to kill her.

I remembered myself after a moment. Even if she was a Deviant, she still deserved a common courtesy here and there. She had saved my life. It made me say,

"Thanks."

I said it reluctantly. I licked my fingers and then asked,

"What have you done to my people? They're never in here anymore."

"Living in a hole isn't healthy, that may be why."

Her voice was tight, and I felt my abdomen tense as my entire body stiffened.

She really was upset, and that distressed me. If I asked her about it, she'd brush me aside, flick me away. I barely restrained a grunt of frustration. She was like the most elusive word in the English language that was always just at the tip of your tongue. You knew it, you recognized it, but it would never come to you willingly. You'd have to rack your brains for hours trying to coax it out, and all that work would make the final discovery all that much more rewarding.

I wasn't used to this. I was used to instant gratification. You kill it; it's done. You demand it; it's there. I didn't ever need to earn anything like this.

She inhaled and exhaled, yanking me out of my thoughts, and I watched her with confused eyes that she could not meet. I wanted her to look at me, suddenly, but I would be damned if I asked her to.

"Your people are about," she said civilly. "They seem to be adjusting fairly well. No mention of murder or killing or anything."

It was another joke, and this time I couldn't hide a smirk.

"Progress," was all I said.

She laughed, and some of the tension in her body language dissolved.

I felt victorious.

"Yes," she said. "And so I'd like to give you something."

She stood and went to the front room, just out of sight. My heart began to race. My blood felt hot. I felt dizzy, and my tongue made it hard to swallow. I was shaking. I was sure I was shaking. I looked around for something to hide behind, but there was nothing.

How could _she_ give _me_ anything more? How was it possible that she was being so good to me? I wanted her to hate me, like I wanted to hate her.

Panic arose as she reentered, and she seemed to sense this, to my great shame.

"Relax, Outlander," she said, laughing tightly. "I mean you no harm. I just wanted to say that I'd wish you to have this."

She held out her hand. It was my sidearm. A pistol. Something I could use to kill her with.

My heart raced in my chest. I looked at it for a long moment and then back at her. Her smile had faded now entirely, and her eyes revealed some of the anxiety she felt about this.

She was going out on a limb for me. She knew it was dangerous, but still she was giving me a little more freedom. That made my heart explode with joy. The mounting tension in my limbs melted, my muscles relaxed. She was afraid, but she was _trusting_ me.

The joy blackened.

Finally, I looked away.

It was good she trusted me. But I didn't trust me.

Something inside of me whispered, _I need more time_.

"Keep it," I said, waving my hand and looking away. "I don't want it."

She took a step back as if she'd been slapped. My eyes flitted to look at her immediately and I saw in her eyes that I'd done the wrong thing. She was hurt at my rejection. This was a big thing, and I was brushing it aside.

"I...uh...I mean..."

I squeezed my fists into balls. How did normal people recover from things like this?

"Forget it," she said, rolling her eyes and stowing it on the twine around her waist. "I knew that was a stupid idea."

Sheepishly, she made to walk out of the room again. I felt angry with myself, and I knew I shouldn't allow her to leave. Not like that.

"No...don't take it that way," I said, suddenly sincere. "I just didn't...expect...to see a gun again so soon."

She crossed her arms, her back to me. I was desperate to regain her favor, but I didn't want to show it.

"I appreciate the offer," I said, trying to sound more confident than I was. "But I...don't really need a gun like that and...and you do. So, actually, why don't you keep it? You can have it."

She turned around at this. And we both just blinked, she in surprise, me, at my stupidity. Did I really just give her the only immediate means I had of killing her? As a _gift_?

Something was seriously wrong with me.

"You don't want it?" she asked hesitantly.

I did not know how to recant.

"I don't need it," I said with a shrug. "You need it more than I do."

She said nothing and took it from her side again. She held it in her hands, twisting it to look at this way and that.

"It is very small..." she said, as if trying to convince herself. A small smile escaped her lips.

"I actually like this very much," she finally said to me.

"Then, please, have it," I said, trying to dismiss the gift now.

I just wanted to stop talking about the fact that I'd just given a Deviant my first chance to kill her.

"Paige is with Chess, the Inventor," Fisher finally said, resuming her seat as if nothing had happened. "He's showing her the gate, I believe." Her face was tight when she said it, and she locked her fingers together. "Pierce is speaking with an Elder of government housed near Rhyme. Ali is speaking to Iris. The two of them have very similar poison in their veins."

Fisher said it with malice. I blinked in surprise at the real spite in her tone. It was the first time in the weeks I'd come to know her that she'd revealed so much.

"Who is Iris?" I asked.

"Iris is a Turk."

"Okay, so? What's a Turk?"

"Someone not like us. She comes from far from here. I've never been there, but I hear it's very uncivilized."

There were guarded tones in her voice.

"Are you a racist?" I asked, more to myself than her.

"I do not know what this means," she said to me, narrowing her eyes.

"What's your issue with Iris?"

There was a moment of silence. She pursed her lips.

"She is the lady-friend of Foot," she finally whispered.

I understood better with a different kind of cringe. I'd heard about Foot already. I saw her eyes light up, her mouth twitch into a glowing smile. I detected a hint of breathlessness when she spoke of him.

She was jealous.

I began to consider mocking her when something inside of me stopped my words.

"And you...don't like that?" I asked.

"It's...kind of a long story."

I said nothing.

"He is... _intimate_ ...with Iris."

She paused when I didn't respond. She looked away awkwardly, asking,

"You are..." Her face colored, and I found myself wanting to keep her that way, just out of place. I felt a powerful wanting inside of me.

"You are familiar with my meaning of intimacy, yes?" she finally asked.

I actually laughed. Her clarification was painfully cute. I hated that things I would have normally mocked were endearing. How was it possible?

"Yeah..." I finally said. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"May I tell you a secret?" she asked furtively, glancing at the direction of the front room.

"Uh, sure. Yeah, sure."

My smile did not scamper like it so often did. She smiled again too, bringing her knees to her chest, like she was cold.

"He used to be mine. He wanted me to live with him."

Something about this wounded me, and I had to know more.
Chapter Twelve: Relations and Relationships

She went on to tell me all sorts of things. At first, I responded, but it eventually became obvious that no such response was necessary. She needed to speak, and she was upset about something. All I had to do was listen. It was kind of nice, hearing her voice. And I felt a small swell inside me as I realized that she was confiding in me. I thought of all that she'd said. Really thought about it. It made me sad for her.

"He settled for the first warm body he could find," she finally finished.

And every ounce of pain that she'd felt between the time when Foot had left her and now was packed tightly into those few words.

It took my breath away.

"Though I am in error for thinking this way," she continued, her voice slightly shaky, "the Turks have brought nothing but discord to our colony."

"How?"

"They are self-absorbed. They kind of...look down their noses at us." She cringed. "Well, they all do that to me, but Iris does it especially."

For the first time, I felt something positive for her on her behalf.

"She must be jealous of you then," I suggested carefully.

She snorted.

"Iris?" she asked. "Jealous of _me_?"

"Yeah, why not? She wouldn't be meaner to you if she didn't think Foot still cared about you, right?"

"But she's _her_!" Fisher cried loudly. "How could she _possibly_ be jealous of _me_?"

I saw that this was the root of her distress. I held my breath. The vacillations in her voice pained me.

"You know?" she asked me. "She's tall and beautiful and her hair is smooth and soft and long." Fisher grabbed the edges of her hair and tugged with what seemed to be frustration, as if pulling at it would grow it out to look like Iris'. "She is exotic and wild. Her voice is smooth, and she never gets in trouble. She follows all the rules, and she's good. She's mean, but she's..."

Tears finally pierced her resolve, and she stopped talking.

"Maybe we shouldn't be talking about this," she said finally, her voice high.

I nodded eagerly, which only seemed to embarrass her more. I made a quiet noise to myself, wishing she didn't feel that way, but I was powerless to communicate the depth of my conviction. It made me angry that she was so upset, but for more than just the obvious reasons. She didn't just deserve respect, she'd earned it. Whether I liked it or not, she carried her weight in the colony. She brought food back, she kept threats away.

And she was beautiful – so beautiful. I felt surprise that she wasn't aware of this. The fact that she discounted this so readily made something inside of me growl with displeasure. She thought of herself as less than she was.

This was fundamentally wrong. I wished I could tell her, but I couldn't.

I felt lost, thinking this.

"Mr. Dark?"

I jumped. Her voice was reserved. She looked tentative. It was extremely endearing.

"Yeah?" I asked distractedly.

"You think as much as I do," she remarked.

It actually made me laugh.

"I don't have anybody to talk to," I said with that same, strange, honest abruptness that only she could bring out of me.

She actually laughed and smiled all the way, a rare thing. It was the first time I had seen it in my time there, and it transformed her face into something breathtakingly divine. Fisher had clean teeth, to my surprise, and they were all naturally straight. Her lips were cracked, but they had an honesty about them. Her joy was earnest. I found my eyes wandering all over that face, lapping up with my eyes hungrily what I suddenly wanted my mouth to have.

I saw her neck then as she looked away from my face, the mark, the meaning, and I scowled again, the bile of rage and hatred suddenly poisoning my burgeoning happiness. Her smile left her as she saw this in my eyes, leaving my insides feeling foolish and betrayed by that sudden rage. I hadn't meant to scare her away. I didn't think she could see.

I decided to chop at all the feelings, leaving none behind. I was not supposed to feel things, I told myself. I couldn't feel things. I was content with feeling nothing inside. She was making me feel. It wasn't her right or her place, and she was making me suffer.

I was not supposed to be emotionally compromised.

It was almost like, with her words, the control I had on my emotions stopped working. I reevaluated the girl before me. To my dismay, I liked what I saw there. I just didn't understand why. But confusion was fear. Fear was anger. Anger was hate. It was as simple as that.

Or it was supposed to be.

Then, the smile faded, and a pained look came on her face.

"What?" I asked, sitting forward a little. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just remembered...something. That's all."

The smile was gone now.

"What did you remember?"

"Someone. I have more family here than you've seen," she finally said.

The air in the room became tense. Maybe it was the way she finally looked away from me – maybe the way she began to play with her hands. Maybe even the way she breathed. But something indefinable in her shifted.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Your uncle, I've met him, and your parents are dead. Who else is there?"

She closed her eyes and lied on the mat Paige and Pierce shared. Her body's curves were accentuated by this position, and I forced myself to look away.

"Skate," she whispered to the ceiling.

I felt the sudden need to understand why Skate's name brought her so much pain, and all thoughts of climbing on top of her diminished. My eyes found her again, and, I was proud to say, this time platonically.

"Who is that?" I asked quietly.

"Skate's...my best friend."

She took a deep breath to steady her shaking voice. The emotion wasn't fleeting, not like all the others. It was present – and precious.

"Your best friend?" I repeated dumbly.

"He's Rhyme's son."

I felt the strange need to make her feel better.

"Well, that's ironic, isn't it?"

She laughed appreciatively –but it was forced – and, like before, that pleasant, loose feeling came over me.

"Yes, I suppose it is," she said back.

I hesitated.

"Well..." I cleared my throat. "Where is he?"

I heard her stop breathing, maybe to stop something large and painful from rising out of her chest. She sat upwards and put a hand on her chest, and the dam of breathlessness gave way to pain. It heaved now, and she turned her face away from me.

"I don't know," she whispered weakly.

Abruptly, she stood.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," she said.

And before I could answer, she was out of the room.

***

I felt someone walk by me as I made my way out, but people were in and out of my home so often in those times that this didn't seem to matter.

Until I heard the voice of Chess.

"What's the matter?" he asked me.

He followed me into the courtyard. Moonlight spilled into the place at a slant, and a visible beam of light cut through the darkness harshly, too bright for tired eyes.

"Nothing is the matter, Chess," I said sternly.

He'd told Rhyme of my doings, and we had not spoken much since then. In fact, I'd avoided him at every turn, hoping to avoid the confrontation that he was now forcing on me.

"You're lying to me," he said edgily.

"Maybe I don't trust you anymore!" I snapped back.

"What? Why?"

"Gee, I don't know, Chess, why don't you tell me?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, reaching for me.

I deflected this and retreated back into my home, feeling defeated and tired and full of pain. Thoughts of Skate swirled around me, the conversation I'd just had with Ollie fresh in my mind.

"What are you talking about?" he asked me, taking my forearm gently.

I yanked out of his grip, my back to him.

"Don't touch me!" I whispered, very aware of the curtain from the back room.

But this was foolishness. Even I could hear the tears in my own voice. This softened his mounting anger.

"Myth, what's wrong? Talk to me. I'm here for you."

"Are you?" I asked, voice wavering.

"Why are you being like this?" he asked with a hint of desperation. "You're avoiding me."

"Why does it matter to you? We haven't talked in a while."

"We haven't talked in fifteen days, Myth," he said, quiet now.

_Fifteen days._ The way he said it caused chills to scurry up and down all over my body. He'd been keeping track.

He missed me.

This made my heart soar, and I was so eager to fly into his arms and kiss him that I had to squeeze my fists not to move for fear that my muscles would betray me.

"I miss you," he whispered gravely. "I want – I need to talk to you."

Still, I said nothing.

"Please, Myth...I...there's something...I have to tell you...too, that's..." He grunted with what sounded like pain. "I just need to talk to you. Talk to me. _Please_ ..."

I heard the desperation now, and this broke my resolve. A small, high pitched noise escaped my lips. I wrapped myself in my limbs for protection from the hurt. I didn't know why it hurt so badly that he'd run to Rhyme, but it did. I'd thought him special. Different.

I wanted him to be. He was to me.

"Don't cry," he begged in whisper. "Please, I didn't mean to...let me say it. Let me tell you what I've –"

"I can't do this right now," I finally managed to say.

And that broke me. A sob came out of my mouth as my hands retreated from the place on my torso to cover my face. It was all too much. I took a single step away from him, turned to face him, and slid down the wall, feeling so many tears that I could barely breathe.

And still, I tried to be quiet. I did not want Ollie to hear.

"I don't want to upset you!" Chess whispered to me, trying to take my hands. "No, don't cry! I didn't mean for it to upset you! I just wanted to – don't cry, _please_!"

He knelt before me on his knees, his normally calm face twisted with unusual torment.

"Myth, I couldn't help it. I was so worried that the Outlander you spend all your time with was..." He stopped himself. "I'm jealous and I..."

His face twisted in anguish again.

"I can't lose you, Myth. That's all I meant. Please, look at me."

I couldn't.

" _Please_ , Myth..." he begged, trying to take my hands again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"What did you think would happen?" I asked him, thinking of Rhyme.

Of his treachery. Of everything.

"You wanted to make it about _you_ ," I spat at him, the thoughts bettering me. "Just like Foot!"

This jab wounded him, and anger came now.

"That's not fair, Myth!" he said to me, drawing so close that I could smell him. "I wanted to _help_ you! I'm _trying_ to help you!"

"Yeah, and you've done a great job!" I said louder and more sarcastically.

Suddenly, I didn't care if Ollie heard, but I didn't have an opportunity to say anything else.

His lips latched onto mine with a desperation that I felt all of my anger drain away. I felt abrupt weakness. My lips felt swollen, and my head dizzy. I couldn't breathe in and I almost felt nauseous.

I wanted so badly for that to be that. It would have been so easy to just say it was all well and done, but I couldn't. I deserved better than treachery, especially when I was beaten in the crossfire of it.

I yanked away, slamming my head against the wall behind me so much that it was painful. I stood now, and he with me, and there was a long moment of silence. His eyes were wide, and he sounded like he couldn't breathe.

"Myth, I'm sorry."

I slapped him.

"Get out!" I shouted. When he hesitated, I shrieked, "NOW!"
Chapter Thirteen: The Map of the World

I heard the entire conversation from the back room, and with every new development in their discourse did I feel more and more ill. I only had to lean a little to see her from where I laid, and I saw her begin to cry.

Then, I saw him take her hands, kneeling before her to comfort her in her tears. He _begged_ for her favor, and it shook me. He, a human, wanted the favor of a Deviant. She was a lesser species, and still he ached for her. I heard it in his voice, in the way he breathed. Any man would know the signs anywhere.

And then he kissed her.

I thought about it for days. Going to sleep thinking about it was not as bad as dreaming about it, which was also much better than waking up thinking about it. Something about it made me want to cover my face. I wanted to hide.

But not for all the most obvious reasons.

Something about it woke me up to a realization I'd never considered.

If he could kiss her, I could kiss her. And if I could kiss her, I would kiss her. In all the ways I'd begun to dream about since that night.

I felt as if I was breaking all the rules of the game. My Master would be disgusted with me.

Paige had come in to speak with me one evening. Fisher had remained pointedly out of sight since that encounter – at least, one on one. Maybe she was embarrassed of it. I knew that I was embarrassed to have been privy to it. The conversation – and all that had transpired after it – were private things. Not meant for me or Probe or anybody else but the two of them.

I didn't want to lead, suddenly. I didn't want to think of Probe or decisions or the High Council or my Master. I wanted there to be Fisher's face, and that was all.

"I have to tell you what happened," I said abruptly, closing my eyes.

I was happy that my words still worked. I was surprised (and a little relieved) when she only asked,

"What?"

"A man kissed her," I whispered to her, as if it were a great a terrible secret.

Paige laughed.

"Are you surprised?"

I blinked.

"Aren't you?" I asked.

"No, of course not, Myth is a beautiful girl. She's everything a man should want right now."

I didn't dare make a comment for fear that I would give away how adamantly I could attest to this fact.

"Can a Deviant and human be together?" I asked out loud.

"It seems so," Paige said, nodding grimly. She sighed forlornly. "Dammit, this is a disaster. Can you imagine what they'll do to this place now?"

I felt discomfort at the fact that "they" was me. I felt nauseas for what felt like the millionth time that day. Fumbling with my words, I tried to speak, saying,

"This is all so..."

I couldn't finish. I didn't know what it was.

"Yeah," she whispered quietly.

"She could kill us all," I whispered.

But now, after thinking it and hearing it and saying it so often, the sentence sounded rehearsed and not genuine.

"Do you really think so?" Paige asked.

I could tell she didn't.

"What do you think?" I asked.

It was the first time those words had ever escaped my lips. This was the beginning of a long and painful end.

"I think," Paige said carefully, "that someone has lied to us all."

"Who?" I asked.

The implications of the answered frightened me.

"I don't know," Paige said honestly. "The High Council for telling us they couldn't reproduce? The Masters for sending us here when they very likely knew at least one Deviant was here? And even if they didn't, we have to remember that we have survived this long. We weren't supposed to. It's anyone's guess what will happen now."

They did know. But I wasn't about to tell her that. She couldn't know that I'd reported in to My Master.

"I don't like that," I said carefully after a while. "Not knowing all the angles. It's hard."

"Welcome to real life, Ollie," she said to me, a hint of a smile on her face.

"I wish there was a way to know if she would react," I said, almost to myself. "I wish we could tell if there was a trigger somewhere. This...this isn't how it was supposed to happen."

"You mean that she isn't the way the Exteriors have taught you that Deviants are?" Paige asked, amused.

I answered by pursing my lips.

"I am amazed that certain Exteriors who may or may not be in our little party have spent a life time around Deviants and that this same Exterior, who may or may not be with us now, knows so little about them."

I said nothing. I was afraid that if I did it would confirm or deny her clever words.

"You learn what you're told to learn," I said finally. "Everybody is like that. If your father teaches you that putting your hand on a stove is bad, you don't do it. If you try it, you get burned. That's how people learn. That's how I learned too."

Paige nodded.

"And now what happens if the stove doesn't burn your hand anymore?"

"The father punishes you until you learn your lesson again," I said back quickly.

Paige sighed.

"Suppose you're right," she said back. "Suppose you get better and we're ready to go. What then?"

"We're supposed to kill her," I said automatically.

"But what if we don't? What then?"

"The place will be leveled, no questions asked," was my next reply.

"Even with human beings?"

"Some must be sacrificed so that others might live."

"Really?" Paige asked, raising her eyebrows. "Tell me, who would benefit? Who would be saved? This was a reconnaissance mission. Are you saying they'll turn it into a slaughter just like that?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying. What if there are more Deviants?"

"I've checked at least ten of them today," Paige said back to me, shaking her head. "I've asked them about marks, and the healer I asked said only the 'Bad People' have marks on them. None of them knew that she had a mark on her neck. I asked, and they said they thought nobody here did. There was suggestion, maybe, that her mom might have, but never Myth herself."

"That brings up the question of her family," I said back quickly. "Rhyme is her uncle. She also has a cousin named Skate, apparently, but I've never met him."

"I've checked Rhyme," Paige said. "Took some convincing, but I told him I was a doctor. He let me look at his skin. He's human, Ollie."

I swallowed at those implications as well.

"So that means..."

"That means a human being and a Deviant paired together and were capable of procreation," Paige said, nodding.

I couldn't tell if I was repulsed or just mildly nauseas.

"Anything is possible," Paige whispered. "A half-ling child would..." She exhaled. "Ollie, it would change the world."

"She's still a Great Deviant," I said. "If there is a part of her, however small, that was Deviant, Probe and everything in it, including the Masters and the High Council, will want to destroy it."

"Even if she's a half-ling?"

"She can't be."

"She's got no family, you said, and besides Skate, the rest are human. Their mating relations must have been very closely knit if there required two Deviants for the making. Honestly, how many Deviants can hide among humans? Maybe, this whole time it was just a farce. Maybe, they were killing mothers and fathers and – my God – children, Dark. The Exteriors were killing _babies_!"

The squirm emerged again. I was killing mothers and fathers. I was intensely and outlandishly crestfallen.

"Maybe..." I began, but I didn't know how to finish. Finally, I settled for, "Maybe, we can just pretend we couldn't kill her, pretend...she wanted to negotiate. Have someone else decide."

She said nothing.

"What do you think?" I found myself asking a second time.

"She likes you the best," Paige said, "and you're sitting in here all day. Why don't you wait a little until you're healed to make a better decision?"

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable around Paige for the first time in my memory. I wanted to tell her that I couldn't take my eyes off of Fisher, but I knew that if I said that that I would pay for it later. I paid for everything later. I supposed that meeting a Great Deviant was my punishment from God for being what I was. An assassin. It was so ironic, being so deeply invested in the very thing I'd sworn to loathe.

"Do you want my honest opinion, though?" she asked me after a while.

I nodded.

"You said it yourself," Paige said. "They don't care about us. They don't care about people, and especially not about her. I thought they'd have jumped at an opportunity to kill her. Why would they keep her alive? Any of them? Us? We came here to die. How do you know we're not just waiting to get the crap bombed out of us?"

I didn't have an answer.

To be honest, it didn't make sense. If they'd expected us to die, why did they have reservations about killing us?

Because they _needed_ us until Fisher was dead.

I sat back, exhaling heavily.

Probe was about extreme efficiency. They were thorough to a fault, controlling to the extreme. Of course, they needed reassurance from a ground team that the job was done.

Someone who could never report it to anybody else until the job was finished.

I repeated this realization to Paige.

"As long as she lives..." Paige repeated. "We all survive."

"And as soon as she dies..."

Paige looked up at the flap to the front room, almost as if she were expecting our deaths to come walking through it. She looked paler – and sad.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I know."

***

The first time I saw Fisher again after Chess had kissed her was five days later. She approached only because Paige was also there, I thought, and she wordlessly handed each of us food before going to the back wall. She took a rock from the ground and made a mark there slowly before turning to sit with us.

She ate in silence, and she never looked at me.

"Can I ask you something?" Paige finally asked Fisher gently.

Fisher's mouth tightened again, but she nodded.

"Who are the other Outsiders? You briefly mentioned them, but we've never met them."

And, for the first time in Fisher's eyes, there was unabashed pain. A lot of it. My thoughts suddenly became dull, and there was only her pain and the tightness around her eyes and the waviness of her voice.

"There were once two Cartographers," she said. "Myself and another. I killed the second, my mentor, last week."

Paige and I stopped eating and glanced at each other nervously.

"Why ever would you do that?" Paige asked.

"She was suffering from Undeath, so I brought death to her."

Still, she could not look at us, and it broke my heart a little.

"It was a gift on my part, not a transgression," she clarified after a tense moment.

"But I thought the Outsiders had the Taint," Paige argued. "I thought they couldn't contract Undeath."

Fisher nodded.

"So they say," she said, "but it has been for some time now that the Outsiders have observed a heightened sense of intelligence among the Undead. A keener awareness, a propensity to gather in groups, that sort of thing."

"You mean they're evolving?" I asked, my fears spiking. "Is that even possible?"

I turned to Paige and asked her,

"Is that possible?"

"I..." Paige's face was pale. "I don't know. But if it's true..."

"God help us all," Fisher said, nodding.

But there was still pain there.

"You said others have seen this change too," Paige said. "Who?"

"The Watermaster..."

The two words dissolved any misgivings I had towards her completely, crumbling sheepishly to the pits of my stomach in favor of making that pain go away. I didn't understand why, but I felt actual sadness. I felt...pain. Her pain was my pain.

Whatever the Watermaster was, it was someone who had hurt her greatly.

"Who is the Watermaster?" Paige asked beside me.

"He is my cousin, Skate."

It hurt me a little, deep within me. She said it so human. It hurt me to hear her hurting like she was.

"He is my best friend, and I..."

She paused a little, unable to speak. Fisher was close to tears, and her voice shook. I blinked hard. It couldn't be the Fisher I knew, the brave, confident, mouthy young woman. The Fisher above weakness, above provocation. It was like she had decided to suddenly let us in and see her faults on this day. It was a glorious gift.

"What's wrong?" Paige asked, extending her hand to wrap around Fisher's hands.

"He went away a few weeks ago – with his mother."

The way she said it made me fill with pity, I realized, and I threw away the remnants of my reason. That I was making excuses for my feelings disgusted me. Fisher was a kid, Deviant or not. She was still just a kid. Admittedly, I was in a war at that age, assassinating Deviants like I'd always done it, like I'd been trained to. But that didn't make me feel better.

"Where can we find him?" I asked, nearly volunteering to help.

I wanted to kick myself, but at the same time I was sheepishly eager.

"I don't know," she said back.

"Guess," I ordered, but gently.

"He would be at Peak, probably," Fisher said, "but there is little help for him there. I predict that Gabby and Evergreen both went there was well. I do not know why they would converge at this place, but they did so in search of something there. Fools."

"Is it dangerous?" I asked.

"Beyond anything you will ever have seen, I imagine..."

Her eyes glazed over with obviously horrifying memories. Neither Paige nor I dared to speak.

"I shudder to think what they faced there, or why they faced it at all. Other than searching for Skate and my aunt Gabby, they could have no reason to go to a place so volatile. It is a place where things go to...that's where...they all go to..."

She couldn't say it out loud, but I knew what she was going to say. Peak was the place people went to die.

"The Undead have many hives there. I believe that they all come from there initially. The place of their birth. And they return there to die. I don't know why."

She stood up and pointed to the map on the back wall. It was so faded that I could hardly see it, but I understood now what she was doing marking it up. When I looked closer, I realized that the things I had simply taken to be dents and bruises on decaying walls as deliberate markings.

"That's Peak..." Fisher said, extending a finger.

Paige stood and looked much closer at the map.

"It's...it's the White House – look! Mr. Dark, look! It's – this is the White House! Like in the pictures!"

I wished I could stand. Almost like she could read my thoughts, Fisher stood by me and offered her hand. I looked at it for a moment, then at her. She was being nonchalant about it. So I took it with my own hand, glad I had gloves so that I would not need to feel how soft her skin was. She was surprisingly strong – stronger than she looked. She hoisted me up, bringing my arm over her shoulders like a soldier might. She brought me flush to her body to walk over to the map.

It felt so good to walk, but my legs felt clumsy next to her body. I suddenly wanted to feel her hands beyond my gloves, to see if she felt like a human.

But when I saw the map, I pulled myself away from her and leaned on the wall in surprise.

"Did you make all these marks?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"You're quite thorough," Paige noted, voicing my thoughts. "This is amazing."

"Thank you," she replied emotionlessly.

"You must have worked years on this," Paige continued, undeterred, but she sounded kind of sad.

I felt that way too. Fisher had nothing else to do with her life but make shapes on a map.

I found myself thinking that she deserved _so_ much more.

"See?" Paige said. "Look. That's what it looked like."

"That shouldn't be possible," I said to Paige distantly.

I was trying hard to distract myself from that strange welling in my chest at the thought of Fisher's lonely existence, of her life, and, strangely, of the soft skin that was kept at bay by the layer of fabric that covered our hands.

"It used to be the capitol, you know," Paige said to Fisher.

"Of the free world," Fisher said, nodding.

Paige flipped around.

"How do you know that?"

"My mom told me when I was little," she said, showing me her control again. "It wasn't as dangerous when I was young. There weren't as many Undead as there are now. They changed much slower then, you know."

Paige was impressed. I wasn't. I was suspicious. Anybody who knew too much about Necrosis wasn't a good person to be around.

Either that, or I just wanted an excuse to be a hypocrite.

"They would go there and make a Hive, but they were dumb and stupid." Fisher sounded pained as she said it. "And they were blind...nothing like now." She leaned past me and pointed. "You wanted to know. I'm born there."

She pointed to a thinner 'x'. It was in the top left hand corner, north of what she called Peak, and it was strikingly close to the wall she'd drawn, in great detail, all the way down the length of the wall in her home. A little stick figured person stood and waved with a funny smile. I found myself trying to hide a smile back.

"My mom drew that," Fisher said, fingering the drawing thoughtfully.

She was so close to me that I could hardly breathe. I smelled her hair. Surprisingly, it wasn't unpleasant. Natural. Dirt and water and wind.

"When I was little, she drew it," Fisher said, smiling distantly. "I forgot it was there..."

She moaned under her breath, and I wanted to distract her.

"What's this one mean?" I asked, pointing to a circle. "This circle thing?"

"That's a salvage camp," Fisher said behind me.

"Why does it have an 'x' through it?" I asked to the wall.

"It means it's expended," she said simply.

I saw that nearly all of the circles had x's through them.

"What does that mean?" Paige asked, pointing to the diamonds.

"Those are checkpoints," Fisher said. She moved past me a little and made a line with her fingers over the paper. "If you see how they move closer and closer to Hand – see? I made a path for myself from the east and south – I haven't gotten north and west yet. They're much worse up there. But if I am trapped in the night, I may rest and resupply there. Few here would miss me for it."

Paige stared deeply at a teardrop marker. There were easily more of them than any other marker combined. I pointed to those then and glanced at Fisher. She looked oddly distant.

"Those are hives," Fisher said quietly. "That's where...they live."

Both Paige and I turned around and she frowned, looking beyond us both into an unseen horror. Paige reached out a hand, but Fisher jumped away from her touch. No one would touch her, if she had her way. Her face knew it when I did too, and it gave itself a reprimand of tired annoyance.

"I apologize," she said with a false, cheery bravado that made me feel sick with pain. "It is not often others touch me with...kindness. I hope you are not offended."

As she said it, the knowledge that others constantly abused her seemed to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes and then took a deep, deep breath. Then, Fisher picked up a piece of black rock from the ground and drew another two teardrops. They were dangerously close to Hand.

I glanced at Fisher guiltily, but she turned away, hands shaking, knees buckling. I felt bad. I really did. A kid shouldn't be treated the way she was, Deviant or not.

Then, that distinction helped the conflict in me settle somewhat. She was a Deviant, yes, but she was still a kid, and that saved her. As soon as she wasn't, I could kill her. I would feel good about killing her. But as a kid, she was to be treated like just that. And it made me feel sad for her.

Fisher's glare burned through this inner monologue.

"Don't look at me like that," she ordered. "I don't need your pity."

I tried to speak normally, but I could only say,

"I wasn't trying to –"

"I know what you were trying to do," she said angrily. "Mess with me. Like always."

I felt guilt. I hadn't seen in her in five days, and in the times before that, I'd been as rude as ever. I'd wanted to start differently again maybe, try a second time but better. It was a chance she gave me.

But I had not expected there to be so much pain on her end.

Paige glanced between us before leaving the room. I didn't know why she left, but I saw she wanted us to be alone. For some reason, I felt glad for the privacy. Alone time with Fisher felt precious now.

I tried to be reasonable with my young protector, thinking that was what normal people would have done.

"Listen," I began, "I was just trying to –"

"You were deciding whether or not to feel bad for me or make fun of me!" she said loudly. "You think you're very clever, but I have always been good at reading people."

I swallowed. I'd always been good at hiding behind my mask of tightly knit emotions. That she could see through it terrified me.

"I know you don't like us," she said, "I know you don't like me, but at least do it with some integrity, please, Mr. Dark. I don't want you to pretend like you care when I see in your eyes that you do not, so stop it."

Her voice had a commanding ring that I found incredibly difficult to resist. But I gathered my shambling willpower and asked,

"Who are you to give me orders?" I asked loudly.

"Aw, not used to it, are you?" she asked mockingly.

"No, I'm not!" I yelled honestly.

"Don't you yell at me, Mr. Dark!" she said, advancing on me with a finger.

I felt something then, fear at that finger.

"I am the person who's fed you, housed you, kept you safe, saved your life, and harbored you when no others would. Maybe that's my authority!"

"To what end?" I shouted back. "You just saved me so you could use me later! That's all your kind ever does!"

It had been a slip, and I'd hoped that she'd miss it, but she hadn't, of course.

"My kind?" she shrieked back breathlessly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Outsiders!" I lied quickly, hoping she didn't notice my split second of hesitation.

"Are you really that petty?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Don't turn this back around on me! I didn't ask to be here! Not around you! Not in this stupid village! I don't _want_ to be here!"

These were confessions I'd been aching to unload for some time, and it felt good to release these things.

"How can you have such a bad attitude? I wouldn't normally play this card, but I _saved_ your life!"

"And a lot of good that's done me!" I shouted back. "We came here to die and you ruined everything! Why don't you get that? I don't understand why any of this is happening!"

I'd spoken so quickly that she didn't understand, I saw it in her eyes, but I was glad she didn't. That last question, that last statement, they were both probably reflections of my inner turmoil than anything she could have done.

"Why do you care, anyway?" I spat after the enduring silence. "Why do you come in here and sit with me, really? Why? I didn't ask for you to help me."

"Because you are my responsibility," she said back, as if it was obvious.

"I didn't ask to be."

"But I made you mine when I saved you."

"I didn't ask to be saved," I said again.

She bit back a scream before it came out in a sentence.

"I wouldn't have even taken them if it wasn't for you!" she shouted.

I was touched, but I was more determined not to let it show.

"And maybe I shouldn't have!" she continued. "The way you look at me is unacceptable, Mr. Dark, and the way you talk to me is awful! You're alive because of Hand's good grace, and you sit here acting like this is not a charity, almost like it inconveniences you! We have little already, little which you stretch even thinner! I have almost nothing, and I am not at liberty to ask for more. And yet you act as if I do this out of sarcasm, as if my altruism is an act of vicious greed for favors!"

I didn't know what to say, but she wasn't finished.

"This is not an act, Mr. Dark! There is no ploy! I will not ask for your recompense! You're ungrateful for the service that I, yes, admittedly, forced on you, but I did not expect it to be so unwelcome!"

I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off.

"I am frustrated and confused and hurt when you... _talk_ to me like that."

Her face flushed, but she continued.

"You know? Outlanders have been my...my biggest dream since I can remember, since my parents died, and you've just...taken everything I hoped for and crushed it because you're sulking that I saved you."

I wanted to be satisfied. This is what I'd wanted. To hurt her. To push her away.

But I felt appalled. The result was sickening.

"We may do things differently here than where you are from, Mr. Dark, but I can assure you that if I went to wherever you lived, I would _never_ act the way you do."

I felt guilt. Her argument was sound. I should have been nicer. I wished I knew how to be.

"You need to treat us with a little more respect, Ollie, because if you don't, you may get more punishment than even you can handle."

The influx of emotions was new, and, as with all things I did not understand, it made me angry.

"What am I doing wrong?" I asked aggressively.

It was the confusion that made me that way, and she only became more flustered. Her anger was dwindling now, replaced with that awful insecurity I hated so much. I wished I wasn't angry, that I could be patient, but it came out that way, and I didn't know how to stop it.

"You have this superiority complex that I find repulsive, Mr. Dark," she snapped, "especially when you speak nothing of your own land. That you lie only proves you are not to be trusted."

For some reason, I wasn't offended. It was true. She could not trust me. But I almost wished she could.

Finally, I tried,

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't pretend to be!" she shouted. "Do you wonder why I have avoided you? You speak of me as if I am not here using words that I do not understand, and yet I know you know something!"

"I don't know anything!" I cried innocently, but she wasn't fooled.

"You know of my mark, which I have kept hidden for all my life. You know about the White House. You know about the Wall, the Mists, about too many things you should not."

"What's your point?"

"You speak as if you are from a superior world, and that kills me inside!"

The sentence escaped as a sob, and I felt like vomiting, so intense were the chills that came from it.

"Why are you crying?" I asked, but my voice sounded just as harsh.

I wanted to know how to be gentle and sensitive for the first time in my life and felt awful that I didn't know how.

"My parents died to bring me to your world, and I've failed them!" she said, hiding her face from me.

She turned away.

"We fled, and I ran back like a coward because I was afraid of the new world. Of being important and special. And that made their deaths nothing, but I was so afraid that there was nothing, that I would die alone and lost and frightened. But I was wrong!"

I didn't dare speak again. Every tone that came from my mouth failed to reflect the emotions I felt.

"And I..." She wiped her face. "You speak like it's something you miss, and that means that it is something that I have missed. I have failed them, my parents. I have failed them, and they would be ashamed of me because of my cowardice."

I felt like my stomach was being squeezed as she turned back to me, eyes welling with tears.

"Have I failed them?"

She paused, waiting, crying.

"Tell me!" she shouted.

I found a new pity. There _was_ something better. I wanted to explain.

"But just listen –" I began, but she would have none of it.

"Don't _lie_!" she shouted.

I backed further into the wall. I had never been yelled at. Her anger was refreshing, in a way. I liked it. I knew I wasn't supposed to. But I did. It made me uncomfortable. I didn't know what to do when I was uncomfortable. So I did what I always did when that happened. I lied.

"I didn't lie to you!"

"No, you just didn't tell me. Which is a lie in false clothing."

I was angry with her, but it was dull, numb anger. Fisher was right in many ways – most ways. She was justified to yell at me. I felt evil in a way I never had before for making a Deviant cry. It was strange, but it was also agonizing. She knew only a fraction of how terrible I was. I shuddered to think what it might be if she knew my real history.

"I'm sorry," I said numbly.

And this time I meant it.

"Yeah, me too," she said, but she looked in my eyes.

Something in her eyes dulled, like the anger I'd felt had dulled, and she let out a deep breath.

"You're a jerk, you know that?" she asked me.

I smiled reluctantly, an actual smile.

"Women have been known to tell me that once or twice," I said, and if I didn't know any better, it sounded like I was flirting with her.

"But none of them are like you," I amended.

I felt my breath catch when she said,

"I'm sure you say that to all the girls."

"Only the ones that get under my skin."

"And I'm sure there are so many that I'd just appear as a number on a list somewhere," she said sourly, and the magic was gone.

I swallowed. Had I done the wrong thing? Said the wrong thing? I was shocked with not only myself but her reaction. And then my reaction to her reaction.

Did she think I was someone who used and disrespected women? What proof did she have of that?

_How about every single time you've ever talked to her_?

Fisher just scowled.

"I'm going to sleep," she said with finality.

She turned her back on me and made her way to the front of the room, but this made me angry.

"At least you get to walk around! I'm stuck in here all the time! Can you imagine how that feels?"

"Poor baby," she called over her shoulder.

"You little –"

"Like it's my fault you were too weak to defend your own ass!"

And with that, she left the room, leaving me feeling awfully defeated.

Chapter Thirteen: The Beginning of the End

Before I even saw the Skyway, Foot was upon me.

"Why didn't you tell me you were with Ollie?" Foot asked immediately, without even a "hello."

He was very accusatory, but I felt no sympathy or sorrow for him.

"What are you talking about?" I asked impatiently.

"Ollie? That new man? Why didn't you tell me you were with him?"

His tone was both guarded and jealous, and I decided to play along, if only to torture him in that way. He'd been avoiding me, a thing which annoyed me, so I felt nothing annoying him for a while.

"Why would it matter to you?" I asked cautiously.

"He's a murderer, Myth." Foot took my arm gently, whispering, "He's out to get us – you especially. He's bad."

Foot was the best person I knew to read someone, to really catch them before they struck. I couldn't tell if it was jealousy or just blind rage that made him guess something so ludicrous as to say that Ollie was, in fact, a murderer. I had, of course, considered the idea myself – but he hadn't done anything since I had found them all, so I assumed he was safe enough for me. It had been awhile since their coming, and I'd even offered them what they called their "sidearms."

None of them wanted to pounce at me like Foot suggested.

"And how the hell do you know?" I decided to ask.

"His hands move, Myth. Fast and quick."

"My hands are fast and quick too."

"His eyes tell a different story than yours, Myth. He is older than you. He wants...different things. Things you might not understand. He's...a man."

I felt a blush creep up my neck. He knew of my experience, experience he'd gained with Iris and that I was still in wanting of, but I didn't need him to talk about it. My experience was no longer any of his business.

So I said,

"Oh. And you know this how?"

"Any man would know that look anywhere."

"You're wrong," I said quickly.

"No," he said, pulling me to face him by my elbow. "I'm not. Something is sinister about him. You've seen him – he's always watching you. Looking at you... _wrong_."

"Is this a problem?" I asked, yielding to his grip and facing him head on.

He sputtered out only noises in surprise.

"What if I want him to watch me?"

A flash in his eyes revealed everything to me.

I was victorious over Iris after all. Ollie was _right_.

And yet it made me sad. I pulled away and walked on. Almost nothing could bring me happiness now. With the coming of the Outlanders and no one to share it with, Chess having the gall to kiss me when I was so angry, and Foot avoiding me for strange, unknown, and hurtful reasons (up until that moment, that is,) I felt alone indeed. Skate's absence was never worse felt than in the time when he was just nearly back.

"What I do with my time is no longer any of your business," I decided to say.

And, by God, I felt brave saying it because it took all my courage to do so.

"He wants you dead, Myth," Foot said firmly.

He stopped me again. I turned to him only to see genuine concern. I felt a squirm of unease.

"He doesn't like you, Fisher."

"I thought you said he wanted me!"

"He can want you and not like it, Fisher! So many men do!"

I missed only a short beat.

"Be that as it may," I managed. "I don't think he wants to kill me!"

"You don't see him!" Foot said, shaking his head.

I decided to pretend to think. I wanted to tell him some of what Ollie and I had discussed, our fights, our discussions, but much of it did feel somewhat...private.

"Do they look at you like this?" I asked, pondering.

"No, I'm not you," he said quietly.

I shoved this away from me as fast as I could and said,

"Well, they're different. They're not from here, so they're bound to act differently. They do not like any of us."

"Why?"

I opened my mouth but again felt the desire to respect their privacy.

"I cannot say," I finally said. "Ask them if it is of your concern."

This angered him.

"Okay, what do they say about themselves then?" Foot asked loudly. "What was their profession in their lands?"

"They're professional scientists," I said uncertainly.

"You see? Science! The forbidden arts! How can you trust any of them?"

"I don't," I said immediately.

I blushed again as Foot glowered beside me.

"I don't like this anger, Foot," I said honestly.

"Why not?" he asked sourly.

"With Skate gone, there's so little for me to be happy about," was my reply.

This did not deter Foot from his questions.

"And so you run to the first warm body you can find?"

"You know nothing of him!" I said harshly. "About as much as I do. To judge him prematurely is the greatest disrespect, and I will not allow you to say that if you don't have any proof."

"His eyes are all I need for proof."

"They hate me, fine, but Ollie cannot kill me. Not now."

"How do you know?"

"I think in their lands they have a loyalty scheme that makes him obligated to protect me until such a time that his debt is repaid," I said back plainly. "Or so it would seem, seeing as his disdain for me is quite obvious."

"So you recognize the danger?"

"It is obvious that he's killed," I said back, shrugging, despite the flare of unease that bloomed in me at the thought. "But he seems sad to think of it, to talk of his past. I believe he may regret what he's done. Maybe that was his profession. Being a soldier, like in the older times."

"Soldiers kill people," Foot reminded me.

I sneered.

"I've killed people, too," I snapped harshly. "Am I demon now? Some things cannot be undone, and, regardless, the past cannot be helped."

Soldiers killed people without hope for personal gain. They were tools for greater minds. And he was, as I was learning, nothing but a soldier. It was not so terrible.

"He runs from his past," I said quietly, "as do we all who know death."

But part of it was a lie. There had been moments of rage, flashes of such intense animosity that he no longer appeared familiar.

He could kill me outright, without a blink or a pause. I was sure of this. And yet, something stayed his rage. I thought it was loyalty. He owed me his life because I had saved his. That was his way. I knew it wouldn't be difficult for him to run me through and leave me where I was to die. I could see that he thought about it. But until that day when he no longer owed me, he would fester with the thought that his revenge was long coming.

I stopped walking as I realized this. It wasn't that I had doubted that Ollie would kill me – no, that wasn't it at all. I only doubted that Ollie would do it the way Foot purported it to be. If Ollie killed me, he would not do it from a shadow, no. He would drag me in front of everyone, beat me until I could no longer see, and then he would break me. Ollie drew satisfaction out of that – not the killing. He liked watching things fall. He liked watching me falter in my cautiousness because, in his own way, he was breaking me down and winning. It took my breath from me as I realized how cruel it was. He only wanted to win. He didn't want to stab me from behind. There was no victory from such things.

I didn't doubt Ollie's capacity to commit such a crime. In fact, I realized, I knew he was going to try. It was only a matter of when. The worst part was – I didn't even care. A worm of such extreme discomfort squirmed within me as I realized that I was too uncomfortable to even think about it to myself.

I continued to walk, shoving this disturbing thought away.

After a silence, I asked,

"What makes you say I'm...with him anyway?"

"Oh, come on, Fisher!"

He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"I see the way you look at him – the way he looks at you."

His voice was glowing, or I made it to be.

"Didn't you just say he wanted to kill me?" I asked him.

"That doesn't mean he has to like it, Fisher! Just look at him! The way he wants you...you want him, don't you?"

He didn't, maybe couldn't wait for an answer. I was glad. I couldn't give one.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

Genuine anger came out of his voice.

"Are you really going to interrogate me about this now, Foot? Because you're being a little more pious than usual today, and it's really starting to piss me off."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked aggressively.

"You were with Iris, Foot, so I must have thought that you were just too busy lying around with her to notice anything about me!"

He was silent for a moment. I glanced at him and saw that he was in pain.

"Fisher, I –"

"Oh, and you know how Iris just loves me, don't you, Foot?" It was common knowledge that Iris couldn't even find it in herself to be civil to me because of her jealousy of Foot and I. "But don't worry about it! I was only friends with you, for what? Seventeen _years_ before you even knew she existed? But really, please, don't bother to take interest until it pleases you! By all means, let her twist you around her little finger until I'm nothing but a distant memory!"

We'd stopped, and I was shouting at him. The silence afterwards was excruciating. He shook, but his anger was gone. What I saw was replaced with shadows of the way he used to look at me.

"Look, Myth, I –"

"No, just forget it!" I shouted. "I don't have to explain myself! Not to you! Not here! Not about this! Not anymore!"

What part of him I'd held warm seemed to have died inside, if a little. He was not mine. How could I expect to share things with him if he was not so?

He stood closer and closer to me, and his mouth was close. He was making to kiss me.

"Where is this coming from?" he whispered to me. "What is Ollie saying to you?"

I opened my mouth to tell him that it was not thoughts of Ollie but instead of Chess, but I could not speak.

"You don't like that I'm with Iris?" Foot asked breathlessly.

I shook my head "no."

"You want to have me instead?"

I hesitated, and for some reason, despite what I'd told myself for about a year, I didn't. Not nearly as much as I used to. I thought of Chess now, of his lips, of the way he spoke to me.

He'd _kissed_ me.

The thought grounded me to reality.

"You're still with Iris, Foot," I said, a silent reprimand. I stepped back. "I don't want to do this."

"Why not?" he asked desperately

"Because..." I asked myself the same question. "As much as I hate Iris, I cannot find it in myself to disrespect her in this way. It would be a violation of...decency among women, I think. It is not to be borne. I am... _better_ ...than this."

Foot was silent.

Besides, I found myself thinking, it wasn't healthy for me to allow Foot access to my heart as he did. It wasn't his to have. I would never get his. Dwelling was one thing actively tried not to do, but I found that with Foot it was exactly what I was doing. And I didn't want to anymore. I had to stop it then.

But it was difficult. I didn't want to stop feeling special. It was pathetic, in a way, so I decided right then that I would stop, no matter how difficult or painful it was, so that I would no longer be pathetic.

But Foot made it hard. He took my hand and pulled me towards him. I averted my eyes. He sighed a little and looked down, then back up at me. I leaned back, struggling to remain strong. He put a hand on my face and whispered,

"I want you...safe, Myth. I want you happy, and all I do is hurt you. I want that to go away."

"Foot..."

I pushed away from him. I felt empty after his hands released me.

"We – you're with Iris now," I bumbled ungracefully.

I took a larger step back to clear my head.

"But that doesn't mean I wouldn't...die inside if something happened to you," Foot whispered beside me. "I don't want you dead."

Something about this finally hardened me.

"Why not?" I asked bitterly, looking him squarely in the eye. "You left me for it as soon as Iris blew in."

With that, I turned away, feeling tears that I knew he saw, and I kept walking towards our home. I saw the Skyway ahead of me now. There was a murmur of life about it that wasn't often there. I felt curiosity seep through my step as it quickened in pace, eager to escape Foot. I glanced at him beside me. He was flustered. I felt proud. This was the first time I had resisted him. It hurt but made in me another, strong anger that fed my strength.

I was beginning to think that I did not like that he had come to meet me. It was a new feeling, but the fact that I received it with such intensity was satisfying. It was like this thought led into another door, one that was much wider. And I saw. Foot was a hassle, and I finally knew it.

"Look, Foot, if there's nothing else, you should probably just go home."

"Myth –"

"No, just forget it! I'm tired of hearing this from you."

I had hoped that would be that, but he continued to talk on. It pained me.

"And what about Chess?" Foot asked.

Jealously spoke for him, without his permission, and I grimaced, all thoughts of strength coming into question in only an instant.

"What _about_ Chess?" I asked tightly.

"Why were you with him the night you found the Outlanders?"

"Why were you with Iris?" I asked belligerently. "Same answer."

His face turned to one of surprise and then blind rage. It took me a moment to understand why and another to feel squished on the inside. I looked away, feeling swollen and stiff and exhausted. How he glowered at the thought...

"You mean Chess is the first to gain the knowledge of you?" Foot asked aggressively, taking my wrist.

"No, Foot! Dammit!"

"He was with you that night? You can't deny that."

"Of course he was. But I haven't spoken to him much since he gave me out to Rhyme. He's very good at playing innocent, you know."

"Well, maybe he's better at actually being innocent."

I flipped on him, feeling sore inside. I couldn't stop seeing him and her, her and him, and I didn't want to see or hear it anymore. I wanted him, really and wholly for the first time in my life, to leave me alone.

But this was too suspicious, and I asked,

"What do you mean?"

"Well...I was the one that...you know..." Foot began, and it took me but a moment to piece together the rest from the guilt in his eyes.

" _You_ told Rhyme?" I asked in disgust. "Chess told you and then you turned around and told my uncle?"

"Look, I was angry, alright?" Foot said loudly. "You'd been with Chess all night, and it...I don't know. It got in my head, and he –"

"You're lucky my uncle didn't beat me!" I shouted angrily. "And if he had, I'd have turned that beating over to you if I knew!"

"But he didn't!" Foot said indignantly. "And I was just so...angry!"

"No, you were jealous, you idiot!" I shouted. "And you let Chess take the fall for it! How dare you! Chess and I are great friends, and he has been nothing but kind. And now I've treated him with distance and disdain."

I felt a more intense squirm inside, a deeper, sinking, whooping feeling. He'd made me cry, and for all the wrong reasons. Seeing memories with fresh eyes now, his kiss seemed sweet. And I felt so guilty for having shut him down so hard. He'd been the one to avoid _me_ since then.

"He deserved better than that," I said softly.

Foot stood in front of me, and I maneuvered around him. He parried me again. The sinking hadn't left. It had only gotten worse.

"Look," I said. "I'm tired. I do not wish to speak with you. Move."

He didn't move. I glanced over his shoulder. A few people were watching us. I was mortified, suddenly. The implications of his leaving had always troubled me, made me fear for their judgments of me.

"Foot!" I shouted. "If you _insist_ on staying out here with me, then you get to do the things I don't want to! Here's my gun...and my bag..." I handed him both. "Go put those away. Then, maybe after that we can talk. Alright?"

He disappeared in seconds. I ran my hands through my hair a little and proceeded in through the Skyway, peering down at a gathering of people near the bottom of the clearing. Making my way down, sun at my back, my eyes found Ollie. He looked much better than he had, standing at least, and I nodded to him, as he did to me. He looked angry about something – something more, something always more to be angry about. Perhaps he had seen Foot and I. I was embarrassed.

But someone grabbed me and I was torn away from his hate.

"Myth – Myth!"

The person was breathless.

"Look!"

I looked. The attention was centered on another man that I did not recognize at first but then knew well. I shouted when I saw him, both in greeting and in happiness. It was Skate. He was lying alone and seemingly exhausted, breathing heavily, like he'd sprinted into the clearing and collapsed. He was huddled in his own arms, obscuring what I knew, vividly, to be his face. I felt so happy, thrill like nothing I'd ever felt before. The hope in me, the salvation. It was so real.

My own cousin was back with me. He would understand my qualms with Ollie. He always could. He was always my very best friend, and I could always rely on him for everything. I felt satisfied that I was finally getting my other half back. I had been numb. I knew it as I felt an explosion of emotions just at the sight of him. Skate had always been like that.

"Skate!" I finally articulated, unable to hide the smile that pierced my cheekbones.

But I stopped as I approached, and a smell I knew well slammed into my brain. I heard Ollie somewhere come up behind me. I heard him try to see what it was the others saw, see what it was that stole me from his glare.

"Skate?" I whispered, more accusatory now.

Skate turned to look up. His eyes were pale and sunken in – a switch of green and yellow and gray, as with Evergreen. It peeled. His face was damp with grease and sweat from fever. A thick clot of blood bubbled in one of his eyes. He was nearly unrecognizable.

I leaned over and put my hand on my mouth. My stomach swished around. I couldn't breathe for the pain in me. I moaned.

"Myth, what's the matter?" Foot asked, trying to peer around me.

He put a hand on my shoulder, but it felt cold there. I felt fear for all those around me. So much that I felt like I was going to vomit. Suddenly, there was nothing. Nothing but tears and pain. No colors. No objects. No people. Just sadness. I saw it. With the knowledge of what would come, I saw what was there.

And then, in a way that was unusual for me, I began to panic. The sight of his blood made me feel faint, and it was pumping out of him fast, a vast, dark hole open obscenely from his stomach. His eyes were full of tears and his face was soaked with sweat and stale blood.

His wound was fresh.

"What did you do?" my mouth asked of its own accord.

He recognized my voice in the crowd.

"Myth?" he shouted. When I didn't say anything, he shouted, "I need Myth! Myth!" He screamed it louder, begged for me, shrieking like he was suddenly aware of the agony I knew he was surely in. "WHERE IS MYTH! WHERE IS SHE?"

He began to twitch. His hands jerked and he hit his own face.

That explained the clot in his eye.

"You're Tainted," I whispered to myself as he continued to shout. I shook my head emphatically. "You were tested. I – I saw you get the – you did the test with me. You're not sick. That's not – that's impossible, you..."

I laughed and looked around. There was still nothing.

"He's Tainted!" I tried to explain.

To something. To anyone.

Life stood still in the impossibility of the end, and I knew for that that I had only begun to scrape the edges of a beginning more terrible than I could ever have imagined.

"MYTH!" he shouted over and over again. "WHERE IS SHE? PLEASE, SOMEBODY FIND HER!"

"That's impossible," I said, turning away. "You're not sick. This isn't happening."

Someone put a hand on my shoulder. Those who couldn't see didn't know the truth. Those who saw didn't understand it.

"What's –?"

Skate suddenly tried to move forward. It was as if something lurched within him, as if something evil were trying to escape. I knew what it was. He sobbed in pain.

"I NEED MYTH! _PLEASE_!"

I had to act. And it killed me not to allow myself a moment of mourning, but I had to act, or they would all die.

"Get inside!" I shouted.

No one had ever heard me use that voice, as I had never had a need to use it. I was that strange girl from that strange family. I was Rhyme's punching bag. I was not a leader. But I had to be. For the first time, being the only Cartographer meant something, and I realized I would hate the responsibility for all eternity.

"Get inside!" I shouted again, standing tall. "INSIDE NOW!"

I looked back at Skate, breathing heavily but unable to breathe.

"Myth?" he asked, reaching forward.

He began to weep, and it shattered my resolve.

"Where are you?" Skate asked. "I don't – I don't see you...I – Myth..."

He screamed out in pain once more.

"I'm here," I whispered, collapsing onto my knees in front of him.

I put a hand in his hair. It felt stiff and cold, like it was dying quickly.

"Skate, I'm – I'm...oh, no..."

I looked around again. I waited for Evergreen to emerge. I waited and waited. But Evergreen was dead.

There were still some stragglers behind me. I heard Ali was among them. She was speaking heatedly to the others. I couldn't look at them. I noticed how different her tone was when she needed me. She was afraid.

"He's not..." she began, but couldn't finish. "He can't be..."

"If you wish to become Undead, remain where you stand!"

I did not address Ali. I suddenly hated her too much.

They scattered like mice. Fear erupted into the crowd and the clearing of crumbling houses was suddenly empty. I heard a baby's wail. Then, there was silence. I saw a figure I knew to be Chess move towards me. He was in the tower, making his way down the stairs. The loudness of his step was a sacrilege to the silence of Skate's death. I felt a new fondness for him because I had judged him so poorly earlier. I didn't want him to be devoured by Skate's incredible sin.

He would have to witness my rite.

"Don't move, Chess!"

My voice was broken. No one anywhere had ever heard me cry like that. Chess stopped midstride at my voice, nearly stumbling off the stairs completely. He opened his mouth and yelled,

"I have to get Rhyme! He went out to look in the afternoon like he always does."

"Rhyme went for a walk!" someone cried.

It was Ollie. His voice sounded different to me. I could tell by his tone that he was stopped by my voice in the same way Chess was.

"Is that you...Myth?"

Skate's hands fumbled for me. His lower lip quivered.

"Please be you...please be..."

I turned back to him, sobbing silently. Skate was my cousin. I had known him since he was alive. He was born eighteen years ago – with me. Only a month apart – I was a little older. His shot was excellent. He could make any soul laugh and cry with his antics. He was the most stubborn man I had ever met. He was my best friend, in life and happiness. Life was our game. It was our joke. It had always been our joke.

I had never felt more serious in my life.

"Skate..." I whispered in despair. "Oh, Skate, look at you..."

It was not my life. It was our life. It was not my happiness. It was ours. He was my other half. That he was back again only meant he would rip himself out completely, tearing with him half of my soul.

Skate's skin pulsed blood. I dropped him and sprinted to my back room to grab the medicine kit, past the Outlanders, who stood stoically still, and sprinted back to the only person who loved me. Cloth of all kinds piled at the center of the kit, and I began my work. I tore at them with my teeth to make them useable, but my mouth was weak. His breath waned. Dark blood seeped out fast and slow all at the same time. It filled me with panic, as if it were my own blood. The only thing I heard was my own whimpering.

"Is it that...bad?"

He laughed and his hands finally found my face.

"Oh my – you...Skate..."

I pressed the clothes back to his wound. It was a purple color. Tears blinded me. I desperately needed Skate to wake from his reverie and laugh about it with me. He always did that when I cried. It was his job.

"What hap – you – Skate..."

I couldn't talk, suddenly. I looked around for another Cartographer, seeing none. I almost called for Evergreen, but I had killed her. I was so stupid!

"I...uh...I don't know...argh!"

He writhed in agony beneath me, and my hands were covered in blood. They were absolutely drenched in every drop of his blood that had ever pulsed through his body. His blood was coming because of me – because I was too slow to fix it. To come home. To reach the Skyway and see his Undeath. I was too preoccupied with Foot. I was the only one left who could save him. I had to save him. Evergreen would have saved him.

But, the thought of saving him suddenly caused me to fumble. Part of me knew it was impossible. Part of me knew I was just trying to make the end less painful, trying to ease his way out of our world. The rags and the medicine really didn't mean anything.

No matter what I did, Skate was already on his way out.

"I was...Myth..." He groaned. "It hurts, Myth..."

He sort of gurgled blood. I felt the tips of my shins begin to soak in the puddle of his blood. I shifted to get closer. It stained my hands, pants, and all parts of my clothing. I dove into it, willing to cover myself with his blood if that was what it took to keep him alive.

"It hurts, Myth! _Myth_!"

He needed me more than I could give. I prayed that a miracle would give me what he needed.

But I knew the truth.

"Myth!" he sobbed. "It hurts, Myth, please!"

His tears weren't just out of pain. Lament of a different kind pierced through the silence. I had never heard a grown man cry, but it wasn't as scary as I had expected. It was the saddest thing I had ever heard.

"Please, Myth!" he sobbed. "Stop it! Please, stop it!"

"I know, I know, Skate. Come on, sh. I – I know."

"I'm afraid, Myth!" he muttered to me. "Help me not be."

"I know, Skate," I said over and over again. "I know this hurts, but we can do this. I'm here. I am here with you. Do you feel my hands?"

He nodded. It did seem to help him.

"I will be here every step of the way. I will be here for you. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?" he sputtered.

"Yes, I promise."

He shrieked in pain, squeezing my hands with now bony fingers.

Later, they would be used to tear flesh from my skin.

I shuddered, and he squeezed my hands in time with his pulse, as if every rotation of blood was unbearably painful.

"I know! I know!" I said back.

But I didn't know. I put a bloody hand to his face for a brief moment. I would never know, I was beginning to find, even if everything I loved did know the pain of dying. He leaned over and kissed my hand lovingly, brotherly. He cried into that hand and held onto it harder than I could have ever expected. I didn't want to let go.

But I had to as I continued to shush him, coo him as slowly as I could into an impending sleep that he would never wake from. I hated myself as I calmed his pain, as I numbed even the sharpest of his agonies, because I was, in every sense, letting him die. There was no fight to be had. I could fight and die for his wounds to heal, but I knew that I would lose. I whimpered again and began to shake even more.

"What happened, buddy?" I asked. "What happened to you?"

My hands had reached the point of no return, slipping in blood, worked too hard, too quickly, and I knew too soon that they wouldn't work at all. I cried for that, for him, for what I would soon be unable to do. And for what I knew I would have to do.

"I was stuck...Peak. Myth..."

He said my name desperately. He heard me and felt me and smelled me and could even taste my tears as they fell to his face. He knew I was there. He just needed to see me.

"Myth – they – they...It hurts!"

"I know, I know. It'll be okay. I know. It'll be over soon."

The last part was a new part of my chant and he began to sob even harder. As did I.

"It – It'll all be over soon."

"They left me, Myth. They ambushed us! Why did they do that? What did we do? We were helping...you...Evergreen and me...why?"

"Evergreen was with you?"

I was too distracted to piece together how strange that was.

"She told me not to tell...I could not tell...but she saw Outlanders and we knew...they were for you..."

He spoke the same nonsense she did and another sob racked through me.

"She told me...the plan to the Great Gate...with your parents...and we were going to go..."

"Me and you?" I asked breathlessly.

He nodded.

"And...we were going to...argh!"

I wanted to shush him, but I wanted to know.

"Evergreen told us...got the group together..."

"What group?"

"They know, Myth," he whispered. "They know about...the Bad People. They told me...Peak showed me so many things..."

"Why did you go there?" I asked louder.

"I was going to explain, but...my father...told them you were bad. So they...left us. They left us..."

I sobbed, and he did too.

"Why is this happening?" he asked.

I felt sick because I didn't know.

"This isn't – isn't what I thought it would...feel like."

He grunted, trying to make me laugh. But I couldn't. Not even for him. He was leaving me behind with the living, and he was never going to come back.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Skate. I should have..."

"They weren't coming, were they Myth? The other...Cartographers? They wanted me to...die...for you. Evergreen and...me...so you wouldn't know. My father...because he hated you...because he hated what you are..."

I was blind to what I was doing, but I had just enough sense left to ask,

"What do you mean me – what does that –?"

He finally tilted his head back and screamed.

"Please, Myth! Make it stop! Please make...make it go away..."

"I'm trying, Skate, I'm trying!"

"Why...did they do it?" he asked me abruptly.

Some people wanted to watch the world suffer. But I couldn't say it to him. I had never been able to say things that were that serious. I had never wanted to. It brought too much pain into a world that was already so broken. I didn't want to mar it any further with my cynicism. So I stayed my tongue, literally biting it.

He continued to speak, and I loved him for it.

"I went...by myself...Evergreen was bitten...Mom was...lost...at Peak. She wanted you...to know...even if my father..." He made that sickening gurgling noise again. I shoved the cloth to his wound with all my might.

"MYTH!" he shouted in pain.

"I know – I know, Skate, I know!"

I shook my head, not knowing. He writhed beneath me, from the pain that I was causing him, and he struggled to fight his urge to get away.

"Please, stop...Come on, Skate...Stay here. Please, stay here."

I put my body and soul into saving him, into forcing him to stay.

"Please, stay..." I whispered over and over again. "I need you. Don't leave me alone here."

The bleeding wasn't stopping. It was getting worse. I began to hit his shoulder weakly. I felt so angry, so furious, so selfishly livid that I couldn't not hit him.

"Stay!" I whispered louder. "Why are you leaving me?"

I felt unexplainable rage and hate. Why he had gone to Peak alone with Evergreen and Gabby, I didn't know. Why the other Cartographers had planned to meet there, I didn't know. Why they wanted to retrieve something there, I didn't know. Why the plan was for Skate and I to finally make it through the Great Gate, I didn't know.

But what I did know was that he was an idiot. He should have asked me and I could have gone with him. I knew that he would have, had he the choice. I didn't know the circumstances as to why he would do something so unintelligent. But I would never learn. I would never get the chance.

He leaned back to rest.

"No...NO!"

I ripped off another piece of clothing from the pile and shoved it hard onto his gaping stomach.

"Dammit, Skate! Stop it!"

I looked about. Evergreen wouldn't come. I couldn't understand why she didn't come.

"Stay with me now – come on!"

"I was...at Peak..."

He sobbed a little, breathless and finally running out of his reserve energy.

"I...set a bomb...don't go there, Myth..."

He grabbed my hand.

"Did...they tell you yet?"

He actually laughed and reached for my face.

"Did...she give it to you? Evergreen...?"

I nodded but was no longer able to speak. She gave me the book, the trash that was apparently worth dying for.

"We...went there...for you..."

He laughed.

"Did they tell you?"

"Tell me what, buddy?"

I squeezed his hand in my face. I couldn't control my own tears. I couldn't control anything anymore. I felt sore from shaking and tired from being awake.

"You're a Deviant, Shorty," he whispered, using his pet name.

But it sounded like gibberish to me at the time.

"You...you will win..." He told me. "You're better...The book?" He looked around for it. "Did they –?"

"I have the book."

Tears poured out of his eyes. But they were grey.

"Did they tell you –?"

"Just, please, sh – quiet now. Hold on..."

"Great Deviant, Shorty," he said again. "Did they tell you?"

I took him to be delirious.

"Skate – stop now...come on –"

"You're different...you..."

He gurgled and stopped, breathing heavily. He was so obviously exhausted by his words.

"You're the best of them all. Alpha...and Omega. The Aio."

Pain shot through me in waves. Evergreen had said it. And the rest of it was still stuck in my head too. My lips quivering just as much as his were, I finished,

"The beginning and the end."

And every time I took a breath, every time my pulse moved my own blood through my body, it only became worse. I wanted that pain to stop. All I had to do was stop breathing...

He cried out again.

"Why are you leaving?" I whispered to him. "I need you here."

But I pulled out a needle anyway, an emergency needle, a science needle, a needle of death. It held a clear liquid that Evergreen had once told me was called morphine. It made the dying blissful. I had administered it only three times, two times to myself and once to Ollie. When I pulled it out, his lips began to shake a little. He heard it in my hands...and he knew. That was the worst part. He knew.

"I'm sorry, Myth..."

"I know, Skate..."

I was still trying to stop the blood, but his head fell back. I shook my head.

"It'll – it'll...it'll be...oh..."

I opened my mouth, feeling like I was going to gag.

"You're going to be – going to be fine. Fine..."

"Can you...get my mother? Bring her body...back...if you can..."

His breathing became more labored than I had ever heard out of anyone.

"She's at Peak...just...follow my blood..."

I thrust my fingers to the needle, tore off the white cap, and thrust it into his arm.

He struggled for a few moments more, then looked up at me. His eyes were back. He could see me. In that moment, we understood each other perfectly in ways that are impossible to explain. And I knew – I knew – he loved me more than anyone could ever hope to try to love me again. He was my brother, my sibling, and my very best friend. And he was going to die.

I looked into his eyes, shaking my head. They were turning, morphing. The whites had paled alarmingly fast. His fingers – long past transformed into a monster's hands – wrapped around my own. I was repelled, and I was ashamed for it. They were long, long fingers. They were fingers that I had long feared since the days of my first youth. I hurt myself to hide it from him, but I wasn't sure if I did.

His head fell back but he wouldn't have it. He fought harder than I had ever seen anyone fight. He put his fingers to my face again. I took them in my hands and kissed their bloodied masses. It disgusted me, but I knew it was something I needed to do.

"I love you, Skate."

I couldn't close my eyes, but I wanted to. He cried out again, lurched from within himself once more. His pain made me wince and cry out under my breath. He squeezed my hands.

"It's almost over," I whispered. "You're going to sleep now. It's almost over. It'll be over soon."

"Goodbye..."

His hand slid from my grasp. There was silence. And I knew.

I put a hand to my mouth as it began to open. A painful ball formed in the back of my throat and at the tip of my tongue. I couldn't close it, hoping that air would pass through my closed throat to my lungs. I was screaming. I knew that I was – loud, broken screams. But there was no noise in my heart or in my ears. I heard ringing.

And then noise faded back in.

"No!" I shouted, clutching him to my chest. "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO! THIS ISN'T FAIR! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME!"

His head moved forward slowly again. He shook it a little with the bewilderment of a stunned animal. I knew what it meant. Only one thing could save a dying man.

The anger left, replaced by fear. I threw his body away from me.

"CHESS!" I shouted.

I looked up at the tower. Chess watched me, immobile, mute. He didn't see me.

"Give me the gun! Give me the gun – come on, Chess!"

My voice became more urgent as I began to crawl away, desperately clambering from my best friend and my greatest fear.

Chess didn't move.

"Chess! Right now! I need the gun now! Hurry up!"

Chess finally threw it, far too close to him and far too far from me.

I fumbled along on the ground for it, crawling desperately, but Skate was on top of me before I could even get close. I yelled out but forced my back legs to kick him off. He screamed, a guttural, unearthly wail. Chills covered me. I could still hear his voice in there. He was still the same man. He was in there somewhere.

He pinned me to the ground and bit into my side, my shoulder. Blood wetted my shirt. I yelled out in pain. I heaved upwards with all my might, trying, failing, to push him off. My neck was left exposed. His mouth dove for it, and pain exploded from there, as did blood, but not much.

I thrashed then, and somehow separated the two of us. But not for long. He was a large man, strong at his weakest. I was no match for him as a human, let alone as an Undead monster. Skate lunged at me again, but I jumped sideways to dodge his attacks. I couldn't help denying what my eyes told me was inalienably true. He could not be Undead. He was not my greatest fear. He was my friend – my kin. Not my enemy.

Skate lunged again. I dodged once more, this time able to watch him land. He fumbled ungracefully onto his head. Some part of me that still functioned used this moment to grab the gun Chess had thrown.

"You're not Skate," I whispered. "You're not my cousin."

I closed my eyes. I couldn't think. I only tried to make myself know. I positioned the gun. My eyes closed.

"My cousin is dead," I whispered.

I fired. It was an automatic, so he flew from me in a way that was almost comically graphic, chunks of blood and flesh marring the clearing. It smelled awful. It made me sick. He wailed on in pain. I approached him as he flailed, and another sinking thing brought deeper wells of sobs to the surface. I'd missed. He would now die in horrible agony worse than he already knew because I'd missed his head in a moment of weakness. I pressed my finger to the trigger, this time careful with my aim, and the blood flecked on my clothes then.

Skate writhed in agony for a moment more, seizing disturbingly fast, and stopped. And I hated the people of Hand more than they could ever know for requiring me to do what I had just done. Hated myself. Hated the world.

There was silence – pure, absolute silence. I threw the gun from me, unsure of what to feel or how to feel anymore. I put a hand to my forehead and leaned over, breathing heavily. I glanced up at him, but I averted my eyes quicker. He was covered in bullet-holes. I let out a sob. I heard light steps approach me. I knew who it was. Chess always tried to take care of me.

He reached out a hand, but I winced away with more than just fear for his safety. I cried out as he tried again. He couldn't touch me. No one could.

I stared down at my hands. They were covered in Skate's blood, a mixture of purple and reddish brown. I wiped at them and wiped at them, but the blood wouldn't come off. The blood of my best friend was stained into my hands, and no matter how hard I cried into them, the blood would not clear off.

I immediately knew why Ollie looked at me in such a way. I was a disgusting, vile thing to be loathed by everything in existence. I didn't deserve to live. I deserved to die for what I did that day. If he was going to put me out of their misery, then I wasn't going to stop him. I might have even thanked him for it.

The soft steps bent down beside me.

"Myth..."

"Don't touch me, Chess."

He wanted to help me.

"Please, I want to. You're my friend."

"Don't call me that, Chess. All my friends die."

Maybe that was the true reason that Ollie hated me so much.

Blinded by pure fury and fear and sadness, I stumbled out of Hand – away from Chess, from Ollie, from Foot. I only wanted to run away. I knew I would arrive somewhere else, somewhere far more terrifying, but I didn't care. If I was going to die that way, then that was the way I was going to die.

I ran into Rhyme. My face was covered in tears and blood and his immediately became grave.

"What's happened?"

"I can't – Skate – I can't..."

I ran past him, out of the reach of his grip.

It took me little time to get to his mother. All I had to do was follow the trail that Skate had made. I was stupid for not seeing it, but when I was so accustomed to things Skate did, I tuned them out of my extraordinary senses. I ran until I heard howls all around me, ran until I knew I was utterly surrounded by Undead. Gabby was in plain sight. They had encircled her, trapped her, and they were clearly feeding.

I heard bullets from behind me. I whirled around to see Rhyme there with a gun raised.

I found a hole in the Undead horde, and I was next to her, taking my chance to save one good life that day.

"Myth..."

She sounded so old. Older than I had ever heard her. And her face was wilted and wrinkled from pain and agony. The disease was worse with each victim.

"Skate...?"

"He's fine," I lied quickly. "Safe."

I began my ritual, but she was further along than Skate was when I found him. I shook my head with frustration. I could still get them out.

"It is time, Myth..." She laughed sadly. "I'm so sorry...for what I've done to you...Remember –"

"GET OUT OF THE WAY, MYTH!"

It was my uncle. He shoved me into a patch of the Undead so willing was he to throw me to the dogs. I met the ground. Engulfed with screams of an unearthly sort, I braced for the end, but it did not come. Instead, they scattered, like they were afraid of me. Like they remembered me.

I ran off about twenty feet, tripping without really feeling anything, before glancing back. I watched as their very masses engulfed my uncle, leaning over his wife. Then, not knowing what to do or where to go, I ran back to Hand and collapsed, sobbing harder than I ever remembered crying.

Chapter Fourteen: The New Watermaster

"I didn't know," Paige whispered over and over again.

Pierce wrapped her in his arms and she leaned into him, crying. He did so in a way I wished I dared to with Fisher. I wanted her to lean into me and sob. I had expected a rain of torment as soon as she was inside, but instead she was eerily silent and still.

"Fisher made quite the mess, didn't she?" Ali whispered to me.

I saw it from where I stood, staring out the open front door.

"Nothing any of us haven't seen before," I managed tersely. "I've made bigger messes than that."

"But she's a Deviant."

For the first time, the hypocrisy of this logic rang loudly in my ears.

"She just killed her best friend to protect us!" Pierce whispered fiercely, glancing empathetically at Fisher. "Show a little decorum or leave!"

She left, and it was silent again.

As much as Fisher couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe. For some reason, the event brought on memories that I had long since buried deep under mountains of self-loathing and carefully orchestrated checks and balances. These fail-safes dissipated now, and the one thing I'd ever done that I thought would haunt me forever stumbled into my conscious mind. They seeped into my mind's eye like blood from a fresh wound, and the stale taste of misery rapidly filled my mouth.

The last Deviant I'd ever killed. A female. I'd made her bleed. A lot. The blood. My tears. I'd been overwhelmed then, much like I was now, and it hurt so awfully that just to recollect it caused me to breathe heavily with the pain of it. I remembered not wanting to kill her, in the end, but feeling the need to in order to protect her from getting treatment for someone else.

This was the heart of the worm that was self-loathing and guilt. It normally existed under mountains of steel and calculated precision. It wriggled now, free from its cage, and I remembered everything.

I killed somebody that meant somebody to me, and not by accident. For the first time, the kill had been personal, and it was nothing short of murder. I turned down a path from which I could never return, and while it was not my fault for going that way, I'd decided to stay on it.

This brought me to another conclusion. Fisher had finally and actually committed the atrocity that I had damned her for. She had just done everything I'd done to hate myself, everything that influenced me to hate her to begin with at all.

And yet, she had saved us all.

Pierce and Paige whispered softly in a corner when Fisher whimpered. When she did, I was sucked back into the present so fast that it was both painful and disorienting.

"Hey..." I said to her quietly.

I wanted to reach a hand out to her, but she always twitched away. I couldn't take that. Not then. There was no reason to cause her any more pain.

"Hey there..." I tried again in whisper.

I sounded so gentle, so quiet, but even the change in my tone did not move her. She did not even appear to have heard me. This allowed me time to think on the shift in my personality, my warming to her. I realized that, though I'd stored away my rage for weeks, I could not hate her. Not even when she'd done the exact thing I had anticipated she would do.

Because she was me, but just a little better. She dealt with consequences better. She was a leader, strong and independent. She was nobody's plaything, not like me, and she seemed to exist outside of reality. She wasn't part of people. She was fierce and tough and resilient. She learned quickly, and adapted faster.

And – in a dark, hidden away place in my soul – it broke my heart to know another living thing, especially someone as special and rare as Fisher, could ever know even part of what I felt for myself and for others.

Suddenly, the beautiful woman I recognized as Iris floated into the room.

The way Fisher spoke of her caused me to recognize the woman as an interloper immediately. I glowered at her until she finally spoke.

"Where is Foot?" Iris demanded, looking around at us all.

Her mouth upturned in disgust, and I saw what Fisher meant about her looking down her nose at us. Her eyes found Fisher, and a cruel gleam began to shine in her eyes.

"You need a bath, girl," Iris said with a sneer.

"How dare you –!" Paige began, but Ali cut her off.

"Foot isn't here, Iris," I snapped.

"Oh," Iris said mildly. "I just thought...the stupid man enjoys this little bitch's company, and I could have sworn he'd gone outside today to see her."

"He did..." Fisher muttered aloud.

We all looked at her in surprise, but it was clear by the look in her eyes that she wasn't really around with us. Her body replied, but her mind was elsewhere. She did not really hear or feel or see anything.

And I was glad because it would have hurt Fisher's feelings, despite how readily she attested to the fact that she didn't care.

The disrespect made me want to punch Iris' teeth down her throat.

"You should get out!" I said edgily.

So, unfazed, she left.

And Pierce, Paige, and I turned back to Fisher silently. She hadn't heard the exchange. She was, yet again, immobile and mute.

I ached for her to be in my arms. Chess had hoisted her up. I'd moved forward, limping, and he brought her over to me. His eyes were solemn and spoke of fires that he wanted to start so that he could burn places to the ground with it if it only meant she would recover, and the depth of his affection for her was made instantly clear.

He loved her.

It didn't matter as much as it might have even a week before then. It didn't matter because of the things I'd witnessed in the first minutes after she collapse from fatigue.

Nothing happened. Long minutes passed and nobody else thought it was worthy of them to claim her or move the unconscious woman from the clearing, nobody but Chess. And, instantly, the man earned my respect. When he handed her off to me, we met eyes, and something in both of us agreed. We fostered indignant, righteous rage that we were the only two to have the decency to help her out.

She deserved better than this.

I'd hoisted her up with that same gentleness we'd all heard in my voice, even as she began to rouse slightly, and I'd placed her tentatively onto her mat in the front room, making soft shushing noises.

Abruptly, Fisher sucked in a breath, ripping me into the present again. She breathed heavily, like she'd just emerged from a pool of cold water. Her eyes grew wide as she looked in our faces, unseeing, and she looked so desperate, so hopelessly confused and lost and frightened. I felt cold as her limbs began to shake, as sobs consumed her. Paige moved to her, wrapping Fisher in her arms like I wanted her to be in mine.

"Relax, Myth," Paige said, and Fisher obliged out of what seemed like desperation for a hand to hold. "Cry it out. It'll be okay once you cry it out."

"His blood is on my hands!" Fisher finally wailed.

I felt winded, but couldn't look away.

"No..." Paige whispered, rocking Fisher slowly. "No, Myth, don't say that. It isn't."

"It's on my hands, and I don't even know why!" she shrieked, yanking away from Paige violently. "Do not try to take that away! I am a murderer!"

"It isn't your fault," Paige tried again, but Fisher wailed louder.

Paige pulled her in again, and Fisher let her. She just cried and cried, thrashing like a frightened animal.

We sat like that for one hour. Then two. The tears faded to small hiccupping noises. Then, shaky, unsteady intakes of breath. Then, worst, utter silence.

Darkness had fallen outside, and Paige was the one to turn on the lamp. She found a piece of bread outside somewhere. She tried to hand one to us all, but I shook my head. Pierce had fallen asleep, and Ali was still gone. Paige went to lie beside her husband, and I was left to stare at Fisher, who'd fallen into a restless slumber. She appeared to be more drained in sleep than in life, and even then, I drew energy from her as much as I wished I could lend her some of mine.

I heard Paige fall asleep beside her husband just as Fisher sat forward at lightning speeds, her hand to her chest, her chest moving up and down, up and down. She looked around, lost again, when her eyes fell into mine. For the briefest of moments, she begged me for mercy, for me to put her out of her misery. It was a sacred moment, frightening and enlightening and beautiful all at once. Her eyes were letting me in. The placid, normally emotionless eyes were conveying to me everything they always did in an outburst. There was no cautious tempering of raw emotions. There was no hiding behind excuses or lies.

She wanted me to see it all. And I bore witness to all of the most intimate, secretive, hidden flickers of emotion in her vibrantly expressive eyes for just a moment. And I realized that it was impossible to be around her and not care for her. It was impossible for me to do what her eyes begged me to do.

Now and forever. I would never be able to kill Fisher.

Because she felt just like me, but better.

When I thought this, Fisher stood. I scrambled after her desperately as I felt the need to keep her near. If she didn't really need to be, it almost felt like if I let my guard down that she would get swallowed like the rest of them, and where would that have left me? I would have no one to understand my grief. Even if she didn't know she understood, I knew that she did. She understood what it was like to lose everything – our love for the world and our hate for its people.

With that thought, I had to keep her alive. I had to. She would get attacked by an Undead and turn otherwise. I had never seen one turn before Skate. It was horrifying. Skate turning was disgusting – his legs bent within themselves, mutated. His arms turned forwards, long and jointed. The face changed into a thing with teeth, jaws, and eyes that were so sunken that they were nearly invisible if looked at from any angle but directly.

I couldn't let that happen. Never to her.

"Where are we going?" I asked her.

She didn't answer, but the look in her eyes was determined. Even after she had given nearly everything of herself in a rush of adrenaline, she still emanated a powerful, inspiring glow that inundated my very being. She took my breath away, and I scurried in her shadow as she moved wordlessly outside.

She walked numbly to the side of the clearing and grabbed a gas can. Fisher pulled a match from her pocket and stared at it for a moment. Her eyes moved to the body then to the match. It was a slow process for her, trying to coherently decide if the match would kill or just sleep in its box.

Fisher lit it and threw it onto his body, her face cold, her eyes steely. They weren't cruel, not necessarily, but they held a look of such unattached rage that I took a step back in surprise. The body meant nothing to her, only the cause for the body's death, the person within that body. That it was just a body left was cause for disgust, disdain.

Skate burned immediately but silently, crackling only occasionally as the skin turned to ash before our eyes. I stared down at the flames as they quickly consumed their victim, uncaring as to what they were devouring and more concerned simply with the fact that they were.

And Fisher began to walk.

I didn't know what to do other than to move with immediate compliance.

"Where are we going?" I asked again.

"Gun..." was all she said, not stopping, and she raised a straight finger to point at the gun across the clearing near Skate's ashes. I obeyed, her willing servant, the gun heavy in my tired hands. We climbed up through the doors to a ladder, which we used to climb up. She lifted a hatch at the top and the outside was revealed. She exited first, and then paused a moment to wait for me. When I was out too, I glanced around in confusion. It was the place we'd been ambushed by the wolves, where she'd saved us. The Skyway was in the ground to the left, but Fisher walked right.

It was dark but both of us knew that there would be little danger. The Undead frenzied to action, blood, excitement, and noise. We were quiet, alone, armed, and subdued. They would not have us that night. Not for all the bullets in the world. Of that, I would make certain.

I couldn't stop looking at her. I even tried to look away because she made me sick to look at. It was the familiarity of her pain that did it. I wanted to help not just because I owed her but also because I knew that pain. I didn't want to hate her. I knew she understood me in a way nobody had ever even come close to doing. And that floored me. She bothered to listen, to understand, dared to allow herself to feel the tumult of emotions that I also felt within myself

A Deviant – my Deviant – was making me feel that way. She was making me feel sadness and anger and other emotions that I honestly didn't know I could feel anymore.

I didn't know what to say to her, so I decided that I wouldn't say anything. I felt that she appreciated that I was with her though. I felt it without knowing how. And I felt that I wanted to protect her from everything. Especially from herself. I recognized the need for self-destruction in her eyes. I recognized it and felt responsible for it.

I had leeched her real emotions, replacing them with worse, bitter ones. I was making her see the world in the worst way that I could make her see it. That was my fault. It was totally on me. And it made Skate's death all that much harder.

A dead highway up ahead revealed a pool of water in its shadow. It was deep and dark. Cars surrounded it as if to fence it off from everything else, creating a peaceful and quiet atmosphere. When the dead were in their rightful graves, it was intensely quiet, and I could only just barely hear the world moan as the wind whispered death to my ears. It shouldn't have been so quiet anywhere.

Fisher walked quietly past me and into the water, making soft splashing noises. She began to remove her clothes, and I flipped around, suddenly breathless, feeling dizzy and foolishly hot in the night air. Even as I closed my eyes, I saw that glimpse of flesh, as toned as I had imagined. I couldn't help but wish that I could run to her and suck on her bottom lip like I'd dreamt about for so many weeks, run my hands over her flesh until she moaned, bring my hands into the thick of her hair and thrust and thrust until she drowned in the feeling, all troubles forgotten.

She made some kind of noise, and my arousal was drowned in liquid guilt. I was repulsed by my base lusts. She needed me, and all I could think about was having my way with her.

I felt her behind me, heard her splash, as if falling.

And then, I heard her cry. It grew in volume until she sobbed into the pool, and I grunted.

"Fisher, can I turn around?" I asked loudly, squeezing the gun in my hands.

She just cried louder, and I exhaled. I dared not turn around to risk my prying eyes seeing what they should not, but the noise of her in agony was almost too much for my wavering willpower.

Physical urges were rising out of me in ways I found difficult to control, not all erotic. Just a need for contact, to help. But I couldn't. I felt so helpless, so powerless. I wanted to help. What option did I have? What could I do? What did people do to comfort one another?

Speak. That was my only option.

"I am here," I found myself saying, my head tilted slightly over my shoulder.

This seemed to give her pause.

"I know what it's like," I said further, voice shaking now, and to that she was silent.

I swallowed nervously. I was out of my element, and we both knew it.

"I feel lost sometimes, too," I said from over my shoulder. "And I know it's hard, but...I'm here."

I immediately feared repudiation for my little speech, but she was silent. My Masters had always punished self-expression of this sort. I was a tool, not a brain, they'd say. Deviants would punish this weakness, and so must they. But she did not.

Her tears had fled, and I was left to ponder another lie my Masters had told me.

Fisher knew about so many of my dark feelings. I felt mortification as much as gratification. She knew everything about the way I felt in a way no one had before, and she didn't even have to say it. I didn't even have to say it. I heard it in her words beyond words, her movements and sobs.

What was it she had said to me?

"I am now more familiar with you than you are, Mr. Dark."

Was she right?

It terrified me.

I wanted to do nothing but run to that pool and take her, possess her so totally that my body ached for it. I could peel any of the clothes off that remained, if there were any, and separate her legs, part them so that I could gain entry to her center. I could take the pain away the only way I knew how, with the closest thing I had to intimacy. It was all I'd ever had. Before, this had felt like a huge act. Even sex with random strangers could be meaningful because I knew of no alternative.

With her, I'd want it to be different. It would be different. I wanted it to be different.

But, worse, I realized that I _wanted_ it.

I felt the feeling that came with that so suddenly that I almost cried with it. The emotion that had overcome me was so overwhelming that I couldn't breathe. If she could just see it, know it, recognize it, help me through it, I could kiss the sobs from her lips, mop up her tears with my mouth and tongue, whisper soft, warm, reassuring things in her ears. She would not despair like this. I could help her the only way I knew how.

But I couldn't. Of course, I couldn't. Once more, I checked my carried-away fantasies, and I felt shame as another sob erupted from the area behind me where she stood, so close and so naked, so broken in the water that had been Skate's to watch.

And I waited silently, albeit impatiently, until she finally emerged at my side. I took her in.

Her black hair dripped onto her neck, whiter, paler, and softer than I remembered it looking. She shivered a little bit. My jacket was suddenly on her shoulders and she sighed with a very whispered,

"Thank you."

Her words shook me. I hadn't remembered offering her my jacket.

I followed her again to a building frame. She climbed to the top and sat. I followed suit.

"You look different," was all I could say.

"I am clean," she whispered emotionlessly.

I opened my mouth to say something, but she cut me off.

"I wish you would look away," she whispered, a hint of desperation filtering through her tone.

I was consumed by the need to say something in the still, and I cleared my throat. The noise was a sacrilege of something unspoken and alive that clung to her in the air. I opened my mouth to say something. Nothing came out. What I saw in her face...It took me a few times to finally utter,

"I..."

And then I stopped. It was new, the inability to compute or think, so I treated it with caution, letting the confusion take me once again.

When I looked at her, though she gave me strength, she also took my words away. I was caught. If it was any other time I would have said something witty that she would have laughed at, rolled her eyes over, and then hated me for. It was always like that with us. But it was different after Skate, after the way she cried, after the things I saw. I had never cared as much before that moment. I wished she would look back at me.

I reminded myself that I had to speak.

"I'm...sorry," I said.

It was lame, and I felt inadequate. There was a long silence.

I had never seen anyone die like that, I wanted to say.

Probe had special divisions for Necrosis. I fought a different battle on a different playing ground, and I could offer her nothing of consolation. I knew nothing of viruses or the pain and terror it could cause. I had never wondered what it looked like. I didn't have friends, after all. Not like she did. Not like Skate was to her.

But I was there. I wanted to say it, and I had to literally bite the side of my cheek not to. I was right there next to her, and I would be until she didn't need me to be.

"Skate's dead," she whispered harshly, "and all you can do is ogle me."

"I'm not ogling you," I said automatically, sure my face was growing flush.

"You're staring at me," she said coldly. "It is an attention I do not need."

Anger came then, but it was distant. I was angry that she didn't recognize that I was right there beside her, proving that I was worthy. How could she not see that? I was trying my best. I saw in the way she looked at me that she was aware of how stilted my reality had been, how unfamiliar all of this was to me.

I was trying. Wasn't that enough?

"I'm right here," I snapped. "What more do you want from me?"

"What I said!" she said into the darkness. "Look away from me! The look in your eyes pains me!"

"What look?"

"Just the look of your eyes...hurts."

I complied, closing my eyes to rip them from her and then diverting them to my lap to keep them that way. I felt self-loathing like I hadn't in a very long time. I knew the way I looked at her. It had been my job to communicate fear to others, to instill hatred so much that loyalty was inherently necessary.

I'd made a point to look at her like this, and I regretted it now.

"I am sorry," I said honestly. "I've just never seen that...happen before. I am amazed that you lived through it."

Her lip quivered again, and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. I hated it. The fact surprised me somewhat. I had not been bothered in a long time – especially by the pain of others. I seemed immune to sympathy and suffering, obviously unless it was my own. Even then it felt only like numbness. But her tears caused that to unravel within me.

"I...hurt, Ollie," she whispered breathlessly beside me.

I tried – unsuccessfully – to remember that I hated her. She was my target. She would be dead soon. She would hurt me later. Deviants did that. She would make me like her, admire her even, and then tear my heart out just so I could pummel it in front of her by killing her slowly. They always knew too – when you loved them. They always used that against you. They used your own human nature against you.

I tried to find an angle that Fisher could be using to draw secrets out of me, but I failed. She was just a grieving cousin who needed a hand to hold.

"I know," I finally said back to her.

"It is all my fault," she whispered.

"I..."

My voice cracked. I cleared my throat a little. I sounded like a pubescent boy.

She nodded at this out into the darkness, amazingly blank to me. She was like an empty book, one I had read before but one that no longer had words that I could read, one that had words in a language I couldn't even begin to understand. The worst part was that I still wanted to read it.

A wave of emotions shot through me so painfully, I actually grunted. The familiar shield was coming back around my resolve, and I knew what would come. I wanted to stop it, but with fear in control, autopilot took over. There was no stopping it.

" _What_?" she snapped at the noise, looking at me fiercely.

I couldn't stop the cruelty. I felt it bubbling up my throat into my consciousness, like a monster that guarded my heart from all friends who grew too closely to my inner workings.

"You did shoot him in the head!" I shot at her. "What did you think was going to happen?"

I instantly regretted it. For the first time ever, I hacked at the little protection mechanism that was cruelty. I beat it down so hard that the guilt that was left brought tears to my eyes.

"No," I began. "No, I didn't mean that, I–"

And Fisher's eyes silenced my tongue. As blank as they'd been in the previous moment, they were in the next so teemed with hatred and pure, barely constrained rage that she didn't even look human.

"Go. Away."

"No," I pleaded, actually pleaded. "Listen, I can't help it when it – I'm really sorry! It's...I don't know how to talk to people like this. I'm – I'm sorry!"

"I said go!" she shouted, shoving me.

I fell back to the ground off the ledge, landing hard on my side, but I wasn't angry. She hopped down over me, and I felt unfamiliar fear as I scurried to stand. But she was upon me before I could even sit up, leaning down on her knees over me, her hair dripping into my face.

"You have no right to speak to me this way!" she shrieked in my face.

I winced away, eyes closed. I'd never been yelled at like that. I'd yelled like that at others, but the receiving end was so much worse, especially when the person doing it actually mattered to me.

"I'm sorry!" I said brokenly. "I didn't...I'm sorry!"

"You're sorry you let it slip, not sorry about thinking it!"

She was silent for a long time, and I just looked at her, wanting to sit up and kiss her on the lips. Convince her I should be there.

I'd lost my chance, my right to be there.

"You do not belong here," she whispered, standing next to me. "Now, _go_."

"You need me to protect you," I tried to reason. "You're emotionally compromised, and I –"

"I have your pistol!" she said, putting her hand to her hip. "Remember? You gave it to me like it was a piece of trash you didn't want anymore!"

I felt the barb deep down. I'd given it to her as a gift, a gesture that had been meaningful to me. She thought I'd been mocking her. Like all the other times.

I hated what I'd made her believe.

"It wasn't trash," I said softly, in an effort to explain, but the words died in my mouth.

Fisher's face had changed. Tears welled in her eyes, and she backed away from me, lips fighting the sobs, quivering, unable to see. I scrambled to my feet after her. She was backing away from me. I wanted to look away from her, but I couldn't.

"Just go..." she whispered as I approached, waving her hands.

She started crying again. It hurt me. This time, the tears were for me. I think, if she let me, I would have told her everything right then. She still took away my words, so I hesitated for a moment. I decided to let my feelings take it away. They were unraveling everywhere else.

"If I'm not here, you'll be in danger," I said desperately. "This isn't what you want."

"Don't tell me what I want," she snapped.

"You'll be in danger. Please, let me stay."

The request was there. My desires were in the open.

"No, Ollie, you...you're lying. This is all a lie. I don't need a liar."

"It's not though," I said, taking a step closer. "Not a lie. I'm here. I want to be here."

"No..." she denied, shaking her head.

She backed into the ledge we'd just been sitting on with a small "oof."

"It's wrong. You're wrong. I see the way you look at me. I need...a friend. I need support."

"But I can _do_ those things," I whispered fervently.

"But you _won't_ ," she said, whimpering. "Just leave...just go..."

I touched her arm. She twitched away. She always twitched away. And I felt pain. I wanted her to know that she didn't have to wince away from me. That I wasn't like everyone else if she didn't want me to be. That I was not like the person I'd been before who wouldn't have hesitated to hurt her. That I was not like her uncle. And I found, with that same moment of emotional clarity, that I would never be. I couldn't be.

I tried to tell her. My words became more intense.

"Listen, please, just –"

"I'm done listening. I know what you feel."

"But I can explain everything..."

My face crumpled into itself.

"If you could just..."

I lost my words. I was terrified and exhilarated. I'd never tried so hard to communicate and failed.

"Just –"

"I can't do this right now..." she whispered to me.

I began to struggle even more, breathing heavier and faster without retaining any air.

"I don't want to do anything," I defended weakly.

"You hate me," she whispered, and the words hung in the air.

I felt an invisible sharp object pierce my stomach slowly.

"I... _can't_!" I finally yelled.

"But you want to."

"Yes..."

"That's bad enough," she said.

She collapsed, and I ran to her, collapsing beside her.

She was so close to me, so wonderfully close. I felt one of her tears on my hand and it burned where it hit. Her silver eyes looked up into mine. What she saw made her cry.

"Why do you hate me?" she asked.

I looked away, yelling in frustration.

"I...can't!" I shouted. "I can't tell you!"

"Why not?" she asked with a high pitched voice.

"I don't know!" I shouted louder.

I grunted in frustration, my struggles in the air, and she took my hand.

It was too much.

"Fisher, stop," I begged, but she squeezed it.

I looked to the sky. I was in such physical distress that the preventing of release was torturous. But my willpower held fast, and she released my hand dejectedly. Again, I'd done the wrong thing. I yelled out again, wanting to know what I was supposed to do. I'd never felt like this before.

"You want to kill me, don't you?" she whispered quickly, like it took a burst of courage to wonder it aloud.

"No!" I said vehemently.

I was terrified because I wasn't lying.

"You want to want to kill me?"

"Yes!" I shouted. "No! I don't know!"

"Maybe you could..." she said softly, like she was presenting me with an enticing offer.

My breath left me.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice low. "Fisher, you don't mean that, you don't –"

"We're out here alone. It could be easy."

"Fisher, shut up, you –"

"I deserve to be punished for my crimes," she whispered. "I've seen your eyes. I've heard you say it. You want to punish me."

"I don't know what I want!"

"Then end me!" she suggested, taking the pistol and flipping the handle towards me. "You can do it! I deserve it!"

I didn't take the gun from her, though she tried to shove it into my hands. We both shook, but I resisted weakly, my heart breaking at what she was asking.

"Ollie..."

I shifted back, feeling the pressure of pain crush my lung capacity. It was the first time she'd really said my name. The despondency there was so real.

"You want me to punish you?" I asked.

She nodded.

"You don't hate me?" I asked her, the hysterics there in the very fabric of my tone.

"How am I to hate your nature?" she whispered back. "I hate your Masters...not you."

I clenched my eyes shut tight.

I could relate to her again for the second time that I could consciously remember, and I felt remorse for hurting her. I felt bad that I had treated her poorly when she so didn't deserve it. I felt horrible that she took it like I was complimenting her, loving her, instead of treating her like trash. She coveted me. She respected me. She helped me because she understood. She understood a lot more than I'd given her credit for.

I was scum.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered.

Her face crumpled.

"No, you're not..."

My words increased in urgency with the pain in hers.

"Please, I can't –"

"Make a decision, Ollie, or..."

Her words broke.

"Let me die..." she pleaded, hands together.

I couldn't. I wanted to protect her. I owed her, and I wanted to make good on my oath to myself. I needed her to trust me for that to happen. Instead, she was ashamed of everything that she was. She was ashamed of being a Deviant because I hated her, and she didn't even know she was one. She thought my opinion was worth that much. It made me irrational with guilt and admiration and an explosion of other feelings that made me sink and swim all at the same time. I couldn't move for it.

"Ollie, just go..." she whispered.

"Just listen – please! If you just let me explain what I –"

"Get out of here!" she finally yelled, her rage coming full circle so much that I had to obey.

As I walked back to the town, as I entered through the gate, as I laid on my mat in the backroom, I felt strange. I hated myself for what I could allow myself to think, and I didn't know why God made me interact with people like Fisher – like that – if I wasn't going to learn anything from it.

Chapter Fifteen: The Silent Cartographer

She sobbed loudly. I heard her from the outside of the ruins even as I approached. I ran faster than I had in a while with an urgency I couldn't explain, and it made me struggle to see the structure in which Fisher was cooped in the dark.

The door was closed. I ran to it, pushing it hard to try to get in. The door wouldn't move. I pushed again harder, ignoring the outside and the dark. The door wouldn't budge. Her sobs racked through me as I hit it now, hard enough to make my hand bleed. I glanced at the blood a little, wondering why I had done it. She cried louder. I remembered. My hands slid down the door frantically to find a way to open it. To my surprise, there was a knob. I turned it, nearly tumbled in, and slammed the door closed behind me.

I found her inside, and I saw immediately that she'd given up. She had broken. She could no longer hide her weaknesses, so they tumbled out of her in a jumble that was incapable of being stopped.

She wanted to die.

I didn't know why I had come to such a conclusion, but I did and I immediately knew it was the right one. I didn't even know what it was that had made me get up in the night to find her, but seeing her like that against the far wall, barely able to stand straight or keep her eyes open, reminded me of all the reasons why I had.

She sobbed louder. It brought me all forms of pain that I was unfamiliar with, raw and fresh and lingering. It came from deep within my stomach and in the depths of my throat, from the tips of my fingers to the shoulders in my back, from my shaky legs to my heaving chest. And no matter how long I blinked, the pain refused to pass like it usually did.

I just breathed, but as was becoming custom, I couldn't retain any oxygen. I found, even as I stared, that something was building in me that I couldn't explain. But the more I saw, the more I wanted to unleash it. I wasn't sure if it was good or bad, but I knew I wouldn't be able to stop it when it came. I breathed and breathed for a long time, staring at her. Waiting for her to stop. She didn't. Finally, when I knew I couldn't take it anymore, when I knew the monster would explode, I did.

"What the hell are you _doing_?" I shouted, pinning her against the wall.

I didn't know how I had gotten from one point in the room to the other, her in my hands, but it had happened faster than I could even process.

She wasn't surprised. On the contrary, she acted as if she had almost expected me.

"Ollie!" she said, laughing in my arms.

I smelled alcohol on her. I recoiled, gentler.

"Are you drunk?" I asked softly.

"I'm not sure," she said, glancing at the bottles at our feet. "But another few might do the trick."

The smell was pungent and all too familiar. The anger returned.

"So you're just going to drink yourself to death, is that it?" I shouted.

It was something I would have done – not a Deviant. Not her. Even though I saw in her eyes what I felt – and hid, even from myself – I wanted her to be better than me.

"Why not?" she asked, shrugging flippantly.

I had to appeal to something, penetrate that glibness with something that hooked her will to live. Then, I could draw her out, yanking her out like a fish from a pond.

"So you're going to give up? Go crawl in a hole?" I shouted louder. "What the hell is that? That isn't you!"

My anger resonated with her, and the smirk fell from her face.

"What the hell does it matter to _you_ , Ollie?" she shouted, struggling in my arms. "What do _you_ know about what is me and isn't me?"

I was much stronger, and I didn't relent.

"Let _go_ of me!" she shrieked, looking up at me fiercely.

"No!" I shouted. "You're being an idiot! I won't let that happen!"

"And why do you care, huh?" She tried to get away again. "Why the _fuck_ do you care?"

I'd never heard her talk like that. She'd confided in me that foul language was considered to be awful in her land. Really, I'd only heard her swear sparsely, only a few times, but to her and her people, she had a foul mouth.

That made her words all that more jarring. She reached forward and hit my shoulder weakly.

"What are you _doing_ , Ollie?" she shouted. "What are you _doing_ here? Come to _yell_ at me? Leave me alone! Let _go_!"

She still struggled, but she really was very small. And she was so weak that it broke my heart. Finally, exhausted, she stopped, sagging a little into the hands that held her up by her shoulders. I was surprised at the dependence she had on me to keep her up. No one had ever leaned on me before.

"I came to find you!" I finally snapped defensively. "You shouldn't be out here like this, and you _know_ that!"

"Do I?" she asked, head rolling this way and that. "Who cares if I die? I'd be doing the world a favor. Just ask your pal, Alison Bright!"

Disturbingly real anger came to me.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked darkly.

"We had a nice little _chat_ , me and her."

"What did she say?" I growled menacingly.

"That...Skate died because he was weak," she said, looking up to me, her voice breaking suddenly.

Tears penetrated her resolve.

"She said it was all my fault...and that I failed them."

"That bitch..." I found myself muttering quietly, squeezing Fisher's arms so tightly she cried out. I loosened immediately, eyeing her all the apologies she needed.

"She's right, you know," Fisher said sadly.

"No, she's not," I said determinedly. "Ali is an idiot!"

The more disturbed I was at seeing her inebriated and weak, the angrier I became. But it wasn't the normal kind of anger that I was so used to. It was different and much more real. It was anger at myself, for her loved ones for being so negligent and not helping her, for her cousin, who had died while she already had so little, for her uncle, who abused her without mercy. He had left her so little already, only bruises and scars, and they, unlike other wounds, would probably never heal.

"You do know that everything in miles can hear you?" I asked, trying hard to forget the sadness that came to me with those realizations.

She laughed hysterically.

"Yes, yes, I do."

She laughed more. I couldn't understand how, but there was no smile on her face.

"But that was the plan," she whispered. "Let them come."

"What do you mean?"

"If I kill the ones that come, I can...save them in Hand. And they don't need to worry about me failing anymore."

"I..." I didn't know what to say. "I don't think that's the way it would go down, kid."

My anger had passed once it was made known to her, and it was replaced by only more human feelings. Panic was among them. It had been a few nights since she'd dismissed me, and since then the maniacal quality in her eyes had festered and grown determined.

"Maybe. I don't know. Doesn't matter."

That was bitterness talking.

"Why not?" I whispered.

"Because I don't get to die!" she said loudly.

She leaned her head back and her neck was exposed to me. It seemed so close to me then. It didn't look bad. It was beautiful, Deviant mark and all.

"Why do you think you can't die?"

"Because...I am not allowed to die," she said matter-of-factly. "That is how God has decided it."

"Dammit, that isn't –"

"You don't know!" she shouted.

She began to sob, and the shift was so sudden all I could do was blink. She shook her head against the wall. I held her tightly, but my hands shook. I was sure she felt it.

"You are like _them_ ," she said eventually, sniffling loudly.

"Who?"

"Everyone! You don't know me! You don't even _know_ me! And yet you pass judgments on the way I am like I'm some kind of animal! You think I don't hear you talk about me?" Her mouth upturned. "You think I don't _hear_ you tell the others how bad I am? I refuse to take the fall for something I didn't do! But that doesn't matter! Nobody believes me when I say that I _care_! And I _care_ , Dark, I _care_!"

_I_ know, I found myself thinking, wishing I was brave enough to say it. _I know it hurts. I know I hurt you._

"Well, go ahead!" she continued breathlessly. "Pass your judgments and laugh it up behind my back! You can _stay_ in Hand at my place from now on for all I care because I don't give a _fuck_!"

I had no idea what to say.

"Why won't you be there?" I asked her quietly.

The way she'd said it made it seem like she'd be gone.

"I'll be here," she said, laughing again. "Hopefully you bury me."

This staggered me.

"What?" I asked her.

"That's why you're here, right?" she taunted maliciously. "To _kill_ me? That's why you came all this way out here in the middle of the night?"

I couldn't breathe again. The thought of her knowing my treachery was almost too much.

"I can imagine you'll have the integrity to make it fast. If you shoot me in the head, don't miss, please. I've done that a few times."

"Fisher, shut up."

My eyes closed for a moment before I took a slow step forward, if that were possible. I was serious and sincere, for once. I wanted her to be.

"That's not why I'm here," I said dismissively. "And you're just...tired. You're tired. That's all."

I didn't know who I was trying to fool, me or her.

"When you kill me, I bet you'll enjoy making me scream," she said nonchalantly, as if I hadn't spoken.

This prodded me just slightly too hard.

"Shut up, kid," I snapped.

Anger began to fester, but it wasn't at her – not exactly.

"Breaking me, that's Rhyme's favorite part too," she continued, undeterred.

Again, she paired Rhyme and I together, and it made me want to vomit.

"Fisher, shut up!"

"Maybe you could take me before killing me," she said with the great and terrible knowledge that she was provoking me successfully. "Gain the knowledge of my flesh. The ultimate shame."

"No, Fisher, I –"

"Isn't that what you do, Dark? Hurt people? That's your life, right? Hurting me? I deserve to be punished, and you'd just _revel_ in it, wouldn't you?"

Her eyes were dangerous when she spoke like that. I felt, for the first time I could consciously remember, the first scrapings of apprehension. I wanted to be able to stop.

"Honestly, I don't understand why you're even hesitating," she said calmly. "My life is meaningless. Why did you even stop to chat? Want the last word before you _murder_ me?"

"I said be quiet, Fisher!"

It made me so angry that she could know these things without knowing me – that she could read me when I had never let another human read me before. That she would not judge me, even though she knew part of what I was. I hated that she threw the words around so casually when they caused me so much pain. I was afraid of what she would think, afraid of what she would say. She was mocking me for it.

"What's stopping you, Ollie?" she asked honestly. "Kill me. Just do it. Get it over with. Come _on_!"

Her teeth were gritted now, and she sounded frustrated and confused.

"It isn't like I'm different, right? Like it would be hard with me? You said it yourself!"

"I said SHUT UP, Fisher!"

My resolve collapsed and I pushed my body flush up next to hers, dropping my hands from her shoulders to settle uneasily at her hips. I'd given up holding her there, but she'd also given up fighting me. She stared up at me quietly, waiting for me to say something. My gaze on her was lighter than I had ever remembered it then, and I savored every second our bodies were close like that.

"How do you know me then, Mr. Dark?" Fisher whispered softly up to me. My breath caught at the way she whispered my name. "What have I done wrong?"

"Nothing..." I whispered calmly. "I..."

I paused and leaned forward with my mouth, taken by an impulse. So close. So very close. My body ached, suddenly, ached and ached. Something could help it, something unthinkable.

But then I pulled away again, resigning to the fear and panic that came with that impulse.

She blinked in surprise, and I knew she knew what I'd just tried – and lost the nerve – to do. I knew it. We both knew it, suddenly.

I was terrified by this.

"What was that?" she asked, cracking at the motion.

Sobs moved through her, and I felt them rise out of her due to our proximity. I took a step back again, and with it came a sense of clarity that was impossible when I was so close to her skin. I finally released her totally, but I was close enough.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked me, covering her face.

"I don't know!' I said, hurting at the words.

"I thought you hated me!"

I was stunned at myself then. I had expected to agree with her. I honestly had. I had told myself so many times that I hated her – that she was Deviant scum. But I couldn't say that I did. I was wrong again.

"Maybe you just crave my body," she whispered to me, looking into my eyes. "And that's okay. Men are attracted to women faster than they are to men."

I didn't want to talk about this. We couldn't – shouldn't – talk about this.

"You don't want me," she confided in me. "I'm a murderer."

But I did want her, even if I couldn't say it.

"He was my best friend, you know..."

She stared up at me distantly. This, more than anything, made me want to run away.

But I was afraid of what she would do if I went.

"We used to make up these nicknames, these codenames?" she began to explain. "Because our parents...well, his parents hated us so much, me and my family."

She laughed with the memories that exploded in her eyes. I was silent. I couldn't breathe. Nobody had ever confided in me before.

"They used to think we had imaginary friends. His name was...it was Baby."

She spoke uncharacteristically slow. "Because he was born a month after me...I was Shorty. I was so short. I've, uh...I've always been really short, you know? I've, uh, I've never had it easy..."

On a normal day, I would have told her to suck it up, but something about the way she said it stayed my tongue. Something actually began to well in the back of my throat. It was a sensation totally new to me.

"When we were little, the kids...they used to beat me up. Or they tried. My family has never been on the best side with people, you know?"

I didn't, but I eyed her like I knew anyway.

"We've never been liked by anyone. I didn't understand until I was older that it was the Taint, the Bad People. I wanted to remind everyone that I was related to Rhyme and Skate and Gabby, that if I was, they were too, but it was my mother they hated. My mom's side. She was the one who brought the Taint to our family. So I was Tainted too."

I didn't know what to say to this information.

"They used to try to steal our stuff," she continued. "One time, there was this, uh, this boy. He tried to steal my necklace – I found it outside with Skate. They said I had a crush on him and that he had given it to me. I don't think anyone in town could bear to realize 'that strange girl' was his cousin, you know?"

She paused.

"Skate hit him so hard for that..."

She reached her hand up to her neck and pulled a long necklace from it. It was surprisingly silver and intact. She rolled it around in her fingers. There was a round green orb at the end of an old silver ring, a stone that looked scratched in only one spot. The stone was embedded into the metal like it was fighting to make its way out.

"It's beautiful," I whispered.

She nodded forlornly.

"They always tried to steal this..."

She began to cry in earnest.

"Worthless piece of garbage now," she snapped.

"Why do you say that?" I asked, blinking in surprise. "It's a pretty ring."

"Because he always told me it would bring me luck!" she said loudly. "That it would save me! That it would help me out! And he still died! And he's dead because I couldn't save him!"

"I bet it could bring you luck," I said quietly.

"Then, you take it!" she snapped, thrusting it around my neck in disgust. "Because I'm tired of hoping for luck that won't come."

I took it off my neck again and held it loosely in my hands, uncertain of how to proceed.

"You need it more than I do," I whispered to her finally.

She made a noise of disgust and stopped me.

"Skate used to say that too," she said bitterly. "And look where we are."

I bit my lip painfully. Her words progressed slowly into tears. It hurt me further in the back of my throat, at the pit of my stomach. I had never felt hurt like that. I didn't feel that kind of pain.

There was silence. Finally, I whispered,

" _Why_ are you telling me this?"

"Because Skate always saved me..."

She leaned her head back, crying out. She collapsed against the wall, and I collapsed with her, wanting to touch, not knowing where I should.

" _Why_? Why couldn't I save him? I didn't do anything wrong! Why are they taking him from me? I just don't understand! He didn't do anything! He didn't do anything, and he's gone!"

The dam broke and she shrieked now, sobs rising out of her.

"Why couldn't I do it? Why! Why didn't I get back in time? Why did he go there without me?"

"I –"

"Did he want to die? Did he want to abandon me here, like this? Why did he leave me behind? I would have died to keep him from dying like that! I would have gone _anywhere_ to get him! Didn't he _know_ that?"

I tried to speak, but words couldn't do justice to my feelings.

"Didn't he know that I loved him?" she shrieked. "Was he unhappy? Did he _want_ to die? Didn't he know I'd go look for him? I looked so _hard_ for him, Ollie, so hard! I spent nights outside, looking the first few days! I couldn't leave him alone out there like that! I couldn't let him die! Doesn't he know that I was looking for him?"

I wanted to say something, but I didn't know how.

"Why didn't he love me enough?" she shrieked, rocking in agony. "Why didn't he want to stay here with me? Why? I don't understand!"

This became her new mantra.

"I don't understand! I don't understand! How did this happen? How could I let this happen?"

"Let it?" I asked breathlessly. "You did _everything_ you could do, Fisher. This isn't your fault."

"Yes, it _is_!" she shrieked. "They went to Peak for me and I don't even know why! I don't even know why! Why didn't I see it? Why couldn't I stop it?"

"Fisher..." I began, but I didn't know what to say. "This isn't your fault," I finally said again.

It took her a moment to temper her despair.

"If you haven't come to kill me..." she began slowly. "Then...I will do what must be done."

"What must be done?" I asked weakly.

"I don't know what you'd call it in your land," she said back. "Taking your own life..."

"Suicide?" I asked breathlessly. "You can't die like that."

"But I've failed! I am useless and pathetic! I've lost _everyone_!"

_Not Chess_ , I thought desperately. _Not me._

"It's the only way..." she sobbed, wanting a hand to sob into.

I wanted to give her that hand. I even reached out to her face a little bit in strange desperation to make her stop, but my hand couldn't touch her face. It was like it was afraid. I knew I was. My hand retracted.

I tried to comfort her. It felt strange. I realized in a moment of agony that it was the first time I'd ever comforted anyone. I was terrible at it.

"You're wrong," I finally whispered.

"What a surprise."

She scowled through those tears, staring up at me.

"I'm sorry," I said, biting back pain. "I'm trying."

"Why?" she snapped.

I retracted in embarrassment. Did I comfort her incorrectly? Did normal people do that? I thought they did. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I had said the wrong thing. She was going to be angry with me for saying the wrong thing and then she would hate me. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't say the wrong thing. I opened my mouth a few times. I couldn't think of anything. Panic descended upon me as I struggled to learn for the first time what humans did to comfort one another. As I struggled, her eyes grew from pleading to pained to disgusted.

"Just go, Ollie!" she finally shouted, standing tall.

I stood with her, but hesitated, and she shoved me. I fell back. And then I heard a shuffle and a click. And there was a gun to her head. Her own hand held it there. My entire head went numb. I froze without knowing what to say. That was the effect she had on me.

But I shouted,

"No – wait!"

She waited. It was a start.

"I didn't know you meant it," I said to her.

I extended my hands imploringly, palms upward, almost like I was looking for a hug.

"Just wait. Please. Let's talk for a little. Just you and me."

"Why would you want to talk to me about anything?" she whispered to me.

"Well, I'm asking now, aren't I?" I asked desperately. "Please. I want to talk. Can you do that?"

I felt awake. My senses zoomed into my body acutely, and I could hear, feel, smell, and almost taste every ounce of pain and fatigue that spilled from her body like blood. She pulled back the safety to the pistol in her hand. It was my pistol. It would be my bullet.

"This is what I deserve, Ollie," she said coldly.

All tears had fled. The maniacal self-loathing was now in control.

How often had I heard that voice in myself? How often had I quelled the rise of that monster that I now saw in her eyes?

Too often.

If I had one purpose on this Earth, it seemed to be for that moment, those seconds. I had to save her from that monster that I knew. This was the reason I was alive. I had to save her.

"This is how I deserve to die," she whispered.

"No! NO!"

"I can do it quietly, Ollie. It's okay. You'll feel better after it's done."

It was like she was explaining how to make love quietly in a public place, like she was enticing me to allow her to do something we both knew she shouldn't. I felt like a child in her shadow right then, and I wanted to get my power back. The only way for me to do it would be if I got that gun. Or she would die.

"You can't die," I said to her, shaking my head.

She was invincible. Fisher didn't die. Only people died. Not Fisher. She wasn't part of "people."

"This is what I need to do," she said quietly.

"No, it doesn't have to be like this. You – you don't have to do this."

I wanted to run at her and take it. I couldn't. I wanted to, knowing that I couldn't.

"I do have to do this..." she said back, shaking her head.

Stronger emotion than I had felt in years enveloped me. I didn't even know what to say. I was powerless to convey the depth of the regret I felt inside of me. This all felt like my fault.

"You were so strong, Fisher," I whispered. "What happened? What happened to you?"

"I'm not _strong_ ," she snapped bitterly. "I am weak and pathetic, useless and sad. I am a _waste_."

"You're _not_ a waste!" I said through gritted teeth.

"Says the man who talks of me like dirt," she snapped back. "What do you know about _strength_?"

"Would this make you strong to end your own suffering? Is that what you think brave is?"

I barely knew her anymore. I couldn't imagine that I, who prided myself in reading people as well as I could books, hadn't even seen a glimpse of the pain she had experienced in the last seven days.

"You can't quit halfway through," I whispered to her fervently.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to."

"I don't care about what _you_ want anymore," she snapped.

I winced.

"I'm so sorry I let it get to this," was my reply.

"No, you're not!" she shouted, pressing the gun harder to her skull. "You told the others you wished I was _dead_! I _hear_ you talk! I _hear_ the awful things you say about me behind my back!"

Guilt flooded in.

"It's just talk, Fisher, just talk. It's not real!"

I saw that now.

"It doesn't matter!" she shouted. "You're right! About everything!"

"No, I'm _not_!" I shouted back. "You make me feel calm! You're the only person in the world that can make me feel calm! You can't go away! I won't let you!"

"And what are you going to do about it?" she taunted, sneering as I stood helplessly mere feet from where she stood.

"I'll...I'll make you feel calm. If you let me. Let me try."

_You can't die_! my head screamed. _You don't need to die!_

I wanted to give her a reason not to.

"You just need to be near me, just for a little more, just listen."

"Shut UP!" she shouted. "You're not making sense! You're supposed to _hate_ me!"

I saw that my desperation gave her pause. It was the hook, the hook I'd needed.

I hadn't realized how far down I'd have to hook her to drag her wriggling back to the surface. My Fisher was down there somewhere, locked away, reasonable and strong, just trapped and scared.

I had to get her back.

"I think that you are brilliant," I admitted out loud. "And beautiful. And I think...there is _nothing_ you could do that could change that."

I couldn't even understand how she didn't see it, how she couldn't feel it in herself.

"Stop it, Ollie!"

"You don't understand how great you are, how many people want to follow you just because you're _you_."

"Please – Ollie..."

"Please – what do you need from me? What can I do to make you see that?"

"YOU'RE LYING!" she shrieked.

"I'm not lying!" I whispered back. "I can prove it to you. But to do that I just need...time."

Her eyes moved back and forth between two nothings. They searched for me without finding them. She looked so lost. She was shutting down piece by piece.

"You're lying!" she whispered now, almost pleading to the universe that I was.

The pain in her voice was now so deeply entrenched that it hurt my heart to hear her speak at all. There was nothing I could do for that pain, for her, for anyone. And I wanted to, suddenly. I wanted to help.

But what good was I in believing in anything? Even I didn't believe in good things anymore. But she made me want to.

"You're manipulating me, Ollie."

Her words made me suffer in a stranger way than I could have imagined. Her pain was my own pain. Her agony was mine. Her death...I knew already that I wouldn't be able to handle it. We were just so similar, and she was like my new half. What good was I as only a half?

Her finger finally moved to the trigger.

"NO!" I shouted.

I raised my hands, begging her to stop.

"No, no, no, stop! No!"

I had to take a breath. My throat felt tight and there was a ball forming in the depths of my pharynx, nearly crippling it.

"Let me help you. Please! I want to help you!"

I took a step forward. She yelled out, as if she were being beaten, as if when I approached it hurt her. The frustration grew in the depths of my stomach, turning me into an animal of need.

"Please – I can fix this! I can help you! I want to help you! Please, let me help you!"

I had never asked for something so hard in my entire life. I had never needed to beg.

"I don't want help," she whispered softly.

I couldn't stand it. She was mere seconds from death. I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying hard to figure out what to do. Why wasn't I helping? I felt vulnerable. It was a new feeling for me. Why was I the way that I was? Why wasn't I somebody _better_?

"I can't – I can't let you die," I admitted. "Give me the gun."

I almost chanted it.

"Come on...you can't die – can't die..."

"This is the punishment I deserve," she said again.

The gun was to her temple, tighter. She took a breath.

A final breath.

"No...NO!"

There might have been actual tears in my eyes.

"You can't! No!"

I became adamant. I was at her mercy, and her life was the bargaining chip.

"No..."

I realized what I felt. It was anguish. She opened her mouth to speak, but I wouldn't let her.

"No!"

I couldn't help her, so I would beg. It was the first time I had ever begged for anything in my entire life. I realized it over and over. I needed to beg. I wanted to beg.

"Please...please, stay here. Please, please...I didn't come here to kill you! I came because I was worried about you! I had to see you! That you were okay, not to kill you! I don't want you to die. I need you to stay alive for _me_. _Please_."

I breathed it over and over again into the darkness, into her head, into her.

"Don't ask me that, Ollie – come on..."

She sobbed more and her face twisted with the pain.

"I just...I need...I need..."

"What do you need?" I asked her plaintively. "What can I do?"

"Make the hurt stop!" she shrieked desperately.

_How_ did I do that? I wondered. How did people comfort one another? Obviously, correcting her was wrong. What did people do?

They admitted wrongdoing.

I had to apologize.

It was worth it.

"I'm so sorry – for everything..."

I tried to take a step closer to her. She yelled out to me in warning, as if to tell me to stay back.

"Nothing you can say will make the hurt go away!" she cried.

"But I want to try!" I shouted honestly. "Let me try to say that I'm sorry for what I've done!"

"You're not sorry," she whispered.

"But I am!" I said, eyes closed, hands raised.

"For _what_?" she snapped.

I clenched my jaw before speaking.

"For hurting you."

"How did you hurt me?"

"I...I lie and I cheat. I scare you, and I'm sorry. I talk about you behind your back. I'm mean and ungrateful. You've done so much for me, and all I..."

I got carried away and the wound inside of me opened up, became real.

It was no longer an act.

"I'm so, so sorry..." I whispered, feeling tears in my eyes. "I didn't want this to happen. I didn't mean for it to happen."

I heard a noise, and she slid down the wall a little. Her knees buckled with fatigue, and dark bags under her eyes haunted me. I wondered when it was the last time she slept. I felt my arms yearn to have her there. It was surprising, that need. Her sobs became more intense at her weakness.

"Just let me die, Ollie," she said. "Why are you telling me these things?"

She tried to open her eyes, but they'd become half lidded now, so exhausted that they barely functioned. I could see by the size of her eyes that it was what she had been doing for the past week. I felt horrified that I had not seen it or willed myself to ignore it.

I was scum.

"Please, don't die..." I whispered.

The only purpose I had was to keep her awake. I was struggling to do so, but there was no other purpose. There could be no other purpose. I wanted too much just to shake her.

"Think of everything that's still here," I tried desperately. "Everything and everyone that would miss you."

"Chess and Foot, end of list," she snapped.

"But we need you..." I whispered.

I stopped breathing, trying hard to think about how irrelevant her salvation was. That it was my job to kill her. I couldn't. I could never hurt her.

I already knew that I would fail My Master.

"We?" she asked.

I hadn't realized I'd said it that way, and I held my breath.

"You need me?" she asked.

I looked deeply into her eyes.

"Yes," I replied.

My face crumpled at how true the words were.

"You don't even understand how much I need you."

I didn't want to need anyone. But I did want her.

"Do you like me after all?"

"Yes, I like you," I whispered fervently in reply.

"Would you miss me?"

I swallowed. It was difficult.

"More than I've ever missed anything in the world," I said back.

There was a long, long silence. Then, with a cry of pain that rang all the way into me, deep into my heart, she dropped her hand from her gun. I rushed to her as she collapsed. She was so weak – so small.

I pulled her close to me, to my coldly racing chest and shaking body. I moved closer against the wall, holding her. I put her into my lap where she fell, her head leaning heavily into my chest. She held onto me, cried into my shirt, sobbed into my chest, as if I were her friend. Her very best friend.

As she passed into sleep, I realized I still held her necklace. I tried to give it back to her, but this was too soon. Wait, she said. I should keep it until she needed it again. I squeezed it in my own hands, feeling how warm it made the tips of my fingers. Just until she felt ready to have it again, she'd told me.

I cherished it more than I had ever cherished anything tangible. I held it as I fell asleep beneath her, holding her safe in my arms.

I knew, right then, right at that moment, that something was happening to me. She meant something to me. It wasn't a huge something, what she meant, but it was something more than I had ever had in a friend. I had never had friends. I had never needed them. They had never needed me. But, in those moments, Fisher was my very best friend.

The next morning she didn't say anything at all. She was silent but calm. There was a new glow about her that I couldn't explain. We walked back together in silence. She left for work. When she came back, she brought me more food than I had ever had in Washington, and it was the best meal I had had in months. It was her way of thanking me, and I loved her for it.

Chapter Sixteen: Upsetting News

When I went back to Hand, I went out for the day. When I got back, I felt better, almost as if the whole day had been spent wiping this nasty sheen off the lenses my eyes saw with. However, I needed to clear the air somehow with somebody who was important to me. He'd been avoiding me, and that hurt. I had to know why. I was ready for the confrontation, I told myself.

I wasted no time going to Chess' room.

I knocked on the door, feeling nerves I hadn't in a long time.

"Just a second!" he called from within.

He came to the front door and opened it, eyes inward, as if he was making sure the place was clean. Like I always did. It made me smile a small smile. When his eyes made their way forward and he saw me, I saw his grip on the door tighten.

"Myth..." was all he said.

He sounded nervous too, and as soon as he looked in my eyes, he looked away. He actually didn't sound happy to see me, like I was interrupting something he didn't want me to see. This made me feel squished inside, both for the implications and for how it made me feel inside. I was sensitive enough then that this hurt my wavering ability to smile, which had slid off my face at the sound of my own name.

"I..." I tried to say, but tears were coming.

It was too soon to be going to him to ask for forgiveness. I wasn't ready for this.

And he didn't look at me, and I squirmed there in his front door, wishing he would.

"I'm sorry," I said to him, turning away. "I shouldn't have come here. I'm –"

He grabbed my hand and still couldn't look at me.

"Wait," he whispered. " _Stay_."

Why wouldn't he look at me?

"It's okay," I said, hoping to back away gracefully. "I didn't mean to interrupt whatever you're doing, and I shouldn't have...I didn't mean..."

Tears, as they did often in those times, disrupted the things I was saying, and I had to stop out of frustration as much as for mourning. It was almost as if they wanted to remind me of what happened. They made sure with a diligence I'd yet encountered that I would never forget.

He seemed to notice this and furrowed his brow, but still, he did not look at me, hand firmly on my wrist.

"I should go," I said weakly, desperation permeating every communicative behavior I had.

"No, you should stay," he said, plaintively now. "Don't go."

Swallowing nervously, I proceeded inside at the beckoning tug of his hand, and he closed the door behind me with a snap. I stood there awkwardly, feeling tears I wished that I could restrain, tears that had nothing to do with Chess but that would crop up wherever and whenever I experienced any kind of emotional difficulties at all.

"Here, let me take these heavy things," he offered, releasing my hand to take my heavy pack from my shoulders.

He hoisted it off my back and then moved his hands to my shoulder to take away my gun. He placed both items against the wall closest to the door, and then stood tall, back to me. Again, we stood in awkward silence. I clenched my jaw.

This was too much, too soon.

"I didn't mean to keep you from something," I said to him, feeling abruptly out of place.

He'd never made me feel like I was an imposition before. He would clear everything out just for me. Now, he wouldn't even look at me, and it made me think of Skate. I felt humiliated.

He said nothing.

"What did I do?" I asked him finally, almost without my permission.

He stood tall, but still didn't face me.

"What?" he asked.

His voice sounded low, maybe with rage – or worse, disgust.

I should have known. He was disgusted with me. He hated me.

But more than ever, I felt like I needed him. The timing was so awful.

I backed into the wall and felt sobs come, sobs I hadn't expected to come. I had to put them off with all my might, and my voice took on this wavering, high pitched quality.

"I thought maybe you were upset because I was...so bad to you...when the Outlanders got here. But I wanted to tell you that I...was sorry. Foot told Rhyme, not you, and I thought...he didn't tell me that until the day that...until the day that Skate..."

I couldn't stop it now. I felt it rise.

"I have to go, Chess," I said desperately, almost like I needed his permission.

"Do you want to go?" he asked.

_No_!

"I don't know," I said. "I don't want to...I'm going to cry, Chess. You don't want to see that."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because of what I've done!"

The wall broke, and tears flowed forth. A sob escaped me, and I closed my eyes to keep where I was out of my mind. I felt a pair of hands grab my arms, and I was crushed against Chess with wanting I'd yet to hear from him.

"Oh, Myth, you haven't done anything!" he said in a rush, and he wrapped his arms around me so tightly that I could feel his limbs shake.

I didn't understand.

"Don't you want to see me?" I asked his chest. "Don't you want to see how I'm doing?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, tears in his voice. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't you miss me? Don't you want to know if I'm okay?"

"Every day, all night," he whispered into my ear.

His chest heaved against me, like every word I asked shot pain through his torso.

"Aren't you worried about me? I know Ollie told you what happened to me in the night. Didn't you think you should keep an eye on me?"

"I'm so sorry, Myth," he whispered.

His chest heaved once now, and I knew he was crying.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should have been there with you. I should have helped you."

"Why didn't you help me?" I asked him, curling into myself, even as he pulled me tighter. "I thought you wanted – I thought..."

Sobs prevented me from continuing, and he brought me over to the mat on his floor. He laid down next to me there and I curled into the side of his body, burying my chest in his shoulder. I was unable to look at him.

"How could you do that to me?" I sobbed loudly. "How could you leave me like that?"

"Myth, I..."

His hands squeezed into the fabric of my clothing.

"I didn't mean it," he whispered into my cheek. "I didn't mean it. I didn't think you'd – I'm _so_ sorry!"

"What did I do?" I asked him, eyes still closed. "What did I do?"

"Dammit, Myth, you didn't do anything," he whispered with choked tears. "You could never do anything wrong."

"Then why are you acting like this?" I asked him, wiping my dripping nose with the side of my arm.

I heard him clench.

"I...I can't tell you," he whispered.

This hurt, and the noise I made reflected this.

"Don't say that to me..." I whispered, pulling away from him.

I flipped over to lay on my other side.

"No, no, no, Myth, I...I did something, and I..."

He slid up beside me from behind and wrapped his arms around me.

"I'm ashamed," he whispered.

I curled my knees to my chest, bringing clenched fists to my forehead.

"You're lying!" I whispered.

"I'm not lying, Myth, _please_ stop crying! I'm here now!"

He took one of my hands from my forehead and kissed it. Then, he moved around to prop himself up over me. I found myself lying on my back, and he brought his mouth to the tears on my cheek, tracing their lines with soft kisses as he whispered,

"I won't do that again. I'm here now. I'm here."

He did this for some time, whispering soft things to me, one hand on my hip, the other near my hair to brush it down. The motion calmed me, grounded me, but my body reacted like it wasn't mine to control.

I turned just a fraction of an inch, meeting his lips with mine with a suddenness that surprised us both. We stayed like that for a long time, and I savored the feel of his lips on mine. He gave me another kiss, slowly, and then another. Then another. And then a fire that was an abrupt turn from the despair I'd just felt lit under me and we were suddenly kissing very fast, his hands twisted into my hair, his hand on my hip moved up to the curve of my waist. His lips moved in waves now, but he moaned a little as he broke the kiss, tearing away like he felt angry with himself.

"No!" he said loudly.

A myriad of emotions threw me for a loop, but I latched onto anger just to be safe. I sat up indignantly.

"I thought that's what you wanted!" I said loudly.

He looked at me helplessly.

"It _is_ what I _want_ , Myth," he whispered, grabbing my hands. "But I just..."

His brow furrowed.

"I thought that you were with Ollie," he said breathlessly, daring to look me in the eye.

" _Why_ does everybody think that?" I asked loudly, standing up angrily.

"Foot told me that you were," he said to me cautiously, unsure of how to proceed.

I opened my mouth like I'd been struck.

" _Foot_ said that to you?" I whispered.

He nodded.

" _Foot_ is a lying, sniveling coward, and the only reason he said that to you was to keep you from doing what you just did!" I shouted now.

Uncharacteristic anger flashed in Chess' kind eyes.

"How do you know that?"

"Because _I_ told him myself the day Skate died that I was most certainly _not_ with Ollie!" I shouted back, walking over to the pack near the door. "Just forget it. I shouldn't have come here."

"No, Myth, I –"

"No, I think I should," I said, feeling that anger in his eyes magnify in myself. "I came here to apologize, not to be...taken advantage of when I was feeling sad."

Hurt and other things exploded in his eyes.

"No, believe me, that's not what I –"

"Save it, Chess!" I shouted. "If you ever decide you want to talk to me again, you know where to find me."

With that, I walked quickly out the door.

***

She laughed sometimes, which honed my own laughter into common use. Her smile, though it faltered often, was perfect. It had only been weeks since her episode, and she was improved. I knew that it was something that I had said to her because she smiled often for me – more often than she had, more than for others. I felt a small twang of pride that she had found it in her to smile at something like me. Every time she did, I thought that the color of her eyes was the most beautiful color in the world.

Pierce and Ali came to me one day. They entered and sat in the back room, expecting to speak. I found myself hiding that necklace, shoving it beneath my shirt as they approached. Their wariness of me had long since wilted and died, so they did not catch it.

"We have a problem, Dark," Pierce said.

My eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I do not appreciate being strung along," I said coldly. "What is it?"

"Remember those batteries the Deviant found?" Pierce asked.

"Yeah, what of them?"

"We were able to get them to power our radio. We just intercepted what I think is a Probe beacon." Pierce threw me our radio. I looked up at him, feeling my heart race.

"Why didn't you come get me?" I asked him angrily.

"Couldn't find you," was all he said, shrugging. "Go ahead – play it."

I turned the knob for the radio to work.

"Hailing all callsigns. This is FPAP. Do you copy, over?"

I recognized FPAP as Freedom's Progress Aviation Patrol. The color drained out of my face. They were responsible for all militant aviation outside the Wall in the Traverse.

"Roger, FPAP, this is Bravo Two Niner. We have you five by five, over."

"This is Echo Two Niner, loud and clear, over."

"Charlie Three Six, reading you five, over."

"Roger, all callsigns prepare to copy order codes, over."

"Ready to copy, FPAP, over."

The same was repeated by the callsigns of the other two.

"Transmission order code 7-15-18-10," FPAP crackled. "Confirm transmission, over."

"Transmission order code 7-15-18-10. Transmission confirmed, over."

There was crackling, but in the distance we heard the other two callsigns confirm the order code.

"Execute last order code at 0400 hours in 30 days. Can you comply?"

"Wilco, FPAP," the voice of Bravo Two Niner said.

Again, the same was repeated by the other two transmittees.

"All callsigns, end order code transmission. FPAP, over and out."

"What's the order code?" I asked them both as a pause ensued.

"Just wait," Pierce said, nodding to the radio.

"Bravo Two Niner, this is Echo Two Niner, do you copy?"

"Copy, Echo Two Niner, What did you need, over?" Bravo replied.

"Last transmission, kill code to execute in 30 days. Is that what you have, over?"

"Wait one, Echo Two Niner."

There was another long pause.

"Echo Two Niner, this is Bravo Two Niner, affirmative, we have kill codes to execute in 30 days, over."

"Echo Two Niner, this is Charlie Three Six," Charlie piped in with a crackling voice. "We think we might have some mistakes over here. We're detecting kill codes over the Quarantine Zone, over."

I looked up at the other two.

"Wait two, Charlie Three Six," Echo Two Niner replied. Another pause. "No, we're all getting the same thing. Must be some mistake."

"Your call, Echo Two Niner," Charlie Three Six replied. "Over and out."

Echo Two Niner hailed FPAP.

"We read you Echo Two Niner, this FPAP."

"Hailing FPAP-Actual, over."

Another pause.

"This is FPAP-Actual," a commanding voice said.

"FPAP-Actual, this is Echo Two Niner in Traverse Sector 15. We received transmission order codes that we just wanted to clarify with you, over."

"Go ahead, Echo Two Niner," the voice replied.

Echo relayed the transmission code.

"This is a kill code over the Quarantine Zone, and we just wanted to make sure it was the right one, over."

"Affirmative, you have the right order code, over," FPAP-Actual replied.

"FPAP-Actual, be advised that we have boots on the ground in the Quarantine Zone awaiting pickup."

Hesitation now.

"Say again, Echo Two Niner?"

"There are boots on the ground in the Quarantine Zone awaiting pickup, over."

"We're seeing that here, Echo Two Niner, it seems they've about run out of time. They've been there for months and are assumed dead, over."

Hesitation from Echo.

"FPAP-Actual, we have directives for extraction at planned coordinates every forty eight hours, over."

"Echo Two Niner, you can assume your directives until 30 days have passed, at which point your directives are null and void, over."

"Roger, FPAP-Actual, over and out."

Chills from all unpleasant things reminded me of who I really was, of what my world was really like. I was sure they heard my heart racing.

"When was this?" I asked them both.

"This morning," Pierce said.

"They didn't say anything about Fisher," I pieced together quickly.

"We think they don't know about Fisher," Ali replied immediately.

I blinked in surprise.

"What? Why not?"

"Way I see it," Pierce said, "the second she dies, we sign our own death warrant. And they probably know that. But we've gone dark, so they have enough wiggle room to kill us because we're dragging our feet. We've got 30 days to extract or we're going to fry with everyone inside."

I felt sick.

"So, if we're going to do what we _came_ her to do," Ali snapped, "we need to do it _now_."

I tried hard to think of a reason why I could countermand the order besides the fact that I didn't want to carry it out.

"We can't," I whispered.

I sat up stiffly.

They were going to bomb the whole place.

Everyone we had met was going to die.

"We have to," Ali said to me emphatically.

"Bright, we _can't_ ," I snapped at her.

"Why? Because you're pathetic or because you're weak?"

"You sound just like My Master," I snarled, waving this aside.

"What?" Pierce asked.

"I'm an Exterior, okay?" I snapped at the air in front of me, and the words hung malignantly in the air.

There was instant silence. It was the first time that I had confessed the great and terrible secret to anybody, said the words out loud. A weight both unraveled and tightened in my chest in a strange fashion as I saw the look of fear pass over both of their eyes.

Pierce took a noticeable step away from us both. The room was so cramped, however, that the action made me feel like I was a plagued animal. I used to feed off of people's fear and hatred. I used it to do what nobody else was willing to do. I prevented awful things from happening so that they would not need to be afraid. But I'd forgotten what _that_ look felt like.

"He _was_ ," Ali snapped, smirking.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked her loudly.

She looked supremely satisfied.

"I'm an Exterior too, sunshine," she stated matter-of-factly.

I blinked. I felt as if I slammed into a wall. How did I not know that? How did I not see that? I looked her up and down. How did she hide it? But, more importantly, why hadn't Probe or the High Council or My Master told me about it?

"What?" I asked her.

She snorted with disgust.

"Obviously, you need to be reeducated," she snapped at me with disdain. "You've forgotten everything we stand for. We are tools, not brains. We don't get to _think_ these people deserve mercy. We just get to act on behalf of our Masters!"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

"You don't get it, do you?" Ali asked. "We are incompatible. As long as she lives, people will die!"

"You don't know that," I suggested for the first time, softly.

"I _do_ know that humans are the less dominant species on the planet now! I _do_ know that she's part of the dominant half! Remember that, Ollie? Or has she brainwashed you that much?"

"She was brought up thinking she was human," I said dismissively.

"She is an _abomination_!" Ali said louder.

It was the exact phrase My Master had used. The same one I'd agreed with, so long ago.

"We could give them all soldier's deaths," Ali suggested, cold and professional now. "Execution style. It wouldn't have to hurt. They could keep their precious honor, or whatever you want to call it. The Great Deviant from legend would die. The rest would die. And we could move on with our lives."

"That's impossible," I finally admitted.

I didn't know what would happen after this, if we even survived, but I knew it would never be the same. Ali just made a disgusted noise.

"It isn't impossible to distance yourself from your work. But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Ollie?"

I hated her so much that I had to close my eyes and look away to avoid assaulting her.

"That was a long time ago," I said darkly.

"And yet we are here," she said with a scowl. "I thought maybe they'd taught us at least not to turn our back on our Masters. You betray your own kind, Dark."

I opened my mouth again but decided I couldn't speak. Not to her. Not to an Exterior. I hated her too much. I walked out of Fisher's back room, through her front room, and into the lower courtyard where weeks ago Skate had been killed. Fisher was just entering. She passed me and smiled, but I walked quickly by her into the darkness. I decided I would go up to the tower that she'd shown me. People were rarely up there in those days.

The thought of Fisher made me ache inside.

"What's wrong?" she asked, beside me suddenly.

Her voice really cared. I considered for the briefest moments if maybe she did too.

"I don't know," I whispered.

It was true. I wasn't sure what I felt anymore.

I didn't want to tell her. It seemed unfair to her. I couldn't let myself look at her because she deserved so much better than me.

I fell a little, distractedly, and my hands were both sliced open. I didn't have time to look at it or feel the pain.

She sounded a little more accusatory as I continued to avert my eyes.

"Ollie?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said defensively.

Fisher climbed ahead of and above me, like a monkey who'd done it a thousand times.

"Liar," she said. "What's bothering you?"

"I don't know," I said again.

I finally sat at the highest point of the foundation. Fisher impatiently shifted beside me but she said nothing, and I appreciated it. Until,

"What's your problem?"

I threw up my cut hands.

"Why do I have to have a problem? Why am I always the one with the problem?"

Fisher was surprised.

"Sorry, I didn't mean –"

"Why is this all on me? Why am I always the one at fault here?"

"Why are you so defensive? I was just asking a question! Dammit!"

She shrugged, shook her head, and looked into the now dark horizon angrily. There was a pause in which I felt foolish, in which my anger melted into remorse. I looked up at her and noticed a stream of crimson on her cheek.

"What happened?" I asked after a still moment.

My voice was soft – softer than I ever remembered it being.

Fisher just smiled a little.

"A dog got me, I guess. Am I bleeding?"

I motioned right under her chin to her neck. Wordlessly, she started to go about healing it, retrieving medicine from her bag, dabbing it onto the wound with a cloth until the bleeding stopped.

"Thanks," she finally said. "You got a cut there, too – look."

I glanced down at my hands to see where she was pointing.

"Can I?" she asked, extending her rag hesitantly towards me.

I hesitated and then nodded. Her hands entered mine. Her fingers were unbelievably gentle and soft. And, suddenly, she became real. It was the first time I had ever felt something so small, so delicate. She noticed how quiet I was.

"Are you alright?" she asked, looking up at me.

I felt as if I was a bug trapped in a jar. She was my light, my air. Without her hand, I was back to being just another bug in a jar – confused, lonely, and frightened. But with it, I felt calm and safe. I felt like I was home.

"Ollie?" she pressed. "Are you okay?"

"Your hand," my mouth said before I could stop it.

Her entire face flushed as she yanked it away. I felt foolish and empty at its lack of presence, at everything it had represented, at letting her know that it was her bare skin that made me feel that way at all.

"No – it's fine," I said hurriedly. "Your skin just feels strange, that's all."

"What?" she asked, bringing her hands together self-consciously, turning away with a wide-eyed, horrified expression.

"I mean, no. Not bad strange, just regular strange."

I wanted to slap myself. What kind of sentence was that? I tried to recover.

"Not in a bad way. Not like...just not what I'm used to. Not the regular strange either."

_Dammit, shut up_ , I thought to myself.

So ordered, my hands flew to hers in a moment of impulse, and I guided her to begin her ministrations once more.

"You don't have to stop," I whispered to her.

She blinked at me before continuing, more tentatively than ever before. I saw the pain behind her eyes that she would hide from everybody when she looked at you directly, but when she was focused on other things, it was as plain as day.

"How are you holding up?" I finally whispered to her.

"Fine," Fisher said dismissively, refusing to look up into my eyes.

When she turned away, like out of the corner of my eye, I saw the agony that was still there, festering, wilting. She wasn't fine at all.

"Are you, uh...you sure?" I asked nervously.

"Just fine," she said, standing to dismiss herself hurriedly.

As she disappeared, I was left alone, and I felt so bitter, so achingly sad. I wanted her to know that I knew she wasn't fine. I thought of leaving her behind. The pain was profound. I watched her climb back down away from me, and I smiled bitterly.

She was going to be my first, only, and last friend.

***

"You – are – DEAD!"

It was Rhyme. He ran at me and threw me to the ground. My shock prevented any protection my limbs may have granted me.

"I thought you were dead, Uncle!" I said back breathlessly.

"No, didn't finish us off that good yet!"

"If I'd known, I would have come to look for you!"

"You left me for dead!" he shrieked.

"You threw me into a horde of Undead!" I replied back with a fire I had not ever dared to feel before. "What was I to do? Wait while they ate my face off?"

"You shouldn't have left! I have seen Peak, Myth! Seen it with my own eyes!"

"It has been weeks, Uncle!"

I thought I had counted nine.

He kicked me in the stomach. He picked me up and tried to punch me, but I moved out of his way automatically, despite the many tears that opened up from a fast-and-well-healing emotional wound.

"What was I supposed to do?" I asked him desperately, in an effort to reason with him, but he just punched me in the face.

I flipped away from the strength of his hand, and tears of guilt as much as fury and pain burned my eyes. When I turned back to face my abuser, I saw. Rhyme was gone. His mind had snapped. The deaths of the only things in the world that had mattered to him had sent him spiraling out of control, and the terrain and harsh reality of the outside world must have driven him off the edge of his sanity.

Rhyme raised a hand to hit me again. I looked up to meet it. I saw Foot off in the distance as I spiraled, as pain shot through my face and neck. Iris was clutching his arm, but he seemed blank. I wanted him to defend me. He didn't come.

I took Rhyme's next punch but words came out of my own mouth.

"What...should I...have done?"

I looked down, bowing. My nose touched the earth. My face did not hurt or even feel the blows as they fell, and it was that that I wanted to prevent. Before, I had wanted my hurt from the inside on my outside. Now, after Ollie's support, I just wanted that time to seal itself up in my brain and go away forever.

Rhyme was bringing it all back.

"I could...have done...nothing more, Uncle."

"IT WAS YOUR FAULT!"

None could hate him more at that moment than I.

"AND WHO ARE YOU TO ADD TO MY GUILT?" I found myself shrieking, flinging myself from the ground as fast as I could to stand and face him. "I HAVE DONE YOU SERVICE AFTER SERVICE! I DID NOT ASK FOR THEM TO GO TO PEAK FOR ME! THEY DID SO WITHOUT TELLING EITHER OF US!"

"YOU FILTHY LIAR!" Rhyme shouted back.

He hit me in the face again.

"STOP IT!" I heard someone's voice call.

I saw Chess as I glanced up, and he was trying to move forward, to come to me, to protect me. Of course, it was Foot who was holding him back. But the vision empowered me.

"IT WAS ALL YOUR –!"

"No, it WASN'T!" I screamed.

If nothing else, I had to let him know this. I finally began to sob.

"PLEASE! I couldn't do anything else! Nothing else..."

I stared up at him. Neither of us said anything for a long time. I could not see or breathe or hear or listen. Even my own words were nothing to me but for my hate. But finally, the worst part of me came out.

"Why can't you love me too?" I moaned.

"I LOST THE WRONG CHILD!"

I looked up at him. My face crumpled a little, but I did not look away. He looked at the sky, ignorant of all the pain he would cause. He screamed, screamed at the being that controlled us from up there, our God.

"YOU TOOK THE WRONG ONE!"

He fell to his knees. Tears fell down my face. He was damned and he was taking me with him. His eyes entered mine.

"YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!" he shrieked at me. "YOU KILLED MY WIFE AND SON!" He scowled more deeply than I had seen anyone scowl. It wasn't human. "YOU ARE AN INSIGNIFICANT ABOMINATION, JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER!"

He stood, brought me with him, and pushed me a little.

"YOU HAVE NEVER DONE ANYTHING BUT CAUSE PAIN AND SUFFERING OF ALL KINDS!"

He pushed me again. I didn't fight. He shoved me to the ground and threw dirt at my face. I winced away.

There was a long moment. I fought hard not to cry out with sobs, but I didn't win. I heard him turn somewhere else.

"Throw this trash away, Chess."

He finally spat at me.

"It's worthless."

I shook my head at the ground, brushing my nose. The more I did it, the angrier I became.

"I am NOT WORTHLESS!"

I sat forward on my elbows, as if bowing. The very tip of my nose touched my hands. There was blood on them. I decided not to wash them in plain sight for I had yet dignity to have. I removed myself from the clearing, shrugging Chess off.

When I arrived at my home, Paige was standing in the doorway. I did not want her to see me so I hid my face to the ground. When I looked up, I saw Ollie. He watched my every move. He leaned back, scowling a little but not at me really, and he just watched. I couldn't look at him. I was ashamed. My outburst was...pitiful.

"I am not worthless," I said to him.

I walked past him and he put a hand on my shoulder, trying to turn me to him. I shook my head and pushed past him firmly. He did not press me, but I heard him breathe in deeply with the wanting of it.
Chapter Seventeen: Order and Argument

The night Rhyme beat me was the night something changed in Ollie. He seemed eager to open up to me. He told me of his Masters, their harsh rules and guidance, of a government he named Probe, of cities with millions of people held inside of a wall, like ours, but in secret. Freedom's Progress, he called it. He spoke of wars and bombs and history.

I was in awe of him. He knew so many things and had seen so much of the world. He knew of science and history and math, and, most of all, he knew of _books_. He'd finally told me that a book was something that held old information. He'd been eyeing it in the previous few days, but only on that night did he stare at it for long periods of time, his eyes roving back and forth as if it was communicating some hidden message not meant for me. After he did this once, he couldn't seem to put it down, and I saw that he had one of his own. We talked of what books did, how they communicated, who they were for.

Until, finally, he asked me if I wanted to know what mine said.

"Oh, yes!" I cried, unable to restrain my excitement. "Very much so!"

"I will...if I can ask you a favor."

I opened my mouth, and my excitement suddenly felt cheap.

"So the truth comes out," I said, immediately narrowing my eyes. "I should have known there was an agenda."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just forget it. I need to know why this book is worth dying for, now that I think about it, so name your price."

"What?" he asked, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"My mentor Evergreen came to me dying of Undeath because she said that it was my mother's given to me. She died getting it back to me. Said something about Great Deviant and death and Outlanders. These were the strange and painful circumstances of your arrival."

"Oh..." His face was blank now, carefully so. "I didn't know that. I'm sorry. She said Great Deviant, you said?"

"Yes, but Skate, Evergreen, and maybe my parents are the only ones who seem to know what this means. I've heard it over and over. They also said 'Alpha and Omega.' They all called me...what was it? Aio. Do you know what that means?"

He hesitated only a second. I could tell he did. There was a great battle in his eyes, like there always was. Only this time, the side I wanted won, and his will to resist seemed to collapse.

"I think so," he finally answered. "But I need to ask a favor. If I tell you, can I ask you a favor?"

"You're free to ask at your leisure," I said, smirking. "Whether or not I comply is another story."

This wore at his short temper.

"Why not? I haven't asked you for anything the whole time I've known you!"

I made a "psh" kind of noise.

"Forget this, Ollie! I don't like the way you went about asking for it."

"Just hear me out."

I was irritated, but he seemed sincere.

"Fine, I will listen," I replied coldly. "But probably nothing more."

"Can I go with you tomorrow?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Outside," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"What? No! Out of the question! No! Absolutely not!"

"Then I can't tell you what an Aio is!" he said, almost as if he was frustrated for me, not because of me.

"You risk Undeath – not happening."

The look in his eyes showed me that he _knew_ how badly I wanted to know the contents on the inside. He knew if he held out long enough that I would break.

"Ollie, this is not fair!" I said loudly.

"What's not fair is that you don't trust me enough to look after myself," he said plainly, or as plainly as he could. Part of it was a lie. I wasn't sure what his angle was for that lie, so I didn't judge it.

"Why is this what you want?" I asked further.

He didn't have an answer.

"I have nothing to hide. I have been open about it from the start. I don't lie like you."

I hadn't meant to say it, and I looked away to apologize. When I looked back, he seemed to understand, not begrudge me for my contempt.

"It's boring, anyway," I said. "And I worry that you do not have immunity to the Undeath."

"Necrosis, I told you," he snapped irritably. "It's not Undeath. It's called Necrosis."

"Why do you care, anyway?" I asked, annoyed.

"I just do. It'll be fine."

I hesitated now.

"Things are never just fine with me," I said uncertainly.

He could tell he was wearing me down.

"But if I'm there, I can make it fine, right?"

I looked at him, and he gave me one of those half smiles. I marveled at it, a rare thing. It had been many months since his arrival, and only a few times had I actually seen it in all its glory.

"I managed to get in here without being attacked by the Horde," he pressed further.

"That was luck, not skill."

"Maybe my good luck and your bad luck will cancel out and then we can just be very prepared," he said confidently.

"I don't know, Ollie, I..." I thought about it. "It is unwise to go out just you and I alone. You should know that. There's a _reason_ that I am reviled by my society."

That smile faded at this.

"Even Foot does not dare venture so far from the gate," I said to him. "It really just isn't safe."

"We can make it safe!" he said beseechingly.

Again, I eyed him with suspicion.

"Why are you pursuing this so aggressively?"

"What?"

"Why do you want to see what I do?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I –"

"There's something going on," I accused, sitting forward rigidly. "What is it?"

He looked angry now.

"So I need to have an agenda to want to spend time with you?" he asked a little louder than was necessary.

This ground at me, and my hesitation evaporated into resolve.

"You are manipulating me, Ollie!" I replied harshly. "You _do_ need an agenda to want to spend time with me in such a dangerous way!"

He'd lost. He saw it in his eyes.

"Fine, then I guess you'll never know what's inside that book!"

I snatched the book from him.

"Then neither are you!" I said louder.

"What? Why?"

"This is mine!"

I stood, away from him as he reached for it. He stood too.

"Fine!" he finally said loudly.

"Fine!" I said louder.

"FINE!" he yelled.

I stormed out of the back room and onto my own mat where I struggled to decipher anything worth knowing of the adventures on the pages within. The following morning was not much better, but I felt less inclined to be angry and more inclined to be tired. I'd spent too many hours trying to do myself what I knew I could never do without Ollie's help.

He whirled me around on my way out, and the look in his eyes communicated messages that frightened me. He looked so sad, but I knew I had to pay heed to his safety before my lust for knowledge.

"I don't need another thing to look after," I said finally.

"You don't have to look after me!" he said quietly, almost desperately. "I can hold my own!"

I rubbed my sore eyes with much weariness.

"If you let me come," he said, obviously reading my fatigue, "I will read to you. I promise. You'll get the truth. About everything."

His voice suddenly seemed desperate.

"I need to go with you. Just once..."

He glanced down at me then, but his hands were on my arms. He had never touched me, not since the night we didn't speak of, the night of my near passing.

"Why are you touching me?" I whispered, barely capable of moving my lips.

I took a step away from him and he released.

"I'm...I have to go."

The words tumbled out of his mouth with a rush of guilt.

"What?" I asked, stepping back a little.

He reached for my shoulders again, but I shifted away.

"I'm..."

His own face was ashamed and fearful. He seemed nearly broken by his words. He couldn't look at me at first, but when he did he couldn't take his eyes away.

"I...I'm going to leave."

"When?"

"I have to go by – we have twenty nine days. My Master –"

"What do you mean your Master? You have not spoken of him since the first weeks of your coming until last night when we spoke of him. I thought maybe it was a phrase you spoke of only in jest. Since when has he _mattered_ to you?"

"He's always mattered to me."

"But why now? You're here, you're safe."

I couldn't hide my sudden overwhelming explosion of emotions. I was hurt. I felt used. I'd thought that maybe all his talk of his world in the last night had been the friendly reminiscing among friends.

I saw now that the things he'd been telling me had been the desperate redacting of months and months of lies and cruelty. He wanted me to know before the end, not because he actually had any interest in me knowing, really. It was his way of groveling.

I felt now like I was being led to the truth from the poison of a lie.

"Why do you have to do what he says?" I asked, feeling bitter.

"I do what I must."

"Says who?" I asked.

"My Master."

And it was as simple as that.

"And...and he says I have to go," Ollie explained.

To my surprise, this crushed something small inside of me, and I turned away to hide mild tears. He fought desperately to explain it to me.

"I have to go! Please, understand! There's nothing I can do!"

He tried to stand in front of me. I pushed past him wordlessly.

"Just – come on! Please, listen to me! Let me try to explain!"

He put a hand on my shoulder. The contact seemed to wake me up as I swung my hand back and slapped him across the face.

"You used me!" I snapped at him.

Maybe it was unfair, but I'd lost so much already that my pain had become a monster of selfishness. Not that I suspected he would care.

"So it's all true then?" I asked him. "You're a killer and you have to get back to it?"

He began to answer, but I found I didn't actually want to know.

"Shut up," I ordered preemptively in whisper. "Follow me but..."

I turned away from him again, sad but angrier than that.

"Shut up."

"I'm sorry," he whispered behind me.

"We don't have time to talk about this," I snapped, shushing him.

"Why not?"

"Rhyme will be leaving soon, and I won't be able to stay his hands this time. So grab your gun and follow me."

"What?" he asked, blinking in shock.

"Your gun," I said, sneering. I pointed as I walked out the door. "There's a small area in the front room. All of your guns are there."

"You said our guns were hidden far away!"

"I lied," I said with a shrug.

Considering all the lies he'd surely told me, this one didn't seem too heinous. He seemed to share this sentiment because without another word, he entered the house and reemerged with the giant, shiny gun from his homeland. I eyed it for just a moment, feeling uneasy at its renewed presence, before he placed it on the strap on his back. It attached there magically, and I was sure that science was involved. My own gun had a strap, which I used to twist around onto my back, allowing my hands to remain free. The sight of Ollie with his gun once more made me want to take it in my hands again, but the presence of such large guns unnerved the colonists, I knew, so I resisted. I turned my back, stowing my worries, walked quickly out the clearing. It was no time at all until there were only two of us.

Ollie trekked behind me silently, and I listened to the hum of his weapon uncomfortably.

I interpreted his silence as dejection.

"If you did not want to come, I don't understand why it was so important for you to come get me alone!" I snapped at him over my shoulder.

He said nothing, and my words echoed in the vacuum of the outside.

"But maybe that was your original intention, after all," I continued, goading him. "Back me into a corner."

I sneered then, still sensing silence from behind me.

"I thought it was more, but I guess you're like everybody else. I'm just some stupid girl with a place to stay and food to eat and shelter to sleep in. You used me, and now you'll just go your merry way."

He finally grabbed me and whipped me around to face him.

"Look!" he began, angrily, but he'd pulled me a little too hard, and I was close to him. Suddenly, I forgot where I was, who he was, all that had happened. I felt lost, and he looked it. In fact, I was moved by the look in his eyes, and my own filled with tears. The yearning had never been plainer or more desperate than right in that brief moment.

Then, his hand tightened so firmly around my forearm that I made a small noise.

"You're hurting my arm," I whispered, looking away.

Whatever he'd wanted to say, he'd lost his chance, and he released me, muttering a sheepish "sorry."

I turned away and began the hike again.

"What now, Ollie?" I asked him. "I refuse you're out here because of idle curiosity."

Silence.

"I saw you talking to the other Outlanders," I called back, trying to get a rise out of him. "Do _they_ support this?"

Then, with a chill, I thought that maybe it was his intention to finally end me, now that I was his friend, now that I trusted him enough to turn my back to him. I stopped and flipped around to look at him. He looked at me very strangely.

"We're alone," I said to him, glancing at the now very distant ridge on which the tower marking my town perched.

"Yeah..." he said, furrowing his brow like he was confused. "So?"

I felt my pulse quicken.

"No one is around," I said further.

He shook his head.

"I'm...not sure what that's supposed to mean, kid."

But his eyes were guarded. He thought me such a complete fool. I decided to be bold.

"You won't hurt me, will you, Ollie?" I asked him, tensing my muscles for a fight.

The gun felt heavy on my back. My pack, empty and deflated, waiting to be filled with the items of the day, blew against my hips uselessly, and the silence was astounding. I stared into his eyes very evenly.

"What?" he finally asked.

"You're here now. With me. Alone."

The look in his eyes changed. A flush ran up his cheeks.

"That's not why I'm here," he said quickly, looking away.

We walked on in silence after that, but still, I felt on edge. I opted to carry my gun now in my hands, and I felt a little better. Eventually, I nodded my head north. A door led into the ground and under the rubble.

"That, Outlander, is my Gallery. It is where I keep my most prized and hidden possessions in all the world. I will make you privy to them if you swear never to reveal this location to anyone."

He nodded solemnly.

I pushed myself through the gray rubble, over the stoop, and through the rotted door made of bent metal. The building had but one room and a partial roof, but what mattered was the basement, which opened up before us like a mouth into darkness. I hopped briskly down the rickety stairs, skipping the last three. The room was dark but for the light from above the stairwell, and it smelled quite simply of _age_ , a byproduct of rotting away in relative peace for so many years. Despite this fact, it was obviously a large room full of delicate fancies. I turned the knob on the oil lamp and light fell about the room like the sun hit the Earth.

"This is a Gallery?" Ollie asked.

He tried to hide it, but I could hear that he was impressed.

"My father was the first person I took here," I said to him.

I smiled at the long gone memory.

"He was with me the first time I found something great."

Ollie said nothing, but that was okay. He seemed to enjoy his surroundings, and that made me happy. My collection was vast, and I'd worked hard for it. There was a tire, a sort of hard round thing that used to make little carts called cars move, a full window I had found on the ground, and a small, hard ball that I had come to know as a baseball. I had many, many light balls (bulbs, are what the people used to call them,) and they were my specialty.

They required science, which I only practiced in secret.

"What is all this stuff?" Ollie finally asked in wonderment.

I glanced up at him and saw his back, and his hands trailed over the shelves and tables full of these decrepit signs of life. Very abruptly, I was taken by a sensation of having already seen what I was seeing, and in Ollie's constant rummaging, I remembered thoughts of my father.

He'd been the first person I'd taken to show him my Gallery. It had been much smaller then, much less full of goods.

I found myself smiling at the memory.

"I have found these things in my time exploring," I explained. "Secrets of old."

He was fascinated with a bottle I had found. It looked brown and darkened on the outside. He shook it hard. I couldn't help but laugh, but the laughter in me died when he pulled the top off. With dismay and anger, I made a noise of protest.

"You broke it, Ollie!" I said loudly.

He just laughed and looked up at me.

"Do you have any idea what this is?"

I shrugged coolly, angry. Was it my responsibility to know the items of old? I collected them, surely, but that was for my own enjoyment or for potential usefulness later, not for knowledge's sake. But, out of pure propriety, I asked,

"What is it?"

He laughed and put some on his hand. A vibrant color I had never seen had come from a little brush inside. I gasped and rushed over to him. Poison of every kind was common in Dwindle.

"Don't worry," he said. "This is pink. It's nail polish."

"What's it do? Is it poisonous?"

"No, people, women mostly, put it on their fingers – on their nails, like this, see?"

He put some on my fingers. It was surprisingly vibrant, a color I had never seen before.

"How do you know of this?" I asked with a deep frown.

"We have women who maintain this custom in my land," he said.

"It seems like a strange and silly custom to me," I said back, suddenly desiring to be sullen.

But Ollie would have none of it, and it brightened my mood slowly. My collection overjoyed him. He continued to move about the room happily. He enjoyed the other balls I had found and told me they were named things like "football" and "soccer ball." I didn't believe him, for those names were ridiculous, but I said nothing.

"Where did you find these?" he asked of my lights. "How did you get them whole like this?"

"Only in the deepest darkest places do they stay this way," I said to him with a fondness for them. "They are special."

He glanced up at me.

"Why?"

"Often, the darkest places, anywhere underground, is where the hives are. If I find one and clear it out, I find the light balls there." I smiled. "Risk danger for great things."

He made a quiet noise of approval.

"If I show you something, can you tell no one?"

"Who would I tell?" he asked, turning back to me now.

"Okay," I said, smiling nervously. "Okay, watch this. Come here."

I nodded for him to come over to my favorite light ball. It was in a black holder.

"Watch this. Look what I can make it do. If you put these..."

I took little boxes out and placed them in the black holder.

"Into here, like this..." (I smiled,) "Watch."

After several dim flickers, light exploded from the tiny sphere.

Ollie flipped around to face me. He looked upset.

"How did you do that?"

His glare was evident. I felt crestfallen.

"I knew what it was supposed to do, and I made it work," I said defensively. "It isn't science if I do nothing with it!"

"It is science if you do nothing with it!"

Disappointment was a terrible thing. With disgust at his disapproval, and also shame for it, I took the light ball away from the black box, replacing it gently where it once laid.

"Why don't you just go home, Ollie?" I asked him wearily. "I thought...I thought you might be pleased by it."

"What is that?" he asked suddenly, looking over my shoulder. His tone was colder and harder than I had ever heard it. It actually made me annoyed.

"Did you even listen to anything I just –"

"There's something over there," he said, nodding his head.

"It's nothing, just –"

"No..." His tone was sharp. "No, kid, I really think you should look at this.
Chapter Eighteen: And Then There Were Two

I turned about to see the object of his concern but was surprised and horrified at what I saw. Right where the light of the oil lamp faded into darkness, there was a breathing being, several in fact. They breathed faster than normal, a quickness I knew, hunched and huddled in a group, and they seemed to watch us. They saw me look about, but I forced myself not to meet eyes with them. It was the only way to stay alive. I turned back to Ollie as if I had not seen them. I clenched my teeth.

"What is –?"

"Shut up," I whispered to him.

He had not an idea of the imminent death he seemed to be facing. I calculated our success rate if we bolted to the door, and our chances, though daring, were not high at all. If he was bitten or cut or coughed on or spat on or bled on, he would soon be a dead Outlander. I felt panic descend. His life was my responsibility now. So many had died because of my failure to adhere to this responsibility, and I felt the familiar despair threaten to descend as it had in previous months.

Regardless of the fact that he could very well protect himself, he could not protect himself from an Undead simply because he was not immune. So few of us were. And even then, given the two deaths before this event, being called immune was not the same thing as actually being that way.

"What is it?" Ollie asked me apprehensively.

"Behind me..." I whispered, barely moving my lips, "are Undead..."

His eyes seemed to widen and he made to look, but I grabbed his wrist with my other hand and squeezed harder than anything. I put a hand to his face to keep him from trying again. I leaned close.

"Meet your eyes with theirs, and it may be the last thing you yet do."

He was captivated by something in that hand and nodded to do as I ordered because I was the owner of that hand. My breath came in rasps, harder than it had in a while. I knew Ollie was a probable casualty. I did not will it to happen while I could think of something. But I could not think of something. It made me nervous. I was angry with him, but I didn't want him to die. Nobody was that heartless.

"Be still...make your way slowly to the stairs. But not too slow. They'll know you see them."

He breathed heavily and chills rose and fell about his body. I slowly let go of his wrists and I nodded him to do it. He hesitated.

"You're going to have to trust me, Ollie," I swallowed hard, "or you're going to die."

"What about you?" he asked fearfully.

"Don't worry about me," I said to him, offering my bravest half-smile. "I can't die, remember?"

For the first time, this seemed to brace him. Then, he stepped backwards.

Too slowly. I heard them shift to run at us from behind. They knew he knew. They were hunting us, and I knew this by their weight, if not their noise. We couldn't wait.

"RUN!" I shouted.

I flipped about. I fired my gun at one jumping at me. It fell in a pool of red blood but came up again quickly, undeterred by the pain from the bullets or the imminence of its death. I ran behind Ollie, who wasn't moving nearly fast enough.

"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

I shot again behind me, receiving several more bite and scratch wounds. One vaulted on top of me and wrapped its mouth about my neck. I pointed my gun to it, in painful desperation, and shot it in the head. Blood spattered my face as I shoved it off to the side, scrambling back to my feet.

We reached the stairs. He was almost up, but I saw something.

"Ollie, look out!"

I tripped him as a new Undead flew where Ollie's head once was. It landed onto my face, knocking me over slightly, but I caught the railing. It broke, but I steadied myself, if barely. I ran up. There were more sprinting at us from across the street. Their silence and speed was chilling.

"They set us up," I whispered to myself.

I glanced in the two directions from which they now ambushed. None came behind, as they were all killed, but the amount of them coming from all sides was more than I'd ever seen.

"They set us up!" I said louder.

"Come on!" Ollie called.

He was already moving to higher ground. He climbed up the shell of the long dead buildings like I'd taught him, to flee upwards when worst came to worst. But he moved too slowly. I followed him quickly and passed him faster. The Undead were literally at his ankles when I pulled him up. I saw dogs running at us from a board running across to another framework. I looked around for a second. There was frenzy all about us. It was as if they knew it confused me.

"Climb up!" I yelled.

He did so as I did, faster than he had originally. I had jumped when a dog reached my ankle. I looked down at it and with great alarm as I realized it too was Undead.

I released one hand, shot at it, and vaulted higher. Ollie was on the framework, but I could see that the Undead were still advancing. If they ran about, the Undead could make it up. And suddenly, as sudden as night and day, I knew they would be able to figure that out.

I shot the dogs out, but more flocked to the scent of fresh, poisoned blood. I heard them snarl desperately as they ascended the boards on the other side of the building, and I knew we could not corner ourselves too high. Instead, I climbed back down and ran across the board to the next building, kicking it out from beneath me. It landed on the rubble below us with a wisp of dust.

"STAY CLOSE TO ME!" I shrieked over the now deafening wails of their collective lust for blood.

But the Undead were there too, guessing where I had planned as if they could have guessed themselves. They thought of it even before I had. They knew my own thoughts because they had seen me fight them enough times. They had seen me win too many times. They were thinking. They were planning. They were learning.

They lunged at me with all fours, intending to rip with their teeth and claws, but I shot them with a small noise. I flipped around as I heard a thump, and I realized they were jumping from the building from which we'd come. There were seven there, to my glance, and I knew I could not shoot them well enough. Bullets, as they always did in these situations, became the lifeblood of existence, sacred and necessary, and they were the only thing worth preserving.

Finally, a large one, a man, attacked at Ollie, vaulting towards him with an unearthly wail. I thrust my foot into the thing's jaw, dislocating it instantly, and fired at its head, removing it completely from its torso in a bloody mass.

From the other way, four more had begun to ascend, twisted, mutated claws scratching the shoddy framework on which we stood. It surely wouldn't support all of the wait, and I found my neck swiveling constantly to try to think of something, anything, to do.

Right, there were Undead. Left, undead. Forward, a hole under which I heard dogs snarling and drooling. There was only back.

I turned around, feeling breathless. It was high, very high, and the debris had been cleared in front of it so that the fall would be nearly the length of four or five of me. It was hidden in a cove of high mountains of debris. It had been the reason I chose this place for my Gallery.

The choice seemed naïve now.

I ran with him to the edge, tugging at him, before shoving him wordlessly off the side. He didn't expect this and yelled out at first, but I caught his hand, flipping myself around to grab onto the edge myself. This would leave him suspended, and they would not be able to catch him then.

As he swung to his lowest, I felt a crack inside of me and screamed out in pain as I hadn't needed to in a long, long time. My life became a swirling vortex of agony, all physical, that raked at my willpower to hold on.

Every muscle in my body became a support vessel to the strength in my fingers, and I ached for them to hold on, even as pain shot from there angrily. They were attacking my fingers.

Above, below, and within the walls we hung from, the Undead wailed in fury. We were utterly surrounded. Something had to be done.

"SHOOT THEM!" I screamed to Ollie. "SHOOT THEM _NOW_!"

Sound faded then in favor of the sounds of my blood pumping, pain, and breathing. Breathing became harder and harder. I felt as though a huge ball was growing in my chest. My arm was useless, or reaching the point of uselessness, so I began to cry. Ollie was going to die. He would fall and they would overwhelm him.

The shots that I heard were loud, too loud, but also seemed to be coming across a great distance. And there were so few. It took no time at all.

"Hey!" he yelled up to me.

I could not focus on him or on anything as my grip began to give way. Ollie grabbed onto a window underneath just as I did so, and the sudden release in pressure hurt me more than the initial popping had. My hands slid from the roof tops, completely useless, and I experienced a moment of pure ecstasy. Falling. This was falling. I was floating without pain or worry, besides the vision of my nearly skinless knuckles.

I hit the ground with more pain than ever and felt another pinch deep inside of me. I writhed and pushed my back off the ground, trying to breathe, failing to do so. I looked down.

Something large had splintered in my side, and I shrieked in pain, trying to reel it in, incapable of doing so. Blood. A lot of my blood. The wooden shard stuck out of me wrongly, and the blood that seeped out was the only means my body had of telling it to get out.

My life suddenly became a series of blinks. First blink. I turned my head to see the things running at me. The fog, which had emerged from nowhere, was menacing. Second blink. Dimmer. They were shot by some force above me. Third blink. Fog. I heard silence. Fourth and last blink: I turned my head to the rubble and to smell the ground. It smelled like blood. My blood. I lifted my shoulders from the ground and tried hard to make the pain of the pressure from the ground to go away. It wouldn't. I screamed louder as arms were pressed beneath my shoulders. Someone was lifting me.

"Oh no..." was all I heard. He shook me a little, fading. "NO...No...no..."

***

I woke from that horrifying dream in a frenzy of sweat and cold fever. My first and most terrifying thought was that I had somehow contracted Undeath and was slowly deteriorating from it. But I knew this not to be true for I smelled my own mat. I was home.

I heard noises above me but my eyes blatantly refused to show their colors. It took me more than a few moments to realize this and several more to give up on the fruitless task. I shifted slightly, hardly able to move and barely to breathe. The pinching within me had stopped, but the pain in my shoulder had not gone down. I wished it would and suddenly desired more than being alive that I could return to the bliss of sleep.

It took me long moments to finally open my eyes and watch my surroundings. Ollie was in the room and he seemed to be arguing heatedly with Ali and Pierce both. Paige was beside me, occasionally stroking my hair. They were so immersed in their conversation that no one realized I was awake.

"I'm telling you!" Ollie yelled. "We can do it!"

"And I say we can't!" Pierce yelled back. "That is the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard! You should have killed her like we planned!"

Ollie shifted impatiently, uncomfortably, angrily. I could tell just by his movements that he didn't want to talk about it – his weakness, his inability to kill me.

Then, it dawned on me. His job _was_ to kill me. He'd gone out with me to kill me. I felt deep emotional pain at the words. Ollie had planned to kill me and now I was in pain because I had felt the need to save his stupid life. I felt real sting at that. Real hurt and anger.

"He might be right," Paige said beside me, closer than the others and nearly making me jump. "What if it is a bad idea? If we take her with us, the Deviants will come looking for more here. They'll take this area. We'll have lost it."

"You know just as much as I do that once they bomb this area there will be nothing left!"

"But they'll try, Ollie," she said weakly. "They've never been so close to Freedom's Progress before. It would be all out war."

"So leaving her to die is the only way?" Ollie shouted. "Can you just live with that? Can you forget?"

"Maybe..." Paige said uncertainly. "I don't know..."

"How can you even say that?" Ollie said, turning away from them all.

He was pacing. He seemed to do that often.

"You know she's immune! She has to be! I _saw_ her get bitten, and she survived!"

"You're pathetic!" Ali shot at him loudly.

He didn't say anything to this.

"She's going to die like all the rest," Ali said definitively. "Period. If you don't have the stomach to shoot her in the head, I will. She's useless, do you hear me? Useless! Her blood is useless. Her mind is useless. What she is is useless."

He flipped around to her.

"I KNOW what I saw!"

He seemed angrier than I had ever seen him, different. When it came to me, he seemed bizarrely defensive.

"She saved my life, a human, and she risked hers to do it!" he shouted. "They went for me, and she saved me! Whatever being an Aio is, it _gave_ her that chance! We _have_ to take it, Ali!"

"She could end the war!" Paige said from beside me.

"End the war?" Ali snapped. "Who do you guys think you are? Do you really honestly believe that the war is about _soldiers_? About _people_? It's about making sure there is one power in this world, and that's _Probe_."

"She has a biological miracle inside of her just _waiting_ to be discovered!" Ollie said emphatically. "They would care about _that_!"

"She'd _ruin_ their power! Are you that naïve?" Ali snorted. "If she had the cure, they'd suck it out of her and leave her in a ditch somewhere. That's what they do. They don't give a shit about how many of us die to keep the power in check. She'll be lost forever, and when she saw what our world is really like, she'd turn on us like the rest of them!"

I could not establish who they were talking about, but I knew, after brief moments, it had to still be about me. Some problems always followed me around.

"You should have left her there to rot!" Ali finally shouted.

"You _know_ I can't do that!" he said finally, as if they had been pressing him about it forever.

"And why not?"

"Because I owe her, dammit!"

And then I began to understand. That was all that I was to him. Just business.

"So you want her to die?" Ali asked mockingly. "She'll burn slowly in a rain of fire. That's _much_ better than a bullet to the spinal cord."

Ollie made a very uncharacteristic noise, and he squeezed his hands into fists.

"Shut up, Ali!" he shouted.

"Why are you even pushing this?" Ali asked angrily. "You're acting like such a pussy! What _happened_ to you? The Exterior you were at the beginning would have been _ashamed_ of you!"

"I don't care!" he shouted back. "Everything is different now. I've seen things...we all have. She's not sick. That can be our bargaining chip to keep this place alive!"

"To bargain, you have to want to bargain, Mr. Dark!" Pierce interjected tensely. "The High Council doesn't care about us anymore. They care about the result."

"She's the first Deviant in the world we've ever encountered that can exist next to humans!" Ollie shouted back. "Don't you think they'd want to know about that?"

"It isn't our job to think, it's our job to _do_!" Ali snapped back. "You should _know_ that. And I had orders from the beginning to make sure that we do our duty, no matter the cost! This was your duty to facilitate, but you failed!"

"So millions more in the future are going to DIE WITH HER!" Ollie yelled at the top of his lungs. "This may be the only cure we could ever get to Necrosis, and we're going to kill it! Billions of lives could be saved by this! If not by this, then through the Deviants, which she could pacify! You don't know her like I do! All we need is her!"

"All _we_ need or all _you_ need, Dark?" Ali asked.

He flipped around to face her and, for the first time truly, I saw how angry he could be.

"Dark, just listen for a second..." Pierce said, trying to calm them both down. "The assassins would just kill her, if the High Council didn't. You're both Exteriors. You know how it is. She has no place where we live. She'd be killed immediately."

Ali made another disgusted noise.

"How can you be so foolish to let a little folly like – like... _her_ ruin your whole career? Everything you've worked for – wasted!"

Ollie said nothing, but I felt it building. I'd provoked him enough times.

"It isn't like that," he finally submitted.

"Really?" Ali taunted. "Sure seems that way. Do you dream about her, Dark? Do you pine for her at night?"

"SHUT UP!" he shouted, lunging at her, but Pierce held him back just enough to calm him down. "She isn't like that to me!"

Hurt, more than anything, hardened me to anger.

"She isn't particularly beautiful," he snapped, yanking his arm out of Pierce's grasp. "She isn't particularly _kind_ or smart. She hasn't been altogether very _special_. She's just...necessary." This resonated with him, and he nodded. "She's just necessary. It isn't personal."

The hurt was once again replaced by anger as the last drops of trust in me fell away to a blackened heart. For an unexplainable reason, I felt betrayed by his words. A single tear moved down the side of my face to my neck. No one noticed. Or cared.

But the others didn't buy it.

"Oliver Dark," Ali said, "I am stripping you of your command effectively immediately. I will assume your role as head of the expeditionary team, and you will take orders from me, got it?"

Having realized that he'd lost, he leaned back, close to me, his hands on his temples.

"Fine," he eventually spat. "But we are _not_ going to _touch_ her. Do _you_ got it?"

Ali pursed her lips, smirking.

"We'll see," she finally said.

They left together as Ollie sat near me, sighing with a heaviness that stirred deep feelings in me. He had a limp in one of his legs somewhat, from where he had fallen to the ground beside me, I would imagine. It was true luck or pure fate that he had survived the assault and not been attacked, but I was too sore at him to even care.
Chapter Nineteen: Secrets and Dreams

They talked as if I was going to leave with them, which would be for naught as I would not go. I wouldn't want to leave Chess. The Outlanders talked about me, about all of us, as if we were products or property. I wasn't either. I was a human being. I was alive. The things at the Gallery were property. The mat I slept on was property. Even the dust within my house was property. But I, though I was sure my uncle would contradict me, was no one's property.

I thought of the Gallery then and next, the attack... They had planned it. It wasn't a blind assault. It was an attack. It was thought out, organized, to a degree, and could be considered an intelligible and effective plan to harass me. They were trying to kill me. Ollie, though a bonus, was insignificant. They were thinking. They were planning. They had secrets.

"They had dreams," I said aloud.

Ollie jumped when he heard me. His presence repulsed me as I realized that I had saved his life, not once, but three times and he still thought of me poorly. My pride was affected, and I felt ashamed for tricking myself otherwise. He wanted to kill me. He had planned to kill me. It made me hurt. I sat up. Ollie put a hand on my shoulder, but a pain kept me down anyway. I shook my head. I couldn't conceive of it. They were dreaming...

"Sit back," he said gently.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped.

I threw his hand away from my shoulder viciously.

"What's –?"

"Don't touch me, Mr. Dark."

He let go in immediate obedience to my demand and surprise at my wrath.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked, hurt.

Ollie reached to put a hand to me again, but I scowled and grabbed his wrist. I remembered when he had done it when I first met him, twisted me around like he had wanted to hurt me. He gave way to my wrist now, afraid of what I would do or say, and it was I on the mat, injured and broken.

How the tables had turned...

"Don't – touch – me," I ordered.

"What is the _matter_ with you?"

"Shut up," I snapped spitefully. "We have bigger problems. What happened after the attack?"

"Um, I don't know, they..."

I made an impatient sort of noise.

"What time is it?"

"Seven," Ollie said.

"What the hell do you mean 'seven?'" I asked aggressively.

"Half noon? Dusk? I don't know!"

I had to stand. He tried to help me again, but I hated his touch if he couldn't have mine. I waved my hands at him with a painful cringe. He backed away and folded his hands to resist not touching me. It was clear that he wanted to.

He cleared his throat.

"It's just gotten dark," he said.

I looked up in terror to the opening in my door allowing me view of the outside.

"Oh no..."

I hobbled to the opening in the wall. My ankle, I found, was terribly disobedient and made me wince every time pressure was thrust upon it. Ollie tried to help me again.

"Don't touch me," I said again.

I moved myself out to the front of my house.

"CHESS!" I yelled in desperation.

I knew I had to find him for the fate of the entirety of Hand was on his shoulders – because _I_ was on his shoulders.

Foot came over to me.

"I haven't talked to you in ages!"

"Help me," I demanded.

I grabbed his arm and walked with him to the frame that doubled as our watch tower. As was expected of Chess for the past few weeks, he was the watchman. Foot held me close to him, closer than I could have expected, but I didn't have time to deal with it. I needed Chess. He was the only one who knew how to close the gate, and he had to do it early or we'd all perish.

"CHESS!" I shrieked.

"Myth?" Chess asked, popping his head through the hole from above. "You're awake! You were covered in blood! What the hell are you doing out of bed?"

He jumped down from his perch and made to give me a hug, but I hissed before he could do anything. He backed up, alarmed, and waited for me to begin.

"I have to tell you something." I frowned. "I told you all. You didn't believe me. We're all in great danger!"

Chess looked behind me to Ollie.

"What's she talking about?"

"I don't know," Ollie said. "She had an epiphany or something and woke –"

"Listen."

I let go of Foot and took hold of Chess's arms. He held me nicely there.

"I told you! The Undead!"

I looked to Foot to Chess and back to Ollie.

"I've always said –"

Foot suddenly knew the topic of my ramblings.

"The Undead cannot think!"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAW!" I said, pointing to the ground.

"What happened now?" Foot asked exasperatedly.

I couldn't believe his gall.

"Fine!" I said, pushing him back. "Leave."

I turned back to Chess with passionate fear. The darkness all around me was only intensifying. I swayed a bit and Chess took my shoulders to steady me.

"I don't understand! This doesn't make any –"

"Myth!"

He gently took my wrists.

"Myth!"

He forced me to look in his eyes.

"It's going to be fine," he whispered, hugging me. "You're going to be fine."

I shook my head and pulled away.

"You...we need to get inside." I turned to Ollie. "Did they follow you home?"

He didn't respond, nervous and at a loss for words.

"DID THEY?"

"Maybe, I don't know – I guess – I was running, and it got dark..."

"We have to go inside."

I shook my head. Chess just looked at me.

"They ambushed me at the Gallery. Chess, get into my place – go in our room – you'll be safe there when they come."

"Underground?" Chess asked slowly.

I hadn't told him all about my ventures in and around the camp as of late. How close they had been gathering – how hard I was working to keep them all safe – to keep him safe. He was the most important to me.

"I know – it sounds insane. But...you have to listen."

I wanted to scream at him for not knowing what I was thinking. It hurt to breathe. The knot in my chest grew bigger with the necessity of my breath.

"They're going to come!"

"The Undead?" Chess asked.

His calmness in my hysteria seemed to drive me over the edge. I needed a gun. I felt fear that was inconsolable.

"They ambushed me at the Gallery!" I was breathless when I asked, "Do you know what that means?"

He began to think on my words, finally.

"The _Gallery_! Underground? They opened the door; they climbed through the windows; they hid in the dark; they –"

"—were dreaming," Chess muttered.

He shook his head, stunned. Realization dawned on his face as he took a step back in horror. He suddenly looked all around him as if they would jump out from every door – every corner. He ran up to the tower.

Ollie leaned forward, feeling out of the loop, surely.

"But what does that even mean?"

"GET IN YOUR HOUSES!" Chess called. "Get to your house! Lock the door! Let no one in until morning!"

I felt anger towards Ollie again, but it was dimmed by my intense urgency. I fell back into him and he pushed me to a standing position. It hurt. I took a deep breath. He held me so gently considering I was just business. I felt a need to get his hands off of my body, almost a panic. They scared me. What they would do to me if they were provoked correctly. I didn't know that I was so close to getting killed, so literally close. I wouldn't have provoked him so, had I known that was to be my fate.

"You need to get inside..." he whispered softly. "You're hurt, kid, come on..."

"No."

I shook my head. If I was going to do one thing right in my life, it was going to be in saving Hand.

"I have to stay here for them," I said quietly.

"What are you talking about?" he asked urgently.

There was slight concern in his voice, and I knew he was beginning to believe me.

"I thought you hated them – these people..."

"No one deserves that kind of death..."

I stared deeply at the ground then up at him into his eyes.

"They go for your neck and your head, and they try to eat you alive. People who were your loved ones. Your friends. Nobody deserves that...nobody."

I rolled my eyes then. I was still trying to explain emotions he couldn't possibly begin to understand. It made me exasperated. I was wasting so much time worrying about Ollie, I forgot to remember me.

"And I don't need Hand's bullet riddled corpse on my conscience – so let's go!"

I walked forward a little with him, moving back to my place for my gun.

"What's happening then?" he asked.

"The Undead are animals, but they can't think – or they couldn't."

I hissed and leaned a bit.

"They took us at the Gallery, which means not only would they have learned to open doors, but also have they learned to plan and think. That was an ambush like I've never seen so close to Hand or anywhere..."

"But why?"

I laughed bitterly and moved even faster.

"Because they want to kill us all."

"What is this hell?" Rhyme asked, shoving us both as he passed.

I collapsed breathlessly, for the pain I felt then was absolute. My arms shook as I pushed my body off the ground, but nothing other than that could be achieved. Ollie lifted me gently, gentler than I could have guessed of him again, and I shook out of his arms as soon as possible with a small, reluctant utterance of thanks. I swallowed my guilt and stared up at Rhyme.

Chess was addressing him.

"The Undead are going to come and ambush –"

"That's ludicrous, Chess."

Rhyme was unstable; it was apparent from his eyes.

"Return to your post."

I expected Chess to back down but his indignation was a pleasant surprise.

"No, sir. They're coming. Now if you'll just listen..."

"Don't talk such rot!"

"Sir, I think it would serve us all if –"

"Serve who? You? _Her_?"

He gestured angrily to me.

"We'll be fine!"

"The Undead are likely to be behind the two of them," Chess said. "Myth and the Outlander. We must be cautious."

An inhuman gleam entered Rhyme's eyes as he looked at me for the first time since his return home.

"The Undead follow her?"

Chess strayed a little closer to me, between me and him.

"Yes, sir, it would be wise to retreat."

"Retreat is for cowards and Outsiders!"

"But, sir –"

"Come!" Rhyme bellowed. "Celebrate! Be merry! I implore you, nay I _command_ you! Be safe and merry! Tonight, we feast!"

And so, like small pups being rounded by their mother, the people reemerged, first uncertain, then mildly irritated. They began to shoot me cross looks as they brought drinks and food to the courtyard to celebrate.

Only hatred stayed my tongue. At first, I tried to stop them, but they were not to be dissuaded. Rhyme was too frightening, too influential, too strong. They would go with him ten times before even one of them decided to come out to me. In despair, I settled for protection. If I could not isolate them, I would fight for them with everything I had.

The dark was sinister. I blinked with pure terror as chills came between me and my soul. The wind blew through the air on sticky humidity that sickened me to the depths of my heart. If I stepped out into it I could be walking off a horrible height. I could be swallowed. The darkness was so terrible that I could hardly see the path beyond. Had I not known the terrain past Hand better than I knew my own hands, I would know nothing of anything beyond the gate in ten feet.

The hours passed with relative mirth. Rhyme was cheerier than usual and what the people had treated at first with distrust learned to appreciate with splendor. Rhyme called a feast that brought even the oldest, weakest members of our society into the open.

Ollie tried to talk to me with civility in the hours passing as well.

And, again and again, as hours passed, I turned away.
Chapter Twenty: New and Powerful Beginnings

I watched Fisher without the ability to take my eyes from her. She was disturbed and disturbing. There was a new fear in her that I had never seen. She spoke out in a rush, spilling dangerous words wherever she was going.

And she was angry with me. I would not address the possibility that she had overheard me – it was too painful. So I didn't.

I found myself aching to speak with her with a desperation I'd never known. Every time I tried to talk, she'd shut me down.

"Hey, kid," I began but she interrupted me with,

"You need to get your gun up, Ollie."

I closed my eyes in frustration as she turned away. Fisher moved up into the darkness towards the Skyway for the millionth time. I followed her. She turned her head in my direction a little, but she did not remove her eyes from the dark. I could have sworn I saw movement within the black.

I decided that I had no time to beat around the bush. I wouldn't have time to do otherwise.

"Listen," I said as I approached. "Can you just listen?"

"I _have_ listened, Ollie," she said. "I've listened, and I am still here. So speak or do not. It no longer matters, either way."

This speech stirred something inside of me that ached for release. I grabbed her forearm and turned her toward me, but she would not be moved.

"Ollie, just stop!"

I squeezed her arm.

"What do you want me to _do_?" I asked her with clear frustration. "What do you _expect_ me to do?"

My own words were spoken close to her own mouth. Her eyes flitted once to my lips, and I instantly felt hot. But I knew I had to convince her of something.

"Don't you think –?" I began, but she stopped me.

"I don't know what I think!" she said weakly.

Her voice finally broke. I knew I softened at the sight of her crumpled features, but for once I didn't care. I would soften for her because I wanted to.

Fisher's own face turned less aggressive.

"Could you let go of my arm, please?" she asked, a little sheepishly.

I loosened my grip for a moment before releasing (slower than I had intended or expected.)

"Sorry," I said numbly.

Fisher shifted a little bit and looked at the ground. She wiped her eyes with more resignation than I had ever seen in her. Her face had a cut on it – surely it would turn into a scar. She had so many scars. She lightly brushed her fingers against it and sighed heavily – so, so heavily. Her laugh was weak when she looked up at me. It was one of her magical smiles.

"I heard what you said," she said to me plainly.

I felt an explosion of fear and anguish.

"How much?" I asked.

"Enough," was all she said.

A thousand things overtook me, but the loudest voice had the final say.

"I'm sorry!" I whispered angrily. "I wanted to tell you everything before, but I...I couldn't. I wanted to help you."

"Sure," she said, snorting. "Help me die, maybe."

"Now, you can't believe I was really going to –"

"You came outside with me alone, Ollie!" she snapped. "What was I to think? There were two options. You were there to take the knowledge of me or murder me. Either one doesn't really reflect that well on you, now, does it?"

"No, of course not!" he said louder. "But you have to understand. Things have changed. I've changed. Things aren't the same as they were."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I'm just politics because of Alpha and Omega, whatever that means. And maybe it should just stay that way. We shouldn't be friends."

She stared into the dark so furiously that I was sure she wouldn't hear my heart breaking.

"Is that what you want?" I asked quietly.

"Since when has it mattered what I wanted?" she asked harshly.

And I retracted. It hadn't mattered. Not to me. Not before that very moment.

"Are you really leaving?" she asked me suddenly.

I felt very, very guilty at the hopeful worry in her face.

"I..."

A sigh escaped my lips.

"Yes."

She looked quickly to the ground and I took both of her arms in my hands. She winced. It filled me with even more heart-wrenching agony. Despite that, I pulled her up a little encouragingly.

"But – hey, it'll be okay!"

My words were hollow and she knew.

"No, we won't."

She shrugged out of my grip. Then, she looked into my eyes. She was afraid of me. She really had heard.

The things I'd said...the things I'd said about her...

It was the most damaging and convenient lie I had ever told.

"Don't lie to me, Mr. Dark," she pleaded, and her voice goaded my already mounting guilt to tremble within me.

I searched her face. And I knew what she knew about me.

"Don't be afraid," I said.

But my softness was her pain.

"You're too confusing – this is all so confusing – how..."

Fisher began to struggle to breathe and put a hand on her forehead.

"How can this – can this be, it doesn't, it can't make sense!"

Her being filled me with the deepest concern. I tried to make her look at me. I needed her to look at me. But I didn't know how.

"I don't understand – Skate was Tainted!"

She grabbed my shirt and pulled me a little closer to her. I glanced at her hands then at her. They were small and they were touching my body for what seemed like the first time. They brought me closer to her.

"Tainted! He couldn't get Undeath!"

"But he did," I said distractedly, still staring at her hands.

"He couldn't have – he shouldn't have..." She swallowed, whispering, "We're all in horrible danger. Terrible, terrible danger..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Skate couldn't get it, but he did. Can't you understand that? Undeath as we know it is changing..."

I leaned back in realization.

"That must be why they're –"

"Thinking!" she said, relieved and incredibly, intensely satisfied at having me agree with her.

So much so, she fell a little. I caught her. She was weak. I pulled her close to me without knowing how and she held on nearly without hesitation. I didn't – I couldn't let myself hold her back. I had had women, but I had never held anything – never like that.

"You didn't kill me," she whispered, almost a question.

"No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

"I couldn't."

"Because you like me?"

I was afraid to agree. If I put words to it, I was sure I would poison it somehow.

"You know, Ollie," she said, relaxing into my arms with surprising ease, "I didn't think you'd be good at giving hugs."

I laughed in my chest once and she leaned back to smile up at me sadly.

"I know you don't see it," she whispered now, staring into my eyes. "But...I think there is good there."

I furrowed my brow.

"Where?" I asked her, barely able to move my lips.

"Here," she whispered, gently putting a finger to my chest, right where my heart was. "There is good right here. You just haven't found it yet."

It made me feel like some part of me was winnable.

I pulled her up to my chest and buried the side of my face in her hair and held on. I couldn't imagine her death. I couldn't imagine killing her. I simply didn't want to. I would never kill her. I couldn't. She was such a small thing in my arms where she belonged, safe. I should have known she couldn't stay there.

***

It was when Chess pulled me aside that a wild look was in his eyes. The calmness that overtook me emerged at the smell of him, and he led me around a corner to a hidden place where we could not be seen. The look in his eyes stifled the fear I had about the rest of the Colony, and I looked up at him fearfully. Finally, when he didn't speak, I asked,

"Are you leaving me too?"

"Never," he said fiercely.

He moved his hand slowly, deliberately, up the side of my arm. The motion was strangely decided. He'd never touched me like that with such unhidden purpose before. My breath quickened when his fingers made their way up just below my neck to my collarbone.

"What are you doing?" I asked him breathlessly.

"I want to memorize these curves," he said, looking at the path of his fingers with a fire in his eyes. "You're so soft, you know?"

I just shook my head. I suddenly couldn't swallow. He took my nerves as reservations, which I suddenly realized I had none of. He pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he said, in anguish.

"No!" I said loudly, taking his hand in mine. "No, Chess, don't!"

"It's what I'd deserve," he said under his breath, taking my cheeks in his hands.

He began to trace the lines of my lips.

"I...I've done a bad thing, and I'm sorry for it, Myth," he whispered to me.

I wanted to laugh at this, but his eyes filled with tears.

"What could you possibly have done?" I asked softly.

"You told me to do something," he said back, "and I did it, but it was foolish, and I don't – I can't..."

"Hey," I whispered to him, taking his cheeks in my face. "Whatever it is that you did, whether you wish it or not, I forgive you."

He just swallowed.

"What do you want with me?" Chess asked. "You've been through so much, and you're always so far. I don't want to be far anymore. I've almost lost you too many times."

"You won't lose me!" I said passionately.

He just stared at me, and the longing in his eyes was unrestrained. I felt myself lick my lips nervously, and it seemed to be that this innocuous gesture was all that was necessary to corrode the last remnants of Chess' self-control.

He kissed me with force and wanting that I had never experienced, shoving me against the wall that hid us from others. My breath caught, and I tasted him, taking in the feel of his mouth and the smell of his skin. I found myself arching my body against his, and I ran fingers through that once forbidden dark hair, making a noise that didn't sound like my voice, a wanting noise. He kissed my neck, and the ferocity of his lips told me he was goaded by my responsiveness as much as I was thrilled by his touch. He moaned too, and I melted at the wonderful sounds he began to make.

"You'll be my undoing," he whispered to me, pulling away for a second.

I found myself aching in a way I never have before.

"Please..." I managed to beg, and he crushed his mouth to mine again, drowning out the one word. He pressed his hands around the nape of my neck tightly and deepened the kiss. I accepted, parting my mouth with a squeal. He was setting me on fire, igniting a want I hadn't known existed up until those brief seconds.

And then, we heard footsteps. The sound was loud, reverberating through the back corner, and we froze.

We waited, but the steps went away. And the only sound I heard was Chess' breathing. He was warm against me, and more desirable with every exhalation, but there was enough pause in that second of interruption that lent sense to us both. It put my reason back in control. We couldn't be caught like that. I already had a reputation when Foot came outside.

My mouth found his again, but this was a parting kiss, and it would have overcome us both if the fear of being seen in such a way was not so mortifying to us both.

"I guess they're looking for me," I whispered to him, clearing my throat.

"I guess so," he whispered back.

"Is this..." I trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes," he said, like the word was a direction of the contrary.

I gently disentangled myself and floated away from his embrace, slipping back next to Ollie. I found my fears to be somewhat sated, and the only thing I thought of until it was that everything happened was Chess' mouth.

***

When everything did happen though, it happened so quickly that the pain of it was not known until later. Until the eleventh hour, Rhyme did not a strange thing. But on this one hour the most bizarre and fatal of all of his insanities became evident, and he played it off with a speech of the most horrible kind. He raised a glass and the group followed suit but for me, the Outlanders, Chess, and Foot.

"Let us all raise our cups to you, Myth Fisher."

I looked up at the loudness of my name and the wind caught my nostrils. There was a sick smell of unpleasantness. Undeath. I stood as he spoke the words and the rest of my friends followed suit.

"They're here," I whispered, nodding to the Skyway.

I crumpled a little bit, and Chess leaned in, close to me. His lips grazed my ears as he whispered,

"Myth, you should just go inside now."

"I won't leave you," I whispered back.

"You're injured," he said. "Let us protect you. Protect them."

"I know you smell it," I whispered back, looking at him. "Please, Chess, _you_ go inside! I am the only one here who will not die. Let me face this alone."

I looked at all of them, and they'd watched me closely for the duration of this conversation.

"Let me do this by myself," I pleaded with them.

None of them moved.

"You know how dangerous this is, Chess, _please_."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said vaguely, looking back at Rhyme.

"Sure," I whispered, squeezing his hand for strength.

It was the first time I actually drew strength from a man successfully, and I held his hand tighter. I never wanted to let go.

Rhyme continued, toasting me, and a few people laughed appreciatively, glancing at me. They thought it was all a joke. But when I looked into Rhyme's eyes, I saw something sinister. Something evil.

"Ready your weapons," I whispered, ignoring him.

Rhyme's eyes shifted to the gate. And then, I made the connection. He knew they'd come. He saw them and heard them and smelled them too.

"He's going to open the Skyway!" I breathed.

"What?" Chess asked. "That's impossible! There are two levers."

We searched frantically around for the first lever. Rhyme was closing in on it, drinking deeply from his cup. The second lever was...

"There!" Chess said, pointing.

The second lever was at the top, near the mouth of the Skyway, and there was a woman standing by it. A mousy haired girl who suddenly seemed a lot older than she ever had.

"Fade?" I whispered. "What is she doing there?"

"I'll get her," Foot whispered, and he moved forward.

I grabbed his hand.

"If they do it, you run inside, you hear me?" I ordered.

He flashed me the same roguish smile that had melted my heart years before, and, while I was glad to see it, it didn't bring me the same magic it once had.

"Yes, boss," he said, squeezing my hand back.

He then began to push his way through the crowd. It suddenly seemed a lot thicker than it had.

"Why would they open the gate together?" I whispered to Chess, Ollie, Paige, and Pierce.

I looked around for Ali. She was whispering something to Iris in the throng of the crowd.

"You better tell your little friend to move inside," I said to Pierce, nodding towards Ali.

He complied too, but not before he grabbed Paige's hand, dragging her along with him. She seemed willing to go. If they were to die, it was to be together. But I saw the way he held her hand. Even as old as he was, he would never let her die. Not like that. And she knew it.

Chess and Ollie were left.

The smell became prominent, and I saw the first flash of eyes. Desperation became the deepest emotion as I realized how thinly spread out my friends had become. They were all over. There was no way Foot would reach the rooms in time before he was bitten. And there was no way I'd lose Chess and Foot.

"Hey," I whispered to the former, tears in my eyes.

For some reason, this end felt more absolute than any situation I'd yet faced. I was injured, and it was as if I could see the imminent doom unfolding like one of Ollie's pieces of paper.

"Can we just go inside?" I whispered to him. "Just you and me. Let's both go inside."

"You know I can't let these people die," Chess whispered back.

"Please..." I begged, turning to him. " _You'll_ die."

"No, _you'll_ die," he said back. "I'll stay here. You go inside."

"What is this to you?" I asked him, suddenly angry. "Some kind of game? Those things will kill you!"

"No!" he said back louder. "But I –"

"Is this some proving for you? This isn't a game! You may be the male, but I am the stronger and wiser in fighting! You can't do this alone!"

"Just let me though. I'm not good enough to –"

"This doesn't win you any favors with me, Chess, if we –"

"I can't lose you!" he nearly shouted, grabbing my shoulders.

I winced away with the pain, but I kissed his cheek.

"Then, let us do this together. You and me. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"I'm glad it's a risk you're willing to take," he whispered.

He hesitated only a moment before he moved his own face closer to mine and made hard, fierce contact with my own lips, his sweeter and softer and calmer than the first kiss we'd just shared hours before. He pulled away softly, more gently than I could have guessed, sucking in a breath as he did, like the touch of me gave him a pleasant shock. And I felt empty and lonely at their absence as tears entered my eyes. I knew a goodbye when there was one. I'd had my fair share.

"But it's not one I'm willing to take."

"But I –"

"I love you," he whispered in my ear, taking my gun from around my shoulder.

In the fervor, with all my nerves, I was hardly aware of what was happening.

"And I love you," I replied.

His face hardened as he disentangled himself from me, and he looked to the man over my shoulder, the man I remembered dumbly later to be named Ollie.

"You get her inside now," he ordered, with authority I never knew he'd had.

And he turned away. I fought to follow him, but hands with strength that had never resisted me held me back. I began to struggle. I cried out, trying to pull forward, but Chess didn't turn back to me. Ollie's hands were strong. I pushed at him and flailed, but he didn't listen to me, his hands or his heart.

The gate above the town opened with the ear shattering noise I was familiar with and immediately dark figures began to pour in like parasites. Unearthly wails filled the clearing. The Undead came from the ground. From the corners. From the roof of the gate. The darkness spilled into the light of the festivities almost comically, and the consuming nature of the beasts overwhelmed the revelers so fast it was impossible to react.

The first scream started it all. Then, there was light in the darkness. Flashes that revealed the beasts. Gunfire. A lamp spilled and a fire started. Pale light lit up the carnage.

Ollie, of course, was at my side. He needed to be inside more than I did as he was not immune to the disease. I felt an intensity of adrenaline and shot several all around us with the pistol he'd given me.

Tears filled my eyes as a monster ripped a woman's arm from her body right before my eyes. The Undead bit into it, shrieking with pleasure, and then began to play with the severed limb, beating the shrieking woman with it. A flash of gunfire showed me who it was. She'd been a baker when she was young. She made sweets for my father.

Another beast lunged at a child beside us, biting at his throat. He was faceless, his cheek torn from his mouth, revealing a set of bloody, white teeth. His soft flesh from his throat and face began to spurt blood outwards in an arch, and he gurgled, screaming silently, reaching for us, but there were hundreds between him and us. His intestines were torn from his stomach, and they were unwoven from his insides like a piece of fraying cloth.

Ollie's hands yanked me backwards, away. Eventually, they lifted me up, hoisting me, and he pushed my head into his shoulder, to keep me from seeing. The screams faded. The yowling of an infant overcame everything. The moans and wails of the Undead rang in my ears like a horrible symphony of death. Hand was finished. Everything was over. Nothing was real anymore. Only the Undead ran free.

I buried my face in Ollie's shirt willingly then as I heard a door slam.

Then, there was breathing. And then, worst, there was silence.
Chapter Twenty-one: The Birth of a Murderer

"Are you feeling better?" Ollie's voice asked before I even opened my eyes.

He spoke with an air of terrible knowledge. I didn't look at him, not at first, but his tone was foreboding; it was the first thing I noticed. The second thing was that I had not remembered sleeping. The images of the waking were imprinted behind the lids of my eyes, and I could not unsee those horrors.

"Are they gone?" I asked Ollie, sitting up, for I'd been placed on my mat.

My voice seemed to move him, and he took my hand in his, squeezing it.

"Yes, they're gone," he whispered back.

I felt a "but" in the air.

And my lip began to quiver.

"Who?" I asked him.

"They..."

His voice cracked. I looked over at him, feeling fear. He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out.

"Who?" I asked louder.

Ollie swallowed audibly.

"Chess and Foot both."

"Chess and Foot both what?" I asked, suddenly blind.

"They've been..."

"Dead?" I croaked.

"No...they're...gone, Myth."

I nodded at first, to show I had understood, but I knew after several moments that I didn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't. Chess had to be alive. Any moment he would come bursting through the door, look me in the eye with his steadiness, and greet me with the new day. Chess had held my hand yesterday. He had squeezed it. I lifted my hand to my eyes to look at it. It looked as if it were a normal hand. It had not experienced what I had for it was just a hand.

I put the hand to my mouth. Chess had kissed me the night before. He had kissed me, professed a desire to be with me. Kissed me in the open. We would have a future together. The knowledge slowed as a ball formed in my chest. It made me hold my breath out of pain and when it was released it transmuted into a sob. My vision blurred as I realized what he said, but I could not let myself make the tears fall.

"Chess and Foot..." I sobbed. "They...oh...no..."

There was a long, long pause. It was his turn to say something. All he could manage, all he could think of, was,

"I'm so...so...sorry."

A numbness overwhelmed me. It was a thing beyond description, so low was I, that thinking that I could reach no lower point before that moment was laughable. I was dead. I felt myself dying inside as much as I was sure that Chess and Foot were dying somewhere, wandering around, walking down a path I could not follow.

Oversimplification became a tool necessary for survival, and it was easily done then. My mother's voice told me to breathe. Every time I inhaled, I knew I'd made the decision to do so, and it was difficult. Then, it was impossible. I wanted to be with them, so I held my breath. I tried to die along with the rest. If I didn't breathe, I could be with not just the voice of my mother but my real mother. I could finally rest with the last remnants of anyone in the world who gave a damn about whether or not I lived or died.

***

I woke up and was immediately on my feet. Ollie stood with me. A look in my eyes startled him. Pulsing anger moved me. It drove me to breathe for it. It was the best drug I had ever taken – empowering, inundating.

"Where is she?" I asked dangerously.

"Where is who?"

"WHERE IS SHE, DAMMIT?" I screamed. "WHERE THE HELL IS SHE!"

"What are you –?"

I thrust my gun out and shoved it to his face.

"FADE!"

He hesitated, surprised at my wrath.

"Outside!"

Before he could finish, I was out my own door. There was mass carnage everywhere. Blood and guts littered the dirt floor, and the smell of it hung in the air foully. The area was still. The only thing that moved was a lone figure at the top of the courtyard near the gate. She was chained there, a girl, nothing more. I ran up to her and ripped the ties from the ground. I then picked her up and shoved her down the hill. She cried out loudly and in surprise. I hated so much that she was alive.

Ollie stood to the side. He knew. Suddenly, he knew everything that I felt and wanted to do.

"Hey," he reasoned plaintively, "just think for a second, kid, come on just – come on now just – THINK!"

"Hey," I whispered down to her.

My fists were clenched not to finish it too fast. I couldn't breathe with the knowledge of what I was about to do.

"Hey, Fade!"

I kicked her.

"Look at me, Fade!"

"Where's Chess?" Fade asked me loudly.

"Don't you DARE SAY HIS NAME!" I shrieked, kicking her harder.

She yelped, and I hated her more than I'd ever hated anything – more than Rhyme, more than the Undeath.

I picked her up and punched her in the face. I took such pleasure from the noises she made, so I punched her again. And again. Until I breathed with it, until it was my only purpose. I began to drown in it, and soon I realized that I would do anything just to cause her pain. My inside feelings were finally on my outsides. She was my pain. And I liked it.

"Chess..." she said over and over again, breathlessly. "Where is Chess?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about him," I finally said breathlessly. "Not anymore. Didn't you hear what happened to him? Or were you too deafened by the screams of the innocents you slaughtered to hear the news?"

I picked her up as if she weighed nothing to me. I was surprised when she didn't. My hands moved as if they had always moved to hurt and kill and the effort behind them was instinctive – like I was born to cause pain.

Ollie was behind me, pacing beside us.

"Hey, just stop!"

I shoved her forcefully against the wall to the tower, my hand strangling her easily, ignoring the pain in my legs from my injuries and the scream from the muscles in my injured shoulder to stop.

"Go away, Ollie!" I shouted.

"No!" he pleaded. "I know how this feels! Please! Stop! It won't help!"

"I DON'T CARE!" I screamed, and Fade became my focus again.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've killed someone, Fade?"

"I don't know," she said back mockingly. "Maybe an hour or two."

"What can I say?" I asked venomously. "With great power comes great responsibility."

She struggled, and I laughed.

"Afraid, hm?" I asked her, reveling in it. "Everyone else is. Why not you?"

"I am _not_ afraid of you!"

"You're _all_ afraid of me!" I corrected.

I stared around. Nobody emerged.

"Do you hear that, Fade?"

I paused purposefully.

"That's the sound of a handful of cowards who don't give a shit about you or me. They'll look out for themselves. That's their problem, you know."

"Don't talk to me about selflessness!" Fade screamed beneath my strong hands. "You're the most selfish bitch I know!"

"What happened to the little poor, wide-eyed girl we all used to know, huh?" I asked bitterly. "You used to _worship_ us. Worship me. You kissed the ground I walked on. And for what? What happened?"

Fade spat at me in response, and I screamed, throwing her behind me. I withdrew my knife from my boot, the presence I always had, and I sliced her arm. The feel of her flesh parting for me to draw blood was disturbingly enticing. I wanted her to suffer. She cried out at the action, bleeding, and I slashed again. It was satisfying, but I was irrational. It was not enough.

I plunged the knife into her torso, near her lower abdomen, rushing her. She fell instinctively into me, eyes wide, in too much pain that even screams could not express that agony.

And I laughed.

"I...hate you," she whispered slowly.

"What happened, huh?"

Fade didn't answer. I slapped her across the face to get her attention, but her pain blinded her. I began to slap her this way and that, irrational, fury feeding my muscles instead of air.

"WHY DID YOU OPEN THE GATE?" I raged.

She didn't answer.

"You don't even have an answer, do you, you pathetic excuse for a human?"

"I hate you!"

"You vile, absolute disgusting, horrible, ugly, stupid immature son-of-a-bitch!"

Ollie sounded desperate, as if he were receiving my words.

"Please –!"

"Shut up, Ollie. I don't care what you think. Not anymore."

I assumed he was disturbed at how like him I was – how my words had been his words when he was a murderer. He tried over and over again to stop me, never daring to approach. I was glad. I would have murdered him too if he tried to stop me. And that connection made sparks in the back of my head.

I was committing a murder.

"I hate you," she breathed again.

I punched her so hard that she fell, and my knuckles throbbed. I found Ollie's pistol in my hands. How many times it had come in handy, I didn't know, but it was so pleasant as she winced away from its barrel.

"Afraid of justice, huh? Afraid of the consequences? What did you _think_ was going to happen? We'd all be _happy_ you'd done it?"

She began to whimper.

"Why did you have to do it, hm? What did you gain? Tell me, Fade. Come on..."

My calmness was terrifying to her, unpredictable like Rhyme was. But it wasn't satisfying enough.

"TELL ME WHY YOU DID IT!"

I fired past her head when she didn't answer.

"NOW!" I shrieked.

"Because you had _Chess_! He loved _you_!" Fade spat the words out in desperation.

I continued to advance. Tears ran down her face as she crawled desperately away.

"You dared to keep on living after what you did, after you killed Skate, after you killed his mother, and you came back like nothing has happened! Like everything was okay!"

"No, I didn't!"

I was actually surprised. If she was blind to my pain, she was born without eyes.

"And you stole my happiness!" she continued desperately. "And you were using him...Chess...weren't you, Myth? You kept him guessing, didn't you?"

I saw she was suffering. I saw that her stab wound was bleeding heavily. It began to show through to her outer clothes. I took ecstasy from the fact.

But I had to ask.

"What are you talking about?"

"You couldn't love Chess. It wasn't in you. It wasn't your place to love him – you loved Foot! Foot was your thing – he was your toy. Do you think people don't know what you do outside the wall? Do you think we can't figure it out, you whore? We're defenseless – not stupid!"

"How DARE you!" I shrieked. "If you think that ANYTHING happened between that man and myself then you are far stupider than you look!"

"Don't deny it! You loved them both!"

I opened my mouth but faltered. Some part of me told me not to address this, that to do so was a desecration of both of their memories. So I closed my mouth again.

She laughed bitterly.

"You can't have it all, Myth!"

And suddenly, she was screaming.

"And now you won't _ever_ have it all! I've made sure of that!"

A tear fell out of the corner of my eye. Chess was dead. The words reverberated.

"Did you mean to do that, Fade?" I whispered. "Hm? To kill him too, you slimy little bitch?"

I shot past her head. Fade winced.

"TELL ME!"

"I didn't want to kill him!" she sobbed, almost to herself. "I wanted to kill YOU!"

"Yeah?" I shouted. "I'M INVINCIBLE! HAVEN'T YOU FIGURED THAT OUT YET!?"

And the small, civilized part of me that held on heard the bitterness, tried to reign in my fury, but it was too late, all too late.

"NOW CHESS IS DEAD!"

I punched her again with my gun and threw her behind me. There was blood on my hands.

"AND NEITHER OF US WILL EVER, EVER, EVER SEE HIM AGAIN! EVER!"

Tears flowed through me.

The little voice in the back of my head was suddenly Ollie's voice.

"Please, Fisher, think for just a second. Try to think. Clear your head. Fight this!"

"SHUT UP, OLLIE!"

I fired the gun past Fade's face as a warning to them all.

"I didn't mean it...I didn't mean to..."

"Aw..."

I lifted her chin.

"You didn't mean it. That's adorable. Little girl with a broken heart just wanted to get me out of the way. You know, there were a thousand other ways to do it, right? Burning me. Drowning me. Poisoning me. Gassing me. Trapping me. Stabbing me. Shooting me. And yet you chose to destroy _everything_ just to get at me. And in the process you killed the last few people in this world who ever loved me."

"If I attacked you head-on, you would have killed me," Fade whispered. "No, it had to be public. Had to be like this. Had to be."

I repeated what she said dumbly. Part of me made the connection that she too had lost her sanity, but the irrational part of me didn't care.

"What a fucking coward you are..." I whispered. "Did you really think that killing me would have made Chess love you?"

"I don't care what you say," she snapped. "At least you can't kill me."

"And why ever not?"

"I know you hate killing things," she snapped with a sneer.

"I hate a lot of things, Fade. You're just one of them."

"But you won't kill me..." she said breathlessly.

"I bring my enemies to _justice_ , Fade," I spat. "I bring those who deserve to die to their knees! And you, my silly little bread basket, deserve to die."

"What gives you the right?" she asked, now in a panic.

"I don't have one," I said, realizing it. "It is a curse, stupid, little Fade!"

I shoved her hard against another wall, my hand on her neck again. I was growing into a shout.

"It is not a blessing to be bestowed the honor of doing away with the only people in the world who love you! I lost what I loved already, Fade! I wanted to love Chess! He wanted to love me! We planned a life together!" I couldn't breathe. "I did love him! I always loved him!"

Even if I didn't always know it, it was instantly true. Sobs of regret blinded me. I felt unimaginable hurt at my ignorance. I felt like I'd wasted so much time on things that no longer made sense to me.

"I HAVE NOTHING!" I sobbed. "And you still take from me! I wanted to help Chess! To protect him! And then you KILLED HIM! BOTH OF THEM..." I thought of Foot's laugh. It was so goofy and annoying then. It brought me rage. "YOU KILLED FOOT! CHESS AND FOOT WERE MINE!"

"Yeah? Chess failed to mention that when he was on top of me!"

I faltered a little, knowing what she meant.

"What?"

"I had Chess already, Myth!"

I saw that it was true. I knew that it was true. I felt betrayed by the words, and suddenly Chess' words made sense.

I've done a bad thing...

And I'd pushed him on her. On Fade. On that little, conniving, psychopathic murderer.

"It doesn't matter if he's dead or alive!" Fade yelled. "I already got what I wanted – I just wanted you not to have what you wanted! HE WOULDN'T LOVE ME – EVEN WHEN HE WAS _WITH_ ME! HE SAID – HE SAID YOU TOLD HIM TO BE WITH ME BUT THAT – HE STILL LOVED YOU!"

"THEN WHY DID YOU OPEN THE GATE!" I screamed, throwing her.

"BECAUSE YOU WERE ALIVE, AND I KNEW THAT AS LONG AS YOU WERE ALIVE SOMEONE WE ALL LOVE IS GOING TO DIE! THAT'S THE WAY YOU WORK! YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL AND STUNNING AND POWERFUL AND NOBODY CAN RESIST YOU! AND THEY FOLLOW YOU UNTO DEATH, AND HAND CANNOT AFFORD IT! IT COULD NOT! SO I DID SOMETHING ABOUT IT!"

Her words were brimming with jealousy.

"I HAD SKATE, AND YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME. WE WERE TO BE MARRIED! DID YOU KNOW THAT? AND SOMETHING INSIDE OF ME SNAPPED WHEN YOU _MURDERED_ HIM! AND I KNEW, NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENED, I WOULD AVENGE SKATE'S DEATH! I WOULD MURDER YOU, NO MATTER WHAT IT TOOK! WEASEL MY WAY INTO YOUR HEART LIKE A WORM AND SOW THE SEEDS OF LOSS AND PAIN LIKE YOU'VE NEVER FAILED TO REAP IN ME! AND SO I GOT CHESS DRUNK, AND I WENT ONTO HIM, AND HE SHARED MY BED! AND I THOUGHT OF YOU, OF HOW MUCH BETRAYAL YOU WOULD FEEL, AND I LAUGHED AT THE THOUGHT OF YOUR PAIN!"

"What about last night?"

"LAST NIGHT WAS ABOUT FINALITY, MYTH! REVENGE! RHYME HEARD YOU TELLING OF THE UNDEAD, AND HE KNEW – HE _KNEW_ – THAT WE HAD TO BRING THEM HERE, LET THEM IN, MAKE SURE YOU DIED WITH THE AWFUL POISON THEY CARRIED!"

I hated her everywhere, just as much as I suddenly saw that she hated me. And I realized that while my rage existed, she could not be alive. If I was alive, she needed to die. Our existence was suddenly incompatible. My rage blinded me into a passion of fury and malice both beyond description and beyond reason. I was inconsolable, a monster of twisted will and hate to explode from the dark depths of my soul.

I stared down at what I was about to dispose of. She deserved to die for what she had done to me.

"Fine..." I spat the word.

I was beside my knife, and I bent to pick it up. I threw it at her.

"What the fuck is this?" she snapped at me breathlessly.

She picked up the knife tentatively, obviously confused.

"Get up and fight me," I demanded.

"Who do you think you are?" Fade asked, putting up a front that I saw through easily.

She was terrified to fight me one-on-one.

"I am not you," I said slowly. "And that's all that matters. Now, get up and fight me. I'll give you a chance to fight for your life. If you win, I die, and we both walk away satisfied."

"I won't," she said childishly, and she threw the knife at my feet.

I cocked Ollie's pistol and stood parallel to her, ready and waiting to fire if she refused.

"I said – _stand_."

"Kiss my –"

I punched her hard. She fell, but again she threw the knife beyond me confidently. Her words were so insane to me, so evil, as she whispered,

"I won't fight you, Myth."

I laughed then.

"Fine...but I gave you the chance."

"You're bluffing," Fade said, shrugging.

"Doesn't matter what you think. Ready to die?"

She had the gall to laugh.

I scowled and thrust my pistol to her forehead where she was kneeling. It felt good there – like it belonged there. Her eyes looked to it. She was surprised and, for the first time, truly afraid. I was satisfied. It felt so dark, but it was a drug. I knew there would be no turning back. I wouldn't be able to ignore that monster after I felt how easy it was to end someone's life on purpose.

"I hate you," she whispered again, trying with all her might to convey it through her eyes to mine.

"I don't care," I whispered, standing fully.

And I didn't. About anything.

"I just want you to die."

I fired the gun with a loud, deafening ring, and suddenly her head wasn't there anymore. Blood immediately began to spill from her lifeless eyes, the eyes that I hated. It pooled around her body as a cancer, and I turned away from that body in disgust.

I thrust the gun from me, staring, watching her bleed. It was so terribly easy. And guiltless. So, so, so easy. Before I blacked out, before I fell into a stupor that kept me asleep for hours beyond what I had ever slept, I knew that I had done a very bad thing, and, for the first time in my life, I just honestly couldn't care.
Chapter Twenty-two: The World as They Saw It

"Do you want me to keep reading?" Ollie asked after a moment.

He smiled tentatively. It was genuine.

I thought about that smile, and Ollie noticed.

"What?" he asked.

"I was just thinking about how grief makes people do crazy things."

"What do you mean?"

"You're smiling at me," I said to him.

Ollie said nothing.

"The worst is probably over though, yes?" I asked him. "Soon, I will say things, and you will hate me after I say them."

He opened his mouth, frustrated, but then said nothing. I had been goading him extra in those days. He fell for this ploy, his resolve gone completely, but I no longer fostered any fear towards Ollie. If I died, I would be with Chess.

"Did you want me to read or not?" he finally asked, though he was gentle about it.

"Yes," I said monotonously. "Thank you."

Ali entered. She made a noise of disgust, to which I just said,

"Your glare no longer penetrates my concern."

Ollie had to bite back a smile that only I saw.

She looked at Ollie.

"Shouldn't you be helping us gather supplies for our journey back?"

"No," Ollie said, shrugging.

"We're going in a week. We don't have much time to recuperate."

"You made it here dragging me," Ollie said coolly. "Anything we make out with will be better than that."

Ollie looked back at me for approval, but I didn't look at him. Ali just left.

"It makes me sad that you are leaving," I admitted with that same, painful honesty.

Ollie's eyes tightened.

"I know."

"You are a welcome distraction."

"I know," he said again.

I both cursed Ollie and loved him at the same time, so close were the binds of appreciation and loathing. I didn't know what to think of him again, and I knew there was little to be had either way – he was going to leave whether I thought about it or not. He eyed me with deep concern; his new look when he beheld me, and read on,

" _The day the world ended was November 11, 2038."_

I smiled.

"What are those things?"

Ali, who had reemerged in the doorway, sneered.

"Those are months, you –"

"Shut up, Ali," Ollie said quietly.

He turned back to me, and she left. I was pleased. He cleared his throat a little and said,

"Months, they're called." He paused. "They sort of separate the days...And the number is the year. You can number the year to make sure you know which one it is."

"Which one is it now?"

"2297," he said quietly.

"So this book is many cycles long," I commented.

He nodded and continued.

" _I can even remember the hour, on some quiet, restless nights. When the dead are hushed and in their graves. It's such a loud existence now. Never a dull moment. I haven't heard silence since...well. I honestly can't remember a time. The world was quieter then. I can remember that. It was easier to live by the rules, and there were so many rules. Following became second nature, and those who led were kind of outcast. At least, it seemed like they were. People like my family, leaders, they tended to stick out a little bit more. The leaders demanded order. The order made it easy. For me, it was, anyway. For others, I'm not so sure. I was selfish then. I wasn't like my mom._

My mom was one of the very first Bad People. The people called them Deviants – but she was special. She was called a High Deviant. She used to be proud of what that meant, that she and my father were the first and last. Until computers ruined everything. The High Council, she called it. A group of very powerful minds that could make words on a screen. Computers were once common. They told people where to go and when. They summoned people and made people go. Computers ruled the world.

And they decided that people like my mom, people like me, my mom said, shouldn't be around anymore. My mom could never really tell me why, probably because she didn't know. But computers were different from us, she said, different from all of us, and that was all that mattered.

She worked for the good of the people because she loved the people. My father too. He loved people. Likewise, he was also a Deviant, a High Deviant, like her. They'd learned to live together, and they learned to love each other. They learned to have me.

We weren't allowed to talk about it, of course, what I was and what they were. Not in public. The High Council wouldn't let us. They'd made sure of that. My mom told me never to speak the name of my uncle, and even now I shudder to write it. I do not think I will. But he was one of the very first aggressors in the war against the computers.

Before my mom stopped letting us talk to him, he was angry all the time and frightening. He loved my mother very much, of that I learned only far later, and he wanted her to run away with him back to the government, back the place it all started, he said. He wanted her to help him with his "Little Deviants," he called them. He began to call himself Victor Snow, the name of a popular movie actor. It was, apparently, the first movie he'd ever seen.

So he...very strange, to say the least. Of that, I can remember.

Whatever it was, it scared my mom – and my dad. I sensed that he was insane, and I guess my mom did too.

We ran away from the likes of him but, because of it, we had to stay hidden and secret. My mom told us he was going to do something horrible in the name of what we were, and she knew we didn't want to be a part of it, even if he would make us have our part, in the end. He would alienate us from the people, make us hide and lie to our closest friends, humans and Deviants alike.

I used to think they were paranoid, my parents, that no one could be that bad, that it was an unnecessary precaution to hide what we were. I thought that the actions of one man, surely, could not represent the judgment of an entire race like ours. But, like I said, I was young, and I was naïve.

One day, my mother came home, and she told me that we were to play 'the game.' This was a game we often practiced, but that day we were to play for real. She told me that I was to hide in the board under the closet, in a hole my father and she had made. We were to hide there – my siblings and I – until all was quiet, no matter what we heard, and to be absolutely still. When we'd win the game, come out, my mother and father would buy us ice cream and exchange uneasy glances and tense laughter between them.

I see now that they were hiding us from people who were looking for us. They were pretending to be human, like the rest, and Deviants like us were being rounded up and slaughtered because some computer in a hole somewhere told people to.

But people always did what computers said.

This time, the noise did not pass for a very long time. I became frightened and wanted to emerge, but then I knew that if I did so that I would lose. So I stayed hidden, straining my ears to hear, but my parents had made the boards just thick enough to prevent me from understanding the conversations of the walls above our feet.

The voices were of many different men, I remember. And when they went away and we came out it was very, very dark. My mom suggested that we sleep in the hide-and-seek room that night, and for a few nights afterwards. I'd thought it was fun, but I'm sure I missed the way my mother's lips pursed when she was nervous. I'm sure she was terrified they'd find us and kill us.

Then, on the radio, I saw my uncle's name, displayed across a screen on which they normally listed celebrity names. His name was in capital letters, and we began to see very frightening pictures of his face in the street. His name was in bold letters in harsh colors, and people were told to watch over their backs because Deviants, Filthy Deviants, could be lurking behind every corner. It was the first time I remembered being ashamed of what I was, and I didn't know why.

My mother told me that we were never to walk to school anymore. We were to always drive with her.

After that, we heard on the radio that all Deviants were to report to places with which I was very familiar, places I felt were safe. School, at the gymnasium, my favorite subject in class. Government buildings. Post Offices. Anywhere the government was.

I asked my mom why we didn't report to these places, why we were breaking the rules. And she told me that I was never to go there, no matter what. It got to a point where I wasn't allowed outside anymore without my mother's firm hand.

I've heard many stories about the end of the world, but one more than all the rest, so I assume this one must be accurate. So, even if my family never learns of this little book, someone will know what happened to the human species or what I know to have happened. When I think about it, it's moving I might be one of the only people left on this earth that does know the truth...about everything.

It all began with computers. The High Council was made to be autonomously cognizant. They were tasked with sheer thinking. Process. Think. Create. Perfect. That was their job. And as such, they became aware that people were fragile. They died easily. They grew old and sick. They aged too quickly.

They set out to design my mother and father and, unfortunately, also my uncle. On a genetic level, my mother and father were technically superior. They were a deviation from the norm. Thus, Deviants. There were five, originally. And those five built others. And those five built others. Until finally it was that there was an entire species of thinkers and doers and testers that allowed people, who otherwise would have wasted away for their efforts, to lead normal lives.

My mother was a scientist, practicing in the now forbidden arts. She was on a team that apparently was creating a virus that could eat another virus. She said they designed it to destroy other sicknesses that killed many people. She said that it was called Necrosis.

And such advances were made. Pretty soon, our species became world renowned, and my mother's reputation for perfection – and those of the first generation – was unmatched.

And then, one of the Deviants in China lost their temper. It was a man, I think, and he attacked another man. A human. And suddenly, we were not seen as perfect. We were not seen as infallible. People like my mother became shameful, dangerous creatures, and any and all successes were considered flukes of nature, not skills. In all levels of government were Deviants monitored. We were called Third Races. Naturally, this led some, like my uncle, to...lose touch. With reality or the world. It is hard to be brought into the world, designed to do good, and then told thereafter that you are, and will always ever be, bad.

Production of the Deviants was ceased entirely, and everyone was told that we were to be collected and 'put away.' Almost as soon as that man had done it, the government went down with an iron fist. People were set into castes, ranks, jobs, everything, because of the chaos joblessness caused. If Deviants did everything, what was there left to do? Money no longer had any value, and neither did morality.

People quickly learned to hate us. And I felt so sad to have to hide in my own skin.

But they didn't go unopposed. The People Snatchers were called terrorists, but I knew better, for my own parents were among them. Their job was to force humans and High Deviants alike to look behind this image of order and force them to see the chaos the world was coming into.

And the computers, which were the sole advisors for our world governments, fought their order endlessly, assassinated brutally, regardless of collateral damage. They were without mercy. They recalled millions of Highers to a secret place to be slaughtered without cause. Even innocents were asked for, children and women, some of them even human, I heard.

This sparked my uncle to rebel. He'd been working in the public eye instead of behind the scenes like my parents and our friends. My uncle called the People Snatchers cowards behind closed doors, but, unfortunately, due to my uncle's publicity, my parents and their order were blamed for what was to happen next.

My uncle and his followers decided to unleash their new Necrosis. Their defense mechanism to kill off the humans. The computers, which had designed Deviants to have better immune systems, were supposed to be immune.

He'd altered it, and the first casualty was in Washington D.C. The capitol. To make a point, I guess. A few died. Then Deviants died. Deviants and humans alike. Then thousands. Millions. It spread like wildfire across the nation. It was a pandemic unlike any the world had ever seen, and our city – this place – was the genesis of it all.

Then, people began to turn instead of die.

That was when the High Council was given total control and what little mercy was granted to our people was now expended. We were to be hunted and slaughtered, and it was fight, hide, or die.

The first hydrogen bombs came down in Los Angeles, Chicago, and Omaha. The next day, D.C., New York, and Miami fell.

And I thought the World Wars were over.

The refugees still tell us that humans all over are being exterminated, that Deviants are doing it, and that the Great Deviants, people like me, the second generations, are corrupt and telling them to.

The logistics didn't matter to me really though. It was what the war meant to us...my mom and dad and my brothers and I. The war made us forbidden. There was no Higher and Lower Deviant, not anymore. There was Deviant and there was human. There was no longer any in-between. The High Council made sure of that.

Hide, fight, or die.

People are saying that the Deviants speak of us like prophets, like we are supposed to come out of hiding and help with the genocide from both ends. I suppose that was probably what the High Council thought we would do when they went too far, when they banned our existence.

But that was the logic of brutality. Expect violence because of violence.

But the High Council's arrogance and conceit and it's selfish lack of feeling for us, my family and I, has led me to hate them far more than the surviving humans I pretend to be kin with. He has brought me into a war my children, my children's children, and all of them after me will never come out of. He has brought me into a war that will lead every human everywhere to hate me and everyone like me for the rest of our days on this planet. And I don't even know why.

And I haven't even done anything.

My mom said before it all happened that it was because people hated things that were different and that we were different. She said they didn't want us to be alive, but that didn't mean it was wrong that we were. She said the reason they hid, the reason I should never hate people, is because I am like them.

I am just the opposite side of the coin. The High Council doesn't don't know us. We're not gods. We're just people. We weren't prophets. We're just...different. We don't hate humans. We're like them in every way.

I was seventeen when the thing hit my house. I had three brothers too, an unheard of number. I was among one of those families. Therefore, the government gave us the title everyone then wanted.

But perhaps I get ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning."

Ollie looked up from the book and stared into my eyes with a steadiness that reminded me painfully of Chess.

"Do you know who wrote this?" he asked.

"Is there a name?"

"Yeah, one...at the beginning. Halo Reliant."

"They called my First Mother this," I said, perking up.

"What do you mean 'they called?'"

"You don't get to name your own children?" he asked.

"No," I said, "such a thing was forbidden, it was said."

"That was my First Mother's name," I whispered quietly. "Halo. It was her name."

I looked up at him with curiosity so deep it was a necessity to lean forward and look. He pointed to markings I could not understand.

"What says that?" I asked quietly.

"Halo Reliant," he responded quickly.

"She was my most important ancestor. She had stayed alive during the Final Hour. We call her our First Mother."

I looked down at the black little letters in awe and disbelief. My First Mother, who had been gone for years and years, had written a diary – a journal – an account of her life – for my Second Mother. For my Third...For however many Mothers there were in between. And then for me. Evergreen must have had it from my own mother; she was with me for a while before my mom died. She must have kept it for me. She and Skate must have been looking for it. I felt the first itchings of excitement.

When I looked into Ollie's eyes, he looked to be in agony, and some of that strange fury had returned.

The familiar distrust clouded his eyes again. I looked away first, wishing I could see myself the way he did, wishing I could know what I had done to make him doubt me so adamantly. I wished I could understand my offense against him so that I could correct everything I had done. I wanted him to be my friend, I realized (with pathetic bitterness,) because I had nothing else to make of my life. Ollie was my new goal, and I had to abide by it.

"This is an amazing story," he told me sincerely, almost like it pained him.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it's a perspective I've never heard before."

"Is that bad?" I asked.

He tightened his mouth.

"No," he finally said. "I'm just afraid of what it might mean."
Chapter Twenty-three: The Name Game

I began to read to her again and her eyes took on an expression of disbelief and awed exhilaration. My heart raced. Something was coming. I could feel it, but I had to read the story to know.

" _It was the dawning of a new age after the nuke hit our home. And I started to call it Dwindle. I wasn't necessarily a scientist, but I liked to name things anyway. My brothers took it on and after the first week told someone else. They told someone else. They told someone else. Before long, the whole country of our desolation knew Washington D.C. as Dwindle, the land that breathed and thrived off of death because of the High Council's trigger-happy fingers._

My mom had said we were different, her children, not like her. We were going to change the world, us and our ancestors. I was a gift from God. I was impossible, and I would bring about a species so important to future events, my mom said, that I would be remembered for centuries to come.

I told no one. It was a secret. I only told my husband after we were joined. He just laughed at my apprehension, told me I was still a beautiful woman that he loved. It didn't matter to him. If only this was the case of so many others.

People grew older. It took a few years to find out there were only a few hundred of us left in our walled-in world. Humans and people like us. They began calling us 'Bad People.' It hurt, but nobody ever came forward. We hid our marks. Mine was on my palm, so such a thing was easily done. Others weren't so lucky. I knew of one Aio who had a mark on his wrist. They lynched him as soon as he blew in, hung him by his head until dead like savages. Another was burned on a pole until she was nothing but ashes.

Brutality at its finest.

Eventually, Aios just became bad stories, filthy rumors. Of course, I was a little different. We'd devised a test to see who was allowed outside, and I was immune to the virus. The Horde had grown large in those days, and we needed soldiers to thin their numbers. When I volunteered and passed the immunity test, I was looked down upon and called names, like the other Outsiders.

Outcast.

Alien.

Abomination.

All at once, it did not matter that I was a Bad Person or not. It just mattered that I survived like one, and that was bad enough.

As the years passed, many of these people died. But not me. I changed the colony, one death at a time. My tale went from being outright truth to lies to suspicion to just vague rumors. My children carried the rumors with them, and they never faded, but it was enough.

Nothing was the same after that, but it was okay. We had to prove them wrong – all of them. That Aios and people could live together. That Deviants who hid and survived, and I knew of only one other, a slightly dense little man who wasn't too bright but knew how to keep quiet, could live and breathe and not kill human beings.

It was possible, albeit unpopular. But it was possible. We weren't programmed, not like the computers were saying. We were just...trapped. Trapped by bigotry and prejudice.

And so, I made it my life to undo this, to make children, who I hope will make children, who I hope will make children. We will reproduce with humans until there is almost nothing left of us, and then you, whoever you are, will emerge victorious. Whoever you are, you will make the world a better place.

And so, my ancestor, who I'm sure will be born after me, I leave this book to you. I hope you change the world someday."

"Wait, there's a pause here..." I said to Myth. "Someone else wrote in it."

"What?" Myth asked, raising her eyebrows. "Who? I did not know of others who know how to make marks on the page."

"Let's find out," I said hurriedly, and I read on:

" _I feel the need to explain myself in writing because I cannot bear the thought of leaving you to worry about these things yourself, Myth. I am, of course, referring to your name. To our history. To all the things I should have tried harder to explain._

My mother had lied to me about my name and my origin and about everything we stood for, and so I lied to you, my daughter. And, as your mother, I have failed you most horribly."

"My mother knew about this!" she cried loudly.

I opened my mouth, but something fast was happening in her eyes. An understanding, finally, of everything that happened. The death. The dying. The mysterious name-calling.

I had a feeling her mom would explain it all.

" _First, you're not what you think you are. You are a person, but not the person you think._

As a child, I could never have guessed that these things were real. I had always thought they were stories, superstitions people humored instead of ones that came truthfully. That they weren't real. Bad People weren't real. The people of Dwindle were all the same to me – the only ones different were Cartographers. Outsiders. People like you, sweetheart, and like your cousin Skate. People who were special.

All the other stories were just fables to me. I learned later that they actually had special names. Deviants. Great Deviants. Aios. Everything like that was something to keep people guessing about who your neighbors were. I thought it was just another lie for we of Dwindle to justify natural selection a little bit more. It made sense that way – for these legends to be stories.

But they weren't stories. When I came of age, my mother told me who we were. How special we were. How the 'Bad People' weren't really all that bad. I had thought it impossible at first. The Bad People were simply malevolent beings, the spawn of the magic of science, stories my mom had made up. I never knew they were real. I never thought that I could be one of them.

And it wasn't just me. It was all of us. I, and all of my parents before me, was one of these beings. And I was also the last. I was the last in a very long line of attempt and failure at getting one of us successfully over that wall.

There were no more children, and she was too old to make more babies. She said the process of reproducing with humans also often resulted in complications for the mother, complications that sometimes resulted in an early inability to reproduce.

This was why I was an only child, she said. She'd had me, and that was it. I was the last chance. My father had gone, the previous Aio, but he'd perished at the mouths of the Horde. She'd been pregnant at the time, and had me without him. She was a human, nothing special, she said, but I was a half-breed. Special, like my father.

And so, it fell to me. So, like I was called to do, I grew old enough to marry, was lucky enough to fall in love, and went about immediately trying to produce an heir to this great and terrible legacy. My husband, also a human, found my mark on the night of our joining, and at first he hesitated.

When I went to explain everything to him, he just smiled at me and told me that it didn't matter. He said, "Okay, let's do this thing."

And so, we did."

I felt more excitement than I ever had, an eagerness that was tainted with a weight of cruelty that had long been quashed. It came at the reemergence of all the reasons why I hated her, and the feeling came fast and strong. All at once, I was reminded of these awful things, even as I was shocked to discover that reproduction was not only possible, but that it was also possible with human beings.

The small, rational part of me told me to stop. To wait. To hesitate, to take my leave by the look of such pain and agony behind her eyes. She'd told me briefly the story of how they'd all died to get this book.

It must have been very hard on her.

What if she didn't want to know?

_Why not_? I argued to myself.

What she wanted didn't matter all over again. She was a lesser species, a Third Race, a murderer and a manipulator. Everything I felt suddenly tasted cheap in my mouth, and I didn't care that she was in pain. I just wanted to make the truth so evident to her that it would be impossible not to rub her disgustingly beautiful _face_ in it.

"What's Deviant mean?" Fisher asked distractedly, like she was deep in thought.

"It's a little confusing..." I admitted half-heartedly.

It was a lie. I understood it perfectly.

"I don't understand."

"It's a program of clones, which are copies of actual people and things."

"What are you talking about?" she asked with such frustration

I leaned away from the book, feeling so attached to my old world and my old ways that my anger began to channel outwards, like in a funnel, being forced into an opening that I would soon be incapable of stopping from spewing forth.

"A clone is science," I said to her. "People in my land know how to make life without a woman and a man having sex."

She blushed, but I didn't care that I was too blunt.

"They're not real. Fake and plain. And wrong. Wrong by nature."

"Why wrong?"

"Because it is like these words on the page. I can tell them to you, but they can't come out and touch you. Clones want that. They think that. They try to come out at you and trick you."

"But why?"

"So they can kill you."

Her eyes widened in shock.

"Why would they do that if people made them? Isn't that bad?"

"See what I mean?" I asked, smirking at her stupid ignorance. " _Wrong_."

"Then what is an Aio?" she asked next.

"It's a better one than all the rest. They're like..." I hated talking about it again. It had been gone from me for so long. I didn't want to return to that bitterness. "They're like gods, I guess."

"Alpha and Omega?"

"The beginning and the end," I replied, nodding. "They're the offspring of artificial life. Before we...before _this_ , people in my world thought that Aios were impossible. Artificial life should not capable of creating new life. That's also wrong."

She doubted this. I saw it in her eyes, but she made no comment on it.

"Then what's Great Deviant?" she asked, nervously now.

"An Aio and a Great Deviant are the same."

"Why are they important?"

I scowled.

"Because we need them to save us from extermination."

"So my parents were carriers for some ancient ritual to keep these Aios alive? What – did they harbor these things in them or something? Is it a disease?"

"Let's find out," was all I could manage, and I read on, faster and harder than I had before.

" _My husband and I tried for many years to have children with little success. Each time, I miscarried, and my heart began to ache in earnest at the task that my mother had given me._

Until a miracle happened. I felt it while I was cooking one night, suddenly. Nothing very specific happened, not really, but I stood tall and knew.

I was pregnant.

I had succeeded. My husband and I made an Aio, Myth. Your father and I made you."

"Wait!" she shouted abruptly, but I plowed through the reading with an urgency neither of us understood.

" _I knew I had to stick with a code name to keep Rhyme from killing you. He, as you know, is your father's brother, but they couldn't be more opposite. Rhyme was all temper and vengeance. If I gave you a real name, his jealousy would get the better of him and he would know what you were. He wanted to be like us; smart and witty and emotional like us, despite the fact that he could never be like us. I think he was a spawn of two Deviants, a thought my mother introduced to me right before she died._

As many problems as we face in child birthing as we do between human and Deviant, it is supposedly doubly so for two Deviants together.

It would make sense for them to be unstable like Rhyme.

But I didn't want you to die, so I never said this.

At least not to his face.

But I digress.

I named you Myth was because the circumstances around your birth were secretive. You were in a way sort of like a little, special lie – a myth.

But in my heart, in our hearts, you have always been Elizabeth, sweetheart. It was the name of the first Deviant ever in our family. This is your true name. Ellie. I hope, one day, with all this, you can learn to call yourself this, given time."

"Wait a minute – wait!"

She stood up, breathing heavily. Her eyes darted back and forth between the corners of her room. There were tears in them all of a sudden. They took on another nature of such frustration and confusion that she was shaking her head.

I tried to play it off as a joke, as I believed I could. I said,

"You're not a human...it isn't the end of the world!"

"My parents – no! They told me – they said!"

She breathed heavily and a shakiness about her unsettled even me.

"They went out of their way to show me where I was born! They showed me – right before they died! _Why_ would they do that? Why would they die to get me over the Gate? So I can save people?"

"Yeah, probably!" I said loudly.

"But I didn't do anything!" she shouted. "I'm not special or smart! You even said so! What does all of this mean?"

It suddenly meant the world to me that she understood what she was instead of who.

"Haven't you been listening?" I shouted at her, suddenly standing. "You're special, and we're at war! You get over that wall, you can prove to the world that Halflings like you are possible!"

It was liberating to yell at her – directly to her. I wanted, needed, to yell at something, and she was suddenly just so easy to yell at.

"But I'm not a Deviant!" she shouted back desperately. "I'm not! I was born! I was born here, in Dwindle! I had parents! I had –"

"You're just a Deviant!"

"I am not – I am –"

I grabbed her wrist and made her look at me.

"This mark – touch it!"

Her hands in mine were shoved to what she thought was just a burn.

"This is a number – you're number 22-13!"

I had ogled it enough times to have it memorized.

"That's a code. Alpha and Omega. It's the Bible verse!"

"What is the Bible?" she shrieked hysterically, but I was undeterred.

"'I am the Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.' That's what you are. The Aio. The beginning and the end. The first and the last of your kind!"

"Shut up, Ollie!" she said, putting her hands on her ears. "You're wrong! I'm not special! I'm not an Aio! I'm normal, like you!"

"You are NOTHING like me!" I roared.

"Why not?" she shouted back weakly.

"Because of what you are! What you represent!"

"I don't understand..."

"I'm human! I'm not a lying, manipulating murderer who walks around with this noble self-righteousness! I am a victim!"

"Of _what_?" she asked, and I heard the defensiveness growing.

"Of being around _you_!"

There was a long pause.

"So this is it, huh?" she whispered to me harshly. "This is the heart of your pathetic insecurity."

Her words sounded strangely vicious, and I felt castrated beneath their wrath. They had never been directed at me like that.

"You can't decide on anything, can you?"

I opened my mouth in the silence but no words came out. I felt small.

***

Nothing mattered.

"You're a liar and killer, and you're manipulating me!" I finally snapped at him. "I don't believe you! This must be some kind of cruel trick!"

Tears watered in my eyes.

"Use my mom's voice, my First Mother's voice? Good trick, Ollie, really great job!"

"This isn't some stupid trick, you stupid idiot!" he shouted cruelly.

It had been some time since he'd openly mocked me like this.

"This is real! This is what you are!"

I noticed he said "what" instead of "who."

"So I'm just special enough to make me different, huh?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Ollie scowled that hateful scowl he had when he'd first arrived – and it broke my heart because, like before, it was suddenly directed at me.

"You think I'm happy about this?" I asked him tearfully. "That this is a _good_ thing?"

"It's _not_ a good thing," he snapped. "Your existence is...you are an _abomination_. All the death that's followed you? That is on _you_."

And I had to look away from that scowl now. It had grown in intensity so much that I barely recognized him, and I definitely didn't recognize that harsh tone. Even at the beginning, he had _never_ used it on me. He spoke to me like I was the dirtiest thing in the world.

And it hurt so bad.

I couldn't seem to take my eyes off of my fingers then and how much they hadn't told me in the years I had been alive. Or was I even alive? Could everything have been a lie? Could I even die? I could feel pain, but I hadn't died where I probably should have. It made me wonder and cry a little bit. I should have died. I deserved to die. I wished I could die in that moment. The only people that had ever loved me were in the Kingdom of Heaven. I bit my lip so hard tears fell for it.

"I don't want to be around you anymore," I whispered, incapable of stopping the tears.

"Too bad," he shot back. "I think that this is a conversation that we finally need to have!"

"We do? Or _you_ do?"

I looked in his eyes now, and an unfamiliar slushy liquid began to churn from the bottom of me that very similar to wrath. If he made me ache, I wanted him to watch it eat at me. I wanted him to _see_ the things he made me feel.

"Bad People are killers," I whispered to him. "They're monsters."

"Yes," he snarled.

"And I am a monster."

"You are an _abomination_!"

The look in his eyes was oh so telling.

"You blame me for your problems?" I shouted. "Me? I did not even know of this until you just told me! How long have you known? Months? Longer? Did you know that I was here? Did you come here to kill me specifically?"

"I can blame you for whatever I want!" he shouted back. "You're wrong! Everything about you is _wrong_! You live here and you shouldn't! You help and you shouldn't! You protect and smile and laugh when you shouldn't!"

"My mother and father _lied_ to get me here!" I shrieked. "My name isn't even _real_!"

A sense of loss inundated me.

"I don't want to hear about how _wrong_ I am – or special! I'm normal!"

"No, you're not!"

"Yes, I am!" I protested weakly.

"NO!" he roared. "You will _never_ be normal!"

"I want to be!" I shouted, covering my ears. "I don't want to be special! I want to be normal! I want to be human!"

"Shut _up_!" Ollie shouted.

"I have heard and felt and noticed by entire _life_ how different and special I am! Why can't I be? Why not? Why?"

Anger grew at my center, and I turned up to him.

"Because of _you_!" I shouted.

"ME?" he shrieked, shoving me hard.

"Yeah, you! Why do you want me to be so unhappy?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but he hesitated now, unsure.

"You are..." Hatred powered me, suddenly. "You are a catalyst for _everything_! What did I _do_ to you? Or is it just because of the way I am that you can't even _look_ at me right?"

He didn't want to answer.

"I don't need to answer this question!" he said dismissively, waving his hand.

"Yes, you do!" I shouted at him. "LOOK AT ME!"

He did.

"What do you want to hear?" he shouted. "That I prefer to cause you pain? That I enjoy it when you cry? That I take pleasure every _single_ time you start to bleed? Because I do!"

This wounded me.

" _Why_?"

"What?"

"Why do you feel like that? Why is this your problem? So I'm a Deviant! So what? What does it matter to you? It isn't like I _chose_ it! Will you hate me just for that?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked with a glare.

His voice sounded angry and wary, but I knew he was ready and gearing for a fight. I would sure as hell give him one.

"I think you know what I'm talking about, Ollie."

The tears that fell from my eyes burned my skin, and I clenched my fists to prevent them from causing him harm.

"No, I really don't," he said evasively.

"What are you hiding from?" I shouted. "What aren't you telling me? I'm a Deviant! Great! But what does that make _you_?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Or is it common to practice bigotry in your land?" I continued, as if I hadn't heard him. "Maybe it is. Maybe you hate me just because you're attracted to me. Maybe you're not even attracted to me. Maybe I'm just blind."

"Shut up!"

"Why am I afraid of you, Ollie?" I asked him plaintively now. The anger had fled. "Why do you want me to be afraid? Why can't you even _look_ at me?"

He seemed breathless.

"I –"

"Why do you hate me, Ollie?" I demanded an answer. "Why?"

"Stop interrogating me – I don't need this..."

He tried to turn away but I grabbed his wrist. He moved his eyes dangerously down to my hand. The still was venomous, silent in the most satisfying way.

"Let – _go_ – of – me," he ordered, more forcefully than I had ever heard him.

"What are you gonna do, Ollie? Break my arm?"

I pushed him a little. It felt good to push him, I realized.

"I'm considering it!" he shouted. "What makes you think you have the right to question anything I do? You've killed _loads_ of people – Evergreen, Skate, whoever the hell your aunt is, that girl Fade! You think you have a right to question me? To _investigate_? Not everyone gets to be the plucky girl who endures through incredible circumstances! Some people really are just bad!"

"Oh?" I taunted. "You mean like _you_?"

This did it. Something in his eyes finally fell away, and a monster unlike any I had ever seen came forth, willing and able to drive me into the ground.
Chapter Twenty-four: The Past of Oliver Dark

"You don't have a right to question me!" I shouted at her defensively. "You don't get to see what I am or who I am or what I do! That isn't for you to see!"

"I think I've earned that right!" she shouted back.

"Really?" I asked her, taking a step forward. "You think you've _earned_ it, huh? By doing what? Committing a murder? Being a bitch?"

If I hadn't learned to read the placid eyes that I loved so much, this would have seemed like she was unfazed.

But I saw.

I wanted to stop now. I suddenly realized I wouldn't be able to stop.

"Now, you're going to _stop_ asking about me _right now_ or something very bad is going to happen!"

She sneered.

"Like _what_? What else could you _possibly_ take from me?"

This was a slap to the face, and she and I both knew it.

"What have I taken from you that you haven't taken from yourself?" I said loudly. "Was it _me_ that killed your entire family? This colony? Everybody? No, that was you! And all of them?" I motioned uselessly outside. "They had a right to know their murderer was a Deviant, but you didn't tell them that, did you?"

It was cruel. Her face didn't move, but her eyes did. I was drawing satisfaction from it.

"You know what? I _helped_ you get through those deaths – _I_ did. If it weren't for me, you'd be dead right now!"

"I made through just fine without you with Fade, Ollie," she snapped meanly.

"Yeah...well I – I still helped you. Maybe you should just shut up and take what you get!"

"And maybe you should shove that logic up your ass!"

I lost it.

"You know what?" I shouted. "I haven't once asked you how you've been, where you're from, who you're with! I haven't asked you ONCE!"

She was steady in her glare at me. It was a contest to see who could hate each other more.

"I hear things about you, Ellie! I hear how you've always been destructive! You've always brought some sort of trouble to this place. You Deviants are all the same. Sometimes I wonder how –"

"Yeah?" she shouted. "If you have questions, then ask! Ask away! I've never pretended to hide anything from you!"

"How can you even _live_ with yourself every day after murdering and blundering and killing?"

"Me?" she shrieked. "You think _I_ am at fault for all this death?"

"You don't?" I snapped.

"No! They died, and I did everything I could to stop it! How dare you!"

Then, finally, she lost her temper and swung back at me with an open palm, but I grabbed it and we struggled.

"HOW DARE YOU! DON'T TOUCH ME! LET GO!"

"You think you're so smart?" I mocked. "So clever. So strong. So _brave_. Little Deviant, going out of her way to protect the tiny little humans!"

"SHUT UP! IT ISN'T LIKE THAT! IT ISN'T – LET _GO_!"

"Oh, but they don't like you, do they, Aio? You're _wrong_ , and they know it! They've always known it! From the very beginning!"

Finally, she tore away, whispering,

"It isn't like that."

"Isn't it? You seem like an outsider to me! Pathetic and sniveling, desperate for attention, and when they don't give it to you, what do you do? Kill them?"

"No!" she said, sobbing. "I didn't kill them! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean to!"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER!" I shouted. "YOU ARE A _MURDERER_! THAT'S WHO YOU ARE! THAT'S WHAT DEVIANTS DO!"

"Why do you hate me?" she asked desperately. "What is happening? Why are you talking like this? I don't understand!"

I could hear the tears in her voice. I didn't care. She was the one thing on that earth that I had ever been trained to hate, and the motions of it came back in a rush, like a muscle I had not needed in some time.

"HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?" I roared. "THEY ARE KILLING _EVERYBODY_! EVERYBODY IN MY LAND WHO HAS EVER _DIED_ BECAUSE OF PEOPLE LIKE _YOU_ IS ON YOU! _YOU_ ARE THE REASON DWINDLE IS IN ASHES! _YOU_ ARE THE REASON THAT WE ARE AT WAR! DON'T YOU GET IT?"

"No!" she shouted weakly, caving now.

"They – they _manipulate_! And they _lie_! And they _pretend_! And they _eradicate_! They exist now to make sure humanity does not survive!"

"That's not why I exist!"

She took a step forward, palms out, reaching for me, but I turned away with a noise of disgust.

"Yes, it is!" I shouted. " _Dammit_! Don't you see it? I've been telling myself that you were different, you weren't trained like them. But just because you're an Aio doesn't make you different – it makes you worse!"

"Why?"

"You know, at least humans – we _know_ we're cruel. You sit above that – hiding behind that noble innocence, that insane notion that you can somehow protect anything! You think you know...But I know. I know your methods better than you do. There are more of you – more Deviants, more Highers. Only you're the only Great Deviant I've ever heard of. They've been waiting for you, these things. They've been waiting so long for you to lead their extermination."

I couldn't breathe with the hating.

"Except you know what they do? Of course you don't know, why am I asking? They _kill_ us. They kill humans. More brutally and more effectively than we've ever been able to fight them. They tell everyone that they are these – these guardians of peace, designed to know what's best for us!"

"They kill you?" she asked quietly now.

"No, they don't kill us! They _butcher_ us! They've _butchered_ us! By the _millions_ , Ellie!"

"It sounds like they did it because the computers wanted us dead!" she shouted.

And the fact that she had the gall to defend something she knew nothing about goaded me into a rage.

"They did it because they are _broken_! And we have to stop them!"

I couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't even cry.

"Who does?"

"People like me!"

"I don't understand!"

"Exteriors! We have to kill you!"

" _Why_?" she asked, sobbing. " _Why_ do you have to?"

"Because you'll kill us if we don't!"

"But I don't want to kill humans!" she cried, tears in her eyes.

"I KNOW AND I DON'T KNOW WHY!"

I hit the wall. Flecks from the ceiling crumbled, and I felt a painful unraveling in me begin to come undone. I had no reservations anymore. I couldn't hold back. She would know everything. And she would see me for the little worm that I was.

"So you want to hate me for something I didn't do but that I should do?"

"YES! NO! I DON'T KNOW!"

I made a weak noise from somewhere deep inside of me.

"I AM AN EXTERIOR!" I shouted at her. "That should matter to you! You have to – we have to hate each other!"

"Why do you _want_ to hate me?"

I was breathing so, so heavily. There was a slight pinch in my chest where my lungs were supposed to be, and with every sentence was it growing. I was remembering. I hadn't remembered in a long, long time...

"Because you are _better_ than me!" I said loudly, unable to breathe. "Everything you do happens that way – everything. You're _perfect_."

I spat out the word.

"You're just – just gods with too much power, squabbling over something we humans call justice."

I finally turned back to her and saw her again. She didn't move now, didn't even make a sound. I began to shake. There was a silence and the two of us just breathed. I had to continue. I had to commit. I had to _show_ her why she should be afraid.

"And you know what? I am a soldier! I _did_ kill people! I have fought in wars and strangled necks! I am a murderer!"

"Even though I look like you?" she asked, so small.

"I...I hated them since I can remember. I hated them, even after I saw that they were so close to us in all the ways that hurt. But I live in a cage, and that was all that mattered! When My Master told us to turn around to hunt them...kill them, I did it."

There were no tears in her beautiful face where I had wanted there to be. All I heard was the heaviness of my own breath.

"But why?" she whispered.

I blinked hard.

"Because...because..."

Why?

"Because I did what I was told."

She didn't speak.

"But it's...easy to say that, and it's...a lie. I did it because I hate them. Deviants. I've been brought up to hate them. Trained to hate them. _Bred_ to hate them. And I – sometimes, I don't even know why."

I couldn't breathe or see, I just had to unload.

"You know what it's like – you know how _easy_ it is to despise those things that betray you, that try you, again and again, push you to your limits, force you to see them, force you to break yourself to make yourself stronger. To save something that hates you. To hate something that saves you when you don't want to be saved."

"You mean you..." she whispered softly.

"You should have let me _die_!" I said between gritted teeth. I felt a burning sensation in my throat that I thought might have stemmed from shame. "The big corporation I told you about – Probe. They _own_ me. I am theirs. And the High Council, they direct me. And the Masters, they tell me what that direction is. And they told me to come to Dwindle...and die. And that was what I was supposed to do. And then you ruined everything!"

When she saved me, I didn't hate her. I hated what she hadn't allowed me to have. My voice shook a little as I realized that I had been weak enough to want to die. And she had stripped that from me. I felt strong with her, invigorated with new life.

My voice trembled as I confessed to her what I had never confessed to anyone.

"They wanted me dead because I left the High Council and my Masters and Probe all behind me."

Fisher whispered,

"If...if you hate Deviants...why?"

"Because I couldn't do what they wanted me to do anymore."

"I don't understand what you're saying. Who are you?"

"I am something that belongs to Probe. A tool, not a brain. That's what they say. You don't know who they are, not really." I felt as if I were genuinely talking to her for the first time, like I wasn't trying to hide or be noticed. I was just trying to explain. "But every other person in the real world does. They control _everything_. They are responsible for the Dark War."

"War?" she asked fearfully.

"Yeah," I said, knowing she'd only heard terrible stories. "War. With blood, killing, bombing. We attack Deviants. Entire populations. _I_ attacked them. I started killing them – a lot of them. That's what being an Exterior means."

"Being a killer?"

I nodded, eyes still closed. I couldn't look at her.

"We were trained so that we could kill them. I knew all about it. You can't get too close. No attacking them when they were armed, no fist fights, no guns..."

I saw that my words were strange to her. Strangeness felt so odd to me. I had never had time for strangeness. It had happened, but to tell her was strange. I had never admitted what I had done. And I realized for the first time that what I had done was strange. I was so good at the strangeness, but I realized I shouldn't have been. I shouldn't be. Looking at her right then, in agony at how bad it was, I didn't want to be strange. Not for her.

"You could use grenades though," I explained strangely. "Flash worked sometimes. Drugs, gasses, provocation. My Master usually wanted them alive. I didn't know why until..."

I couldn't speak.

"But that didn't stop us from torturing them every chance we got. They trained us hard, forced us to break and remold. Some of us died."

"But not you," she said.

"Not me," I said bitterly. "No, I was good at it."

I laughed. It was that sick laugh that I had heard out of Myth's mouth just yesterday. It was only yesterday.

"What made the whole thing worse? Their deaths weren't the best part...the best part was making them suffer. They seemed so human in their last moments – when you saw which ones were cowards and which ones weren't. It was hard to watch. But I taught myself not to care. I was good with a shield. I was good at protecting myself. I was really good at it.

"And everyone I ever spoke to noticed, after I started. I didn't have anyone anymore. I couldn't. I had only my work and my purpose, and that was all I needed. The wall only works when nothing gets through, and if that meant keeping myself from dull pleasures to save lives, that was what I was going to do. If I could kill as many Deviants as I could before I died to make sure that future generations would have a world to live in, would have a chance to kill the virus, I was going to do it.

"The governments of Probe noticed too. They sent me to kill more and more. They wanted me to do their bidding more and more and more...and more...Sometimes...sometimes the Deviants wouldn't even know I was there..."

I felt silence within me. There was usually a storm of self-torment but now there was peace. I'd never said any of this out loud.

"Is that why you act...the way you do?"

She could tell I wasn't really angry. Not anymore. Just bitter and cold. Her voice sounded cold when she spoke herself, but it wasn't angry either. It was dark. The light had gone out. The only light we had was the moon outside of her place, and it shone in on both of us to let us know the other was there, listening, speaking. It startled me, her constant presence. She was letting me have my say. She was letting me speak. I decided for that that I would answer her question, if only for that.

"I don't know. Probably. Some. It's impossible to tell..." My mouth wanted to say something so it said it. "I don't really know how to act the way normal people do."

"What did you do with them when you hunted them down?" Fisher asked.

"He had us torture them for him."

"Who?"

"My Master."

"Why torture them?"

"Get information. War intel."

She said nothing, and I hurt inside with wanting a reaction.

"But I...I didn't want to do it anymore, like I said. Not after...after..." I couldn't say it. "So I stopped. And I waited. And I ran when I could. I just...I didn't want to do it anymore. I couldn't."

There was a long, long silence. I knew that she couldn't breathe to absorb this information. I almost didn't want her to.

"But...I'm sorry, I still don't understand..."

I waited with cold sweat on my brow. I felt sick. It wasn't just physically; my hands were shaking and my stomach felt weaker than it ever had. I had never said any of these words out loud to anyone before. Her voice sounded so innocent. I wanted her to hate me for this. I wanted her to. When she didn't, I almost cried aloud with wanting her to. I had counted on it.

"Why are you here now then? They can't have ordered you all to just die. They could have killed you for that. Is there...some purpose to all this?"

She knew our mission. She knew already that I was sent there to kill them. She knew everything already. It was like I was telling someone who knew calculus that two and two made four. She didn't need to be told. Fisher had always been clever.

"They sent us here to survey the land and to make sure there were no survivors," I said dully. "My Masters – and the High Council – thought that if humanity was to retake this location the war on the outside could turn in our favor. The Deviants have held this territory outside Dwindle for a very long time."

"Is that why you're here?" she whispered, finally staring up at me. "To kill me – us?"

"Yeah, that's why I'm here," I whispered bitterly.

Her words were unreadable to me as she asked,

"Why did you leave in the first place? What did you see?"

"There was a girl...a woman, I guess."

She waited for me. I had never told anyone. But I felt that she needed to know.

"She was in one of those rooms. A torture room."

"How was she different?" Fisher asked after a moment.

I could tell that she wanted to help me. After everything that I had said, her voice, whether her mind wanted it to or not, was willing to help me. I didn't know how to say it. I had thought all of what I had already said in my head, so I knew how to say those harsh words. These thoughts were newer, untouched. They were buried deep in my subconscious, and I struggled to unearth them, even for Fisher.

"She just went on and on, speaking mindlessly. I listened too, which was..." I laughed at myself. "Stupid..."

I felt a choking begin in my throat. It made my voice sound strained, almost higher than it usually did.

"I heard every word she spoke to me, almost desperately...I was the interrogator, but I knew I had nothing over her. She knew she was going to die. That was the worst part."

I took a deep breath. It didn't do anything to help.

"She already knew what was going to happen to her and she had addressed it."

I couldn't breathe but I continued on without breath, feeling as if it were my punishment anyway. I saw her face in front of me, as clear as I saw Fisher, and, the way the two pictures mixed, that woman's face was Fisher's face. I was squished by the agony I felt inside of me.

"She talked away. She was so alive, and she wanted me to know her story."

Like you, I thought sadly.

"She knew she was going to die, but when she looked at me, she cried. She _pitied_ me."

I realized that there were tears in my eyes.

"She apologized, tried to make it quick. Helped me into it. She..."

Something painful rose out of my chest, something I'd never felt before.

"I killed her for that," I whispered. "I stabbed her again and again, trying to get just...I don't know. One scream out of her to soothe me. She was so – she was so _nice_ to me..."

I felt strange again. I felt so exposed, as if I were without clothes in front of her, as if she was forcing me to stay just to look at that part of me, the most intimate parts of me that I'd never allowed anyone to know even existed.

"And...and I knew I couldn't do it anymore after her. It... _hurt_ ...way too much."

She said nothing. I looked away, humiliated, but it was only momentary.

"Why?" she asked after I said this.

Her hands were clamped tightly in her lap, white. So she was frightened. I hadn't expected fear. Hate. Anger. But not fear. I began to lose my breath. I hadn't wanted that at all. I felt deep self-hatred, pain only she could take away. But why would she? What had I done to deserve it?

"I don't..." she began, but she stopped.

She seemed lost, but she held on, if barely. My brave girl.

"I don't understand why you're telling me this. If I'm this big thing – this..."

There was so much for her to realize and analyze in her way. So much for her to think about. I was overwhelming her.

Why did I always do that to her?

"If I'm this...this guardian thing why would you tell me that you kill my own people?"

"Because...because you've got a life ahead of you. You have a willingness to stay alive that I haven't seen in...any Deviant. In anything...In anyone. And anyone who is even around you hasn't got long to live." She didn't even cringe as I said it, and I was sad. I had done that to her. "I need you to know my story...before I go...because you deserve it."

"How do you know I'm not using you without meaning to?" she asked quietly.

"Because you're not just any Deviant, you're special."

I said it softly now, almost lovingly.

"So special...so great..."

Her eyes snapped shut.

"Don't say this to me."

There was another long pause. It made in me emerge a pain that I had never experienced or one that I had not felt in a long, long time. It was sorrow. It was remorse. It was trepidation. I didn't feel anger. I couldn't feel hate. Not for her. Not anymore. It was different with her. It would be different after that, I knew.

She wasn't looking at me. She couldn't really. I knew she hated what I did. Hell, she hated killing things. She hated the virus. She hated herself. She hated monsters. I was a monster to her. Fisher couldn't even look at me. It made my self-loathing reach a new level. She couldn't even look at me. I was sorry. I wanted her to look at me. I needed her to just glance at me like she used to. I caught my breath with missing it and needing it with constantly increasing intensity. It made me sore.

I couldn't help brooding for that. I was fool to think that she could accept what my past was, and I was a fool for wanting her to. I was a fool for letting her even get to me that much, and I was a fool for letting my wall down at all. I was a fool for being cruel to her and thinking that I could dispose of her like Deviant trash. I was a fool for saying she was the same when she was different. I was a fool for so many things.

I couldn't help imagining her stabbing me, like she had stabbed Fade the few times. I couldn't help but imagining her own face twist with hate as it had been towards Fade, but in my imagination, she was looking at me. I could imagine that she was just like them – the other Deviants – down to the very uniform. I could see her with them. I could see her on their side. I could see what it was that she would be doing to me. It wasn't just our side that checked in hits. They could deal it out too. I could imagine that she could hurt me better than I could kill her, because in that moment I realized something. Fisher, whether she knew it or not, had gotten around my wall. She had penetrated it, crumbled it, barreled right on through it. I hadn't noticed right until then as I stared at her, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

I hated myself with the waiting, and I was positive that she would hate me for my past. I was sure she wouldn't be able to look at me the same. Those silver eyes that danced, sparkled, glowed – they would never again dance for me.

Then, suddenly, like she was waking up, her eyes fell into mine with a disarming beauty that was so even and unnerving. She'd learned all that I was and brushed it aside to see the man beyond, wilted and wasted in his terrible and rotten domain.

"Okay," she whispered quietly.

Her eyes were guarded. They usually had something in them. There was nothing in them now. Not for me. Eventually, I couldn't see them.

Because my eyes were welling with tears.

"I'm so sorry, Ollie..." she whispered sorrowfully.

"Don't..." I just barely managed. "Don't say that to me. Don't – I'm the one who –"

"Whatever I did – whatever – whatever I am..."

"That isn't what I –

"I'm sorry."

Fisher stood up and walked out then, leaving me there to lie on the ground, trying to cry, unable to. On the way out, I could have sworn I saw a single tear fall. Only this time...the tears were from me. I curled up like she had, invisible to all in the terrible darkness of night, and I tried unsuccessfully to breathe where there was no breath for me.
Chapter Twenty-five: Impossibility

I thought everything would be different for us after that, but it wasn't. It couldn't be. I was still leaving. She was still staying.

I felt misery for the fact.

She treated me without the caution that she had. My old, cooled vendetta with her was not her largest concern – not immediately. It couldn't be. It was the salvation of herself that she focused on, and I knew that we would deal with _our_ problem when the future let us.

But I ached with thoughts of her. I hated myself for the things I'd said. For the way I'd spoken to her. I wished I had the balls to apologize. I knew I couldn't. I was a coward.

Paige walked in.

"I'm an asshole," was all I said, only to my lap.

I couldn't even look at Paige.

"Come on, no you're not," she said softly.

"Yes, I am," I said back. "Everything I do. Everything I am..."

"What happened?"

I just shook my head. I couldn't shake my self-loathing. And my shame.

"She was mine," I finally said. "She was mine, and I blew it."

I saw it when she dared meet my eyes. She had been mine, and after that long confession, I'd lost her.

"What happened between you two?" Paige asked gently. "You should be spending your last nights with her."

"She doesn't want it."

My features crumpled.

"She wouldn't want me anymore."

Paige walked in.

"Dark," she said sadly, like me. "What did you tell her?"

"I..."

It was so hard to speak.

"Tell me this is all just a horrible dream," I whispered softly.

"You told her, didn't you?"

I said nothing.

"I saw her – she's crying again...Ollie..."

"I want to take away everything that I've done," I whispered to her, and we both heard my voice waver.

Paige put a hand on my shoulder.

"I want everything I've done to go away, I...I never wanted her to – to cry for me, like that I..."

For the first time, talking about it, the burning sensation made it to my eyes, and I tried to cover my eyes with two tight fists.

"Did you tell her?" Paige persisted.

"I didn't mean to," I whispered softly. "I didn't want to...and I – why did I?"

"You were afraid to lose her," Paige whispered.

And she was right. I didn't know how she knew this, but she was right.

That mind doctor stuff had something to it, after all.

"I made it about me," I said through clenched teeth. "I made it all about me, and she was so scared, so..."

I couldn't continue.

"Her name is Ellie?" Paige asked softly, with a sadder smile.

She looked up from the book. I hadn't bothered to change the page. I read and reread the pages over and over again, her name over and over again.

I closed my eyes tight.

"That's a beautiful name, isn't it?" I asked.

"I think it is...very appropriate for her – Elizabeth. Ellie Fisher."

I felt the wetness in my eyes fall.

"She's going to die like the rest of them, isn't she?"

I was almost afraid to hear the answer. I just needed to hear it. I had to hear it. Someone had to tell me. I couldn't tell myself. I found it odd that I couldn't get around my own barriers and yet Fisher, the Aio, could. There was a silence. I leaned forward and stared at her intensely.

"Please – Paige, I need to hear –"

"Yes, Ollie."

A tear fell down the corner of Paige's cheek as she searched my eyes.

"She's going to die."

"But...but she's a – an Aio!"

I nearly begged with her, a subordinate. I was Exterior Oliver Dark, denying the truth, ignoring the light, and I was begging with an underling...Times certainly had changed me.

"She's designed to be stronger than everyone else – more immune – more powerful!"

"Almost nothing can survive a nuclear bomb," Paige whispered quietly.

"So she's going to die?" I asked softly. "Just like that? After all that?"

"Ollie..."

Paige reached out a hand to me, squeezing the tips of my fingers.

"She probably knows...She's not stupid...why don't you go talk to her?"

"I can't," I whispered, shaking my head, holding her hand. "I can't talk to her...I can't –"

"She'll want to hear your voice, Ollie."

"I told her who I was, Paige..." I rolled my head over to look at her. "I told her I was an Exterior."

Paige said nothing and nodded grimly, almost as if she had suspected that I was as much. I had never told her, not really. But she knew.

"I thought you would..." she said quietly. "Eventually..."

She squeezed my hand.

"But she's different. She'll listen..."

"I can't, Paige...Even if I wanted to. I can't. She's too..." I sighed. "Good."

"Why don't you just talk – show her your best?"

"I can't," I said, more frustrated than anything.

I looked at my hands and then squeezed them.

"My best is...I don't have a _best_ ..."

And in that moment I wished that I did – just for her.

"Yes, you do, Ollie," Paige whispered comfortingly. "Never forget that."

She finally let go of my hand. There was a pause. She sighed.

"Why don't you just go to sleep?" she asked me softly. "It'll feel better in the morning."

***

I wasn't doing my job as I should have, but there was no longer a need to scrounge for food or medicine. There were so few of us that we could sustain for at least a month. Probably more. The people looked to me then. The government was gone. I was the leader, and the hypocrisy of those rodents astounded me.

They'd rejected me my whole life, and still I helped them more.

I was tired and I yawned as I thought this. It was early in the morning, and I was walking about, still disturbed by my own little life.

I fought with my mind, saying that there had to be a purpose for everything. Purpose was the one thing that my mom had left behind. The prospect that everything had to happen as a catalyst for something else. It was my motto. It was my driving force. Everything, no matter how awful, happened for some sort of higher reason. I remembered she had held the gun to her head, sobbing, telling me,

"Everything happens...for a reason, Ellie."

It was my name, though I wouldn't have known it then.

"Everything happens for a purpose."

She did it then, and I winced painfully, remembering the way her head was in one place in one moment and several in the next. Almost like it wasn't there anymore. Why had that happened? There was no purpose in that but to save me. If I didn't exist or wasn't a real human...why was I worth saving?

I had to kill Evergreen. She was old and had had a good long life. But I had to kill her. She had chosen to risk Undeath to get that book to me. I had to kill Skate. There was no purpose in that but to save the people of Hand, the useless things Ollie called Lower Deviants...Ollie. I felt pain at his name. What was his purpose? He came into my life, needing help. I gave it to him. He lived. He hated me for it because he hated my kind and he hated owing me. He hated me.

And then...then he told me of what he had done. His hands had strangled things. His hands had been on other people not to love or hold or comfort but to torture and to bend. What was the purpose in that?

What was the purpose in Foot's death? What was the purpose of my relationship with Chess? He had slept with Fade...but I wondered all the same. I wondered, most of all, why he had told me he loved me – if he had really meant it. I couldn't understand why. Why was he alive? Why had he chosen me, if I was so worthless? If he was human and I was Deviant, how had he chosen me? Why were the colonists alive? Why was I? Why had Fade ever been born? Why was such an awful person alive?

The speculation was endless but the answer was eventually simple. She was alive because she had to be. It was because it was said to be so. It was because, without Fade, there wouldn't be great people. It was because, without Foot, there would be no Chess counter-part. It was because, without Ollie, I would have been ignorant for the rest of my life. It was a paradoxical truth. In order to have greatness there had to be strife or there would be no opportunity to be great. It was unsatisfying, and I wanted another one, but I knew there was no other.

As I thought more and more of the night that had ruined the rest of mine, as I passed the occasional wanderer, I realized they had killed themselves and my friends. I had warned them repeatedly; I had always been right. They did not heed my words.

It was foolish for us to consider it our duty to die for those pathetic souls who dared call themselves Dwin. They weren't Dwin. I was Dwin. Foot, Chess, and Evergreen were Dwin. The weak people that limped by me to exchange a sympathetic glance were not Dwin. They were Hands. Hands to be bent and shaped by a leader who they followed blindly. I was different than them.

Ollie was right. I was different because they'd rejected me. I didn't think the same as they did. They had admitted defeat. They had kept themselves as quiet as possible to move through history like the dust carried by the wind. I had worked every day of every second of my life to earn the respect that I had never gotten to see.

They were humans. If that was what a human was like, I didn't want to be human, anyway. The Outlanders were humans, too, and I saw their flaws. Paige was condescending and Ali was mean. Pierce was cruel. Ollie was confusing and complicated and mysterious...

I liked to think he didn't hate me as much after what he said. He wouldn't have said it to me if he didn't care. He needed me to know. It was strange. It made me...respect him more. I had to respect him more. I wouldn't have been able to do what he did in telling me. I wouldn't even be able to write it down, if I could write. It was brave of him...It touched me, a little. He cared enough about me to want me to absolve him of his crimes. Though I couldn't, I realized it was enough to temporarily satisfy my conscience.

"Myth!"

It took me several moments to turn around as I felt unmotivated to do anything but walk and look about at the remnants of our city. There were but twelve of us left. We wouldn't last long. They, the people, dared to want me to be their leader. I would sooner kill myself or jump into a hive of Undead than be the leader of the people who, I considered, were the scum of the City. They had ruined my life.

"MYTH!"

I looked about. It was always my name being called somewhere. As I looked I saw it was a man named Fudge. He had always sort of rebuked Rhyme for being so harsh with me. He wasn't as bad as the others, I always thought. He gave me extra food after my parents had died.

He was the one exception. There was always exceptions to the rule.

"You need to look out there," Fudge said.

I observed that the gate was closed, but he was pointing that way. He must have wandered too close. I'd ordered everyone from wandering even near it. The Outlanders had managed to shut it and keep it shut during my comatose state, but it wasn't so useful. There was a giant hole in it where the fires had eaten through.

"You shouldn't have gone out there," I said quickly, running up the slope to the edge of the Skyway.

I brought him back by the shoulder.

"Here, get away from there! What are you doing?"

I felt nervousness and fear again, but it was dim. It felt as if the emotion had to travel a huge distance to attack at my heart (where a new and wonderful knowledge was growing. It was a courage that stemmed from nothingness, and it was glorious).

Most of them were eaten but there were still a few who were taken from us. It was impossible to tell through the blood what had happened to whom. I told myself that they couldn't have been eaten. I would have heard them...I would have made myself listen.

I cleared my throat painfully.

"What is it? Are they coming?" I asked, my voice tight

"I don't think you're gonna like it," Fudge said.

He moved next to me and put a hand on my shoulder.

I looked out slowly and could not breathe for fear it would be stripped from me forever by an unseen force. Chess and Foot were there, yes. Moving and breathing, they were, but barely at that. Their skin was a yellowish, nearly a greenish, tinge and was so thin that all of their contorted muscles and bones were refined. Their backs were hunched over some kind of newly slaughtered prey, and crunching noises resounded through the silence as they chewed on the raw meat, bones and all. There was no hair on either of them and the morph of their hands and backs was evident. They were suffering. Human behavior was entirely absent...but I had to call them anyway. They were my life, and they had returned to me.

"Foot!"

It was Ollie from across the clearing who called first. I heard him sprint up behind me. He put a hand to my shoulder.

"NO!"

"FOOT!" I started to scream. "Foot, Chess! Foot!"

Ollie tried to pull me back. I ignored him and ventured forward. I slid out of his grasp, running from him.

They looked up after I had yelled for several minutes, like they'd just heard me even after what felt like hours of trying to get through to them for me. My voice was considerably sore and people were beginning to look up nervously from their wanderings. I cared not for them and could only focus on the bloodied faces of my old friend and my first lover.

They stared with their black eyes and shifted in confusion. They knew not why I was calling to them and painful, fiery tears filled my eyes. I had to see that they knew me. The Undead could remember, couldn't they? I climbed up to the framework of a building to get a closer look at them. This led me through the hole of the Skyway and then to the outside, to higher ground. I climbed above and into the balcony where Chess had held me that first night I'd met the Outlanders.

I wanted to reach out and touch them. I saw Foot's square chin, his tall forehead where his once dark black hair had been. I saw the legs that I knew, though twisted, with the scars I was familiar with and helped make. I saw the burn on the back of his neck. It was him. He was there.

And Chess was there too. His body was feasting more hungrily than Foot's was, but he still glanced up at me occasionally like the animal he was. I saw they were eating a dog, a huge one, and they ripped and bit pieces off in mass quantities, gnawing at it with powerful jaws.

I found myself clutching my heart. Chess had the blond hair still, despite the Undeath. Some of them got like that, kept their hair. His pale skin was sickly looking. But when he glanced up to see what I was doing, he held my gaze just like in the times of old. His eyes didn't move, and I suddenly couldn't see them as tears formed in mine. They did not know me.

"Come on!" I whispered.

I wanted to go stand near them, but I was afraid. Tears of joy and sorrow mixed on my face and skin. I was so, so afraid. And then I found myself thinking that surely, they could remember me. That they wouldn't attack me. They knew me, after all. I had a gun in my hand, a forever presence that I didn't know I had until I needed it, and I flipped it fast around my back. It was the pistol in my hand that mattered.

"Myth?" Fudge asked suddenly from within the clearing.

I began to descend.

"What are you doing? You can't do that! MYTH!"

"Myth, stop it!"

The voice was Ollie's now. I remembered that he was leaving, and I felt pain at having nothing and no one. Even if he had killed my kind, hated them even, he still cared if I lived or died. He would be the last person in that life to care.

"What are you _doing_?" he asked loudly, with concern and fear.

"Shut up," I said, almost to myself. "I'm immune!"

"So was Skate!" he shouted.

But I didn't listen. I approached evermore, and my breath caught. Even while they were Undead, they had come back for me. They wanted to see me again. They were going to see me and recognize me. I would make them, if they wouldn't by themselves. I could help them. I had to. It wasn't in me not to.

I was on the ground in one swing and in another few steps I would be able to touch them both. My steps were silent compared to the ravenous chewing, but they felt loud to me. Blood touched the edge of my shoes and it made my steps stickier than usual. I decided to stop. They smelled horrible, roasted and rotting, and they didn't notice my presence. They would recognize me when they did see me though. I knew that they would. They had to. I was their best friend.

So, for what felt like the first time in my life, I was brave.

"F – Foot?"

Chess, who was the nearer, vaulted on top of me. My breath caught, and he screamed in frustration as my gun hindered his eating my face. It was pressed hard to his chest. He was snapping his jaws so heavily that they made his own tongue bleed. I shook my head. I was afraid again. There had been too many Undead; they were too smart; they knew too much for me not to be. Chess would eat and kill me. He was the fastest, strongest, and most intelligent predator on the face of the planet; he would eat me if he had the chance...and he was my best friend.

"CHESS! It's me, Chess! Chess!"

I turned my gun a quarter of an inch, knowing my course of action. It had to hit his heart. If it didn't, he would suffer. I wouldn't let him suffer.

He wasn't letting up. His eyes were beyond me, barely looking, and the saliva that dripped onto me was thicker than any human's could have been. I pushed him up slightly. He fell back for a split second, and he was there.

My Chess was there.

In that moment, I fired.

Chess writhed towards me slower and slower until his eyes glazed over with the liberation of a painful death. My method had failed. His body was limp on mine, and I felt the blood spill towards my clothing. I pushed him off with a little effort and a grunt of more than physical pain. I looked down at him for a moment. I wanted to cry, but I had no more tears left.

My eyes moved to Foot, who I knew would not know me by name or face. I turned my head a little, and he looked up. His eyes stared into mine, more than Chess's had. He had a chunk of red, dripping flesh in his hands. His mouth was covered in horrible blackness. He was absolutely still, apart from his gaping mouth, (which twitched occasionally,) and his raggedy breath.

I could hardly breathe as I looked to him, and I stared imploringly into his eyes. I was waiting, watching for anything that could constitute for human intelligence. I could see the battle in his eyes, the terrible war going on in his brain. He knew not whether to attack or to watch in wonder. He almost knew me. He was almost mine. I cleared my throat slightly, and he barked threateningly.

"Foot?"

Almost before I could dodge from his path, he lunged and screamed at me. Almost. But I had ascended back to the frame of the building. He looked up at me for a moment, into the absolute fear and distress in my eyes, and for a moment, for a second, he was mine. I knew what he was, he knew what he was, and he knew who I was. And in that moment I saw pain and suffering beyond his years or mine. The contact passed, as if it hadn't happened, besides the confusion on his part. He looked back up at me to try it again, and he remembered, though the pain seemed to only increase. It wasn't all physical pain.
Chapter Twenty-six: The Path for Coming to Terms

"Foot!"

I flipped around. The voice broke everything I'd achieved.

"Iris, no!" I shouted.

"Foot!"

He flipped around to her and the moment, the realization, the life, the mentality of my best friend wilted and died. His neck was exposed to me then, and I took my opportunity. My hands shook as they twisted to my larger gun. I pointed it and stood on the frame of the building.

"Myth, no!"

I looked away, whimpered like a beaten dog, and fired the gun. A sickening hole appeared and sprayed his blood in various directions. His body swayed for a moment, already dead, and fell with a crunch louder than either of their chewing had been. I stared down at it with shaking hands as I wrapped my gun about to my waist. I stared down at him, knowing he would spread disease. I would have to set them both on fire, like all the rest. I just didn't feel like, in those moments, that I could do anything but stare wide-eyed.

And also in those moments was there a revolution inside of me. It could not be replayed or told as it would be similar to describing color to a person without eyes. It was alive, a thought. I looked up at the horizon to the destruction and chaos that was spread as far as I could see. It was terrible, and it was a horrible, unhappy hole for people to go and...die. Dying, surely, could not be the purpose of living. To die? Impossible.

I knew that, in my heart, my mind was set. I was to do what they had done – my parents – and I would die fighting if I had to. But I would not aim, as so many others had, to live and then die. There was more than that. I just had to find it. That had always been my job...

"I have to get out of here," I whispered to myself.

I began to climb back with that, back to the place where the best and worst years of my life had been spent.

"MYTH!" Iris shrieked at me.

There was commotion below me, but it made me not move faster as I climbed back into the city of Hand. Iris was immediately upon me, spewing, screaming useless drivel that I could not hear, nor would. It bothered me not until she pushed me, after I had turned around, and the action reminded me of how she had taken Foot from beneath my nose.

I turned around to her. She was breathing heavily in the silence of the crowd. I saw Ollie behind her, watching for me to attack, anxious and nervous for Iris. He was the only one who had ever seen me angry, and I knew he didn't like me when I was angry. I glanced at Fudge, worried and waiting for the same thing also.

I smiled at her suddenly. I walked up to her and in one, fast, fluid motion, I swung. My knuckles made contact with the larger part of her face, but the action sent chills of pain up and down my arm to my injured shoulder. It pleased me. I turned away from her, quite finished, and felt an urgency I couldn't explain. If I waited, it felt like I would lose my chance to live and to escape and to be brave. I wanted to live. I was excited that I would finally get to.

Ollie ran up next to me. He was breathless and worried. He would be leaving soon. I didn't know why he was wasting his prized words as he began to speak with me. I never understood. In fact, right then, I didn't even listen. His confusion for me was exhausting and upsetting, and I couldn't sleep for wanting his approval. I didn't know why. And I didn't want it anymore.

"What are you doing?" he asked breathlessly. "What are you – hey, come on, what are –?"

I jogged into my house to see if there were belongings there that I held dear enough to carry with me to my probable death. I threw off my bloodied shirt and picked up another one.

"Hey!" He waited more. "Hey!"

He grabbed my arms and turned me to him. I was only half dressed, but neither of us noticed. Well. Maybe he did. For a moment.

"What are you doing?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'm getting out of here."

I smiled, too. It was the first time I had smiled in a long time. Too long of a time. I shook out of his arms. He looked stunned with disbelief.

"I'm getting out of here!" I said louder.

I actually laughed. It was a real laugh. It felt good to laugh. Only a small part of me felt wrong at laughing so soon after the death of my family, but it had, in reality been a long while. It had been nearly two weeks. Two weeks was a long time to go in my world. A lifetime of things had happened.

I smiled again, realizing how much would be happening to me in my next two weeks.

"I'm getting out of here..."

"What?" Ollie asked after a moment. He looked a little dazed.

"I said I'm leaving."

I laughed again. Though I was grieved more than I could say, I was ready to move on past the deaths of my friends. It saddened me, but I had lost souls all my life. I would not go through it again because there was no one left to lose. That part of my life was over – the losing.

It was the purpose of that end. The people in my life had died so I could start again. The knowledge of completion satisfied every particle of my body and I felt chills of pleasure. It made so much sense to me. I was done my obligation to lose everything I had. When I had nothing, I was done. I had nothing left to take. I could live for the first time. I didn't have anything to guard. I was free. I was finally free. It was my purpose. I thought maybe Ollie would understand.

"But what about Hand?" he asked.

"I hate Hand."

I looked up to him as I jumped to the backroom. I saw nothing there but my small, empty, deflated bag (besides the book, which I shoved into it). I emptied my bag at the Gallery. I would have to go there to get my belongings.

There seemed to be an internal battle going on the inside of Ollie, similar to Foot's. He wasn't angry with me like he usually was. He felt excitement for an odd reason. I read it in his eyes. Ollie wanted to say something, but he was struggling to keep it down.

"But you will survive in Hand," he said.

His words contradicted his manner. He wanted to say something to me.

I laughed, but it held a sense of such determination to Ollie's reckoning that he even smiled, impressed.

"I don't want to survive. I want to _live_."

I was strangely happy.

I walked out and saw the Outlanders standing in a group, guns and bags and all.

"We're leaving – _now_ , Oliver!" Pierce was watching him follow me.

"Where are you going, Fisher?" Paige asked, eyes on my gun and bag.

I turned to her.

"Ellie." I laughed. "My name is Ellie!"

"Where are you going?" Ali called.

I turned to them and to them all. There was still a sizable group of people in the clearing. They seemed confused.

"I'm leaving!"

I saluted them as I began to climb the framework to leave the town. The gate hadn't been opened in the days since Chess's death in mourning. I wouldn't be the first to open it. The people wouldn't know how to close it at night, if I did open it.

"OLIVER DARK!" Pierce boomed.

He jogged up to us with his bag. He grabbed Ollie's arm when he reached us on the other side. I didn't look back at the town. I already knew what it looked like.

"You disobeyed a direct order!"

"I didn't!" Ollie said defensively.

He hoisted up his own bag, which he had subsequently picked up while I was getting mine. His whole group was walking quickly behind me.

Paige caught up to me as they began to argue further. Her face didn't understand.

"Where are you going?"

Her eyes spoke with awe and surprise. It was surprising that a human could admire me like she was, as I was inferior. Or I had for so long appeared to be.

"I'm leaving Hand," I said confidently.

"But where are you going?" she asked.

Her face turned worried. She grabbed my arm and turned to Pierce and Ollie, as if to speak. She couldn't. They were both arguing some point that neither wanted to back down on.

"I'm going to the Gallery."

I remembered she knew not what it was.

"It's the place of my fortune," I clarified.

I pulled out of Paige's grip gently.

"With the light bulb?" Ali asked in disgust.

She sulked at being sidelined.

I turned to her, deciding whether or not I wanted violence on her. I decided against it as she was soon to be less than a memory of mine anyway. I glanced back at the two of them and was deeply impressed and surprised that Ollie was winning their argument.

"What are they arguing about?" I asked Paige quietly.

She frowned.

"You."

We reached the Gallery with quick time where Ollie and Pierce were finishing the conversation less heatedly than usual. I unlocked the door and reentered cautiously. I needed all the safety I could get. If I died within minutes of leaving Hand, I was worth nothing to anyone as a Cartographer or otherwise.

Ollie was behind me. His presence surprised me, if not annoyed me, and I wanted only to get on my way. His sudden desire to be with me made me angrier than annoyed. I hadn't talked to him since his confession. He had used me, yelled at me, and lied to me. He'd tried to kill me. I kept my distance, in line with his desires.

I did not know what else there was to say.

"What?" I asked after a moment.

"Why are you leaving Hand?" he asked.

"Don't try to talk me out of it and don't try to own it."

I looked up to him, still remembering, with anger, the conversation and confession he had had with Pierce and the rest. The confession he had had to me. He wanted to kill me. He was going to kill me.

"I am not property, Ollie."

I laughed. It wasn't my laugh again; it was the sick laugh. It was his, not mine.

"I'm leaving."

He was frustrated, and he closed his eyes to contain it.

"But... _where_ were you going to go?"

"I was going to leave for the horizon," I said.

"What were you going to eat?" he asked.

"I'm a Cartographer."

"What happens when you run out of ammo?"

"I'm a Cartographer," I said again.

"What happens when you get injured and are bleeding in the middle of the night without ammo? Being a Cartographer doesn't justify everything!"

It took me a moment to decipher his words. Ollie was trying to confuse me with his fastness, so I decided to reciprocate.

"Then I will die, won't I, Ollie? Just like you should have, but I saved you." I was hurt by it. He understood. "I don't need your voice of reason – I know what I am better than you do." I paused, quieter, slower.

"Besides, I'm just an Aio..."

He put a hand on my shoulder, gently. I was too busy packing things to notice or care. It felt odd there though, after what he had said. I didn't want his hands to touch me.

"Ollie, just leave me _alone_ – I'm an Aio...I'm sure I can handle it."

"Do you _want_ to handle it?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he said, "Listen, I have to tell you something..."

I braced myself for more news. I couldn't imagine what more there could be. I could imagine his next sentence, but he stopped as I tensed and turned around.

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"It's just that..."

"What?" I asked, more exasperated.

"I don't know if..."

He seemed so unsure of himself. It was new for him. It was almost childish, in a way, and it made some of my anger lessen.

"What if I...would you..."

He breathed out with frustration as I stared at him. It was almost like when he did he became confused. But he finally looked up and asked,

"What would you say if I asked you to come with us?"

I was stunned.

"What did you say?"

"Do you want to come with us?" he asked.

It reminded me of Pierce's words on how I could not come. They clicked into my own suddenly. They wanted to keep what I was from me – a Deviant. They thought I would not figure it out, and I wouldn't have without Ollie. They all thought I was this weapon to be had – I was nothing more. They wanted to kill me for it and now, they wanted to use me for it. I was tired of being used.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to go."

I scowled at him and continued on with what I was doing. He had expected me to at least listen to his words or to get excited. However, they hated me, so I couldn't get excited. If I had learned anything about his world, it was that it was not a good one. It wasn't a place where I aspired to go.

I began,

"I can't go with you."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why do you say that?"

"I heard you talking about it. I shouldn't. It was disallowed. Besides, why would you ask me anyway?"

"What is your _problem_?"

I rolled my eyes to him, but he couldn't see because I had my back to him. He flipped me around, but I twisted that wrist and put my other hand to his shoulder to keep him away from me.

"Don't touch me, Ollie!" I yelled.

He was surprised and let go sadly. He knew what I felt.

Fear.

"I am _tired_ of you grabbing me! If you do it again, I will break your arm!"

But then I regained myself, smiling viciously.

"I'm not special. Not particularly kind or smart. I never have been."

Realization dawned in his face. It had been what he said. I turned around to continue my work to avoid a considerably awkward situation.

"You said it yourself, Oliver," I snapped. "I was just _necessary._ Good thing I'm not anymore."

He hesitated only briefly before whispering,

"Those words weren't meant for –"

"Shut up, Ollie!" I shrugged angrily to the far wall. "I heard everything you said. And...and if even half of what you said is true, you know that I'll die where you're from."

I glanced at him and saw how uncharacteristically small he looked. I sighed, and he looked up at me. The look in his eyes was different than before. We were suddenly grown-ups talking like grown-ups.

"You know that, Ollie," I said. "I...I can't go back there."

He was holding his breath. I still felt strange fear.

"If it's your job to kill me, they'll want you to do that."

"Are you..." Then, I heard anger. "Do you think I actually will?"

Maybe in disgust. Maybe in fear. I couldn't tell who he was angry at. He wasn't really yelling at me though, he was simply yelling. Maybe at himself. Maybe that he would. Maybe that I thought he would.

"Do you?" he pressed.

I shook my head.

"Ollie, I –"

"Tell me – do you think I'll kill you?"

"I think, _Ollie_ , that you were supposed to already!"

I waited a few seconds, calming down again.

"Isn't that right?"

Silence. Then,

"Yes."

I let out a long breath.

"I think you breathe, eat, and sleep for this man – uh, this –"

"My Master," he said, his face falling.

He was enslaved by his loyalty but it wasn't as if he could change it.

"He will want me dead, as you describe. It matters not if I have whatever cure for Undeath you think I have." I paused, looking him over. "Or if I'm a Great Deviant...Your Exteriors will wipe me out."

I surveyed him closely. He was so appealing to me, suddenly. I would certainly miss him where I was going.

"I'm going to die if I go with you..."

I continued shoving things into that bag.

"Is it..."

He was tentative again. I had never seen him so shy about anything.

"Is it because of me – I mean – _me_?"

I turned to him with the hint of a smile on my face. He was worried. It was cute.

"Not...not really. You are who you are now, right?"

I folded my arms tightly, nervously. I was still afraid of his hands.

"So...no. I don't think the choice is yours. Never has been."

"I made the choice to kill all those Deviants," he said stiffly.

"And you _chose_ ...not to kill me. That counts for something to me."

"Really?" he asked after a moment.

He had expected the exact opposite, I could tell.

"Just keep your hands off my skin or I'll break them, you hear?"

I was joking. He took it as encouragement.

"Then are you coming with us?"

I sighed.

"Did you just listen to what I just said?"

I sighed again, my back still to him. I actually felt bad for having to do it.

"Listen, Ollie...we're...we're going to have to part ways. It's fine."

"Are you breaking up with me?" he asked sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes again with aggravation.

"No – not like – Ollie, come on. Seriously." I shook my head. "Just let me go and we can be done with it."

He flipped me to him again.

"I will _not_ be done with it; you're going to die!"

"And since what time has that mattered to you, my _friend_?"

There was a long silence.

"Are you afraid?" he asked suddenly.

I knew it was just to provoke me into yelling with him. I wasn't in the mood. I knew I had to be in the mood to yell at things, often times. I wasn't in the mood then so his provocation didn't bother me much. It only got me to thinking. I was embarrassed to admit that yes, in actuality, I was afraid.

"Why do I have to explain myself to you? I'm not even _real_."

He looked deep into my face angrily, and we were both content to hate each other for a moment.

"What are you afraid of then?" he asked angrily.

My voice shook with fear as I claimed,

"I'm not."

"What are you afraid of?" he asked again, more persistently. "Are you afraid of me or are you just concerned with the fact that you might actually _be_ something in this life?"

He was very, very close. His grip on my arm was legendary and his anger was absolute. I didn't know why I made him so angry. Then, I remembered. I was a Great Deviant.

"Well? Which one? What is it?" He demanded an answer. "What are you afraid of? Me or Probe?"

I looked away and then back at him. My bag hung loosely in my hand. I tightened my grip on it with difficulty.

I finally said,

"A little of both, Ollie."

I gently took his hand from my shoulder. I found my hand sliding down his arm to his hand, holding it there away from us.

"I'm afraid."

"But I haven't done anything to you," he said weakly.

"And how do I know you won't?" I asked aggressively. "How can anyone know that? You said it yourself; you're a murderer and a liar. You aren't qualified to give advice because half the time things coming out of your mouth are lies anyway."

He looked sad. I wouldn't be moved.

"Well? Aren't they?"

"Yeah..." he muttered, trying hard to look away from me and failing.

"It's...I'm just afraid of – of what could happen. To you. To me...I don't know. To both of us." I was sheepish. I wasn't quite sure why I cared. "This is the right choice, Ollie. Just trust me – come on."

His face was desperate.

"But –"

"It's not you, Ollie. It...it really isn't."

I could see that he didn't believe me. He had expected me to hate him for being a murderer. Or maybe he had hoped that I would.

"I just can't – I don't know."

He didn't say anything. I was closer to him than I remembered him standing.

"I just...You're still a good friend, you know. For telling me. For...for not doing it. You could have and you didn't."

I actually smiled. It was small. It was uncharacteristically shy.

"Thank you."

There was a moment where we didn't hate each other. It was just a moment, but a moment all the same. A very, very close moment. I stared up at him and I felt the beginning of my new feeling, despite everything he had done, everything I was, everything he meant for my existence, I felt safe. I hadn't let go of his hand and I wouldn't, no matter what, look away from his eyes. Safety felt good. So good it almost made me cry with happiness.

Paige came down the steps and was all smiles – he let go of my hand fast without my realizing he had grabbed it. He had been holding it tight and close, bringing me. I dropped his hand. We both glanced at each other awkwardly, and we didn't know why. We looked back at her, both of us flushing. She didn't notice.

"Ellie is such a pretty name!"

She looked at my face. Hers changed. She seemed to sense my resistance.

"But you have to come with us!"

"She wants to go and get herself killed," Ollie said quickly.

He glared, and I looked at him imploringly – exasperatedly. I was about to speak when she asked,

"Has he told you about our world? How different it is?"

I didn't understand but I felt another secret, another legend, was about to unfold. I glanced at him. I wondered if it was common knowledge what he had told me. By the look on his face, a look of agonized imploration, it wasn't. He didn't want me to tell her of his past. It was our secret. It was fine for me to understand that he wanted to keep secrets, but I wanted to know more of their world, secret or not. I always wanted to know more. I wouldn't know more from him if I told his secret. He would never tell me anything again. I let him know I was on his side, at least in this endeavor.

"No," I said.

I looked at him. He didn't look at me, for once. I could see he was relieved and he squeezed my hand next to me, behind us, hidden from Paige. I felt satisfaction at finally doing the right thing for him. At finally having his satisfaction.

"I guess he hasn't."

I turned and continued to pack things in.

She laughed.

"We're from beyond the Great Gate, but we live far, far beyond the Mists."

"Is that possible?" I asked, fumbling with the light that I was about to stuff into my bag.

"Our world is run by science," she said. "And science can be grand."

"I..."

I felt shaken. Things like this didn't happen – they weren't supposed to happen to me. They were supposed to happen to other people, and I was supposed to look at them and pity them, but they did not happen to me.

Paige grabbed my shoulders.

"You need to come with us, Ellie. You'll die if you don't."

"But I don't know anything!"

I was so defensive of the fact, despite the fact that it had embarrassed me for so long.

"I mean I...I know some things like how to stay alive and cook and that kind of stuff...Like counting and cooking and mending. But I don't know anything useful – why?" I shrugged. "Why am I so different? Why do you want me so – badly?"

Paige shrugged.

"Because we have to."

I stared at her, suddenly, and I knew it was a threat. Even if I didn't want to go, I had to follow them, wherever they were going. It might have been the end of the "Earth," but I would never know. The threat was silent and was never acknowledged, but it was a decided cruelty, at best. I packed up the flag, left the Gallery (never to return,) and I walked off with them into the darkness of day.

***

We were going to make good time. I knew that it would be mere days before we reached the drop point, and I felt more and more ecstatic with each day. I felt that I had finally won at something, though I wasn't sure at what. I felt that I was doing something right, that I had accomplished something.

Ellie spoke little but to ask questions, but I knew she always listened when we talked. Sometimes I forgot that she was there and felt a sense that something was missing. I would turn around and she would bump into me and wake from her imagination – whatever it was that was in there. I wanted to know when I couldn't sleep for the noises around us, and I always dwelled on it when there was something close to fear in my stomach. I thought of Fisher and her mind and her dreams and I drew warmth from there.

Fisher was sad and lonely and didn't like being prisoner to us though. And I felt awful for making her that way – all the time wondering why I felt awful, if I should, whether or not I should apologize...and then I recalled that I was finally, for the first time, saving her life instead of the other way around. And I liked it.

***

I learned to know that knowledge was a quick thing when friendless – for that was truly what I was. Ollie, who had spoken barely two words to me after we left, was not my friend. Even Paige, though kinder than the rest, made it known that I was simply an ally – I was an asset for them and meant nothing to her personally. I was a risk, she always told me. It was during the night, and it was in a way that infuriated me. It was bad enough to be told that I was to keep watch each night to ensure their safety, but to receive news that I was fake, that I meant nothing, that I didn't really feel...it drove me to the brink of insanity.

They made me feel, though I held my own, said nothing, and helped out only, that I was being watched like a baby and that it was somehow my fault. It was as if they were doing me a huge favor, kidnapping me. I went to sleep every night I could wishing and wondering what the hell I was doing with them. I knew, beyond anything, that I would be the Outlander of the story in mere weeks. It did not please me.

The information I learned did, however. If I was to be a stranger in their lands, I knew I would need all the information they would allow me.

The world outside was led by Council. The Council, as it was called. The Council and that was it. The people of the outside were awfully boring with their titles, and it did not matter what you wanted to name it, it kept the name of which it was. A gun was a gun. It was not necessarily named. A town was a town. They had names, but they only defined where they were. They were not interesting for this.

Their world was quite war-hardened. There were two cities that were left, one in Canada, Progress, and another in a faraway land called Russia. Other than there, there was the abyss, the Verge, as they called it, and it lacked in the way of being mapped and explored. It was difficult to get from one place to another in their world as their locations were absolutely secret, to hide from these murderous Deviant types. The outsiders, the Forsaken, hemmed themselves into such safe havens. I found it odd to move about from place to place, but I accepted it that it was probably just another freedom that they could enjoy.

The biggest and most popular agency in the world seemed to be Probe, as – by the sound of it – it was the only place where humans could emerge as incredibly intelligent, super-soldiers and maintain a doctorate, as it was called, in another secondary area. Probe did this, apparently, by picking up survivors, uprooting them after they had been saved, and forcing them into lessons at a crucial stage.

Ollie was the most weathered among them, even more than Pierce, which I found surprising. Ollie thought of himself as lesser, but they often counted their violences with me and Ollie always came up with more. He was more of a soldier to me than he was a scientist, and I figured that was how it had always been.

Dwindle was a place named Washington D.C. (District of Columbia, it stood for.) It was the capitol of the free world until the bombings exceeded their limits – I had figured this. The government then suffered a coup, which was sort of like a riot for people who didn't like the way their lives went, Ali said.

The new government of the now was terrible, sloppy, and neared a dictatorship, which was ruled by a very powerful person who liked to kill everyone, by the sounds of it. His name seemed to be Master. They all spoke of him with reverence and respect, but I genuinely saw not the wellness of his character. He killed everything for seemingly no reason, over and over again. There was no point to it.

They always diverted me from this topic, as if I shouldn't say the things I thought for fear he would strike me down, so we always spoke of different things.

Kingdom, they said, was called Earth. There was no paradise as was described, which – in a way – disappointed me. But there was more land than I could possibly ever see with oceans and mountains and valleys and hills. These waters were more wonderful and large and endless than I could have possibly imagined, they said. There were animals, too, or more than in Dwindle, apparently. I only know of two. Wolves and birds – black ones we called crows. There were more birds, and hundreds of thousands of animals crawled about to the extent of the Verge, most changed from the radiation.

The thing Ollie spoke most enthusiastically about was a placed named Progress. It was the first "re-established" city after the Final Hour, and it had set the path for cities like it everywhere. Progress was a beautiful city with massive buildings, as Ollie had described. He seemed to light up while talking about it, and I thought that if he could be that happy about it, then I could be too.

But when they spoke of Progress, they spoke of Probe, and the thought of it made them all darken as they looked at me.

My existence, they told me, was inconvenient. I found it difficult to apologize for existing, and I refused to do it openly to Ollie or to anyone, not even to myself. I was proud of what I was instead of who, and I knew, suddenly, that if all humans were as the humans that I travelled with, I was not going to pretend to call myself human any time soon.

Paige often attacked me with these facts, these numbers, and I found myself often overwhelmed by her knowledge of "my kind." Ollie told Paige to be quiet for my benefit, which I appreciated, but I did not thank him. If defending me was the only way for him to reach out and be my "friend" (whatever that meant to him,) then I was not going to acknowledge it.
Chapter Twenty-seven: The Nature of the Beast

It was I who had led them away from any bloodshed or Undeath, and I felt that their opinion, though largely unchanged, always altered during that time. It was high time almost completely dark when there began dissent among the humans. They whispered in front. I was in back, behind them, though Ollie was near me most of the time. I didn't know why, but he wanted to keep an eye on me. The more time I spent with him, the more he watched my every move. Wary. Waiting.

We began to progress up a long, endless hill of rubble and broken stone. I didn't know where it led to or why it was important, but to the humans it was. They were waiting for something glorious on the other side.

"This is the gate to the outside," Ollie told me gruffly. "So be sharp."

I tried to ignore his sullen tone.

"There's an actual gate?"

He sighed one of his sighs.

"There's always been a gate."

"Shut up!" I yelled with finally snapped impatience.

The group ahead turned around in surprise somewhat but kept moving. Ollie was surprised, anyway. It was not often that he could break me, and it brought him the greatest satisfaction when he did. "It's not like I've ever been out here as of yet!"

He said nothing for a moment. Then,

"You shouldn't be so ignorant of –"

"No," I said, nodding. "You are very right. I should have thrown myself to the mercy of the Undead just so I could see some Great Gate walling us all in like animals. That is what I am, Ollie, right? An animal? Why don't I go join them right now? I'd be better off there than here..."

"Don't get eaten..." He paused. "Or do. I don't care."

"Yeah. I'm an animal. I act like one too." I spat at his feet. "I'm sure you won't mind."

He wiped his foot on the ground angrily.

"Maybe I'll throw you."

"Maybe I'll throw _you_ ," I countered.

He shoved past me with obvious frustration.

"Well you're a –"

"Would you shut up, children?" Pierce yelled from the front. "We're arriving soon! We don't need two corpses to carry instead of a hostage!" I found by his body movements that Ollie resented such outbursts from Pierce, and Ollie shifted sourly. I shifted victoriously. I was finally considered a hostage to them. Finally, they had brought me out into the open. I would finally get the truth. And I was satisfied.

"Why is this such a big deal?" I whispered closer to him.

"You're not supposed to exist. We're going home and we're bringing with us the greatest weapon that has ever walked this earth. You're the only Great Deviant in the world; you're hot on the market, I guess you could say." I felt another stab of pain.

We walked up to the biggest building I had ever seen, and in front of it there was a huge, still thing.

"That's a helicopter," Ollie said as I leaned to ask him.

A man and woman both jumped out. They laughed and greeted Pierce and Paige first. Ali was next. They began talking loudly, and I couldn't understand any of the words spoken. Ollie was last, but his greeting was obviously the most anticipated – or feared. These people looked to him for leadership and guidance. He was a different man than I'd thought.

"Exterior, sir, I...I was not aware that anybody lived in there."

I felt a nervous smile inside of me.

"Holy shit..."

She leaned over me. I tilted my head a little, confused and nervous. I was outnumbered and unarmed, for the most part. Ollie's gun was the only thing I had on me. They'd taken my other weapon. She shook her head when she saw my neck, the burn that named me Aio, and she swore again in the same way.

I didn't know what it meant, but it was probably just another swear or exclamation. I had never heard those words paired together in such a way, but in that I understood that I was foreign to their customs. It was I who was the Outlander, and they deserved respect for my intrusion, not that Ollie and "the gang" had showed it to me. I decided to be the bigger person and to ignore such outbursts.

I glanced to Ollie nervously as the man and woman converged on me. Ollie's eyes were wide, nervous, but they were calm. He was loyal to me. He would protect me.

The woman tilted her head at me, nodded her head at the man, and sneered. It was an Ali sneer, a horrible face. The man came over to me, pushed something to my nose, and it was the last thing I remembered in the land of Dwindle."

***

"And that's how I got here," I said quietly to the silver man without a face.

He nodded his head at me and I think his voice smiled.

"This is all very well. Your compliance is noted."

He stood and walked out of the room without another word. I stood after this and walked about the darkness – sad, afraid, and very, very alone. I knew there was no hope for my escape. Matters into my own hands would have to be taken. I just didn't see how. I needed hope. I needed that false hope I hated so much. I needed _something_.

I couldn't help but think of all of Ollie's descriptions of his own special Deviants, and I couldn't help but to shiver. The room in which I sat – the darkness that I dwelled in – it was all exactly how I had pictured it with Ollie.

Tears would have entered my eyes before – any time before. But I had hardened somehow. It was as if that sleep that the woman had induced brought within me a change. I was glad for it. I could no longer cry, nor would I ever need to.

Behind me, I heard a noise. I flipped around and saw a masculine figure emerge from the wall.

"Ollie?" I whispered tentatively.

Fear.

"Ollie, please –"

"It's me," he whispered warmly.

I flew across the room in relief, only to hesitate a few feet from him.

"Why is it dark?" I whispered to him.

He chuckled.

"On," he said.

The lights suddenly turned on, and we both squinted for a moment. I turned my head up to the source of them in awe, and I realized that they were bulbs. Light bulbs.

"Light bulbs!" I whispered in awe, glancing down at him with a great smile.

I had always thought they would be louder – a hum, perhaps. There was no sound – just the silence of our breath within the hall. The building had a noise to it, of course, but there was no noise from the bulbs. I was oddly disappointed by it. It was not at all how I had expected.

I looked at him suspiciously when he did not take his eyes from me, a tired smile on his face, but eventually I smiled too.

His eyes didn't just seem kinder; there was a definite perception of appreciation within them. His longing was unmasked, and I saw what he felt. No argument. Just warmth. I began to feel that he was suddenly glad he had brought me back (to wherever we were.) It was the greatest, most satisfying, most wonderfully filling feeling I had ever had.

The room took on a different light then, pardoning the pun, and I felt sweet relief enter my bones. It felt secure, suddenly too, and it made me feel better.

"I'm glad you're here," I admitted, laughing with nerves that didn't make sense to me.

He shared these nerves with his next laughter, and silence hung comfortably in the air.

"So..." I finally said. "You are home."

I motioned all around me, feeling strangely out of place.

He eyed me deeply, taking a short step closer to me.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess I am."

He looked so relaxed. The tired lines in his face seemed to have gone, and he looked younger. Clean.

Handsome.

"You look nice," I said, motioning politely up and down him with my hand. "Very...clean."

His smile widened.

"You too," he said, imitating the same gesture I'd just used.

More awkward laughter.

"Are you...happy?" I asked him.

His smile grew into a thing with teeth. I had never seen it as such, and it took my breath away. It was the effect Chess had once.

"Yeah..." he said, nodding. "Yeah, I am."

His smile became strained now.

"You?"

I thought about it, and my mind turned serious.

Thinking and calculating were my strong points, they said. Planning and quickness and fierce, cold, passionate enthusiasm had always been my strong points. So I stayed true to it.

"I don't know yet," I said honestly. "Too soon to say."

"It won't be that bad," he assured, looking around with a yawn.

I smiled.

"A yawn out of Dark, the Great and Terrible?"

He laughed again and glanced back at me just once before making a round around the room. He seemed distracted for the first time in my memory. His focus had always been on me – it had always focused around me.

I felt the tenseness inside of me unravel.

"What next, partner?" I asked him after a while.

He stood tall and looked at me.

"What?"

"Why am I here?"

"I don't know yet. I think they want to help you. Not sure."

"With what?" I asked.

"Hm?" he asked, yawning again.

He looked like a little boy, and it made me feel warm.

"Help me with what?" I said gently.

"We think you have the cure for Necrosis."

Another yawn.

"Have you gone home yet?" I asked softly, gently.

"The others have. I'm just going now."

Fear must have flitted through my eyes.

"I'm going to be in here to see you. Don't worry."

He motioned me over to a large table that had some sort of blanket on it. It was too low to eat off of, and I knew that this had been a table's purpose as it was what my grandfather had said. You often sat around one and ate at it; that's what he said anyway. Ollie sat on it though and my short knowledge was not accurate.

"This is a bed – you sleep on it."

"Why?" I asked, laughing at just exactly how wrong my intelligence had been.

"It's like a mat. Try it."

We sat together and before we knew it we'd lied back, both of us, I on my side, he on his. It struck me once as being mildly inappropriate, but fatigue suddenly bettered me, and I didn't mind getting the chance to fall asleep next to him.

The next time he spoke, I'd obviously been asleep, and I didn't know for how long.

"Okay, though, look," he was saying.

I sat up with difficulty and didn't remember Ollie getting up. He looked at me seriously and had his hands on a thin black box. I blinked hard to rid myself of chills of fatigue, and I wanted nothing more than to fall back into the "bed."

"This is a TV."

"A what?" I asked with a yawn.

"A...a..."

He yawned loudly too. It was contagious.

"A TV – or television, I guess."

I was interested, despite my fatigue.

"What does it do?"

"It's like a box where...you can watch things happen. None of its real – well, some of it is, but I can imagine you won't watch any of that." He laughed at himself. "You press the biggest button and it turns on."

He did so and there was a loud, high piercing scream in my ears. It didn't hurt, but it gave me chills. I had never heard a ring like it, and the fact of the matter was that it pleased me.

There was movement on the screen and talking, suddenly. It was loud, and Ollie pushed another button. It became quieter. I got off the bed to examine it. They were pictures, not real people. It was like the art on my wall of the Gallery, only these people moved and spoke and looked like representations of life. They were colors I'd never even dreamed of before. I got on my knees in front of it and touched the flat part of it cautiously. It was soft, but the characters didn't move. They continued on as if I hadn't bothered them, and I was confused but delighted at their ignorance of me. I touched them again, harder. They continued on to talk and laugh in their own world inside their own box.

I glanced up at him. Ollie was very pleased at my reaction. I looked back, almost as if his pleasure were my permission to continue, and I stared. There was a little man, who was a color I had never seen before, and there was another man that I knew to be pink, as Ollie had explained.

"What are these things?" I asked in pure amazement. They were moving on the screen, talking and living by themselves.

"You'll understand soon, I hope."

"But what are they?"

"This is...oh, Spongebob." He sighed dreamily, as if remembering. "They made these all the way back before the Silent Forties. They're classics. Stopped making them after that. I'm surprised it's even on after..."

"What?" I asked, listening, suddenly. "What's the Silent –?"

"It was the time when everything started. It'll make sense to you eventually. Actually, they probably are just looping old things for you to watch. Maybe they don't want to expose you to anything bad just yet."

The pictures moved with such ease, as if I could reach out to touch them. I did so, but the screen was cool, like a wall made of a flexible glass.

"How does it –?"

"Another story for another night," was his abrupt reply.

I closed my eyes to reprimand myself.

"You're right, I'm sorry."

I moved to face him and realized for the first time how tall he was.

"I'm so sorry," I said up to him guiltily. "You should go."

"It's fine."

"No, you need to rest – I'm sorry."

"I'm fine."

"You've been away from home for months." I smiled as he smiled. "Go get a drink and get a room and then go to sleep."

He laughed appreciatively. I laughed a little too.

"Here. No, I'm serious. Why don't you go – no, I'll be fine."

I looked about the room nervously but then back at him with feigned courage. He bought it.

"I'll be fine. Go home."

He leaned back, impressed again.

"I can –"

"Its fine, Ollie. I'm fine – really."

He was convinced and didn't argue.

"I'm fine. Go home. I'm safe. Look." I motioned around. "No dark, no light, no monsters, no people. I'm fine."

I smiled at him and pushed him away a little.

"I...well...thanks, I guess. I'll...I guess I'll see you some time soon."

He waved a little.

The sensation was strange. I'd never had to bid him farewell like this. I turned from him to hide my fear at this and said,

"Safety and peace, Ollie."

I heard him turn back.

"Good night...Ellie."

This was too much. I let out a whimper and flew across the room to him, wrapping my arms around his chest.

"You said my name," I whispered. "Say it again."

He did so and I squealed happily.

"I like that," I said, squeezing him harder.

"I'll be able to say it more," he said to me. "I'm not going anywhere."

Tears overwhelmed me, but they were good tears. He really was taking care of me, and I felt so safe.

"You know, Ollie," I began, leaning back just enough to look at him, "I think I might owe you one."

"The pleasure is mine," was his reply.

We held on for a long time before letting go, and he was the first one to look back before leaving. When he did leave though, I was afraid for everything unfamiliar, and I began to sigh with the immensity of it. He left to get his booze and his hundred, beautiful women and his fancy room. I was left in quiet with nothing.

I couldn't imagine it any differently, but I knew that not just my back but my entire being was going to change with the new world, and I was just going to have to live with that.

Epilogue: Death in the Snow

I was invincible. I was untouchable. I didn't feel pain. I didn't even feel fear or love or sadness. I couldn't. In fact, there was only one thing inside of me that ate away at me, controlled my every action. It was a fear. And I feared only one thing.

Death.

I feared it so much that I did not allow myself to live. I feared death because I feared life in the way others had it, I feared what was different. And that was why I was not prepared for it.

Death.

And yet, death did not exist. Not in my life. Not in my perfectly stable world. I didn't even believe in death. I dared it to come to me for a change, dared it for the challenge of it, but I think that was because I didn't understand it.

Death wasn't something I could take back. It wasn't a cruel joke or a punch to the face. It wasn't a last job or a lasting guilt trip. Death was permanent. And, like I said, I couldn't have known that because I wasn't even alive.

Death.

I was one of the people that brought about death. I had always scorned at it, laughed at it, mocked those who cared about it.

Death wouldn't happen to me as long as I did not live.

I was so sure that life was that simple. I was positive that nothing would ever mean more to me than pure survival, as that had always been the only thing that I had ever held dear. It kept grief and pain long at bay. I didn't care about living or death because I didn't live and I wouldn't die, of that I had made sure.

But that did not make me invincible from death. It made me simply unaware of it.

That I was above ever meeting anyone in my life who I would care about...that I was above grieving simply because of my blind rage that I had nothing to grieve was ludicrous. It made me cruel with apathy. It drove me on, nevertheless, shamelessly made me into the cold-hearted bastard that could barely be defined as a man...

She understood. She understood death and life and how to live. She was aware of her mortality. She was aware that one day, someday, she would be forced to see her life before her eyes as she wilted away. And she knew that she wanted it to be something worth seeing. She knew what it meant to fight for something worthwhile, to live and struggle courageously for sacred ideals. She knew what it meant to fight people like me. And she knew what it meant to die for it.

Because she had loved life, because she had lived so deeply, Elizabeth Fisher, my only friend, was not afraid to die. People like her didn't have the capacity to fear anything. They were too busy living. They were strong – and quite invincible, more than I'd ever been.

So I had never worried, never even once considered that she might die, that I would have to grieve for her...cry for her...shed tears that she was gone...pray that she would come back.

I stared at this grief with a numbing sense. I had always taught myself that it was dull. It was redundant, painful, useless...Just because one grieved did not mean that the one you wanted would return. It was unnecessary. It was avoidable. I had taught myself techniques to get around things like that, blocking me from everything, blocking me from living, keeping me from dying. Feeling wasn't in my cards, after all. There were so many other things that were, but feeling was not one of them.

But in that moment, at that place, with that feeling...I knew that I was wrong about everything.

I reevaluated my life and I realized it was brief, that it was only when I was with her that I'd truly begun to live. And I saw that the veil I'd kept over my own eyes when death came around was conspicuously absent.

The guilt was gone. The shield that I had clutched to was gone. Everything that I had ever thought had changed. In the year and a half that she had been in my life, she had ripped that comfort apart.

It hurt, I realized. Sorrow hurt on the inside – like someone had taken a knife, snuck into a deep imaginary castle within my heart, and stabbed the king over and over and over again. It came in jabs that took my breath away. And, for the first time, I experienced pain that was not from my body.

My body was human. But it was not me. And I felt what I truly was. And I realized that there were two halves to me, one that was strong and able that was my body and one that was weak and malnourished that was my soul. And I realized that my weaker side had never felt real pain before.

It was like an old factory being turned on for the first time in fifty years...the cogs wound well enough to function, but they weren't used to the duress. I came to find that the duress ate away at me. It shook my hands, working its way up my extremities to my very heart, to my chest, to my very skin. I was covered in chills of the acutest kind. I couldn't even begin to fathom what was happening to me – what had happened to her.

I hadn't believed it possible. She was invincible, more than I was. She was fiery, passionate, beautiful...Everything about her sparkled with life. And, suddenly, she looked acutely different to me. It was like I was seeing her for the first time, and her body was still.

I hadn't believed it. When I heard it, I actually laughed with disbelief. I had waited for that phone call...for someone to tell me that she was okay. When they told me, I knew it wasn't real. She was so bursting with life. She couldn't have died.

I ripped myself out of me and I became aware of a figure that lay before me. I dropped my knees to the freezing earth. My knees shook to support my own weight, and I shifted to be more comfortable beside her. My eyes went all over her in a way they never had before. I did not recognize who it was.

The chest of the woman on the ground did not move, as it did not breathe. It didn't even shiver with the snow that began to pound against her. But I supposed only living things could establish that they were cold. That they needed warmth. That they needed something, someone, somewhere to be warmer.

I wished I had made her warmer. I had taken so much from her...I had made her colder. I stripped her of her very happiness. I had met all of her kindnesses with contempt, even with loathing.

Why I had done it, I suddenly didn't know. It was as if the logic that I held so close to me had never existed. Why did I need to bring her down? There was no real reason for it. She had done nothing but save my life time and again in more ways than she could realize...and I was mean. I wasn't strong or cool or tough – I was pathetic. And weak. I had always known that, and it had made me cruel to her – for trying to convince me otherwise. And what was worse...she still called me friend. She had always called me friend.

It was farcical to say she was anything less than man, as she was more of a man than I would ever be. I couldn't even imagine what I had been thinking when I told her she had no right to call herself human. That she wasn't genuine was a crazy, stupid thing to say. It didn't matter what she was, what she wanted to call herself, what Probe did. She was the most alive person I had ever met. She was better than me in every way, in a way that made me want to be better – if for nothing else but to impress her.

I reached out a hand to touch her face, but I couldn't quite do it. It felt wrong to be touching her when she didn't recoil. It felt so strange to hold my hand near her, to want to touch her with my bare skin and not feel her body tense with fear. At the thought, my eyes struggled to reach her face, where I waited for her eyes to crunch together with the shame she felt for herself, shame she felt because I had made her ashamed.

I almost expected her death to be a cruel joke she played, one she wanted solely to see what she meant to me. I waited for her to pop up with her lopsided, cavalier smile. She had the teeth of a lion – straight and meticulously clean. Before those teeth were her chapped lips, her used lips, her lips that I had looked to with so much reliance, so much need. I had never realized that I had relied on her so much to speak, to instruct me, to speak with me, but it became immediately apparent to me that I had. When they did not move, I found them to be disturbing.

She was like a beautiful doll of the woman I admired, but she was not the woman. How could she be? That woman was alive. This woman was dead.

I waited and waited for something – anything. I waited for those rules of indifference to sweep me up from the slippery slope and take flight away with me into the cold, into the night. I waited for them to tell me that I waited for no man, no woman, especially no Deviant.

And yet I waited for her eyes to open more, waited for her to show me her silvery irises, dashed and speckled with nearly every shade of blue imaginable. They were beautiful dancing eyes. They performed for everyone with just a glance, and they shook me every time I saw them. I wanted to see her face light up as it always did for me. She smiled with those eyes. No one else had ever dared look at me like she had. She was the only one to ever talk back, ever retaliate, ever laugh at me.

It frustrated me before...and it had made me an animal. My need to make her less than I was, to make her proud of me, to keep her from laughing at me, to prove to her that I could be as good as she was, had consumed me like a fire.

She didn't move. I couldn't understand why she wouldn't move. I moved to her eyes again, my hand still outstretched, moving over her body all over but not touching. I had always wanted to feel what she felt like...feel her flesh under my hands, feel the warmth of her skin, but I couldn't.

It would have been disrespectful, even though I knew every corner of her skin, front and back. I had only seen it a few times due to mistakes of my own and hers, but it didn't keep me from knowing what I'd already seen. I had never looked at her intentionally, never meant to observe and learn, but I had. It was as if I had memorized where her freckles were, where her scars had been. She was completely natural, not altered, not fake, not smooth or hairless or soft. She was real. And the stranger thing was – I didn't even care. There was no lust, not like there usually was. There was respect. And guilt for having seen what was not mine. Had it been any other beautiful woman, I would have laughed inside for what I had witnessed...but...she wasn't like every other woman. I just wished I had realized that sooner.

I wasn't smart about the way I spoke to her. I was unsure how to treat her differently, kinder, sweeter than others...I just knew that I had to somehow. I needed to make her know how important she was to me, but I had never known just how to do it, especially when my jealousy of her ability to live when I could not overcame me. I just wasn't good at being nice, being normal, acting normal. And she was. She was always good at making me feel things.

She was always disappointed in me somehow too. She never voiced it...but it was in her tone sometimes. She was frustrated, like I wasn't trying hard enough to be her friend. In reality, being with her was the hardest thing that I had ever done in my entire life and I worked on the words that came from my mouth like I had never worked at anything before. She made me frightened and nervous and shaky. I didn't know why. But that nervousness made me stupid, made me say stupid things. It left me with the need to say something smart – just once.

I couldn't ever think of anything. I had tried, I had really tried, but, in the end, it was never good enough. And that was when I got mean, when I got angry. I would say cruel things to her, but my inability to speak around her wasn't her fault, it was mine. I was the idiot, not her. I was the pawn, the little imbecile that was never good enough for anyone.

Why I wasn't good enough, I didn't know. I didn't know what I had to do. I tried everything to be better so that she would be proud of me. I had worked tirelessly to improve myself so that some higher power would turn her opinion of me in my favor, warm her to me.

I had thought it would be easy. That was probably why it didn't work. Because it wasn't easy. It was so difficult that I lost sleep over it, obsessed over it. And I wouldn't change. I didn't know why. It made me feel intense self-loathing that I was different, that I couldn't help her when I desperately wanted to, that I couldn't speak just when I looked into her eyes sometimes.

I turned back to her body. It was small, but it had grown much larger and taller than it had been six months ago when she first arrived. Her face had changed, matured, aged, and experienced like it was meant to, and she was growing into it well. Her hair was long...much longer than when I had last seen it.

The wind was cruel. It made her hair move. It made me wonder if it was actually she who shuddered or if the wind was truly playing tricks on me. I tucked her hair behind her ear, careful not to touch her skin. But as I did it, I pulled her head into my lap. My head leaned over her face and stared deeply at it, as if I was admiring a beautiful painting. She was so beautiful – she was just so absolutely, stunningly beautiful...I became confused. I had never seen anything more beautiful. I began to wonder how I had never seen it, why I had never seen it. It was just another thing on the list of my shortcomings.

I finally moved the tips of my knuckles to the flesh on her face – with a cry of anguish. It was my turn to wince away...It had always been my turn. My palm made full contact with her cheek, but her skin was hard and cold.

I cried out again, looking to the sky. It was a cry of lamentation, so familiar to me and yet so foreign from my own lips. It escaped my mouth loudly and as I heard it I began to struggle to see. I held her body close to me. But it wasn't my friend. It was my friend's body.

I let out another cry of torment. The pain came fast. My hands shook and my body became cold with the thing I held onto so dearly, so lovingly, it would have been as if she were my very own...I cried into her chest as I held her, buried myself in her stiffness. I felt tears fall past the very tips of my eyes, my cheeks, my neck. The water rushed out of me in gasps of pain, suffocating me with its determination to escape from my body. I waited dearly, desperately for her to come to me with her arms, bring my head from her chest where I waited for her heart to beat, where I listened like I had never listened for anything.

There was only silence. I laid there for long, long minutes, waiting and knowing, sobbing and praying. I closed my eyes with wanting her back, opened my heart so that I would be able to see her as she had been. But, when she didn't move, I stopped.

I pulled her to me again and rested my head on her chest that would never move again. I wished, I waited for her to wake up.

"Ellie..." I whispered to her softly. I barely moved my lips for the pain of it. "Ellie..."

I knew that she would respond. She loved it when I spoke her name. She deserved to hear her name over and over again if she wanted it. She deserved everything I could give and more, because I couldn't give her nearly half of what she deserved. I hated that.

"Ellie...please, wake up..."

I held her hand to my face, and I brought it to my lips over and over again. It was soft with the occasional scar, and I felt new guilt. She had a way of making me angry. She had a way about her that forced me to believe she deserved punishment, even though I should never have laid a hand on her. In reality, I didn't, but I'd come close – far too close. They had manipulated me into thinking she deserved this...that I even considered it made me a fool. My offenses were unforgivable. Her death was God's way of punishing me for what I had done to her. I had known I would lose something. But this...this was far too much, too painful, more than I could have ever guessed.

"Ellie...wake up now, Ellie...Come on. You have to wake up now..."

My lip curled into itself as I knew that she wouldn't. I knew what had happened. I had always known what had happened, what would happen. I could have been there for her. I could have helped her. I wanted to help her. I had once asked why I had even bothered...before I had turned into the cruel beast that she had come to know...

But I could have saved her. I could have stopped it. I could have stopped it all. I could have kept her away from those horrible things, those people...and I had let her go. She hadn't been strong enough because I wasn't there to help her. I had never needed to be.

It had always been her place to be the strong one. She gathered loyalty like a disease, and it was the most infectious one on the face of the planet. That loyalty drew all kinds of people to her...everyone and everything flocked to her side in a moment's notice simply to say that they could. She was so strong that way. But even the greatest ship needed a bottom to float upon...I could have been that bottom, that supportive base. It was my right; it was my privilege; it was my job. It was my job. I had failed her so miserably...I had failed her in every possible way...And she called me friend.

"I'm sorry," I whispered softly. I closed my eyes for shame. "I'm so, so sorry..." I felt swollen. "I made a mistake..."

I took a deep breath without breathing.

"You'll never..."

I couldn't say it. I didn't want to hear that she would never forgive me. She wouldn't have the opportunity to.

I let go of her with another grunt of effort and stood up as I placed her on the ground before me. Before I turned away, I leaned over and kissed her forehead. She was so cold...

I turned my back on the hole, turned my back on her beautiful face that was no longer living. The man passed me as I walked away, and I wept more and more with the rhythms of his spade. I finally turned and watched, forcing myself to, suffering through it as I knew she would have for me. I had to see it. I had to see him do it. I wanted to.

The man lifted her up carefully and placed her into the hole he made. I began to blind myself with the tears as I saw him shove more and more dirt onto her. I waited for her to yell at him from that hole. I waited for her to get up as more and more of her body was obscured. Tears poured down my face as I stared, far after the man had gone and her grave was done. I waited there so that she would wake up, so that when she did, I would most certainly be there.

But Ellie didn't wake up. She was dead.

***

I took pride from the fact that it took six men to carry me away, but only just. Where I was going was up to them, not to Ollie, even if it had been his orders...I had always wondered what it would be like to be truly betrayed. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. It brought only darkness. And silence...and fear.

Something horrible was waiting for me, I knew it. I had a strange feeling that I had only glimpsed the surface of Ollie's dangerous world. And I had a feeling that it was never going to get better. And, most of all, I had a feeling that, for the first time in my entire life, I was completely and utterly alone.

I was not going to die. They could have done that already...but, already, in that dark room full of strange, silent people...I sort of wished that I was.

###

Thank you for sticking with the book, and for supporting me as a budding author. Writing novels is a journey every time, and I am very excited you could be a part of it. If you have any thoughts about it at all, I invite you to take a moment of your time to leave me a review! All constructive reviews are welcome!

Thanks again for your support!

Audrey Higgins

About the Author:

Audrey Higgins is currently a student at the University of Rhode Island in the hopes of attaining a Bachelor's in Writing and Rhetoric. She has been an avid reader and writer of books since she was very young, but has always fostered a specific love for science fiction and fantasy. Because of this, she is drawn in particular to video games and movies of the same genre.

Beyond that, Audrey enjoys languages, and is studying three: Chinese, Russian, and Spanish. She has also recently begun to study Latin. She is currently seeking minors in Russian and Chinese.
