Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[The Man Who Sold The World]

{Taylor Anne Hebert, Date: Unknown, Time: Unknown}

“Taylor, get down!-- You are above even the Boss.”

Slowly coming too, I opened my eyes, and started slowly blinking, trying to get the spots out of my vision while figuring out where I even was, soft sounding music was playing nearby, the volume nearly deafening for some reason.

[We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when]

Looking to my right I managed to barely see a wall, and what was maybe a dresser or table along said wall, my mind was… fuzzy ‘Mama… Papa… where are you?’

“I hereby award you the title of Big Boss.”

[although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend, which came as some surprise]

Looking left while trying to remember what had last happened, I saw that everything was brighter over there, with what was most likely a ceiling fan spinning in the middle of the room, ‘My head hurts, why does it hurt.'

[I spoke into his eyes, I thought you died alone, a long long time ago]

Continuing to try to figure out where I was, I watched as spots faintly played in my vision after I blinked. What happened, why was I here… I was in the backseat of a car with people talking in the front seat, no, no, I had been on the ground, leaning my back against a wall as alarms sounded around me.

“For ten years, we lived and died together. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

[Oh no, not me, I never lost control, you're face to face, with the man who sold the world]

Looking left again, I wearily realized I was in a double room, laying my head back I stared at the roof for an inordinate amount of time, attempting to recall anything, but only being met with… an emptiness. Looking down, I looked slightly to the right and then began looking left again, blinking heavily as I did, the music still playing as tears began to well up in my eyes ‘Why can’t I remember?’

[I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home, I searched for form and land]

I could remember now, a… a man… wearing a bandana was standing over me raising a pistol to my head, but I also… I also remember the force of a seatbelt locking me in place. The squealing of rubber as a car braked, screaming, metal crunching. The man fired, and the alarm went quiet, ‘Is this how it happened?’

Looking back to the right, I blinked as a figure walked past the end of my… my bed? Yes, I was in a bed. As I realized this, what had to be a nurse walked up to my bed side with something in her hands. Where I watched as she set it down by my legs before she leaned over me to begin adjusting something above me and to the right, ‘Who are you? Have you seen my parents?’

[For years and years I roamed, I gazed a gazely stare, and all the millions here, we must have died alone]

With the sound of static disrupting the speaker, my vision cleared as the volume turned down, I could hear the beeping of monitors now. The bed beneath me shifted as the nurse on my left reached for something above me. Looking to the right, I spotted another nurse, this one blonde, looking at the monitors that had to be hooked up to me.

“Don’t worry, honey, we’ll be right here watching over you.”

[A long, long time ago, who knows? Not me, we never lost control]

Looking left as the blonde nurse walked around the foot of my bed and to the other side of the barrier blocking my side of the room from the other. The brunette nurse packed up the case she had set down, before she left the room. Her heels clicked on the floor as she did.

[You're face to face, with the man who sold the world]

Looking around as my vision properly cleared up a bit further, I spotted a small wooden drawer with an old radio on top of it, the one playing that annoying yet, weirdly familiar music. Glancing around a bit more, I spotted a large medical cabinet past the foot of my bed against the wall on the left, some tables, or something to the right of it, ‘Where am I? This isn’t home… Home! I remember! Mama, Papa, where are you?’

Watching the blonde nurse begin moving to leave, I attempted to speak, a wordless noise escaping my lips, but, it was loud enough for the nurse to pause and look at me, quickly walking up to me, the nurse leaned in and began looking at my face before she spoke, "Look at me."

Trying to speak again, I once again only managed to let out a wordless noise, causing the nurse to lean away in shock. Before she turned and ran for the door, knocking the radio off of the drawer, where it clattered to the ground, the music sputtering out as the nurse yelled for the Doctor,  ‘N-No, don’t leave, please don’t leave me here! I-I don’t want to be alone.’

Watching the doorway, my vision slowly faded away before I fell unconscious again. This time, I remembered a helicopter, someone who had the word “medic” across the front of her… vest?  And two people in prison jumpsuits.

(Date: Nove.-’March, 19-.’2r09, Time: Unknown)

Waking up again, I could hear rustling, and the sounds of movement before an old accented voice spoke, "Can you hear me!" My vision faded briefly as he spoke again, his voice unnaturally loud, yet soft, "Can you hear me!"  Forcing my eyes open, my vision cleared as the sound of my heartbeat monitor reached my ears, the monitor was also much louder than it should've been, but its enhanced volume faded after a few seconds, ‘A hospital… Why am I in a hospital? What happened?’

The doctor shifted before speaking a third time, "Are you having difficulty speaking? Can you move your head?"

Leaning in ever-so-slightly, he spoke again, "Just nod if you can hear me." Leaning back, he watched me with one arm crossed under the other, his left hand just in front of his chin.

Moving my head, I looked at him and managed to nod, albeit barely and not without some straining. Leaning, the doctor spoke while nodding, "Very good," I blinked as he stood up straight while speaking, "Please try to relax," I watched as he leaned forward slightly, bracing himself with his hands on the side of my bed, "There is plenty of time."

Standing up again, he clasps his hands together, "I need to tell you something. Please listen, and try not to panic."

Walking to the foot of my bed I tracked him with my eyes, turning my head as I did so I could keep my eyes on him, as he continued speaking, "You've been in a coma… for quite some time," stopping at the foot of my bed he looked at me while splaying his hands before clasping them again, "Yes, yes, I know. You'd like to know how long…"

Walking up the left side of my bed, I could feel a pit of dread growing in my stomach as I waited for him to say how long, he continued speaking, upon stopping at my left side, "I'm afraid it's been three years."

My eyes widened at how long it had been, but also because I could remember it, the squealing of rubber on asphalt, screaming, the sound of metal being crushed and then… then. I began struggling, attempting to get out of this bed, wordless noises spilling from my lips as my heart rate spiked, the monitor blaring as the doctor rushed forward to hold me down.

"Damn it!" He said before he began speaking in what I realized was Greek, "Νοσοκόμα! Νοσοκόμα! Νοσοκόμα! Nurse!" Looking to my right, I watched as the nurse came running up with a syringe. Lashing out in a panic, my right arm whipped out with an amount of force that shocked even me in my panicked state, and nearly hit the woman in her ribs as everything became clearer, and the nurse's movement slowed.

Barely missing, I felt my fingers brush against the nurse’s shirt before the doctor reached over and grabbed my arm, pinning it to my side as he continued holding me down, before the woman brought the syringe down and stuck into my arm, where she depressed the plunger. Quickly, everything sped back up, my heart monitor becoming deafening before it faded away, leaving only the voice of the doctor, as my struggling slowed.

"Calm down, calm down, try not to panic, βοηθήστε με! Try not to panic."

With the sedative taking effect, my vision fading and heartbeat slowing, the doctor spoke, "Now then… You'll be alright," As I fell asleep, I heard him speak faintly one last time, "There now, just rest."

The muted sound of a helicopter's rotor blades, a blonde-haired girl with a buzz cut screaming as a woman dug into her abdomen, the sight of oil rig platforms and helicopter wrecks burning in the ocean water. The smell of smoke, fire, blood, and explosions barely audible to my ears are all that greet me in my dreams as I fade into that dark ocean once more.

(Date: Dece.-’Mar, 19-.’2r09, Time: Unknown)

Opening my eyes, one of the first things I noticed was that the room was darker ‘Must be night’ I thought wearily before the nurse beside me said, “How do you feel?” She then leaned back and began… switching out my IV bag, watching as she grabs the bag, I stopped watching the nurse and looked to my left after hearing the doctor begin speaking.

“It has been five days since you initially woke up. Now then… Let's try getting you out of that bed," He said before looking across the bed, "Nurse." He then stood up and walked closer, where he placed a hand on the front and back of my shoulder, the nurse doing the same on my left side before they lifted me until I was sitting up in the bed.

"Don't worry. You've lost some strength, but we've been maintaining your muscle mass through massages, CPM therapy, and EMS. Now, I need to explain something to you, but you mustn't be alarmed." I didn't know what those last two things were, but I acted like I did, after all I could always learn what they were later, maybe I can ask mom when I see her again.

As the doctor turned off the radio I looked to my left, and watched as the nurse quickly did something before turning to face the doctor as he continued speaking, having moved to the foot of my bed, "Two years ago, you were injured — in an explosion."

He then placed an X-Ray of someone's torso on the board before turning to face me. I quickly realized it was my torso, but what was all the white on it? "Upon examination, we discovered 300-and-78 foreign bodies embedded within you," oh, that's what those are.

Turning slightly, he continues, "In addition to shrapnel, we also found fragments of human bone, and human teeth. Most of it was removed, but… some of the fragments still remain… They are located near your heart," He placed a hand on his chest, "and in your skull," He placed two fingers on the side of his head.

He lowered his hand before reaching into the envelope and grabbing another X-Ray, pulling it out he placed it on the broad, and my eyes widened while my heart plummeted as he continued, "The fragments are located deep within your cerebral cortex. We couldn't give you an MRI — the metal, you see. But even if we were to extract it, you would most likely suffer… A brain hemorrhage."

Pausing, he looked at the board for a moment before looking back at me, continuing to speak even as my eyes stayed locked onto the x-ray of the shard of metal stuck in my forehead, "Mental and physical impairment are… unavoidable, however your current status is not life-threatening."

Reaching into the envelope, he glances at me, "One more thing." He then pulls a third X-Ray out, "This X-Ray is of your upper body." He then placed it on the board, where I freeze up in terror upon examining it, keeping my eyes locked onto the picture, and only the picture, I noted the sound of my heart monitor spiking in both volume and speed. 

When he spoke, I struggled to pull my eyes away from it, "You'd better look now. Best to understand your situation sooner than later." Looking at me fully, he continues, "I know it's difficult, but please look down." At his encouragement, I began slowly looking down, first at my right arm, "It's best to see with your own eyes… Be brave."

Looking left, I raised my arm, and saw only bandages that ended slightly below my elbow, dimly, I noted my heart monitor beginning to blare as I started hyperventilating while my arm began shaking, pain shooting up from where the rest of it should be. Snapping my head up to look at the doctor as he’d moved forward, I heard him say, "Νοσοκόμα, γρήγορα!"

Grabbing me by the shoulders, he spoke as I started to move, "Try to calm down. Calm down." The nurse then injected me with something again, causing me to bring my attention to her. Before I looked directly at the doctor who had started speaking while I was distracted, "Please calm down. It's going to be okay. Better, yes, yes? Calm down. Yes. Better… Yes…"

My vision faded once more as my heart monitor calmed down, my mind returning to rest once again. And with the sleep, came the dreams of yelling, a door opening with the sound of barely audible mechanical noises, cold air blasting onto my face, yet the feeling of rolling in a car. The smell of salt and blood, more yelling or is it screaming, the crunching of metal as the roof of a car is crushed against the ground, heat, and then pain.

(Date: Decem.-’March, 19-.’2r09, Time: Unknown)

Wearily waking up, I started opening my eyes before shutting them immediately, the light of the morning sun blinding to me, yet… the feeling of it on my skin, it felt… nice, peaceful, right. Hearing footsteps approaching from outside my room, I turned my head to the side and hesitantly opened my eyes.

Adjusting to the light after a few moments, I slowly turned my head, finally able to get a good look at everything on this side. Looking down the length of my bed, I saw two medical cabinets and a small counter against the far wall. Slowly turning my head, wincing when my neck popped, I spotted a rather comfortable-looking chair resting directly in the sunlight by the window. Turning my head further to the left, I saw my IV-drip and heart monitor, alongside some other monitoring equipment I don’t recognize.

Past the machines, I could see two rows of small tables, both at different heights, on the left of the tables were some cabinets, while sitting on top of the tables were pots of flowers. And the flowers, they were… some of the most beautiful ones I’d ever seen, petals pure of white, with green stripes on the bottom. But, the majority of them were… what’s the word… dormant? Yes, the majority of them were dormant, with only a handful of them having bloomed.

Looking away from the pretty flowers when I heard the sound of the door opening, I watched as the same doctor and nurse from last time walked in. Spotting that I was awake, a gentle smile spread across his face as he walked over to my bed side. Coming to a stop by my bed side, he spoke as the nurse walked around the foot of my bed and began unhooking my IV-drip, “It is nice to see that you are awake,” clasping his hands together he continued, “It has been two days since you fully awoke, and I need to ask you some questions, and then I must tell you some things. Now, simply nod if you feel up to answering them.”

Wordlessly nodding at him, I watched as he gave a small nod of his own before saying, “Very good,” leaning forward, he continued speaking as the nurse switched out the IV bag with… something else, whatever it was, it had specks of green and cyan-blue floating in it.

“What is your name? When were you born? Can you recall?” Asked the doctor as he stood straight again, before crossing one arm under the other, and moving his left hand to rest just in front of his chin.

Putting in some effort, I found it only slightly easier to speak now, as I said, “Ta–Taylor Hebert. June–June 11th, 1995.”

Briefly leaning back in, he said, “Good.  Now,” leaning away, he clasped his hands together as he continued speaking, “Do you remember what happened when you were last awake?”

Nodding, I said, “I don’t want to, sir, but I do.”

Nodding his head in sympathy, he said, “I must admit, I was quite worried you wouldn’t remember who you are, nor the events of a few days ago. But it is good that you do.”

Walking to the foot of my bed, he continued, “How are you feeling, any… pain, numbness, shortness of breath?” Shaking my head, he said, “itching, headaches, nausea?” Shaking my head again, a small smile graced his lips before he said, “That is good. Now, my name is Doctor Constantinou. And I am here today to make sure there are no underlying issues after you’ve awakened. In order to do so, I must ask if you are willing to undergo some basic tests.”

Nodding my head, I watched as he walked up the left side of my bed while taking out a small flashlight, leaning down, he said, “I need you to look into and then follow the light please,” before he pointed the light at my left eye and turned it on. Following the light with my left eye, he eventually switched over to my right one, seemingly looking for something. Bringing the light over to my left eye in a straight line, I followed it with both eyes as he slowly went back and forth twice.

Turning off the light with a small hum, he glanced at the nurse, who I noticed, as I blinked the spots out of my eyes, was noting something down on a clipboard. Looking up at the doctor once the spots were gone, I said, “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing wrong. At least with what I can see,” putting the light off to the side when he turned around and went back over to the small cabinet, Constantinou continued speaking as he opened a second drawer, “Now, this next test is mandatory, and for that I am sorry as it can be uncomfortable, but you were just in a coma and before that an accident.”

Grabbing something, he closed the drawer and walked back over to me as I asked, “What kind of test is it?”

While opening a small paper pouch, the doctor said, “A gag reflex test.” He then pulled out a penlight and turned it on before gently tilting my head back ever-so-slightly while saying, “I need you to open your mouth wide for me.”

Doing as he asked, I watched as he shined the light into my mouth as he said, “I am going to test your reflex now. Simply try to restrain any adverse reactions you may feel.” I nodded ever-so-slightly at his words, before feeling something gently press against the back of my mouth. Gagging involuntarily, I watched through slightly teary eyes as he turned the light off after a moment and withdrew the small stick he’d pressed against the back of my mouth. 

Closing my mouth, I continued watching as he threw both the paper pouch and the small wooden stick he used in a small, sealed red trash can before I asked, “So… what was that for?”

“To test if your gag reflex still worked properly, since it does, and I should be able to allow you to have solid foods relatively soon.”

“And what if my gag reflex didn’t work properly?” I asked with a tilt of my head, curiosity audible in my voice.

“Well, if either the reflex didn’t engage, or it did, but was asymmetrical, then I would be scheduling you for neurological testing as either of those things happening means there could be underlying brain damage.” Said Doctor Constantinou as he clasped his hands together while standing beside my bed.

“Will I need to undergo any more tests?”

“Not any physical ones, no. I will have to have your blood drawn before we leave so it can be checked. But that will be all for today, tomorrow we’ll have to perform a spinal tap. But that is tomorrow, for now, simply enjoy the sun, being awake, living.”

Turning he made his way around the end of my bed and made for the door near the end of his sentence, pausing in the doorway, he looked over his shoulder at me, “I’ll have a nurse check on you periodically, and when lunch comes around bring you something. Goodbye for now, Taylor, I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow.”

Watching as he left, I saw him look down at a clipboard in his hands before turning left and moving out of view. Hearing footsteps on my left, I turn and look at the nurse still in the room with me. Getting a gentle smile from her before she turned her attention to the drawer she was standing in front of. I watched as she took a needle and some other things out of the wall-mounted cabinet.

Turning, she quietly made her way over to me, where she said, “You’ll only feel a small pinch and a slight sting.” As she gently squeezed around my bicep before opening a small pack and rubbing the damp cloth that was inside of it on my upper arm. 

Grabbing the needle with the strange thing on the end of it, I watched as she brought it up, and then carefully slid it into my arm, blinking. I lightly winced at the sensation of it going in. Before continuing to watch as she drew my blood.

Chapter Text

[Regret and Acceptance]

{Date: Unknown, four days after fully waking up, Time: Unknown}

Slowly opening my eyes, I awoke to the sound of footsteps getting closer to my room again, carefully lifting my head. I watched as Doctor Constantinou and Nurse Espérance walked through the doorway to my room. As they did, I noted that Constantinou was carrying a case with his right hand.

Setting the case down on the small table to my left, Constantinou turned to face me and said, "Hello Taylor, how are you feeling today?"

"I — I could be doing better, sir. But I get the feeling that's not what you're here about."

"It is not, but it is good to hear you are recovering, please, if you would show me your arm."

Knowing which arm he was talking about, I slowly lifted the amputated appendage, and when I lifted it up enough, he grabbed a small roll of sewing measuring tape from the drawer of my nightstand. Before he wrapped it around the stump that ends three inches below my elbow.

Noting down the measurements, he unwraps the measuring tape from around my arm, and puts it away before turning back towards the case. Letting a mix of curiosity and hope into my thoughts and a small amount into my voice, I said, "What was that for, Doctor Constantinou? What’s in the case?"

Opening the case with the clicking of its latches, he spoke as he grabbed whatever was in it and lifted it from the case before turning towards me and presenting it to me. My eyes widened when I could clearly see it, "A prototype, one based off of something developed in the late-seventy's to early-eighty's by a soviet scientist, and then later perfected by a now defunct PMC."

Staring for a few more moments, I swallowed a lump in my throat before saying, "H-how does it work? I mean, will I need surgery or something to attach it?"

Smiling at me, Nurse Espérance spoke for the first time since I had met her, "Not at all, and the arm itself is controlled by Myoelectric Control: The bionic arm primarily functions through myoelectric signals generated by your residual limb muscles. So when you flex specific muscles, sensors embedded in the arm will detect the electrical impulses, which are then translated into movements by a microprocessor within the device. Which allows you to control the hand's grip, wrist rotation, and other arm-based actions intuitively."

Staring at the nurse for a few moments, I blinked before saying, "I-I didn't understand half of that." In a bewildered tone.

I then turned to face Constantinou who, as he began speaking, was hiding a small smile, all while Miss Espérance sighed and muttered something about, "Kids these days."

"What she means, Taylor, is that you will be able to move it just like your original arm, if with the ability to fully rotate your hand 360 degrees."

"Ohhh, cool," looking down at the arm I continued, "So, how will it attach to me?”

Turning the arm so I could look at the connection area, Constantinou spoke, "The anti-chafe padding on the inside is filled with a specially made gel, which upon the arm being put on, well your arm, will inflate and push any air out of the socket, allowing the arm to hermetically seal to the 'glove' that will be placed over your own arm."

"What about water or sweat? Won't that be a problem," I asked, looking back up at Doctor Constantinou.

"No, not at all, the arm is fully waterproof, as for sweat, just press this button here," he flipped the arm over to expose a small recessed button on the inside of the arm near where it connects, "Just press this, and the gel will either expand or condense and allow for you to take it off if you ever wish too." The man said

"What happens when I regain my muscles? Will I need another arm?"

"Not at all, I've had it sized to fit an arm with nearly double the muscles you would've had at your current age, the only way this arm won't fit is if you take steroids."

Looking from the arm to Doctor Constantinou and then to Nurse Espérance, I looked back to the arm and thought about it before looking at the old man and nodding, "I'll give it a try."

"Good," Doctor Constantinou said, then set the arm on my bedside before turning back to the case and retrieving what I had to guess was the sleeve. He then turned back to me and stepped forward, removed the bandages, and slid the “glove” on.

Doctor Constantinou then grabbed the arm, flipped it over, and slid it up the stump of my arm, holding it in place. He pressed the small button on the underside of the arm. I then felt a small amount of pressure on the end of my arm before it quickly faded away.

Hesitantly, I tried to close my now metal hand, the gray, and red colored fingers on the hand stuttered for a moment then slowly closed until I made a fist with a small click. Splaying my fingers, they snapped open with a metallic *clack*, jumping slightly, I then made a fist again, the fingers closing without the stutter this time, but still too slowly.

Looking up at Nurse Espérance as she spoke, I continued messing around with my new arm, "It will most likely take either a few hours or days for the chip to adjust and then process the electrical signals from your brain properly, so it's best to be patient."

Slowly nodding, I looked at Constantinou and said, "Doctor Constantinou, when can I see my mom and dad?"

The man paused at the question and shared a look with Nurse Espérance before he turned to face me again, "You should be able to see them tomorrow, in fact, you should have some visitors in the afternoon. For now, why don't we get you down to the physical therapy gym so you can get walking again."

While I had been in a coma for nearly three years, I could still tell when someone was avoiding a question, like that one time I asked my parents where babies came from. ‘Wait… how do I remember that?’

But, in the end, I nodded and let them assist in getting me in a wheelchair, where I was taken by Nurse Espérance down to the gym, while Doctor Constantinou went to deal with other patients.

{Date: December 10th, 2010, Time: Unknown}

Being wheeled throughout the hospital was interesting, if just for giving a perspective on how rich a majority of the other patients are, and how miserable they are. ‘I've endured worse conditions when I had to escape that hospital in Cyprus… wait, what? I've never been to Cyprus, why did I—‘

"Okay, let's get you up and out of that chair and onto these bars."

Said Miss Espérance, snapping me out of my thoughts and bringing my attention back to the present, where I noticed the parallel bars in front of me before Nurse Espérance walked around and up to my left side.

"Now, this is just a formality so that we can see how much exercise and therapy you'll be needing, we won't be doing anything serious until tomorrow morning."

Nodding at her words, I carefully, and slowly grabbed onto both bars before hauling myself up and out of the wheelchair. With my muscles straining, I held myself up, as Nurse Espérance placed a hand on my shoulder, ready to catch me if I slipped.

Adjusting my grip, I began slowly walking forward, absentmindedly noting my metal hand had left indents in the bar.

And over the course of a few minutes, I would slowly move down the bars, until I’d stop halfway down, my arms and legs shaking from the strain, and my breathing heavy.

Trying to move forward again, my right arm nearly collapsed out from under me, catching myself with the help of Espérance. I looked at the woman as the nurse said, "Maybe it's time to stop for today, we can always continue this tomorrow."

"No, I can do this," looking forward, I then looked down briefly before bracing my left arm and leg, gritting my teeth, I slid my right hand and leg forward.

"Taylor—"

"I said I can do it, now let me do this.”

"I seriously think—"

Looking at the woman again, I spoke with a look of desperation in my eyes, "Please… let me do this. I just want to be able to walk into my parents' rooms and show them I'm getting better."

A look of… sadness? Briefly passes over Nurse Espérance's face before she hesitantly nods and places her right hand on my shoulder blade, ready to catch me if I begin falling again.

Looking forward once more, I slid my left arm and leg forward. And, as I slowly made my way down the parallel bars, I found frustration building within me as the faint feeling of the sun beating down upon my back, of sand beneath my boots, and realizing how low I’ve fallen.

Pushing forward, I managed to actually take a few full steps, yet, when I put weight on my right foot toward the end, I nearly collapsed and hit my head on one of the bars. With only the quick reaction time of Miss Espérance stopping me from fully falling.

“Taylor…”

“I know, I know.” Looking up at the ceiling as I sat down, I continued, “It’s time to stop for today,” looking back down with a sigh, I said, “It’s just… not being able to walk… is frustrating. It feels wrong, like I should be able to do, I don’t know… more.”

Wheeling my chair over, Miss Espérance squatted down in front of me and said, “I know, it feels like you should be able to walk further, run faster, move for longer. But you can’t, not yet anyway, you have to grow, regain what you’ve lost.”

Nodding, I looked up at the older woman and said, “I… I under—understand, Miss Espérance. And, I—I think I’m ready to go back to my room for now.”

Getting a nod, The nurse stood up and offered me a hand to help me up. Taking it, I was lifted onto my feet, where I slowly walked, ‘Or would it be stumbled?’ over to my wheelchair. Stopping after only a few steps, I carefully turned around and lowered myself into the chair.

Lifting my feet, I placed them onto the foot rests and leaned back slightly as Miss Espérance stepped around behind me and started pushing me toward the door of the gym.

{Date: December 10th, 2010, Time: 14:23}

Being wheeled up to my room’s door, I spoke up as Miss Espérance stepped around me to open it, “Miss, I need to go to the bathroom.”

Nodding as she pushed the door open, Nurse Espérance said, “Okay, dear. Do you think you’ll need assistance, or do you think you’ll be fine?”

Thinking it over as Miss Espérance walked back around behind me and began gently pushing me into my room, I gently said, “I think I’ll be fine, ma’am.”

Hearing the barely audible sound of her nodding, I listened as she said, “Okay, Taylor. I’ll be waiting outside to help you get to your bed after you’re done.”

As we stopped just inside the room, I nodded myself, and said, “Okay, thank you Miss Espérance, I’ll be out in just a few minutes.” As I lifted myself out of the chair with a small amount of assistance from Nurse Espérance.

Carefully walking up to the door, Miss Espérance gently held my left elbow and hovering a hand over my right shoulder as I did. Opening the door, I pushed it open and, as she let go of me, walked inside the bathroom.

Hearing the door close shut behind me after Nurse Espérance turned the lights on, I slowly started making my way to the toilet. However, spotting something in the mirror out of the corner of my right eye, I paused and turned my attention toward the reflective glass. Bracing myself on the edge of the sink as I did, my bionic palm and fingers *clacking* against the polished surface of the sterilized, white ceramic.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I take a look at my face for the first time, bringing my right hand up from where it’d been gripping the edge of the sink. I felt around at my face as I moved my head about, getting a look at myself from a few different angles. I had a rather narrow facial structure, that was gaunt due to my coma, but… some of my features looked… slightly wrong, yet right.

From a jaw that’s sharp, defined, and squared-off. The thin lips stretched into a severe line that looks like a perpetual, quiet scowl. To a nose, that’s straight, like it's been broken and reset one too many times, with a defined, almost aquiline bridge. But, it was my eyes that had the majority of my attention, heavy-lidded and deep-set, large and expressive, sunken and shadowed… It was a look that startled me slightly upon meeting my own gaze.

And that’s not even mentioning the scars, a web of them patterned across my right temple and check, like those from a burn or explosion maybe? Anyway, another scar, a jagged one, bisected my left eyebrow, before disappearing into my hairline. And a final one cut across the bridge of my nose and cheek, pulling the skin there just taut enough to give me a permanent, subtle snarl to one side of my face.

Then, there was the horn, located on the right side of my forehead just above my temple, was an inch of jagged, non-reflective, black metal. White, puckered scar tissue surrounded the base of my “horn”… At least, when I moved my hair aside, anyway. The black curly locks and other features of my face and body acting as a stark contrast to the quite obvious, more masculine features I shouldn’t have yet.

Looking away, I released my hold on the edge of the sink and walked over to the toilet, quickly doing my business and flushing. I washed off my hands, making sure not to look my reflection in the eyes as I did. Turning the faucet off, I dried my hands then turned and quietly opened the bathroom door again.

Stepping out, I found Miss Espérance waiting for me, giving her a small smile and a nod. I turned and started slowly making my way further into my room, assisting me. Miss Espérance and I moved over to my bed, where I saw that a rolling table was beside my bed, and on that table was a single insulated tray.

Getting over to my bed, I sat down on the edge of it before Nurse Espérance moved the table over in front of me before she said, “Do you need anything else, Taylor?”

Shaking my head, I quickly said, “No, ma’am, I don’t need anything right now.”

“Alright, just press this button here, and I, or another nurse, will come and see what you need, alright?” Softly said Miss Espérance as she pointed out the array of eight buttons on the side of the bed.

Nodding silently, I watched as she left my room, but not before pushing my wheelchair into the corner of the room.

Looking down at the covered tray, I grabbed the lid and lifted it.

{Date: December 10th, 2010, Time: 20:53}

Lying back in my bed after having eaten my dinner, provided by the hospital of course, which had surprisingly good food. Now that I’m thinking about it. ‘Probably because the patients wouldn't accept anything less. Ugh, they're like pampered children.'

Pausing in my reminiscing and random daydreaming, I thought over that thought before speaking softly to myself, "Not wrong, but where did that come from?"

Shaking my head, I continued to stare at the ceiling, thinking of the tests I had, with one in particular sticking out to me, ‘A lumbar puncture. They were testing me for infections, inflammation, bleeding, and cancers that could have been affecting my brain and spinal cord.’

Thinking those thoughts over, I get brought back into the present when my red and black metallic hand briefly, and softly, shakes.

Lifting it, I held my arm up above myself and rotated my hand and then formed a fist, watching the fingers flex before settling against my palm almost silently. The small *tink* barely audible to my ears, yet having a strange barely audible echo from the room’s acoustics.

Splaying my fingers, I watched as they opened slower than earlier in the day, in fact, they opened at nearly the correct speed. Turning my attention back to my thoughts, I turn my head to the right and stare at the tray sitting on the rolling table, the empty plastic cup that had held some juice sitting empty beside it.

Turning my head to stare at the ceiling, I practically felt as my mind began whirling with a hundred thousand thoughts. ‘Am I actually me?… How do I remember dying…? And… And why do I feel naked, or at least vulnerable?’

Rolling onto my side, my mind is awash in questions and desires, 'Mom, dad… where are you, why won't the doctors tell me what happened…' Closing my eyes, I felt a tear fall down my cheek, as I think one final thought before falling asleep, 'I want to go home, but I don’t even know what home is.'

{Date: March 14th, 1984, Time: Unk}

In the darkness of my sleeping mind, a memory surfaced, and with it, a voice, "Okay, Ahab, Time to go." As the man walked up to me, I was able to see that he was wearing only a hospital gown and as he knelt above me, I saw that bandages covered his head, right forearm, and hand, before seemingly answering an unasked question, "The woman? I – we – gave her a light. She took the short way down.”

Finding my voice, I said, “Who are you?” With a small cough.

"Who am I?" He asks before looking away and ducking his head, "You're talking to yourself." He then points at me before continuing, "I've been watching over you for —-e years."

Pointing a thumb at himself, he continued, "You can call me Ishmael."

Chapter Text

[A Burning Escape]

Taylor found she now had the ability to voice her thoughts. Although, the way she spoke them weren't how she intended for them to be spoken, "What the hell is going on?!" She said, her voice both weak and confused, but also older, much older.

"Well, the good news is: You're in the land of the living. Bad news? Whole world wants you dead." Before Taylor could say anything, an explosion rocked the building – what she had to assume was a hospital – causing Ishmael to nearly lose his balance.

Managing to stay up right, he then grabs her shoulder and lifts her up into a sitting position while speaking, "On your feet, soldier – the whole place is coming down!" Gasping from the movement of her apparently significantly weaker body, Taylor's vision blurs as Ishmael speaks again, "Need a little pick-me-up?"

She looks up and spots him holding a syringe, before he brings it back and jabs it into her shoulder and injects it, a grunt escaping her lips as he speaks, "Nothing like a little digoxin to get you back in the game."

He then lifts her up so she can stand, and upon getting her feet under herself, she collapses immediately as her weakened legs turn to jelly beneath her. He looks down at her as he continues forward towards the door, waving her forward while speaking, "C'mon."

Dragging herself forward by her arms, Taylor absentmindedly notes her bionic arm is no longer attached, instead having been replaced with something that was both clearly inferior and also much older in design.

Nevertheless, she crawled on, attempting to use a mobile table to pull herself up. In the end, all Taylor manages to do is bring its contents down on top of her as it slips out from under her arm, where it clatters to the ground with a metallic banging. The sound of a helicopter approaching could barely be heard through the walls, although it was getting closer.

Looking back at her, Ishmael spoke a rhetorical question, "Drug's not working?" Continuing to crawl forward, Taylor attempts to use a small stool to stand, although that too slips out beneath her arm. Catching her breath for a moment, Ishmael looks back at her again wordlessly before continuing to look down the hall outside.

Crawling the remaining distance, Taylor spotted Ishmael putting his hand out to stop her from moving as the helicopter finally arrived. After three seconds, he slipped into the hall and looked at the small directional chart on the wall just outside her room and across the wall.

Glazing back at her, he waved her forward while speaking quietly, "Let's take the stairs," he then creeped forward out of view.

"For god's sake, can't he help me walk," Taylor thought to herself as she dragged herself forward, noises of exertion escaping her lips as she did so.

Crawling down the hall, Taylor manages to reach a small line of red-cushioned benches, lifting her arm up. She attempted to push herself up, however, her arm slipped, and she hit the floor. Trying again, she managed to hook her arm on the bench properly and hoisted herself up.

Moving forward down the benches on her knees, she placed her arm on a trash can and attempted to move forward, knocking both the can, and herself to the floor, getting an unknown liquid on her arm.

Looking down at her, Ishmael spoke quietly, "This isn't going to work… We better take the elevator." Creeping forward, Ishmael went across her front before stopping at the wall on her right in the hallway leading to the elevator.

Crawling after him, Taylor decides to crawl down the left side of the hall. Glancing back, Ishmael waves her forward before crouch walking further down, just slightly ahead of her crawling form.

Making it halfway down the hallway, Taylor stopped when both Ishmael held out his hand, and a strange metallic breathing echoed from the elevator. Looking forward properly, Taylor spots a… child in a black straitjacket, with a red-lensed gas mask over their face.

Ishmael then asks the question both of them are thinking, "What the hell is that?" Watching said child then float into the air while they splayed their arms to the side raised even more questions, as well as giving Taylor a gut feeling, a bad gut feeling.

And as the child disappeared into the roof of the building, the ends of their straitjacket caught fire, and the elevator began to rumble and creak.

Taylor's suspicions would be confirmed, as she barely spots the elevator's floor number switching from 2 to 3, then with a ding the arrow switches sides and points down as smoke and flame begins pouring out. Ishmael spoke as he glanced down at her, saying something quite obvious, "Something's coming."

Then, with a rumbling creak, the glow of heating metal, and a small burst of flame, the hallway explodes into fire. The two of them are picked up by the explosion and carried all the back down the hall, time seemingly slowing down before it sped back up as they both slammed into the floor.

Jumping awake with an aborted scream that quickly turned into a gasp of air, Taylor looked around frantically, not spotting Ishmael nor the mysterious floating child or any fire, Taylor's heart rate slowed back down.

Looking at the alarm clock sitting on her bedside table, she saw that it read 5:43 AM, sighing to herself, Taylor spoke in a low quiet tone, as she shifted her gaze to her arm sitting right next to the clock, "Just a nightmare… just a nightmare, nothing more," reaching over, she grabs the arm by the wrist before bringing it over to herself.

"It's official, waking up before 7:00 AM unable to do really anything sucks," Taylor thought to herself. Although, it has given her time to experiment with her new hand, discovering she had a lighter in her index finger was cool, discovering it could be turned into a miniature blowtorch less so.

"That poor alarm clock will never recover," she said quietly while idly glancing at the trash bin next to her bed that she had buried the melted alarm clock in.

"Well, no time like the present, time to learn how to draw," she thought as she pressed the button to call a nurse to her room. As she waited, Taylor began trying to figure out where these new dreams and thoughts came from.

Thinking about it for a couple of moments, she looks down at her two hands, one of flesh, the other of steel, and spoke quietly to herself, "Do… do I have powers? Is that what these dreams are, am I… am I seeing the future?"

Looking around her room, she takes note of how it seems incredibly similar to the room from her dream, "I mean, it makes more sense than seeing the past, but… I sounded like I was in my forties, what good is a power where I can only see twenty to thirty-ish years into the future?"

A light knocking gets Taylor's attention, looking around for a moment, she spoke, "Come in."

With a small click, the door to her room opens, and a woman walks in, the nurse walks up to the end of Taylor's bed before speaking softly, "What do you need Miss… Hebert."

"Miss Hebert? My mom's Miss Hebert… not me," Taylor thought to herself before speaking, "I was wondering if I could get a pencil or two, along with some paper."

"I'll see what I can find. Is that all?"

"Y-yes that's all."

Nodding, the nurse turns and leaves the room, Taylor managing a small "Thank you," as the door shuts with a click.

Looking around, Taylor prepares herself to be bored out of her mind until the nurse comes back, at least she does, until she remembers she has a lighter/blowtorch in her index finger.

Looking down at her hand, Taylor wonders what else is hidden within it. However, after messing with it for several minutes, nothing new is revealed, not even something as mundane as a lock pick.

After waiting, bored out of her mind, for 21 minutes, a knock on the door gets Taylor's attention. Looking at the door, she speaks, "Come in." She then watches as the nurse from earlier walks in, a small notebook and three pencils in one of her hands.

Walking up to her bedside, the nurse hands her the items before speaking, "Is there anything else you need?"

Taking the notebook and pencils, and thinking for a few moments, Taylor looks at the woman and spoke, "Just um, one thing, could you please turn the radio on?"

"Certainly," The nice nurse then turns around and turns the radio on, tuning it to one of the stations. Before leaving, speaking as he walks through the door, "Have a nice morning, dearie." With that, the nurse was gone, the door shutting once more with its distinctive metallic click as the radio started playing a song.

[Here's to you]

Looking down at the four items, Taylor put two of the pencils on her bedside table and opened the notebook, thinking of what to draw from her new dreams. After thinking on it for nearly a minute, one jumps to the forefront of her mind, the soft medley of the music coming from the radio calming her as she started.

[Here's to you, Nicola and Bart]

Beginning to draw, Taylor started with the background's outline, which was the interior of a helicopter, a… HP-48 Krokodil Soviet attack helicopter which had transport capabilities… what? How, did she know that!? Shaking her head, Taylor continued to draw the outline, attempting to ignore that previous thought.

[Rest forever here in our hearts]

Getting the dimensions right on the 7th try, she started on getting the main features right, finishing those within seventeen minutes. She started on the details, both major and minor, finishing those. She started on the primary subject of the drawing.

[The last and final moment is yours]

Starting from the lower half, Taylor began drawing the outline of the man, first came the boots of his… SV Sneaking Suit? The hell is a Sneaking Suit, and what does the SV mean?… whatever, slowly working her way up the man's boots, then shins, and then his thighs and hips.

[That agony is your triumph]

When she finished the hips, she began drawing the details and primary features of the lower half of the suit, next came the webbing and pouches. Finishing that, Taylor began drawing the upper half of his body.

[Here's to you, Nicola and Bart]

Softly singing along to the song as she finished the torso of the suit, Taylor then started working on the rigging that sits overtop the torso, along with that, she quickly does the metal band that wraps around the bicep. A smile spread across her face as she sang.

[Rest forever here in our hearts]

Finishing the torso, she began working on the arms, starting from below the metal band on the left arm. She slowly drew the arm's outline, being careful to get the measurements just right. She pauses when she gets to the wrist, thinking on how to do it properly.

[The last and final moment is yours]

Lightly shrugging her shoulders, Taylor carefully drew the hand before beginning on the forward half of the gun, an MSF MRS-4 Assault Rifle with a shortened barrel… "This is getting annoying," thought Taylor as she continued drawing the rifle.

[That agony is your triumph]

Finishing the forward portion of the rifle, she continued moving back down the weapon, stopping when she drew the receiver and pistol grip. Taylor began drawing the man's right arm, starting with the hand holding the pistol grip.

[Here's to you, Nicola and Bart]

Continuing up the arm after completing the hand, she pauses at his elbow. Putting the pencil down, Taylor softly massaged her wrist for a few seconds, using the impromptu break to look over her work.

[Rest forever here in our hearts]

Even incomplete, she can… still recognize him… recognize who? Shaking her head, Taylor watches as a blurry face seemingly disappears from the drawing, "What was that?" She wondered as she grabbed the pencil again and started drawing, and in a short time she completed the arm.

[That agony is your triumph]

Moving up the body, she starts drawing his neck, reaching his jawline, she pauses before drawing it. Looking at the area where his head would be, Taylor saw two different faces on top of each other.

[—-'s — you— Nic—- a— -art]

Staring at the blank area on the paper, Taylor zones out, the music fading from her mind as she stares with glossy eyes, the faces overlapping, mixing, and rejecting each other all at once before her eyes cross. Her vision fades, and she falls back, her head hitting her pillow, and pencil clattering to the floor.

{Date: Unk, Time: Unk, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Pain flares up from her elbow as the wind is knocked out of her, the feeling of cool tiles and a fire's heat on her skin, as the smell of smoke invades her nose. Trying to sit up, Taylor notes Ishmael trying to, and succeeding, in putting out the fire latched onto his gown.

Failing to sit up, she rolls onto her back and looks forward, noticing a figure in the fire through the pain, she attempts to move her body, but finds, that just like last time, she is unable to.

Having put the fire out, Ishmael lays back as Taylor begins yelling in her mind about the "Big fiery man with glowing eyes" marching towards them. As he approaches, she can finally make out the sounds of his heavy footsteps through the sounds of the fire alarm, fire, and burning wood creaking.

Walking up to them, he stops moving, before first looking down at Ishmael, and then looking at her. But as he begins to turn his head to do so, the sprinkler system activates, steam billowing from where the massive figure had been with a strange noise coming from the man as the water hit him.

When the noise stopped and the steam began dissipating, Taylor watched as Ishmael crawled over to her on all fours, before grabbing her right thigh and left shoulder. Then he rolled her over onto her stomach, before crouch walking away.

Crawling after him, Taylor noted that her arm wasn't moving properly. Deciding to worry about that at a later date, she stuffed it to the back of her mind as she hooked her false arm onto the end of the bench. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet before being knocked back onto the ground as something exploded into flame behind her with the sound of shattering glass.

Hitting the ground, Taylor heard Ishmael say, "Calm down, you can do this." Slowly crawling forward, she dragged herself across the tile with her fake arm and pushed with her legs. And after making it into the hallway leading back the way they came, she slowly stood up as Ishmael moved to the right side of the hall.

Getting her feet under herself, Taylor stumbled to the left and slammed her shoulder into the wall as she fully stood up, beginning to slowly, and unsteadily walk forward, Taylor noted Ishmael saying, "The drugs kicked in? Good, let's hurry." Starting to walk better, Taylor begins attempting to walk down the middle of the hall while holding her injured arm.

Making it only a few feet, she stumbles to the left again and hit the wall. Bracing, she pushes off of it and continues on. Eventually, they both make it to a window where they crouch down below the sill, Ishmael looking out of it, presumably trying to spot anything.

After a moment, a light goes over the window and the sound of a helicopter can be heard again, the craft soon flying into view, its spotlight turned on and searching for something. Starting to stand up, Ishmael puts a hand on her shoulder and pushes her back down.

As her back hit the wall just below the window sill, pain flared through her body, with Ishmael speaking as he looked at her arm, "Hold up. Let's fix this."

Removing his hand from her shoulder, he grabs her forearm just above her wrist with his right hand, and places his left hand just below her elbow. Taking a firm hold, he shoves the dislocated joint back into place with an unsettling crack.

As the pain surged up her right arm, she jumped awake, the words he'd said just after doing it implanting themselves into her mind, "Next time do it yourself. It's always good to try and mend your injuries while hiding from the enemy."

Sitting there for a few moments, while the phantom pain in her arm faded, the incomplete drawing stared up at her. She eventually started looking around for her pencil. Not finding it, Taylor looked up as she heard the sound of her room's door opening.

Watching as two adults entered, she looked them over as they had their backs turned, she saw that they were wearing, what she had to guess were slightly expensive clothes, at least from what she could guess.

When they turned around, both of them froze in place before the woman spoke, her tone filled with an emotion Taylor's slightly damaged brain couldn't identify, "Taylor? Sweetie, is that you?"

"Wh-who are you? Do I know you at all?"

The man spoke this time, his voice sounding… alright, "You don't remember who we are?"

"Noo? Am I supposed to?" She asked as they both stepped closer, before coming to a stop near the foot of her bed, the dim lighting in the room doing little to reveal their faces, but she could see enough. The man was tall and had red hair, brown eyes, and an ever-so-slightly defined jawline.

The woman had brown hair, green eyes, and freckles. She was quite pretty, like her momma. She had a sad expression for some reason after she said she doesn't recognize them.

Looking at each other, the woman walked forward and sat in a chair on her left before speaking, "Taylor, do you remember anything before the accident? Before the crash."

Tilting her head slightly, Taylor began thinking, trying to remember anything before the pain… before the explosion and screaming of both metal and people.

"I—… everything's really blurry and the words are all weird, the people are shifting? Fading?… Doing something until they're just shapes or blurry smears, and the words ar–" Taylor stopped talking when the woman starts tearing up, a confused look crossing Taylor's face as she looks from the woman to the man.

"I— I'm confused, who are you people? What's bad about me not being able to remember anything?"

Looking up, the woman asks a question, "Do you remember her face?"

Turning to face her, Taylor spoke, "Remember who's face?"

The man spoke this time, "Do you remember…" walking up the side of her bed so he could stand next to the woman, he placed a hand on the woman's shoulder as he continued, "do you remember your mother's face… Taylor… Do you remember your mother's and father's faces."

[Behind the Mirror]

Thinking back, Taylor began attempting to see, sifting through her memories, practically watching as they slowly faded, looking further back, she went past the jumbled words, past the ever shifting shapes and colors. Past the sounds of war, of men and women screaming, past the noises of helicopters smashing into the ground with the shrieking of metal.

Pushing past it all, she begins searching, sifting through blurry Christmas's, muddled birthdays, and fading conversations, and soon Taylor begins panicking while thinking, "why can't I see them? Why can't I see their faces!?" Attempting to look deeper, she finds nothing but blurred memories. Why can't she see the faces of her parents!? Where are THEY!??

Feeling arms wrap around her, pulls her back to the present. And Taylor blinks as she realizes she'd started crying, wondering why. She soon again realizes, if only because of these new memories, and she cries harder, choking sobs leaving her lips as her parents fade even further from her memory, as everything before the crash disappears, only to be slowly replaced or twisted with a life she hasn't lived yet.

A life of nothing but conflict and misery, squeezing her eyes shut. Taylor felt the tears running down her face as the woman she doesn't remember, but knows she now should, runs a hand through her hair and slowly rocks her back and forth, whispering that it'd be alright. That they can help her get her memories back, that it isn't permanent.

But… Taylor doesn't believe her, she doesn't know why, but she doesn't believe her. And as her vision fades, and the dreams return, she's already wanting everything back, everything the people responsible took from her.

And as her mind slows, she hears a man's voice, saying something that… she can agree with, something that, at that moment, spoke to her.

"My truth was stolen from me. And so was my past. All that's left is the future. And mine… is revenge." 

{Date: December 11th 2010, Time: 13:43, POV Zoe Barnes}

Looking down at the sleeping girl in her arms, Zoe turned her head and looked over her shoulder at her husband, "Alan… I need you to find her doctor, and ask him why we weren't told she has memory issues."

Nodding his head, Alan turned and left the room to find a nurse in order to locate Taylor's doctor, a determined look on his face. Turning to look down at the girl passed out against her, Zoe began brushing Taylor's hair back when she suddenly stopped, her hand bumping against something.

Lifting Taylor's bangs has her going wide-eyed, sticking out of the left side of her forehead are three shards of metal, each one a different size, with the biggest protruding an inch out of her skull.

Adding in the scars from the crash and various surgeries she had to go through afterward, and she looks like she'd just come back from a war zone, like Africa or those areas in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East.

Laying her back onto her bed, Zoe moved her chair closer to the side of her bed and grabbed her metallic hand. Looking down at said hand, Zoe began analyzing it, looking it over for any production markings or company names.

Finding nothing but a faded logo that looked like a part of a diamond with the edge of something else over it, Zoe lowers the arm down back to Taylor's side before looking for anything else in the room.

Spotting the notebook that had slipped off of Taylor's lap, Zoe reached over and grabbed it, pulling her arm back, she brought the object up and opened it. Starting to flip through the pages, she made note of what each one contained.

The first few pages had some lines on them, those had been abandoned, the fifth page had more progress but had also been abandoned, the sixth was the same, but there was a lot more detail. It was what she found on the seventh page that brought her pause.

The page contained the incomplete drawing of the interior of an aircraft, from the looks of it a military helicopter, but the thing that Zoe looked at most was the man in the center of the page. He was incomplete, his head missing, but… the level of detail compared to the rest of the drawing was like night and day.

It looked like he had been drawn from memory, and for having just used what was obviously just a pencil, it was impressive, especially since Taylor was — or had — never been one to draw.

Closing it and putting it by Taylor's side, Zoe looked at the daughter of her friend, a girl she'd thought to have been dead for nearly two years. But here she was, alive, healthy, "relatively healthy," she thought in the back of mind.

But, everything was too suspect, tell her she was looking too far into things. Or that, she was being paranoid. But something about this doesn't feel right, why give Taylor a from what she can see, top of the line prosthetic arm when she's only a fifteen-year-old girl from a middle class family.

And the drawing of the man, Taylor had never been into soldiers or anything military related in her life, Capes? Yes, she had multiple hyper fixations on Capes, but the military? No, she never did.

But… she had read somewhere that people who've been in comas do come out differently, sometimes with completely different personalities, so maybe she should just be thankful it appears to be amnesia and a fixation on the military.

Sitting back, Zoe began waiting for Alan to return, thinking over everything that's happened this year, from Emma and Alan starting to see those therapists, the Empire losing their speedster. Anne being only a few months away from completing her sophomore year at college, and now Taylor being "found"… She didn't want to hold onto her hope too much, but maybe, just possibly, this year might end in a victory for her family.

Thirteen minutes later, and the door to Taylor's room is opening, looking up, Zoe watches as Alan and what has to be Taylor's doctor walk into the room, the door shutting behind them as the man spoke, "You said Taylor was experiencing memory issues?"

Before Alan could speak, Zoe answered the man, "Yes, yes she was, in addition to the memory issues, she also drew this," Standing up, Zoe grabbed the notebook Taylor had been given before walking over to the doctor and handing it to him.

[The Girl's Gone]

Taking it, the man opened it and looked at the first page before moving to the second, Zoe spoke as he flipped to the third, "What you're looking for is on the seventh page, doctor."

Skipping through the other pages, the doctor stopped on the seventh and spoke as he saw what was on it, "Taylor drew this?" He asked as he tilted the page slightly.

"She did… doctor Constantinou, who the hell is that?"

Closing the notebook, Constantinou walked up to the foot of Taylor's bed before speaking, "A man who died a long time ago… but that wouldn't be possible, I never authorized something like that."

Alan spoke this time, his tone worried, "Something like what?"

Turning towards them, he spoke as all of them missed the stirring form on the bed behind the man, "This hospital comes with various… amenities, some of them are there to assist with memory issues, one such amenity, is hypnotherapy–"

{December 11th 2010, Time: 13:57, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Waking up again, Taylor could hear voices speaking, although she didn't understand them, as she fully woke up, her hearing cleared, and she could hear them speaking clearly, "-- which can be used to help with things like, anxiety, stress, and pain management, depression, mood, and sleep disorders, PTSD, and so on… but it can also be used misused."

"Misused? How?" Asked a woman.

"Misused, such as, memory manipulation or identity transplantation of one person onto another."

A second man spoke up after the first one finished speaking, "So, what you're saying is, is that someone snuck into this room while Taylor was in a coma and began, manipulating her memories so she can only remember the face of a dead man?"

"No, besides, that man has been dead since 1995, so the only way it could've happened properly is if it was done to her just after she'd been born, I imagine what she has in her head at this moment are fragmented memories and moments that, were in someway, important. And before you ask – if this is the case – there will only be partial personality bleed through, such as changes to thought patterns, the way she speaks, or new habits."

There was a pause, a tension was in the air, one Taylor could almost feel, so she took advantage of the pause and spoke, "Wi-will I be able to get my memories back?"

Turning towards her, Constantinou spoke as the brown-haired woman walked up to her side, "It will be a long process, one which will take years. However, I can recommend you some mental exercises to do until your new memories settle. After they do, I can give you a list of things to do to help with getting your memories back. However…"

Constantinou's pause caused Taylor's heart to slowly start sinking as she waited for him to continue, "I must warn you, do not look into your past memories until the new ones are done slotting into place, otherwise I fear you may lose them entirely."

"What… what about the ones I've lost already, or the ones that are close to being lost?"

Sighing, doctor Constantinou looked down for a moment before looking back up at her and speaking, "The ones that are lost… are permanently gone, the ones that are nearly so, may be able to be recovered, but I am not certain. The emotional aspect of the memories are most likely still there, but they themselves will be missing."

A beeping from Constantinou's coat pocket has him retrieving a pager, looking at it, he puts it away before speaking, "I have to go Taylor, I am sorry there is not more I can do."

Nodding silently, Taylor watch as Constantinou left the room, her mind whirling with thoughts before being brought back to the present by the sound of the woman sitting down in the chair next to her bed, looking at her and then the man, Taylor spoke, "So, what happens to me now?"

"Now? Now we get you out of this hospital," said the woman with a small smile on her face.

"How long will that take… and, could we… go to my parent's house?"

"You'll most likely be discharged tomorrow. As for visiting your parent's house, of course."

Nodding, Taylor laid back and felt sleep beginning to take her, forcing her eyes to remain open, she watched as the woman reached over and brushed some strands of hair out of her face before speaking, "Don't worry Taylor, just go to sleep, we'll be back tomorrow, you won't have to stay here for much longer."

Giving a hum of sleepy confirmation, Taylor closed her eyes and seconds later fell asleep, the sounds of a helicopter and strange humming greeting her ears in her sleep as she began dreaming.

Chapter Text

[Dance Of The Two Wolves]

{Date: Unk, Time: Unk, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Opening her eyes, Taylor finds herself in the back of a helicopter. She can't tell what kind of– it's a UTH-66 Blackfoot medium-lift utility helicopter. Blinking, Taylor snaps her attention towards the cockpit as a mechanical beep chimes out alongside the sound of an electrical ping.

The ping sounds out again as she begins walking forward, radio chatter audible from the pilot's helmet, a warning sound blaring in the cockpit as he spoke, "Confirm, one bogey on our six, steady at point four miles… It's tailing us…"

A new voice suddenly spoke up in Taylor's right ear, "Don't lead it back to Mother Base."

"Roger. We'll shake it off." Said the pilot before he began turning the helicopter to the right, as they leveled out a repeating warning beep echoed throughout the cockpit. As an airplane, a Sea Harrier FRS1 as her brain so helpfully informed her, buzzed past the cockpit. The fighter failing its gun run. The rounds splashing into the water just in front of them.

Immediately pulling around to the right, the jet began making a U-turn, watching as it flew past the cockpit in the distance. Taylor moved to the right side door and watched as it completed its maneuver, the door opening just as a missile dropped from the jet's missile rack and rocketed forward.

The pilot speaking as it went right for them, "INCOMING!" Flares deployed two seconds later, the missile thankfully targeted the much hotter flares and curved down to hit them, and moments later streaked by with a scream and slammed into the water below them. The jet passing overhead a second later, the helicopter rocking in the wake of its engines.

In the distance, Taylor watched as it turned around, lining up a shot, a second missile dropped off the rack and sped towards them, "Another one!" Flares deployed to distract the heat-seeking missile, but it stayed right on course, the pilot speaking as it did, his voice calm as ever, "Shit. It's an LGM! Hold on!"

Moving up to the door, Taylor opened it as the chopper shook again, keeping stable. She watched as the side-mounted M134 GAU-17/A Minigun swung around, its arm mount locking in place as the chopper shook a second time. Getting up off her back, Taylor managed to barely grab onto the spade-grips when the helicopter shook again. This time, she fell back.

Everything seemed to slow down as the gun turned with a barely audible whir, before with a seemingly inverse sucking sound, a pair of gloved hands and then a… scantily-clad woman appeared, a handcuff hanging from her left wrist. Squeezing the triggers, the mounted weapon immediately began firing at its set fire rate of 4,000 rounds a minute, the barrel beginning to spin immediately after. with the deafening sounds of it firing being muted in the panic.

Seven. The rounds were missing, Six. Still missing, Five. Please hit the missile, Four. The tracers were getting closer, Three. Rounds were glazing off of the missile now, Two. An explosion rocked the helicopter as the missile detonated mere meters away as the jet flew overhead, the wash from the engines rocking it more.

A moment after she stopped firing, the woman looked back and Taylor was able to clearly see her face. Pale of skin with gray-green eyes and long brown hair tied into a ponytail, she had butterfly styled markings around her eyes. Putting a hand on her shoulder, Taylor moved to grab the grips of the minigun, the woman, understanding the gesture, movesd aside and grabbed something in the corner.

Looking over her shoulder, Taylor watches as she grabs a sniper rifle before moving up and getting onto a knee next to her. Looking forward, Taylor watches as the jet completes its turn before she opened fire, the woman next to her wrapping the rifles sling around her left arm before beginning to zero the scope.

As the tracers zipped through the night sky, the barely visible jet began weaving through the air to dodge the rounds. As the Harrier continued flying erratically to dodge the 7.62×51mm NATO rounds flying at it, the unknown woman shouldered her rifle and looked down the scope, and as the Harrier pilot flipped his plane upside down, she fired.

The jet began slowing as it came gliding out of the flip, zipping beneath the chopper. Taylor was able to glimpse at the bullet hole in the cracked canopy of the jet, alongside the dead pilot within, blood splattering the head rest and part of the canopy. A bullet hole on the right side of his helmets' visor.

Moving to look out the other side of the helicopter, they both watched as the jet flew forward another few dozen meters, where it began tilting to the right. Before the wing on that side skimmed the water, hooking in it, and ripping itself free from the craft, sending it flipping end over end into the water before it made a massive splash and disappeared beneath the waves.

Unwrapping her arm from the sling, the woman walked behind Taylor, causing her to turn her head and watch as she sat on one of the benches in the craft. There she lifted the bolt and began cycling it, unloading the rifle with the noise of the bolt moving and the rounds hitting the floor of the helicopter.

When she finished, she turned and offered the rifle back, the butterfly marks around her eyes fading with that same strange noise as earlier. Taking the offered rifle, Taylor stared down at the handcuffs hanging from the woman's wrist, removing her hand from the rifle. She brought her hands close together before doing something she couldn't see, slipping on the handcuffs with that same noise as before and looking out of the front of the helicopter.

Sitting back in her seat from earlier, Taylor placed the rifle in the corner before laying her head back against the wall behind her. Her vision fading once more as that strange humming, radio noises, and the muted sound of helicopter rotors filled her hearing.

Waking up without feeling the need to scream was new to Taylor, which was a sad thing now that she thought about it. Shaking her head, Taylor shakily gets up and goes to the bathroom. After she's done her business, she walks back into her room and sits on the edge of her bed, turning on the radio as she passes it before grabbing her notebook and opening it.

Moving to the seventh page, she reached over and grabbed the second pencil as a wordless tune began playing. Staring at the drawing for a minute, Taylor began drawing the man's face, starting at the jawline. She slowly worked her way up his face over the course of seven minutes, before starting on the details, working on those for another eight.

When she's fully done with his face, she begins drawing his hair, which she spends fifteen minutes getting right, in the end, Taylor spends nearly thirty-six minutes drawing his head. And when she'd finished, she looked down at the man on the page, someone she should be remembering.

Slamming the man into the dirt, she looked down at him and spoke, "Your forms improved… pretty good," she said before offering him her hand. Taking it, she pulled him up, the rain of Columba slamming down onto all of them. 

Further up the beach, she could barely make out the sounds of one of the drill instructors yelling at a row of recruits, "If you just stand there–"

Taylor stared down at the drawing for a moment as she came out of the memory, her breathing shaky as she spoke, "You— you're all diamonds now…" pausing, she let out a shuddering breath before continuing, "I went back for you all… I didn't allow for your sorrow to be cast into the heartless sea."

Blinking, she looked down and saw a few tear stains in the bottom right corner of the notebook page, slowly bringing her hand up, she wiped her tears away before putting the notebook on her side table. The music from the radio washing over her.

Looking up after an inordinate amount of time, Taylor watched as a nurse pushed a food cart through the now open door, pausing momentarily as she saw Taylor, fully entering the room, the nurse spoke, "Hello Taylor, how are you doing today?"

"I'm doing good today, miss. Um… do you know when I'll be leaving?" Asked Taylor as she watched the nurse place one of the trays on her side table, away from anything else, before taking the lid off of it and setting it to the side.

"Sometime later today dear, but, until then you have to eat your breakfast and then do your physical therapy."

As the nurse walked back over to the cart, Taylor saw that she had oatmeal with walnuts and almonds, scrambled eggs, yogurt with fruit, and whole-grain toast with sliced banana and peanut butter on it. Smile spreading across her face, she spoke as the nurse left, the door closing behind her, "Thank you miss!"

Moving further up her bed, Taylor grabbed the plastic spoon on the tray and began eating the oatmeal.

Grabbing onto the parallel bars, Taylor pulled herself up and out of the wheelchair, "Real sense of Déjà vu," she thought, as she started moving along the bars, this time, she didn't dent them until her foot slipped, which she counts as a victory. Having completed two full walks on the bars, Taylor ends up being moved over to a treadmill, where, she is told in no uncertain terms, to walk as far as she can. The nurse, having thought Taylor wouldn't be able to go for long, has now been standing there for… 23 minutes if that clock on the wall is correct.

Smiling to herself, she began slowly turning the treadmill down, done boring the poor woman. When it slows down enough, she grabs onto the rails and begins panting, sweat beading down her forehead. When a drop of sweat gets in her right eye, she hisses and closes it. Stepping off of the treadmill, Taylor turns around and walks over to her wheelchair and sits down.

When the nurse grabbed the handles and began pushing her towards the doors to the gym, Taylor spoke, "What else do I have to do today?"

"Well, first we're getting you back to your room, then after that, I think you should take a shower. After that? Well, it's just a matter of waiting for your parents to show up, and then you'll be going home."

Taylor nodded as they passed through hallways, she heard a small group of doctors and nurses speaking from further down the hall, "B.P's dropping!" "Intubate! Now!" "Cardiac arrest! He's in V-Fib!" The nurse pushing Taylor turns down the hallway leading towards the elevators, the voices of the doctors and nurses fading.

Looking back at the woman pushing her wheelchair, Taylor spoke, "Are they going to be ok?"

Glancing down at her, the nurse spoke, "Is who going to be ok?"

"The man back there, I heard the doctors and nurses panicking."

Stopping, the nurse looks down at Taylor with a small frown, "There was no one talking back there, Taylor."

"But I heard–"

"Taylor…  It's entirely possible you could have imagined those words, because I didn't hear anyone back there." Looking forward, the nurse continued pushing her while Taylor looked forwards again frowning, "But I did hear them, they were in room 05," she thought bitterly to herself as she was rolled into the elevator.

[Nuclear]

Stepping out of her room's attached bathroom wearing a pair of hospital provided sweatpants and a t-shirt, Taylor walked over to the table beside her bed. She grabbed her notebook a pencil, turned on the radio, and then walked over to the chair by the wall-to-wall window in her room. Sitting down, she opened it to the eighth page as a pair of memories surfaced, and began drawing as music softly played.

[Standing… on the edge… of the crater]

Starting with the top right, she drew the image of three men standing in front of burning caskets, one in the middle weakening combat BDU's. The other two on the left, one in a trench coat and beret, using a crutch.

[Like the prophets once said]

The second looks like he came out of an old western. Spending the next twenty minutes getting the image right, she then draws a speech-bubble and spells out a sentence, "He's responsible for… for all of this!"

[And the ashes… are all cold now]

Moving to the next part, she begins drawing in the bottom right, an oil rig platform falling apart, burning as half of it falls into the ocean, another thirteen, and she's put in a second speech-bubble with the words, "This is the enemy!"

[No more bullets… and the embers are dead]

Beginning to draw on the entirety of the left side, Taylor is interrupted by the sound of knocking on her door, while making the outline of two men, the one in the trench coat yelling at the first. She spoke, "Come in."

[Whispers in the air… tell the tales of the brothers gone]

Glancing up as the door opened, Taylor watched as the man and woman from yesterday walked in, closing her notebook and putting her pencil down. She fully sat up from how she'd been lounging in the chair, watching as they turned around to face her bed. She suppressed a smile as they saw she wasn't there.

[Desolation, Devastation]

Standing up, the movement caught their eyes, and they turned towards her, surprise written on their faces at the fact she's up and about. Noticing the two bags in the woman's hands, Taylor put it at the back of mind as she spoke, "So, when are we leaving? Also, umm, you never told me your names yesterday."

[What a mess we made, when it all went wrong]

Letting out a small laugh, the woman placed the bags onto the end of the bed, before turning and speaking, "I'm Zoe Barnes and this is my husband Alan, and as I said yesterday, we were close friends with your parents before and after you were born, we've also been put down in both legal writing and their will as your caretakers if anything happened to them. And, as for when we leave, we can go whenever you're ready, the discharge papers have already been signed. Although, Doctor Constantinou said he wanted to talk to you one last time, before we left."

[Watchin'… from the edge… of the circus]

Nodding at her words, Taylor spoke, curiosity in her voice, "What's in the bag?"

[For the games to begin]

"Ah, those are some clothes for you… we didn't know exactly what you'd like to wear, so I brought a mix of everything… we also don't know your sizes, so a lot of things might not fit." Said Zoe as she started taking the folded up clothes out of the two bags.

[Gladiators… draw their swords]

Walking up, Taylor began slowly sorting through the clothes that had been placed onto the bed, trying to find anything she would like to wear, putting aside the short-sleeved t-shirts, shorts, and… skirts? In winter? Along with a couple of other clothes she didn't really like, she eventually found a dark green long sleeved shirt, and a black leather jacket that had an asymmetrical zipper, and quilted shoulder patches. All in all? It looked like something out of the 80s.

Grabbing those, a pair of khaki winter pants, black winter gloves, and some socks. Taylor went into her attached bathroom, grabbing a hair tie as she went into the bathroom and tried the clothes on.

Finding that the t-shirt and pants didn't fit was unfortunate. The jacket was a bit too big, but that just meant she could grow into it and keep the jacket for longer. The gloves were also just a tad too big, but they would work in keeping the cold out. Putting the sweatpants and short-sleeve back on, Taylor slid the jacket on before she walked out of the bathroom, the ill-fitting clothes folded up over her left arm.

Walking up to the bed, she threw the clothes onto the pile of "not going to wear" clothing before beginning to search through the rest of the clothes for some pants. After finding a fitting pair, she grabbed a pair of boots that looked roughly the correct size — considering it was either the boots or sneakers, the choice was easy — and walked back into the bathroom.

Closing the door, she took off the sweatpants and slid the pants on, buttoning them up. She then put the boots on, which while loose, fit well enough for their purpose, tying the boot laces. She stood up fully and looked into the mirror.

Looking herself up and down in the mirror she frowned slightly, grabbing the hair tie, she tied her hair into a ponytail before looking at herself in the mirror a second time.

And for a moment… she thought she saw a different face smirking back at her, but then she blinked, and it was gone. Shaking her head, Taylor turned and walked out of the bathroom.

Walking out, she noted that two different songs had played, with the third in the middle of playing… it was the exact same one she'd woken up too. Looking at Zoe and Alan as they talked to each other, the both of them not having noticed her exiting the bathroom, she spoke to get their attention, "So, what do you think?"

Looking towards her, Zoe let out a small gasp before she walked up to her, "You look… so much like your mother when she was younger."

"Is… that a good thing?"

Zoe smiles at her sadly, Alan answering for her, "Yes, it is."

Zoe then turns and walks over to the bed, speaking as she does, "Now, get over here and help me get this all put back into these bags."

Taylor smiled a bit as she walked over and began helping refold the majority of the clothes before putting them back into the bags. As they worked, Zoe spoke, "Alan, could you be a dear, and please go get Doctor Constantinou and then go and start the car. I need to talk with Taylor about something."

Nodding, Alan quickly left the room to go and find Constantinou, so she and Zoe could talk? Strange, but ok. Turning towards her, Zoe stopped folding the small pile of clothes in front of her and spoke, "Taylor… a lot has changed over the past three years, Emma — me and Alan's youngest daughter and your best friend — is going through therapy for something that happened earlier this year, and so is Alan…"

The pause and what Zoe said about Emma and Alan going to therapy got Taylor's attention, causing her to stop what she was doing and fully look up at the woman across from her as Zoe continued, "Your… memory issues, as we'll call them, could… no probably will end up being an issue for Emma, she's young and hot headed like that. Just, try to give her space to deal with you coming back, because for the last nearly two years she's been thinking that you died."

Looking back down, Zoe started working on her pile again as she spoke, "So seeing you again, may cause an… let's say adverse reaction, especially because after we told her you were alive last night, she thought we had been playing a cruel trick on her to get her hoping again."

Taylor, who'd started on her pile of clothes again as well, snapped her head up and spoke with disbelief in her voice, "You hadn't told her… that I'm alive until last night. Despite the fact I'm going to be living with her."

Zoe sighed softly as she spoke, "No, we hadn't, our schedules haven't been lining up for nearly the past week, and when we got the phone call to come and pick you up she was already asleep, then this morning she was out the door before we could stop her so in her words "she wasn't late to school". So no, Taylor, we haven't been able to tell her about you."

Looking down, Taylor nodded while lightly chewing on her lip, "It's not something against you, Taylor… not anything of the sort, Emma's had to deal with you and your parents "dying", and then soon after she was… attacked by ABB thugs. So, if she reacts negatively to you, Taylor, just give her time and space… please."

Looking up, Taylor spoke as she looked Zoe in the eyes, "I'll do my best, ma'am." Nodding, Zoe began packing all the folded up clothes into one of the two bags, Taylor quickly continuing to fold the remaining ones as they both waited for Doctor Constantinou.

[Zombie]

Looking in the small bag on her lap, Taylor reached in and pulled the cassette player and its headphones out. Putting them on, she grabbed a cassette tape and loaded it into the player just like Doctor Constantinou had shown her and hit play. The soft rock music drowned out the car's radio as it began making its way through the hospital's parking lot.

[Another head hangs lowly, child is slowly taken]

Looking out of the car's window as it turned onto the main road, Taylor watched as everything went by them, curiosity filling her as she looked at everything outside the vehicle.

[And the violence caused such silence, who are we mistaken?]

The bumping of the suspension and vibrations of the car were cool, so was watching as everything slowly got better looking… wait no that's a sad thing, not a cool thing. Shaking her head, she watched as a suddenly slow moving bird slowly flapped its wings as it landed on the edge of a building's roof. Then a bit after that, as a dog ran after a Frisbee in a park, that was cute.

[But you see, it's not me, it's not my family]

Thinking on it, Taylor decided she wanted a dog as well, maybe she could ask Zoe and Alan for one after a bit, nodding to herself, she decided that she would eventually ask for a dog. Turning her attention to what was outside the car again, she decided to look around at all the different cars stopped at the stoplight.

[In your head, in your head, they are fighting]

Looking at them all, she feels a bit sad for some reason, perhaps it's the lack of different colors? They all seem to be different shades of white, gray, silver, or black with the occasional red or blue car breaking up the monotony by going through the intersection.

[With their tanks and their bombs, and their bombs, and their guns]

As they started going through the intersection, the events of the day caught up with her, and Taylor's eyes closed for but a moment, the music fading out. With the last sight she saw being that of a person flying over the rooftops.

[In your head, in your head, they are crying]

Jumping awake to the sound of the car being put in park and seatbelts unlatching, Taylor bleary looked around as she fully woke up again, reaching up, she grabbed the headphones that were now sitting askew on her head. She took them off and placed the player and attached headphones back into the bag she'd been given before stretching with a yawn.

Closing her mouth, she reached down to her side and unbuckled her seatbelt before looking up, as her door opened, spotting Zoe standing off to the side, hand on the door. Taylor grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car. After stepping away from the door, a shiver ran down her back as the door closed behind her and a gust of wind hit her.

Looking left, she started following Zoe up the small, short path leading to the front door of their — her — home. Looking over her shoulder, Taylor marveled ever-so-slightly at the state of the surrounding neighborhood, as while largely of the same color, the houses were all large and pretty looking.

She quickly pulled her attention away from the other houses and turned her sights to Zoe as she heard her speaking, "Sorry we didn't go to your parent's house today Taylor, but it looks like you need rest at the moment. So how about I take you there tomorrow?"

Thinking on it for a moment, Taylor's sleepy mind comes to a decision as the front door is opened, "Um, yeah… that will work, thank you."

"Smiling back at her, Zoe spoke as she walked inside, "Think nothing of it dearie. Now get in here, you and Alan are letting all the warm air out."

Quickly walking inside, Taylor unzipped her jacket as she looked around. Everything was quite pretty, which caused a small spike of jealously to flare up inside her for some reason. Walking further in, she found herself in the living/dining room, with the kitchen separated by two walls and an arch-doorway, and off to the left there was a staircase that went up to the second floor.

Looking at the different paintings on the wall, Taylor saw that they differed from the mundane to expensive, but scattered between them were pictures of what had to be the Barnes family. Looking at one of them, Taylor was Alan and Zoe, along with two other girls. She could guess that Emma was the younger red-haired, green-eyed girl… but she didn't know the name of the older one.

Looking to the right, as her name was called, Taylor walked over to Zoe who was standing at the base of the stairs, "Come Taylor, I'll show you to your new room."

Nodding, Taylor followed Zoe up the stairs and down the hall, passing by four doors and arriving at the fifth, Zoe opens the door and walks inside, Taylor following behind her, "kinda like a duck… hehe, quack" she thought.

Looking around the fairly well sized bedroom, Taylor turned to Zoe as she spoke, "Well, I'll leave you to settle in and get things sorted, I'll come and get you for dinner, for now… just do whatever you want." Said Zoe before she waked out, Taylor watching as she left from over her shoulder.

Walking over to the bed, she went her bag onto the blanket, sat on the bed next to said bag, took off her boots and placed them to the side, then looked around, "Whatever I want… I… I don't know what I want" she thought to herself. Sitting there for a few moments, Taylor grabbed her player and headphones from the bag and put them on, grabbing another tape. She put it into the player, closed it, then hit play, a soft guitar beginning to strum as she laid down on the bed. Her mind whirling with thoughts.

Chapter Text

[Way To Fall]

Sitting up a bit later, Taylor grabs her notebook and a pencil from the bag before opening it and flipping to page nine, before she starts to draw again. This time the scene was of a man crouched down on an outcropping of rocks, rain falling around him as a storm obscured the night sky. Finishing the foreground in a few minutes, she began on the rest of it.

[Son, you've got a way to fall]

Drawing in the military facility, the… the… black site, Camp Omega, Southern-tip of Cuba, March 16th 1975, 00:00 Hours, the mission was to retrieve ch– Letting out a hiss, Taylor drops the pencil and grabs her head as the flood of memories breaks apart into indiscernible gibberish, words over a radio fading to static.

[They'll tell you where to go]

The smell of salt and metal filling her nose as the sound of helicopter rotors go over head, the rotor-wash slamming into her while reinforcing the feeling of the freezing cold weather. A voice gave orders over a distant speaker system, spotlights mounted to the underside of the choppers painfully blinding her.

[But they won't know]

Forcing the memory away, Taylor quickly took off the headphones before turning off, then ejecting the tape from the Walkman. Looking down at her notebook, she closes it after a moment, and puts it on her nightstand alongside her pencil before standing up and beginning to pace, restlessness filling her.

[Son, you'd better take it all]

Having enough of pacing the room, constantly feeling like she's being watched, and feeling her muscles tense at the slightest sounds that aren't coming from her. Taylor stops in her pacing at the window and turns around, walking up to the door, she opens it and walks into the hall.

Turning right, she started walking back down the hall towards the stairs, looking at the walls. She looked between the different paintings, seeing the slowly aging life of a happy family in between paintings that mean nothing to Taylor but look nice. Reaching the stairs, she started walking down them, her mind only now beginning to calm as the phantom sensations in her left arm, and the rest of her body, faded.

She paused when she was about to place her foot on the fifth step when the front door opened, hearing Zoe speak from the living room, she continued making her way down the stairs, but, slower this time, hesitantly.

"Emma! Welcome home, dear, how was your day?"

"It was good, mom… Mom, earlier today, you wanted to ask me something?"

[Love Theme]

{Date: December 12th, 2010, Time: 8:23 PM, POV Emma Barnes}

As she took off her shoes by the door, Emma heard her mother speak, "Ah, yes I did, when you're done taking off your shoes can you come and sit on the couch."

Freezing for a moment, she quickly takes off her shoes and begins walking into the living room, her mind racing, "My grades are good, I haven't done anything bad, I'm home a bit late sure, but that can't be it… what does mom want to talk to me about then?" She thought as she walked into the living room, pausing as she saw her mother sitting on the chair across and slightly to the right of the couch.

Slowly walking over, she spoke as she sat down onto the couch, "What's this about, mom?"

Watching as her mom hesitated to speak filled her with a sense of dread? Or was it worry? Pushing the thought away, Emma spoke, "Did… did something happen to dad? No, I saw him earlier, did something happen to Anne. Mom, did something happen to Anne!?"

Surprise showed on her mother's face, making her think she got it right, "Mom, what happened to Anne!?"

"Nothing happened to her, dear. I wanted to talk to you about last night, I… what I said was—"

"It was wrong, please don't joke like that, ever again." Interrupted Emma, causing her to get a stern look from her mom, shutting her up.

Blinking in surprise at the look, Emma looked down as her mother sighed before speaking, "Emma, if you won't believe me… then please… look behind you," her mother said softly.

Slowly looking up, Emma turned her head to look over her shoulder, and the glimpse of hair she saw caused her to freeze before she whipped around, eyes-wide as she stared into her face.

But it wasn't, she was older, her face looked wrong, her lips weren't as wide, her jaw too sharp, her eyes slightly too narrow, her nose a bit higher. Along with that, a shard of shrapnel was embedded on the right side of her forehead, her hair was in a ponytail, scars crisscrossed across her head, and she was missing her glasses. It looked like someone, took Taylor and combined her with someone else… but she was… she was dead. SHE WAS THERE WHEN THE COFFIN WAS LOWERED.

Falling back off of the couch, Emma nearly bashed her head open against the coffee table as she scrambled back, the yells of her mother distant as that. As that thing began slowly walking over to her, saying something she couldn't hear before it raised a bloody hand toward her mother and continued walking forward, lowering it as Emma continued moving until her back hit the wall.

Drawing her legs up, she closed her eyes and brought her arms up to cover her tear stained face as the demon wearing her friend's face closed in on her. The only sounds she could hear at that moment were the noise of her blood rushing through her veins, her heart beating a thousand miles a second, her own hiccuping sobs, and those fucking words "Nose, ears, tongue, or eyes, pick little birdy."

{Date: December 12th, 2010, Time: 20:25, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Looking down at the broken girl curled up into a ball against the wall, Taylor's eyes soften as memories of… something come to the forefront. Kneeling, she reaches out, only for Emma to flinch away from the feeling of her hand of steel, pulling her hand. Away, she looked down at it, before taking off her jacket, rotating her arm, bringing up her right hand, and pressing down on the recessed button.

Turning her attention back to Emma as the arm hit the floor with a metallic thud, she repositioned herself and sat down next to her before looking towards Zoe and making a gesture with her head towards the kitchen. Getting the message, she turned and carefully made her way into the other room.

Sitting there quietly for a few moments, Taylor spoke, her voice… different, she could tell, it sounded like a mix of her own and… someone else's. "My… memories are nearly all gone," Emma's shaking slowly stopped as her words began making it through, past the trauma, and to the broken girl beneath.

"They're just, muddled feelings and emotions now, nothing really has a… a defined shape, no one has a face anymore. And when I try to look, it's like… sand falling through cracks as they disappear," pausing, Taylor glances at Emma and sees she's no longer shaking, simply… listening. Inhaling, she continues, "when I close my eyes, or dream, I can smell, salt… the sea, metal, sweat, blood, diesel… gunpowder, and I hear gunfire, always distant, but I hear it."

Stopping, she looks at Emma, before speaking, keeping her eyes on her as she does, "I remember dying," Taylor saw Emma stiffen up at that, "I remember a man in a bandanna standing over me, a pistol raised to my head, staring down the barrel of that weapon, I think… I think I accept it then, that it was finally over. Then, the briefest flash from the muzzle, and it all went black,"

Sighing, she looks forward again, staring at the wall across the room as her mind wanders, "The girl that you knew three years ago… is dead, probably permanently, but… that doesn't mean we can't start over." Standing up, Taylor looks down at Emma and offers her hand, "So, how about it?"

Sitting still for a few moments, Emma slowly looks up at her, her eyes puffy from crying, a hidden terror still in the back of them. Looking from her face to her hand, and back again a few times, she slowly reaches out, and places her hand in Taylor's.

Taylor smirks slightly and slides her hand a bit further down and grasps her wrist, Emma doing the same after a brief moment, pulling her up. Taylor spoke while taking a step back, the other girl rising to her feet as she was pulled up, "Well then, on your feet, we have work to do after all."

{Date: December 14th, 2010, Time: 13:43, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Sitting down at the desk in her room, Taylor opened the brand-new laptop and started setting it up. A few minutes later, she was asked to put in a password, thinking on it, she inputs it. And after logging into her new laptop, she goes on to download various programs for schoolwork, after which, she created an email account along with various other accounts for the schooling programs.

Logging into the programs, Taylor began on her lessons. Some were easy or trivial, others were harder, some she just couldn't answer, and more she had to rely on her "newer" memories for the various subjects, from math, chemistry, and history, to english, and computers. Soon, she got into the groove of it, hours passing by in a blur as she was forced to relearn things she'd already known, yet lost the knowledge of. It was frustrating to say the least, especially when she had the feeling of familiarity with a subject, like english.

Continuing through the lessons, she would briefly pause them to take a drink of water before continuing. Off to the side, she would slowly draw sketches of the various uniforms and weapons she would see in her dream. She also started to note down the various hand-to-hand moves she'd see.

The first hand-to-hand move was for countering a wide diagonal slash. Start with blocking the enemies forearm with your own, slide your hand down to their wrist in order to gain control of the hand, immediately attempt to strike at either the eyes or ear. Transition to a two-on-one control, then you can go for a headbutt, knee, or elbow strike to the shoulder.

Once the enemy is distracted by pain, transition into a wrist-lock, guide the blade over to the other wrist, strip the knife from the enemy, transition the strip into an elbow strike to the rib-cage, then enter another two-on-one hold. Pull with your hands, push with your shoulder, kick the knee out from under the enemy, then perform a throw to get the hostile combatant onto the ground.

Eventually, the clock would hit 20:42, allowing Taylor to put a pause to her lessons, head down to eat dinner with the Barnes', then return to her room where she would tidy up her answers, submit the work. Then she would turn off her laptop and head to sleep, wake up early the next day, go down the stairs, and when she entered the living room to go to the kitchen, she saw Emma.

She was sitting on the couch, her hair was… well, a mess was putting it lightly, she was looking down at something in her hands, her hair draping down in front of herself. Quietly walking over, she sat down in the chair across from her, the creaking of the leather causing the other girl to jump and snap her head up.

Staring at each other for… at least two minutes, Emma broke the silence of the early morning, "I… I was there when they lowered your body into the ground, we… we… we weren't even allowed to see your body because of the burns, at… at least that's what the priest said, to "spare us the sight, and not ruin the memories we had of you" he said."

Looking down at what she held in her hands she continued, "They said you died on the operating table due to your full body burns, that they tried to save you, but they couldn't do anything meaningful in time," bringing her left hand up, Emma traced something on the object, a framed picture, Taylor's mind so helpfully supplied.

"We were told the burns were so severe it was a miracle you lived long enough to even make it to the hospital, that the only way they'd managed to identify you was from… from… from fucking dental records and strands of melted hair," sucking in a choked breath, she exhaled with a shudder, "Wh… when I was told you died, my dad said I gave the most… heart-wrenching, soul crushing, vis… visceral scream he'd ever heard before I passed out."

Then Emma looked up at her and said something that had her freeze for a moment, "Are… are you actually Taylor… or are you a… a, I don't know "echo" who thinks she's the original, as said original's corpse rots in the graveyard."

Looking down, Taylor barely started to entertain the thought before it was crushed by something as a spike of pain drove itself into her brain, letting out a low hiss of pain she looked up and spoke, "I… I don't remember anything from… before I woke up, I can recall the sounds of, a car crashing, screaming, heat and then I… I wake up… I don't want to be a fake, a clone, an "echo" as you put it, I want to be myself, I want–"

Holding up a hand, Emma interrupted her, "Wait, you said you remember a car crashing, screaming, and heat?"

"Y-yes."

"Nothing Else?" Giving the other girl a nod, Emma let out a small hysterical laugh before continuing, "It… it fits with retrograde amnesia, but… but I can't believe you're really you, I… I can't handle another false promise, another lie to make me feel better."

A silent pause came over the both of them, before Taylor spoke, "I could have a DNA test done, prove I'm really myself and not just a clone, a phantom."

Looking each other in the eyes, Emma spoke with a hesitant nod, "That… that could work, but… don't they take 2–5 days to come back."

"There's probably a way to expedite the process, get the results back quicker."

"I'll… I'll talk to my mom later today, see if we can't get anything scheduled."

Taylor sat back in the chair and spoke, "We could also try to do some of the activities we used to do, see if they bring anything back… Probably won't work, but there's a small chance."

Putting the picture down, Emma nodded ever-so-slightly and spoke, "Yeah, we can do that. We used to walk on the broadwalk with our parents, we can do that later after school today, see if it shakes any memories loose."

Smiling slightly, Taylor spoke, "Yeah, yeah, that sounds nice."

Watching as she looked down, Taylor was about to stand up to leave when she remembered something, "Emma… what happened earlier this year? Before you started school, Zoe mentioned you and Alan were going to therapy."

She watched as Emma froze before falling back as she began hyperventilating, jumping up, Taylor crossed the distance in a second as the other girl spiraled into a panic attack.

Attempting to put her hands on her shoulders, Emma began panicking hard, batting at her hands while starting to say "No" at a rapidly increasing volume. Managing to quickly pin her arms to her chest, Taylor wraps her arms around Emma and begins talking quietly to her, "Emma, listen to my voice, you are not there, that time has passed, you aren't there anymore, they aren't real, ignore the phantoms, and listen to me, focus on the present, focus on my voice."

Feeling something else rise to the surface as Emma continues to lose herself to the hallucination, her voice nearly at a yell now. Panicking as tears run down her face, Taylor lets it run through her, and, acting on instinct, she spoke again, "Focus on me! Focus on my voice and close your eyes, it's not real, they are not real, now push it back, push the memory back, yes, there you go."

Feeling her slowly begin to stop struggling, Taylor leans back, only to feel Emma latch onto her, pausing. She very carefully kneeled on the ground, allowing Emma to no longer need to sit up to wrap her arms around her back.

[Kill Them All]

Silently, Taylor knelt there, drawing circles between Emma's shoulder blades as she wept. Minutes passed by until the other girl's sobs began quieting, eventually fading into shuddering hiccups. In that time, the right shoulder of her shirt was soaked with tears.

When Emma fully quieted down, Taylor spoke softly as her mind raced, "Emma… even if I'm not truly me… please… tell me what happened."

Nodding ever-so-slightly, Emma began speaking though her hiccups, "Me and dad were driving through… through downtown and a… a rally, or protest, or something, was blocking the road home so he decided to start taking shortcuts through the alleys, he… he didn't realize he'd eventually crossed into ABB territory, eventually he turned down another alley and a dumpster was pushed in the way at the other end, he… he tried to floor us backwards, and one of them… one of them pulled a gun and started shooting. Dad was shot in the shoul… shoulder, but he just kept going in reverse… and just as we were about to make it out of the alley, a… a really heavy dumpster was wedged into the alley behind us…"

Emma paused to shakily inhale, before she continued, her hold around Taylor tightening, "Dad slammed the car into the dumpster thinking it'd move, it… it… it didn't even budge, it just crumpled slightly, as more ABB members came through side doors, eventually they started bashing the windows in, they… they got though and pulled me and dad out of the car, where they dragged me off to the side."

"One of them… one of them, she… she ordered the other ones to "teach the old man a lesson"… Sh… she then walked up to me, where some of the other ones were holding me down. She, she then got in my face and asked me, "Nose, ears, tongue, or eyes," after taking out a knife."

Swallowing thickly, she continued, "I… I chose a fifth option. I headbutted her and broke her nose. She slashed my cheek as she stumbled away. She then said something in another language as she walked away. Then… then… then the men holding me slammed my face into the ground and they… they.…"

As Emma broke down into tears again, fully latching herself onto her, Taylor began thinking of ways to deal with some new-found issues she had. Thinking on it, a group of memories come to the front, a hot desert, gunfire, screams of enemy combatants who don't die immediately to their GSWs, choking a man out in concrete ruins. And stabbing a man in the heart from behind while in a watchtower.

Pulling herself back to the present, and stuffing her terror at losing control of herself like that to the back of her mind, Taylor spoke, "Emma… I need you to describe to me what the woman looked like. Can you do that for me?"

Feeling the slightest nod after a minute of silence, Taylor spoke, "Alright, just squeeze me if I get something correct, and we can move onto another question," Waiting for a moment, she felt when Emma realized what she was waiting for when she felt the smallest amount of pressure on her back.

"Ok, first question…"

{Date: December 17th, 2010, 06:14, POV Zoe Barnes}

Walking down the stairs in the early morning, Zoe started thinking about the last few days, from finding out Taylor was alive, bringing her home, Emma's break-down. Taylor and Emma came to her and Alan in order to set up a hospital visit to get a paternity test. Taylor started to go outside, and the now slowly healing gap between the two girls. Making it to the base of the stairs, she's broken from her thoughts by the sound of a key rattling in the lock of the front door.

Expecting to see Anne slipping through the door, she's surprised when she watches Taylor in her distinctive leather jacket silently move through the opened door. Only when it quietly clicked shut did she speak, "And what exactly were you doing out so late?"

Turning to look at her over her shoulder, Zoe listened to Taylor's rather weak explanation, "I was uh, going on a walk."

"A walk? You expect me to believe you went on a walk in the early morning in December."

When Taylor slumped her shoulders and looked down, Zoe softened her eyes and spoke, "Taylor… please, turn around and look at me."

Hesitantly, Taylor slowly turned around, and when Zoe got a good look at her, she softly gasped and walked up to the girl, "What happened? Who did this?"

"I got into a fight with two bald bastards, I however, won, I mean… you should see the other guys."

"Taylor!" Zoe yelled softly to not wake anyone up, "You have a black eye, busted lip, bruised ear, skinned knuckles, and what looks like a dislocated thumb! What did you do? Kill them!?"

"No… but I wasn't going to let them call me a quote: "Jewish, devil horned, dyke" end quote, and get away with it… Also, they threw the first punch, so I was simply defending myself."

Sighing, Zoe grabbed Taylor by the shoulder and started walking toward the downstairs bathroom, "Well… Come on, let's just go get these injuries cleaned up. Not even 17 and you're already fighting people."

Walking into the bathroom, Zoe opened the cabinet mounted to the wall and pulled out the first-aid kit inside. Opening it, she took out, cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and medical scissors and tape.

Turning to Taylor, Zoe flinched when she was the girl pop her thumb back into place with a crunch and a hiss, sighing again. She poured a small amount of peroxide onto a cotton ball before grabbing Taylor's right hand, bringing the cotton ball up. She began dabbing it against the girl's knuckles.

With occasional hisses escaping Taylor's lips, Zoe spoke, "Maybe next time you'll learn to either not fight someone, or wear protection over your hands."

"Are you… telling me to start wearing gloves?" Taylor asked.

Letting out a mock gasp, Zoe spoke, "Why I would never," smiling she continued, "your mother was getting into fights around your age as well. So I'm a bit of an old hand at fixing up these kinds of injuries."

Letting go of Taylor's hand, Zoe spoke as she put the cotton balls and peroxide back in the aid-kit before looking over the rest of her face for any other cuts or wounds that would need immediate attention, "Besides, I'd be a hypocrite if I said you shouldn't beat up Nazi's, lord knows I did plenty of it when I was younger."

[Disarmament]

{Date: December 23rd, 2010, Time: 15:57, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

"Walking down the Boardwalk was… an interesting experience" thought Taylor, as Emma walked ahead of her, walking between the different clothing stores, the breeze coming from the sea blowing her hair in the wind. Looking at some store windows herself, Taylor didn't really see anything she liked, although that could be because she had – an apparently new – liking for "Retro" clothes as Emma put it. Shaking her head, she stopped walking when a glint from a store window caught her attention.

Walking over to it, she read the name of the store before looking back down at the window, "Zack & Mikes Surplus Store" staring at the patch on the kevlar brassard. The incredibly faded logo was nearly gone, but she could already imagine the forward-facing skull with tiny wings coming from the jaw, and the bullet hole in the top of the head. Taylor smiled bitterly as she stared straight at the diamond towards the bottom of the brassard.

"See something you finally like?" Jumping slightly before spinning around, Taylor meets Emma's amused face and narrows her eyes in response to the other girl's attempt to make her jump, before relaxing and speaking, "Yeah, I was about to go in and ask how much it was."

"Well, considering mom gave us 200 dollars each to buy whatever we want, I imagine it should be in our price range."

Without saying a word, Taylor walks into the store. Pushing the door open, a bell chimes above them, the smell of old cloth and metal hits her as she crosses the threshold. Looking around, she spots uniforms ranging from the 40s all the way up to rather recent looking ones from a few years ago, price tags either hanging from the sleeves or taped onto the helmets.

Moving straight for the counter, Emma right behind her, Taylor rang the bell twice before looking around some more as she waited for whoever was supposed to be at the counter arrived. If the shouting and crashing from the back was any indication, it would take a minute. Smile slightly, she started to look around for anything else interesting in the store.

Looking at the signs hanging above the different aisles, she realizes each aisle is separated by each decade, along with each country the gear within belongs too. Looking at Emma, she spoke, "Stay here, that way the shopkeeper won't think someone pranked him."

Getting a nod, Taylor walked toward the aisle that held gear from the 90s, entering it. She began looking around while going down it, spotting primarily US gear. She stopped when she saw something astounding, a HGU-55/P flight helmet, with a box for a pair of PLZT EEU-2/P anti-flash blindness goggles. Which, should presumably be, in said box.

Looking at the price tag on the helmet, she frowned. $453.79 for just the helmet, as there isn't a tag on the box for the googles, nor does the helmet's price tag include the googles. "Annoying," thought Taylor before she continued down the aisle.

Eventually, she would circle her way back around to the counter, where she saw Emma talking to the guy behind it. Walking up, the teen turned to look at her and spoke as his eyes flicked up to the shrapnel in her head, "Do you have anything you want to see from the site? Or do you already have something picked out from here."

Looking the other teen in the eyes, she spoke, "I'm wondering how much for the brassard on the display in the window."

"Oh, that shoulder pad thingy? I don't think it's for sale."

"It's a brassard, and it had a price tag tucked away on the back of it."

"But we only have the–"

Stepping out of the back, a second, much older man spoke, "Just go get the brassard, Micheal."

Jumping slightly, the younger man nodded and went to get it, as the second man walked over to where the teen had previously been standing and spoke, "I apologize for him, he's new and doesn't know we sell the things in the windows."

Emma spoke up before she could, "Isn't that common knowledge?"

Looking at her, he spoke, "Apparently not, well at least to him."

Looking back at her, he looked at Taylor, "Anyway, when he gets back it'll be $68.93."

Nodding, Taylor reaches up and takes the preloaded card out of her jacket pocket just as Micheal gets back with the brassard.

Waiting until the man scans the price tag on it, she then swipes the card through the reader and watches as a receipt for her purchase prints while said purchase is put into a small bag. Grabbing the receipt, the man staples it to the top of the bag and hands it over to Taylor, taking the bag, she and Emma bid the two farewell and leave.

As the door closed behind them, Taylor looked down and opened the bag before reaching down into it and pulling the brassard out. Lifting it up to her shoulder, she saw it was just a few sizes too big to put on right now.

Putting it back into the bag with a small smile, Taylor looked up as Emma walked further down the boardwalk, quickly shoving the small amount of rising worry down at the sight of her. She shook her head slightly before starting to lightly jog after the other girl, a small flash of something echoing in the back of her mind as she began catching up with Emma.

Chapter Text

[Afghanistan's A Big Place]

{Date: December 17th, 2010, Time: 06:24, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

"So, Taylor, what do you have planned for today?"

Putting down the spoon for her cereal, Taylor looked up from her breakfast and at Zoe before speaking, "Well, I plan on taking the bus to downtown, walk around a bit, try to find a… reputable gym or dojo, see if I can't get a membership, then come home and do some of my remaining homework."

"And you won't get into any more fights?" Said Zoe as she put her coffee cup on the granite island counter.

Shaking her head at the question, Taylor answers even as different thoughts go through her head, memories of what had happened earlier in the day. The cracking of bone on bone, flesh on flesh, skin on skin, "No ma'am. Not unless they come for me first." The joy of battle had flowed through her veins as she broke the eye socket of one of the men before she had cracked her hand on the other's rib cage.

Punching a man in the throat as she took a return punch to the ear, barely blocking a blow from a knife, before stripping it from the Neo-Nazi's hand. She slammed her elbow into his ribs before delivering an uppercut.

Shaking the thoughts away, even as heat started flowing through her veins again, Taylor grabbed her spoon and continued eating as her knuckles ached. Pausing with the spoon in her mouth, she realized she's never had these kinds of thoughts before.

Thinking about it as she swallowed, she spoke up after a moment, "Miss Barnes? Um, when I get into a high school, and if it has one, could I go into its JROTC program?"

Refilling her cup, Zoe spoke, "And why do you want to do that?"

"I… I enjoyed fighting those two men earlier, not… not because they were Neo-Nazi's, but because I genuinely enjoyed the feeling of it. It felt… it felt right, like I belonged there, in that moment."

Putting the pot of coffee on the counter, Zoe looks down for moment before picking up her cup of refilled coffee and walking over to the table, where she sits down in a chair, and takes a sip of coffee before speaking, "Okay, say you do enroll into the JROTC program, what happens if it doesn't have what you're looking for… what happens then?"

Taylor thought about it, what would she do if it didn't have what she was looking for, what would she do then? Making up her mind after a few more moments. She spoke, "If it doesn't have what I'm looking for, then I'll find something else… the only thing I know is that I don't want to only live while fighting, I want to be able to live something somewhat normal, but I don't want this… thirst for conflict or something to rule me."

"Alright, continue with doing your catch-up work, and when the time comes, and you start going to high school, you can join the JROTC program there, see if it's what you need, and if it's not, then we'll find something ok?"

Nodding, Taylor let out a "Mhm" as she continued eating.

"Good, now finish eating, then go take a shower assuming one is free, because we're going clothes shopping for you today," said Zoe as she finished her coffee, stood up, walked over to the coffee maker, and started the machine on another batch of the dark liquid.

Nodding, Taylor quickly finished eating, placed her bowl and spoon in the sink and then went to the second floor bathroom and turned on the shower. Seven minutes later she was out of the shower, dried off, and dressed, stepping out of the bathroom.

She turned and made her way to her room, opening the door she walked in, moved over to her desk, grabbed and then put on her jacket before leaving the room, and closing the door. She then made her way back down the stairs and into the foyer.

Putting on her boots, she looked up at the sound of footsteps, spotting Zoe walking over, Taylor stepped to the side to allow Zoe to put on her shoes, subconsciously shifting from one foot to the other, Zoe's amusement at that was clear if the small twinkle in her eyes was anything, "You may not remember, but your subconscious clearly does."

Pausing in her shifting, Taylor asked a question with a slight tilt of her head, "I liked shopping?"

"Oh yes, ever since Emma introduced you to it. Now come on, we need to get you more than a single shirt, a pair of winter pants, gloves, a jacket, and boots."

Nodding with a sudden impatience, Taylor followed the older woman out of the door, down the small walkway, and into the car. Opening the rear passenger door, she climbed in and buckled her seatbelt, Zoe doing the exact same on the driver's side.

"All buckled in, kiddo?"

Nodding her head, she spoke, "Mhm, all set."

"Alright, let's get going then." Zoe then started the car, carefully pulled out of the driveway, and began making her way towards Westgate Mall. "Alright, so since it's currently… 06:41, and the mall won't be open for another three-ish hours. We are going to head down to the market and look at some things being sold early in the morning."

"Okay."

Looking out the window, Taylor began noting the various things that they passed as Zoe turned on the car's radio. The music becoming wordless background noise as she watched different houses pass by, from one story to two stories, big, small, medium, various colors, cars, in driveways, plenty of snow too.

Eventually they started passing more and more people. The buildings changing with the people, looking out at it all, she was once again enamored with the early morning activity of the city.

After roughly forty minutes of driving, they made it to the Market, parking nearby. Zoe unlocked the doors and turned the car off while Taylor unbuckled, opening her door. Zoe walked up to Taylor's door and opened it just as she finished unbuckling.

Getting out of the car, she waited as Zoe closed the door before walking after her towards the market. With the sound of gravel crunching underneath their feet, the two of them walked under the heat of the sun and the cold of winter. The sun felt different today… but Taylor didn't know how, maybe it was due to the lack of clouds? Whatever it was, she was starting to feel better than she was when she was stuck in the hospital. Shaking her head, she continued walking through the gravel parking lot with Zoe, until they eventually made it to the edge of the market after thirty-two seconds of walking.

Stepping onto the asphalt. The two of them began walking down the middle of the stalls, Taylor looking at each one with interest. Each stall was different, although some were similar. The majority of them had carvings, small statues, or busts of strangely dressed people, who, in her opinion, looked utterly ridiculous. Others had jewelry, clothes, tech, a small amount of animals, and posters. But as they were stopped at a stall, one got Taylor's attention, a stall run by an older gentleman selling what looked like a wide range of cassette tapes and players in various conditions.

Waiting until Zoe had paid for whatever she'd bought, Taylor gently tapped on her shoulder and softly said, "Ma'am, can we go look at what cassettes are being sold over there?" While indicating at the stall a bit further down and across the lot from them.

Looking toward where she was pointing, Zoe said, "Of course sweetie," as she nodded.

Walking across the asphalt lot, Taylor asked Zoe a question, "How many tapes can I get, ma'am?"

Glancing at her, Zoe said, "Well, we have to buy you an entire wardrobe today, but I know how much music is starting to mean to you, so only three songs and two albums today, Taylor."

Nodding, she started thinking of what tapes she wanted, or even if the man had the ones she'd want. While still thinking, the two of them walked up to the stand, coming to a stop, Taylor spoke to the gentleman behind the stall.

"Excuse me sir."

Turning around, the man had a look of surprise briefly cross his face before he smiled and spoke to her, "Yes, what can I do for you ma'am?"

Glancing at Zoe, Taylor saw her nod, smiling a bit, she spoke, some choices already coming to mind, "I was wondering what songs you have the tapes for. Specifically type 1, 2, and 4 cassette tapes."

"I can see what I have, but do you have anything in particular you'd like?"

Thinking on it for a moment, she came to a decision, a song that, due to her memories, is ironic, yet may very well help keep them back, alongside some others. "Yes, do you have the songs "Masters of War", "Army Dreamers", and "Rebel Yell" by Bob Dylan, Kate Bush, and Billy Idol? Alongside the "Defenders of The Faith" and "Rumours" albums by Judas Priest and Fleetwood Mac, by chance?"

"That's quite a selection, I'll see what I have," the man then turned around and started looking through his collection, continuing to speak while doing so, "Do you have any preference?"

"No sir, no preference besides the tape's type, any addition of the songs and albums will do."

"Understood… If you don't mind me askin' who're you buying these tapes for?"

Blinking, Taylor spoke, "I'm buying these for myself."

"Really now? And here I was thinking you were getting them as a surprise gift for your father. What kind of player do you have?"

"I… I uh, I have a 1984 WM-R55 in black and brown/orange."

"Black and brown/orange? Sounds like yours was repainted." Said the man as he opened a fourth box.

"Mhm, it was, but I'm fine with it, because it's like someone mixed rust and cinders, to contrast the black."

After finding all of the tapes, the man closed the boxes he'd opened and stepped back towards the counter while turning around, speaking as he did, "That sounds… interesting. Well, here you are," he put the tapes into a bag, placed the bag onto the counter. Before continuing to speak to Taylor, "The original "Defenders of The Faith" and "Rumours" albums, alongside the few tapes that I have that each contain "Masters of War", "Army Dreamers", and "Rebel Yell" on them."

With Taylor peeking into the bag with a mix of suppressed happiness and curiosity, Zoe hid a small smile as she spoke, "How much will it all be?"

"For all of them together? $122.13."

"Cassettes are that expensive now?" Said Zoe as she took out her wallet and started counting out dollars.

"Yes, ma'am, a vast majority of cassettes are no longer being produced. Hell, I heard they're already slowing the production of the players in Japan."

"That's a shame, I remember going to school with a Walkman… I think it was a WM-FX10?"

Zoe, finished counting out the money, put on the counter before indicating for Taylor to take the bag as the man continued, "A WM-FX10? I remember having one of those, it was a good model… Here's your change ma'am, have a good day."

Taking the change, Zoe nodded before speaking as she turned and walked away with Taylor, "You as well, sir. Come on, Taylor, let's see what else there is."

Climbing into the backseat of the car after putting her bag in the middle seat, Taylor closed her door before buckling in as Zoe did the same up front, putting the few things she'd gotten in the passenger seat. Starting the car, Zoe drove them out of the parking area and back onto the road.

As they drove down the road, Zoe asked a question, "Hey Taylor, have you thought about what clothes you want to get?"

Snapping her head up from where she was inspecting her new cassette tapes, she spoke, "Umm, no not really, I know I want to try to find another jacket, OH, and boots and pants… and maybe some belts."

"Mhm, we can also have you try on some other types of clothes. And we also need to get you socks, shirts, underwear, and training bras."

Nodding her head, Taylor spoke, "Oh, those are good ideas… But why do I need training bras? Also, do I really have to try on other types of clothes?"

"Hahaha, yes Taylor, you have to try on other types of clothes. As for the training bras? It's so you can get used to wearing them, you are still a growing girl after all." Said Zoe with a soft laugh at the start of her sentence.

"Ohhh, okay then… So, another jacket or two, boots, pants, some belts, socks, underwear, and training bras… got it. Don't worry, Aunt Zoe, I'll remember what we need."

"I'm sure you will Taylor, now…" reaching down into one of the bags in the passenger seat, Zoe pulled out the two cassettes Taylor had seen her buy on their way back to the car, before offering it back to her while speaking, "Take them, they're a gift, and I think you'll like them both."

Putting the tape she'd been holding back into the bag on her right, she reached forward, taking the two tapes, she brought them over in order to look at the labels. "Ænima" and "Lateralus", two album cassettes without a band name on them, the Ænima tape was made in… 1996? Interesting, and the Lateralus tape in 2001.

Looking back up, she spoke, "Thanks for the gifts, Aunt Zoe, I'll listen to them later today."

"No problem Taylor. We'll be at the mall in… twenty-ish minutes, so if you're hungry by then, we can grab something at the food court, alright?"

"Mhm, got it, Aunt Zoe." Said Taylor as she put both of the cassettes into the bag with the rest before beginning to look back out the window. Watching the passing cars and people, before, in time, she nods off.

[Infected]

{Date: Unk, Time: Unk, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Opening her eyes to another dream, the first things that greet her are the sounds of gunfire and explosions, alongside the sight of a cassette tape with the title on it reading "From the Man Who Sold the World"

Feeling herself look up, Taylor stares back at the reflection in the mirror. A woman in, what appears to be, her thirties looking back, her hair in a rather unkempt mullet, a shard of metal protruding from the left side of her forehead, and… an eye patch covering the eye below. Blood covering her face.

Putting the tape down on the small shelf below the window, she leaned in, and the face changed to… someone else, no… to her, before the crash… before the crash. Bringing her right hand up, she began poking at her own face for a few moments before memories breached the surface of her mind.

"No time for anesthetic. We have to open her now."

A missing memory slides into place, showing exactly what happened on that helicopter in her dreams… no, her memories.

Her hands used a stitch remover to cut through the stitches on a girl's stomach, which had been done in a rough V shape.

Another "jump" due to a missing memory has the girl awake and struggling as a man with an eye patch holds her down. With her own hands digging into her abdomen through the now open cut, searching for something. The girl's screams echoing in her head.

A third jump, has the girl jumping, back first, out of the helicopter, the man with the eye patch attempting to reach her while yelling "Noooooooo!!" As she placed her own body in front of him while trying to push him back into the aircraft, the smell of salt, blood, and metal on her nose.

Suddenly, she had her blood coated hands hovering over the girl's open wound, the man across from her holding a literally, bloody piece of explosive, a block of C4, her mind so helpfully informing her, "Boss!" She said, her voice sounding exhausted and startled. Before he flipped it over, allowing her to see a yellow peace symbol on it.

The girl exploded, and pain wracked Taylor's body as she and the man were flung back into the helicopter, flame brushing over them both. Her head exploded in agony as they hit the wall before the memory suddenly ended, allowing her to stare back at her own face again.

Reaching down, she grabs a cassette player from her hip before reaching over with her right hand, and grabbing the tape from the shelf. Before popping open the player and setting the tape inside, closing it with a small click, everything began fading as she moved to put the player on the shelf.

{Date: December 17th, 2010, Time: 08:29, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Feeling her seatbelt unlatch, she opened her eyes and watched as Zoe pulled herself away and back out of the car, her seatbelt gliding across her body before stopping against the seat.

Climbing out of the car, Taylor looked around the parking lot and saw several dozen other cars already parked, the sun beating down on everything doing nothing to drive away the winter cold, closing the car door. She turned and followed Zoe through the parking lot, and soon they were walking through the doors of the mall.

Looking back at her, Zoe spoke, "Are you feeling hungry at all, Taylor?"

"No, ma'am, not at all." She answered with a small shake of her head.

"Well, let's get this shopping over with, I know you have places you want to be today." Said Zoe with a small nod, before she started walking further into the mall.

Following after the older woman, Taylor takes small peeks at the different stores they pass, from toy stores, furniture stores, and something called a "Rainforest Café" to barber shops, clothing stores, something called a "Hot Topic", and an antique store.

After walking for several minutes, they enter a clothing store, and after finding an employee, Taylor gets her sizes checked, after which, she and Zoe begin looking for clothes.

Wandering around the store, she eventually picked out six pairs of jeans, five pairs of short sleeve shirts, two pairs of shorts, and a couple pairs of socks, underwear, and training bras.

Meanwhile, Zoe picked out four pairs of blouses, four pairs of knee-length skirts — anything shorter being put back at Taylor's insistence when they arrived — two winter jackets, three pairs of summer dresses, and two sweaters.

Walking to the changing rooms, Taylor found Zoe already waiting for her, quickly walking over, she set the clothes in her arms down on one of the benches before she turned to Zoe and spoke, "Soo… what first?"

{Date: December 24th, 2010, Time: 23:03, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Opening the gate to the backyard as quietly as possible, Taylor slipped through and closed it behind herself before making her way through the yard and up to the back door.

Digging into the dirt of the plant next to the door, she pulls a key out of the dirt, brushing it off, she inserts it into the door and quietly unlocks then opens the door.

Closing the door behind herself, she first made her way into the kitchen, where she opened one of the alcohol cabinets and took a bottle off of one of the racks.

Closing it and leaving the room, before making her way to the bathroom under the stairs. The lights on the Christmas tree lighting up the living room and a part of the small hallway, assisting her in seeing where she's going.

Opening the door, she flipped the lights on and opened the medicine cabinet, grabbing a bottle of pain medication and the aid-kit, she closed the mirror.

Putting both of them down on the edge of the sink and the bottle of alcohol in the bowl of the sink, she shrugged off her damaged, bloody jacket before taking off her ruined t-shirt. Her shoulder, bicep, side, and ribs flaring with pain at the actions.

Opening the aid-kit, Taylor took out the disinfection soap bottle, and quickly washed her hands with the soap and warm water from the tap, drying her hands with a clean towel. She then took out a needle and sutures from the bag.

Balancing the needle on the edge of the sink, she turned her side to face the mirror, and wiped away the dried blood around the knife wound on her side. Before soaking some gauze with 70% isopropyl alcohol and wiping gently at the wound, disinfecting it, and causing a hiss of pain to escape past her lips.

Putting the alcohol soaked gauze in the sink, she threaded the suture and needle before popping open the bottle of alcohol she'd taken from the kitchen, drinking straight from the bottle for around two seconds.

She put it back down in the sink as she felt the warmth of it spreading, her pain receptors numbing as she grabbed the needle and brought it down to her side. She then pinched both sides of the wound together with one hand. Before sliding the needle into her flesh with her other one.

{Date: December 24th, 2010, Time: 21:52, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Snapping out of her reminiscing of when she went shopping with Zoe, and bringing her attention back to the present. Taylor looked in the direction of a very brief scream along with the sound of glass breaking, moving in the direction of the noise. She could eventually make out the sound of a struggle happening in a rather large alleyway, partially blocked off by… by a dumpster.

[Darkness Roars]

Walking up to the dumpster, Taylor peeked around it, and just as she saw a mix of green and red, a gun went off. Her ears began ringing as she stumbled back a step, the screams of a woman and child echoing from the alley as her mind shifted, memories locking into place. Pushing through the pain, her eyes narrowed before she grabbed a beer bottle from the ground.

Bringing her arm back, she threw the bottle as hard as she could toward the other side of the alley. When it landed with the sound of shattering glass, and had the attention of the ABB members inside the alley, she carefully leaned around the edge of the dumpster.

She watched as a bit over half of the thugs went to see what broke. Causing Taylor to carefully get into a crouch and slowly creep up behind the nearest thug.

Once she was close enough, she lunged forward, grabbed the goon by the upper arm with her left hand. She stepped forward and to the side while rotating on her hip and pulling, then pushing him back, trailing her left hand down his arm. She ripped the handgun from him, breaking his fingers, before he slammed into the edge of the dumpster, cracking his skull on the metal, knocking him out with a loud bang.

Spinning around, Taylor fired the 9mm pistol thrice at the man standing over the forms of a cowering woman and child, the first two into his chest. With the third taking his left eye apart and blowing the back of his skull open.

Turning, she fired four times at a second thug before throwing the empty handgun at a third as she rushed said third thug, reaching him. She batted his left arm aside and hit him in the solar plexus before striking out at his throat as he bent down from the hit to his abdomen.

Stripping his gun, she shot the man behind the now choking gangster in the chest twice before pistol whipping the man right in front of her on the ear. She then shoved him back a step and shot him in both knees.

Dodging back, Taylor dropped the pistol while evading a swing from a knife, moving to get a punch in. Pain ripped through her shoulder as a bullet tore into her back before the round was stopped by the bone, cracking it. Stumbling forward with a scream of pain, she quickly sent a punch into the man's solar plexus, causing the both of them to fall to the ground in pain as rounds zipped past them.

Spotting one of the still loaded, discarded handguns nearby, Taylor went for it, crawling over and getting her hand wrapped around the grip. She rolled to the right and onto her back as a round struck where her head had been.

Bringing the weapon up, she shot five times, the 9mm rounds hitting the gunman in the shoulder, chest, and thigh, sending him to the ground with a blood-curdling scream of agony. The bullet that struck his thigh, having shattered his femur.

Her own yell of pain left her mouth when a slash from the man on the ground to her right cut through her jacket and into her bicep. Snapping her right hand across her chest, Taylor fired twice before throwing the weapon at a charging thug, hitting him in the nose, breaking the cartilage, and sending him stumbling back a few steps. This gave her time to stand back up and intercept a diagonal slash from another knife wielding man with her metal arm.

Grabbing his wrist in an iron grip, she slammed her right hand into his ear twice, before moving into a two-on-one control grip, and elbow striking to his shoulder once before wrist-locking him, and guiding the blade over to her another arm, where she stripped the blade from his hand before hitting him in the ribs with her elbow.

When he bent down in pain, she struck the back of his extended arm's elbow, breaking the joint with a sharp snap and a scream, before she tripped him and hip-threw him onto the ground.

Bringing her foot up, she stomped down twice onto his face, cracking open his skull and scalp on the concrete, along with breaking his nose, jaw, teeth, facial bones, and most likely damaging his brain to some degree.

Turning, she dodged to the side a bit too late, allowing the last man — no, woman's blade to slash her side. Grunting in pain, she slapped the knife from the woman's hand and pushed her back before retrieving a gun from the ground.,

Bringing it up, she was tackled into a wall, her head bouncing off of it as she felt a fist slam into the fresh wound in her side. Bringing the handgun up, she angled it down and fired, two bullets left the weapon and tore into the woman's back, with the casing of the second round failing to eject.

Growling in a mix of pain, anger, and annoyance, she began bashing the back of the woman's head with the jammed firearm, eventually the repeated strikes broke the woman's skull and unjammed the gun,

This allowed her to put a third and fourth round into the – somehow – still alive and fighting woman's spine and consequently heart. Very quickly, the Asian woman's strikes weakened before stopping entirely as she collapsed to the ground, dead.

Stepping over the woman's body, Taylor shot both, the man she'd stomped in the face, and the man whose femur she'd broken, in the head twice, finally putting them both out of their misery. Before she turned to the woman, who was now shielding the kid with her body.

Looking down at the two of them, she inhaled before she spoke, but hissed sharply as pain flared up from her side, bringing her hand up and placing it on her side. She realized one or two of her ribs had broken during the fight.

A jerk from the woman on the ground when she hissed in pain made Taylor pause. Before, she spoke sharply and with a small, pained growl to her voice, "You and the kid are safe." Bringing her hand away from her side, she ejected the magazine and racked the slide, fully unchambering the pistol before dropping it.,

"Now the cops are probably on their way, so you can stay here if you want, but I would get out of this alley, don't want the kid to see the aftermath." Turning, she slowly limped to the exit of the alley before stopping and looking back at the woman over her shoulder, the woman looking at her in return with a terrified, teary-eyed expression, their eyes meeting as Taylor continued speaking "If you're going to continue using this route, buy a damn gun, if you won't do that, find a different way home… And I'm sorry for your loss."

Turning, she limped out of the alley before turning left and continuing to make her way back home. One hand pressed to her side to slow the bleeding from the cut, her GSW to the shoulder continuing to bleed down her back as she made her way home, and beneath the pain, was adrenaline-fueled excitement.

{Date: December 24th, 2010, Time: 23:16, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Cutting, then knotting the end of the stitch, she looks at the sutured slash in the mirror, frowning slightly. She puts the bloody needle down on the edge of the sink, and grabs a small amount of gauze and isopropyl alcohol, and gently cleans her freshly closed wound.

Throwing both of the used gauze strips in the trash and looking at the slash on her bicep again, Taylor shifted her attention to her upper arm before hearing a gasp. She was trying to figure out how to properly stitch it closed.

Snapping her head up, she looked over her shoulder and at the door. Her eyes widened like a deer in headlights as she saw Emma staring at her. The other girl had fear in her eyes before she rushed into the small bathroom and softly yelled, "Taylor! Where the hell have you been? What the fuck happened to you?! And… WERE YOU SHOT!" She said, after noticing the hole in the back of her upper right shoulder.

"Yes, but only once, and please, for the love of all that is holy quiet down, I don't need Aunt Zoe or Uncle Alan yelling at me right."

"Only once, Taylor, there is a bullet in your shoulder, how does that not hurt?!" Said Emma in a much quieter tone.

"Not focusing on it and alcohol. Now, if you aren't going to go back to sleep, can you help me… please." Replied Taylor.

Pausing and looking her in the eyes, Emma glanced down at her right shoulder and then her left bicep before looking back up at her with a sharp intake of breath before saying, "Damn it, Tay. Alright, what do you need me to do?"

Turning toward the sink, Taylor moved everything in the bowl out of it before turning on the water and washing the needle, before taking a small amount of gauze soaked in isopropyl and wiping it down, she then spoke as she rethreaded the sutures, "First, I need you to stitch this cut on my arm closed."

Holding the clean, rethreaded needle out to Emma, she continued, "Then, I'll need you to dig a bullet out of my shoulder."

Taking the needle, Emma stepped up to her side and listened as Taylor spoke, "Now just, gently squeeze one end together… like that yeah, now insert the needle at an angle and thread it through one side and up and out the other… there you go, now slowly repeat that all the way down the slash."

When Emma finished stitching up her arm, Taylor handed her a piece of gauze soaked in isopropyl. She used it to, upon Taylor's instruction, gently wipe away the blood that had leaked from the wound when she'd been stitching it shut. Looking at Emma's work in the mirror, Taylor nodded before packing up a majority of the supplies she'd gotten out except for a pressure dressing, isopropyl alcohol, tweezers, gauze, and elastic medical tape.

"Alright, this is the gross part," said Taylor as she moved over, placed the things she'd been carrying on the edge of the small tub, and sat down next to the medical supplies, her back facing the tub as she looked at Emma.

"Taylor… what do you mean?"

[Withered Peace]

"I need you to dig the bullet out of my shoulder. And before you yell at me, close the door."

"I…" turning and quickly closing the door, Emma immediately turned back around and quietly yelled at her, "I barely even stitched your arm up without passing out! How do you expect me to dig a bullet out of your shoulder?!"

"It's either that or I have to explain why I have a bullet in my shoulder at 23:16."

"And then there's that, 23:16? Why the hell are you using the 24-hour or military, or whatever clock!? And how are you so calm about this?!! I mean, YOU HAVE A BULLET IN YOUR SHOULDER!"

I'm numbing the pain with alc—"

"I WASN'T DONE…". Snapped Emma, "I mean, I expected to be dealing with an excited or confused 12-year-old girl, not… not, whatever the fuck you are… Because damn-it Taylor, you act cold or distant whenever something doesn't fully involve you, sure you get involved at times like from before the crash, but that's been happening less and less recently. And… and then there's the fact you're acting like this is a normal situation, that nearly dying is a normal thing or something. Other times, you just… shut people out or subtly change the subject to something or someone else…"

Eventually, Emma began breaking out into tears as she continued speaking, "I– I guess, I n-never wanted to know or con-confront you about it… but, what the fuck is going on!? I know you said all of that st-stuff about your memories being all gone, and smelling gu-gun powder, and… and that you remember dying, but what the fuck is going on?"

"Emma," began Taylor, her voice… even, calm, "I… will try to explain it to you, but… can you please help me get this bullet out. Because if I start explaining everything to you now, it'll probably get infected… if it isn't already."

Chewing on her lip for a moment, Emma hesitantly nodded and began carefully walking over, only stopping when Taylor raised a hand at her, "Grab a clean towel right quick…" spotting the questioning look on Emma's face, Taylor elaborates, "I doubt you want to get blood on your feet. Plus, it'd be easier explaining washing a towel than bloody paper towels or why a roll of toilet paper is missing."

Blinking once, Emma nodded and quickly grabbed a towel from a rack on the wall before walking over to the tub and placing it on the floor, she also plugged the drain while she was leaning down. Standing back up, she turned and stared at the hole in Taylor's shoulder for a few moments before speaking, "So, what… what should I do first?"

Taking a swig of alcohol, Taylor spoke after swallowing it down, the burn of it going down cooling her nerves, "First, you'll need to clean the wound a bit, so grab a small amount of gauze, soak it in a bit of isopropyl… okay now you're going to gently wipe away anything built up around and on the wound…" Taylor then winced, a breath hissing out between her lips.

Taking another, smaller, swig she continued, "Now put the gauze away… grab the tweezers… wipe them off with a fresh piece of soaked gauze… Now carefully insert them into the hole until you hit something hard, and do it slowly," she added quickly.

Stopping herself from moving every time the tweezers bump into the sides of her wound, Taylor eventually nearly heard the sound of metal softly "tinking" against metal, bringing her left hand up, bottle still in hand, she spoke, "Alright, you've found the bullet, now carefully open the tweezers and grab the edge of the round… fuck! Careful, please, just because I'm gonna probably end up drunk by the end of this doesn't mean I don't feel anything…"

Shakily exhaling, she took a moment before continuing, "Now slowly pull the tweezers out… when the bullet comes out, don't try to catch it, let it fall. In fact, could you grab the pressure bandage… on my left by my hip, yep that, and get ready to hold it over the wound for when the round comes falling out… Thanks."

Waiting for the round to come out was… exhilarating? Why was it exhilarating to her? Shaking her head, Taylor focus back on the present just as she felt the bullet get pulled out of her shoulder, the small flow of blood following after it stopped by Emma pressing the bandage to the hole. The bullet forgotten about as it fell onto the towel.

"Alright, now, use some of this Vaseline and put a thin layer of it over the wound… Ok now, Here, take this," said Taylor as she handed Emma some rolled up gauze, "put it directly over the bleed point… now press down on that and grab the elastic tape… now wrap it tightly over them around the wound to hold the pad and gauze in place, yeah like that… Ok, there we are, all done. Not that bad, right?"

No–not that bad? Not that bad," breaking out into slightly hysterical laughter, Emma stops after a few moments and speaks, "I just pulled a fucking bullet from your back and you're saying "Not that bad" Christ Taylor… you still have to explain everything to me." Softly finished Emma.

"Yeah, yeah, I do… let's get this cleaned up first, then I'll explain all that I can."

Nodding, Emma carefully begins helping Taylor put all of the medical supplies back into the aid-kit or the cabinet itself. Emma also went ahead and retrieved the bullet with the tweezers, before grabbing the towel off of the floor of the tub before turning and walking over to the trash can.

Just as she was about to throw the bullet out, Taylor stopped her, "Wait, make sure you bury it towards the bottom of the trash so no one sees it."

Nodding, Emma does just that and soon, the tweezers are cleaned off and sanitized before being placed back into the aid-kit, which is then placed into the cabinet/mirror. Once everything is put back away, well, besides for the bottle of alcohol Taylor has, they leave the bathroom and sit down on the couch in the living room, the multicolored lights from the Christmas tree dancing over the room.

Looking over at Emma, Taylor softly spoke after a few moments of silence, "It's all dreams or whatever they are, memories I guess… but, where do you want me to start?"

Thinking it over, Emma chooses the only real option, "At… at the beginning, start at the beginning."

"Okay… I remember being on the floor of a hospital, a man with bandages around his face and right hand, wearing a hospital gown walking up to me-"

Chapter Text

[Uncertainty]

{Date: December 24th, 2010, Time: 21:57, POV Unk}

Carefully walking up to the alley, he began looking around, attempting to see if anyone else was nearby, spotting only a woman and child sitting across the street under the light. The man quietly, yet quickly, entered the alleyway that was partially obscured by a dumpster.

As soon as he stepped around the dumpster he paused and surveyed the scene, littering the alleyway are seven – pausing and looking down, he spots another body – eight, corpses. Kneeling down, he began inspecting the body of the man, an ABB gangster if he's remembering right.

Grabbing the man's arm, he lifted it up to give the limb a once over, "broken fingers, and from the angle of the breaks, he was holding a handgun, CQC then… worrying. And the body's still warm, he's been dead for only a few minutes." He thought as he noted the warmth of the corpse's skin through his gloves. Looking at the man's head, he saw his skull was cracked open, "the injury was most likely gained after slamming it into the corner," looking toward the rest of the corpses, he stands up and walks forward a few steps.

Stopping, he looks over his shoulder and notes where the dumpster and first body are. Looking forward again, he begins walking forward, noting the empty pistols scattered around and the body of the civilian. "The man was killed execution style, he was dead before she got here then," approaching the body near the dead businessman, he noted the three gunshot wounds.

Looking back at the first body, he spoke quietly to himself, "So, she snuck up on the first man, disarmed him and threw him into the side of the dumpster, then shot this man here using the Mozambique drill," looking at the five other bodies, he spotted one with four GSWs, "Hrrmnn…" walking over to the body he knelt down and began looking the body over.

"She then shot this man in the torso four times before…" Looking around for the next target, he stood up and walked over to two bodies nearly next to each other, kneeling back down as he looked over the first, "throwing her gun at this man? Interesting tactic," he thought as he analyzed the corpse, "she then rushed him, hit him in a pressure point, then the throat, before… shooting the second man in the chest. And from the bruising, she proceeded to hit this man in the ear, and shot him in the knees before quickly dropping the pistol… but why?"

Glancing around, he moved over to a corpse laying on its back, a bloody knife in hand with bullet holes in the concrete to the right. "She fell down with this man… and if the blood here and here is right, she was shot, most likely in the back, so she's not trained, but is instead relying on the implanted memories, I can use that if I have to fight her."

Looking closely at the dead man with the knife, he spotted the two GSWs in his side, "This man slashed at her at some point, she then shot him in the side, with the second round appearing to have hit him in the heart, a snapshot then, so he died while on they were both on the ground."

Turning his head to his left, he looked at the man with the most damage, "she then fought him, broke his elbow, and threw him to the ground before stomping on his face… Hrrmnn, a mix of the memories, emotions, and instinct then," noticing the gunshot wounds in the side of the man's head, he turned and looked on the left side of the alley. Where, near the wall, was the corpse of a woman, near said woman was a third bloody knife and a fully unloaded 9mm pistol, a Glock from the look of it.

Walking over to the body, the man noted both the four GSWs in the woman's back, and that her skull was split open, with the magazine well of the Glock and the base of the ejected magazine being bloody. Bending down, he flipped the corpse over, taking note of the broken nose, "Four gunshot wounds, yet only two went through and through…" he thought before looking a bit further down the alleyway, where spotted an empty pistol on the ground. "That explains the broken nose."

Looking at the rest of the woman's body, he saw that her right knuckles were bloodied, and it wasn't her own, "Fist-fight then… No, she tackled Taylor into the wall, where she started punching her, either in the face, which the lack of teeth on the ground invalidates, or in a wound, most likely on her left side. Taylor then either grabbed a gun from the woman or had one just before being tackled, where she fired four times… but that doesn't explain her beating the back of the woman's head with the pistol."

Looking around, he found a bullet casing laying on a garbage bag, picking it up, he looked it over, where he saw that the mouth of the was slightly dented, "A stovepipe jam then… so she fired twice, the pistol jammed, she beat the back of the woman's head with the pistol, which, out of sheer luck, fully ejected the casing and allowed the pistol to chamber another round, where she then shot the woman another two times," he thought to himself.

Turning back to the body, he flipped the woman back onto her front and looked at the GSWs, "There, those two, her third and fourth rounds hit her in the spine and heart, while the first two went all the way through her body, she was probably only able to keep fighting through the gunshots and head trauma due to adrenaline, but the spine and heart shots put a stop to that," He thought.

Standing back up fully, David looked around the alleyway one last time as snow began falling from the sky before speaking quietly, "Lethal, violent, untrained, and relying on false memories and instincts to fight properly… I need to find her before she gets herself killed or falls too far into those memories of hers."

{Date: December 24th, 2010, Time: 23:24, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

"—And then I woke up when he popped my elbow back into place, and the funny thing is… I could still feel the pain for minutes after, even though the dream had ended."

"Ok, so to get this right, one of your memories involves you waking up on the floor of a hospital with one arm, and a man walking up to you saying something about giving a woman "A light, but she took the short way down" This then evolved to a floating child in a red-lensed gas-mask and a black straitjacket, who floated upwards and into the ceiling as the ends of said jacket's sleeves caught on fire. A literal man on fire exploded an elevator open and walked towards you with glowing red eyes before he was defeated by the hospital's sprinkler system. Then, after going back the way you came, the man whose been helping you puts your elbow back into its socket. OH, which was dislocated by the explosion and the subsequent landing on the tile flooring… Is that about right?" Recounted Emma.

"… I wouldn't put it like that, but… yes?" Confirmed Taylor a bit hesitantly as she quickly started to lightly blush at the… fantastical sounding memory, now that she looks back on it after explaining it to someone else.

"And how do you know it's even a real memory and not something fake?!"

"Umm…" Thinking on it "carefully", Taylor quickly realized she didn't have anything to counter with, until a date came forward from the back of her mind. Looking up, she spoke, "March 14th, 1984, there should be a news report about a fire or attack on the Dhe… Dhek… Dhekelia SBA Memorial Hospital in Cyprus."

"I'll check for that news report. But… fine, I'll… I'll believe you for now. So, are you able to remember anything else? Anything from the hospital attack, I mean."

Thinking on it for a few moments, Taylor tried to force any of her new memories forward, but received nothing. Looking up at Emma, she shook her head silently.

"Alright… *sigh* maybe more will come to you later tonight, for now I think we should head to sleep. Will you be fine heading up on your own? Or will you need my help?" Said Emma, clearly indicating Taylor's wounded state.

Thinking on it, she shifts her shoulder a small amount and winces before speaking, "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. I just need to figure out what to do with this bottle." She said before lifting the alcohol bottle up and taking a small swig of it, the burn of it going down her throat and the alcohol itself numbing the intensity of the throbbing pain coming from her injuries.

A small amount of panic crossed Emma's face as she realized what her parent's reaction would be to a random bottle of half-drunk… whiskey… her face paling a small amount, she spoke,  "Taylor, what's the proof level of that bottle?" asked Emma.

Wondering why she'd want to know that, Taylor decided to go along with it and looked down at the bottle, "It's uhh, it says 90-proof… *hic* Why?"

"You're… you're drunk… of course you're drunk, you've drunk a bit over half of the bottle… NO," reaching over, Emma snatched the bottle from Taylor before she could drink anymore, "You are not drinking anymore of this!" Quietly yelled Emma.

Putting the bottle onto a side table, Emma pulled Taylor up and began leading her to the stairs while saying, "Now, let's get you to bed so I can sleep knowing you aren't getting shot… And so the hangover you're going to have will hit you sooner."

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Taylor's vision began fading before she fell unconscious. As she put her foot on the first step, Emma paused and spoke when she noticed Taylor hadn't stepped up with her, "Taylor?" Looking to her right, she froze before sighing to herself and speaking quietly, "Of course she passes out at the base of the stairs,"

Taking a deep breath, Emma shifted her hold on Taylor before starting to slowly make her way up the stairs, grumbling about "Brunettes who can't hold their alcohol" all the way up.

[Learn To Walk]

{Date: Unk, Time: Unk, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Opening her eyes to the sight of her arm moving in front of herself, Taylor both immediately noticed that her mind was sharper than it had been when she passed out. And knew where she was, if just from the sound of a helicopter and the smell of smoke, "Back in the hospital, huh." She thought to herself.

Looking up and to the left as Ishmael points while saying, "Over there." She saw the helicopter come to a complete stop as it began hovering over the roof of the hospital, its side doors open, allowing the men in the cabin to start fast-roping down. Four go down, with the sound of shattering glass, barely audible over the noise of the Blackfoot, "I'm never drinking of my own volition again, why does alcohol make everything so much louder," she thought.

Moments later, a metallic clattering from down the hall gets both Taylor and Ishmael to look to the left, where they spot a smoke grenade rolling along the tiles, gray smoke billowing from the canister. Quickly, lights became visible past the wall of gray, and along with the lights came the sound of combat boots on tile flooring.

Immediately moving across the hall, Ishmael waved her forward while quietly saying, "Let's move." Before he quietly opened a door, said door letting out what sounded like an almost deafening squeaking sound as it was opened.

Following behind him, she entered the small room, Ishmael letting the door close behind her, as she went down onto her stomach and began crawling along the floor. Moving into a small, shared medical room, she saw another man slowly crawling along the floor, moving up behind him. She stopped as she saw a light on the floor, looking up past the man. She barely saw a figure in the smoke.

Slowly getting up onto his knees, the man spoke, "Help me, please!"

A silenced pistol rang out, the man falling to the side on his stomach while screaming in pain. Quickly moving, Ishmael grabbed her by the sides and pulled them both off to the right and under a bed, the two of them freezing as the injured man began crawling in front of them while whimpering. The soldier in combat fatigues… No, in… a flight suit? Slowly walking alongside the injured man.

Coming to a stop, the soldier fired down into the man's spine, paralyzing him. Rolling him over with his foot, the injured man began pushing himself up while the handgun's light shined down onto his face… Before the pistol fired a third time into his head, killing the man, his head tilting towards them from the impact of hitting the floor, blood seeping from the gunshot wound just above his right eye.

Taking a step away, the soldier stopped and turned, then walked back over. Stopping, he got onto a knee before leaning down slightly, looking under the bed, the bottom of his gas-mask visible. After looking around for a few moments, he reached down and began feeling around. After about three seconds, he dragged his hand back and grabbed a flipped over ID card.

Pulling it back, he looked at it before using his pistol to turn the man's head over, silently standing up after a moment. He stood there for before walking around the bed and toward where she and Ishmael had come from. All the while, she watched him go, finally able to see more of the soldier. She spotted the oxygen tank on his back, alongside being able to barely make out what looked like a black flak vest, before he turned and walked around the corner.

Turning back to Ishmael silently, he seemed to be making sure the man wouldn't come back. After he was satisfied, he said, "Let's move." Before quickly crawling past the corpse and under the next bed, before making his way through the door, while she silently looked at the man's body for a moment before beginning to crawl out herself. Before a jerk from her leg and the feeling of a hand wrapping around her ankle stopped her with a small grunt. Looking back, she saw a man who, in a panic, said, "Help me… I don't wanna die…!"

Silently walking back over, the soldier from a minute ago fired a round from his pistol into the man's spine, right between his shoulder blades, releasing his grip on her. Taylor froze in place as the man was dragged off, who screamed while being dragged to the other side of the room, dropping his ankle. The soldier walked up to the man's side as he slowly began pushing himself up before firing three rounds into his back, silencing him.

Walking up to the side of the bed she was under, the soldier stopped when the sounds of glass breaking and something crashing to the floor got his attention. Turning, he walked towards the noise, and after making sure he wouldn't be coming back, Taylor quickly crawled under the next bed and over to the door.

Coming to a stop, she carefully stood up into a crouch and peeked down the corridor to the left as a woman, a nurse, spoke while waving towards a chopper, the man she was helping to stand doing the same, "Oh, Thank God! Here! Over here!" beginning to stumble while holding his side, both the man and the nurse approached the window as the helicopter came to a hover outside. Where the soldier kneeling in the cabin raised the LMG he was holding, the flashlight attached under the barrel blinding the two people at the window before he opened fire.

Wood and glass broke apart and shattered as bullets tore the two apart, the nurse falling to the ground first, with a final two round burst putting the man down a second later. Hovering for a second more, the Blackfoot pulled away. Sneaking forward, Ishmael comes to a stop at the corner while saying, "Don't get caught in those searchlights."

Coming to a stop behind him, they both wait until the light moves away from where they need to go before crossing over to the windows and sneaking down the halls. Ducking below the window sill whenever the light shined over them, Taylor stopped halfway down the hall and looked back as she heard some noise over the rotors of the helicopter.

Watching as a man slowly walked back into the hall, a flashlight blinding him as he did so, he came to a stop and fully looked up while lowering his arms. Before a burst of gunfire ripped through his torso, killing him as he fell back onto the floor. Standing up fully, she ran down the hall as Ishmael yelled, "Run!" From an open door.

Making it to the door, she stumbled though as a single gunshot sounded out from down the hall, the door being closed behind her. Ishmael then quickly glanced around before grabbing the upper edge of a metal cabinet and pulling it down onto its side with a metal slam.

The sound of multiple footsteps and gear rattling quickly came from the other side of the door, which was followed by the sound of someone trying to open the door. When that failed, the sound of a saw was heard starting up before sparks came from the door as it was cut into.

Turning away with a panicked gasp, a nurse began running up the staircase before Ishmael turned and waved her towards the stairs that went down while yelling, "Move! Go!" Before he started making his way down the stairs. When the nurse made it up the first flight of stairs, he turned just as a soldier came down from the second flight.

Said soldier raised his gun at the man, who stepped back with panicked noises before he was shot, screaming in pain now. Taylor tried to block out the sounds as both her and Ishmael went down the stairs, before a second shot rang out. The nurse fell over the railing and down the stairwell, where he hit the ground with a thump.

Reaching the floor below them, Taylor could begin to make out hushed voices and whispers, following after Ishmael past the voices. They began making their way down the stairs again before he held out his hand and spoke before turning back, "Shit! It's ugly down there. Turn back."

Going back up as a soldier made his way up the stairs behind them, Ishmael walked up to a metal gate, Taylor right behind him, where a nurse opened a door and waved them in while saying something in Greek before switching to English, "C'mon." Walking through, Taylor turned and closed the gate as Ishmael made his way further into the crowd, when it softly slammed into place, everything faded again as she turned around.

[Dead Man]

{Date: December 25th, 2010, Time: 05:02, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Waking up with a bodily jolt upwards, Taylor quickly bit down on her tongue to stop, or more like suppress, a scream of pain from escaping her lips. The back of her shoulder flared up in white-hot agony, balling her hands into fists. She stayed sitting up in her bed as she let the pain course through her body.

With tears in her eyes, she began trying to figure out what happened. As her mind whirled, Taylor shifted her left arm, letting out a gasp of pain. She snapped her head over so she would look down at her bicep. Reaching over with her right arm, her shoulder flaring in pain as she did, she rolled her sleeve up and stared wide-eyed at the lines of stitches going across her arm.

Feeling a small tug on her side as she shifts to get a better look at her bicep, Taylor drops her sleeve back down and reaches down her left hand. She lifts her shirt up, unveiling a line of stitches that starts almost at the middle of her abdomen and deepens as it runs along her side. Staring down at the bruised wound, things finally click into place, the gunshot, the screams, the pain, stumbling home while losing blood, Emma, and passing out at the base of the stairs.

"Why does she help me? I mean, that was a clear case of, "run and get Aunt Zoe and Uncle Alan" ever… so why does she help me?" Taylor thought to herself while running her left hand down her face.

Moving her hand away from her face and pushing her covers away, she swings her legs over the side of her bed and, after a moment of sitting there, stands up. Falling back onto her bed after her legs nearly give out, Taylor sits there for a few more moments. Then carefully stands up before beginning to carefully walk to her door, where after reaching it, she opens it and, as quickly as she can, makes her way down the hall and into the bathroom.

Opening, then entering and closing the door behind herself, Taylor walks past the mirror and to the shower/tub combo, idly noting the red covering her face in the mirror. And as she turned on the water for the shower, she froze in place as steam quickly filled the small room.

Slowly standing up straight again, she turned around and walked back over to the mirror, turning once more. She stared directly into the reflective glass of the mirror, and the face that stared back… scared her. It was herself, but… covered in blood, both old and fresh. Bringing her left hand up as her right one grabbed onto the edge of the small counter with a white-knuckle grip, she paused as she saw the literal coating of blood covering it.

Focusing back on her reflection, she watched herself go pale beneath all the blood as she remembered crushing that man's skull beneath her boot. Of knee-capping another man, severing the popliteal artery and leaving him to bleed out. Feeling bile beginning to come up, she turned away from the woman in the mirror, stripped off her clothes, and rushed into the shower.

The scalding hot water burned her skin as she stepped under the spray before she couldn't hold it back anymore and started to vomit up the alcohol of last night, alongside plenty of bile, saliva, and some mucus. As she remembered bashing that woman's skull in after shooting her twice. Before she shot her twice more.…

Or how she'd grabbed the boy, who she now realized looked no older than herself, and threw him into the corner of that dumpster, breaking his fingers and cracking his skull open on the metal.

Collapsing onto the floor of the tub, her soaked hair cascading down around her face – Idly, she noted it was out of the ponytail she always had it in. Focusing on the present instead of what had happened last night, she brought her hands up and stared down at them.…

Blood… so, so much blood covered her hands, heaving. She felt something beginning to rise up her throat as she started scratching at her hands. Tears in her eyes quickly mixed with the water and blood, the three liquids combining into a morbid form of mascara that ran down her face and dripped onto the floor of the tub. She began clawing at her hands…

Panic induced hysteria completely taking over her mind, because the blood… wouldn't… come… OFF… Yet she continued to scratch and claw, but her hands wouldn't stop bleeding, and the dried blood wouldn't come off, even as her own skin and blood mixed with the water. Even as a distant stinging tried to get her attention.

She could smell iron now, even as the water slowly went from hot to room temperature, even as she tore the skin from her left hand, inadvertently tearing the skin from her right hand in places. And as the skin ripped away from her left, all that laid beneath was metal. Cold, hard, metal. Yet the blood wouldn't stop flowing from her arm

A tug from the skin on her left bicep had her right hand snapping up and clawing along that area, bloodied, broken sutures falling into the water, utterly ignored, as said water turned crimson. Now, more blood was falling down her arm, and she couldn't figure out why.

Slowly, she went from being on her knees, to the fetal position as her hair covered her face like a blackened curtain… Her face, her… her face, reaching up, she started feeling at her face… but it felt wrong, incorrect, numb. So, she closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around herself, and cried anew because she couldn't figure out what was wrong, and her body wept its own crimson tears alongside her.

Eventually, she stopped crying, and just sat there in the still warm water, the blood having slowed its flow now, gasping silently as she sat there on the ceramic flooring of the tub. And soon, she stopped shaking, before she hesitantly opened her eyes and looked down at her hands, the sound of water splashing against her skin and the tub, drowning out all other noises except for her heart beat. And the ringing in her ears.

Looking at her left hand, she saw only her own blood freshly smeared on the metal, the blood that had dried on from last night washed away by the water. Looking at her right hand, she saw she had skinned it in various places, and it was now bleeding. Her nails were also torn, but not ripped from the beds, just torn. That made her give out a small, choked, sobbing laugh before the pain from her left bicep finally registered.

Looking at it, she saw some skin was torn, and the wound was reopened and bleeding as well, fresh blood running down her arm, "Well, there's where the smell of iron is coming from." She thought to herself

Slowly standing up, she shut the shower off and carefully stepped out of the tub and onto the mat on the floor. Reaching over, she grabbed a towel off of the rack and dried off, the towel being stained red from her blood in some places. Dropping the towel to the floor, she walked over to the mirror and, while doing her best to ignore the reflection looking back, opened the medicine cabinet before taking the aid-kit out.

Quickly cleaning her arm, she stitched it up herself this time before taking some gauze and wrapping up her hand, securing it. She then put everything back into the aid-kit, put it back into the cabinet, then closed the small mirrored door.

[Life's End]

Looking at her reflection, Taylor brought her left hand up and ran it through her hair, pushing it back and out of her face, frowning slightly. She lowered her hand before looking down and opening the drawers built into the vanity cabinet.

Looking through each drawer, she pulls out a blow-dryer, a rattail comb, some hair clips and a headband, some styling cream, a bottle of hair spray, hair-shears, and a small bottle of texture spray. Putting it all on the counter top, she closed each drawer, picked up the comb and began to part her hair down the middle while straightening it out slightly. After doing that, she grabbed the shears and began cutting.

For minutes, she cut, straightened, and styled her hair. Every once in a while, a brief flash of blonde hair would make her eyes focus on one spot, allowing her to quickly correct the mistake she hadn't noticed before. Or a small feeling of nostalgia and longing would make her pause and rethink what she was doing, before she'd shake it away and continue.

After a few minutes more, she finished applying the few things she hadn't yet used, and finally stopped, reaching over as her hair finished drying. She grabbed the dark gray headband from off of the counter and, after carefully putting it on. After spending a few seconds adjusting it, her bangs were now able to hang down over the front of it and frame her eyes.

After washing off the tools she'd used, she put them back in their correct drawers. Closing said drawers, she looked back up in the mirror and stared at her reflection for a few moments, the hairstyle looked nice on her, her metal horn poking through her right bang adding to her overall look.

A second later, something flashed into her mind, and a memory, stilled from time, sat at the forefront, it was a view of a woman looking down from a rickety old bridge. The only thing she was able to make out was her olive green fatigues, pale skin, and short, dirty blonde hair.

In the blink of an eye, the memory was gone, and Taylor was left staring back at her own reflection again. Turning to the side, she looked at the stitching along her side to make sure it's still relatively intact and not bleeding. Not seeing anything wrong with it, she then turned around and looked over her shoulder to check her gunshot wound in the mirror.

Realizing she'd gotten the bandages wet, she quickly got the aid-kit back out and changed them out with some minor difficulty and a bit of pain. Before long – twelve minutes – she was finished, putting the aid-kit away and checking everything over in the mirror again, she then turned and put the clothes she'd been wearing yesterday back on before cleaning up her hair and old bandages from the floor. Once she was done with that, she quietly opened the door and quickly made her way to her bedroom.

Opening, then closing the door, she opened her closet, grabbed some matching clothing, took off what she was wearing, and then carefully put on the fresh clothes. Grabbing her jack from where it was folded over the footboard, she put it on. Afterward, she grabbed her Walkman and the cassette tape for "Lateralus", pocketing both items on the inside of her jacket. She left her room and began making her way downstairs.

Putting the coffee on, Taylor turned and looked at the bottle of whiskey that was two-thirds empty sitting on the counter. Thinking it over, she lost track of time and jumped when she heard her name being called. Looking over, she saw Aunt Zoe standing there, disapproval written on her face.

"Aunt Zoe–"

"Don't "Aunt Zoe" me, young lady. What happened to your hair, what happened to your hand, and what is a nearly empty bottle of whiskey doing on the kitchen counter."

"In… in no particular order, I cut and styled it myself. I sliced my upper arm last night, which I'll explain more about if Emma doesn't get in trouble. And I had a… a small mental breakdown in the shower. BUT, I'm fine now, so there's no need to worry."

"Alright… *sigh* circling back around to the breakdown in a minute," said Zoe as she walked up to Taylor, she continued when she reached her, "Show me your arm."

"I… what?"

"Take your sleeve, and roll it up."

Nodding and quickly complying with the worried and annoyed older woman, Taylor reached over with her right hand and pulled her sleeve up, showing the barely bleeding slash on her bicep, the new sutures holding it closed.

Looking closely at the wound, Zoe nodded after a few moments and spoke, "These are some good, albeit uneven stitches, I assume you did these?"

"Ye- Yes, I did them this time."

Looking up at her, Zoe spoke, "This time? Taylor, what do you mean this time?"

"Umm… do you promise not to yell at Emma?"

Narrowing her eyes, Zoe spoke again, "Taylor… What happened."

"I drank the whiskey to numb my pain receptors, so Emma could stitch up my arm last night, I didn't realize how much of it I drank…" Taking a breath, Taylor continued speaking at a normal pace, "I think I passed out last night before heading to bed… Emma's not in trouble, right? She won't get yelled at?"

Sighing, Zoe backed away a small amount, allowing Taylor to roll her sleeve back down, before she spoke softly, "Taylor, you, me, Emma, and Alan will be sitting down later today… For now, since you're up, you can help me make breakfast."

Silently nodding, Taylor watched as Zoe walked over to the whiskey bottle, picked it up, walked over to the alcohol cabinet, opened it and put the bottle inside before closing it and moving over to the pantry as she spoke, "Can you get the eggs, milk, bacon, and—"

{Date: December 25th, 2010, Time: 21:46, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Unlocking the front door, she pushed it open, walked in, closed it behind herself, then took off her shoes, the smell of roast beef and turkey filling her nose. Walking further in, Taylor saw that there was already the roast turkey and prime beef ribs, but also the stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and green bean casserole on the table.

Walking past Emma, who was busy setting the table, Taylor walked into the kitchen, where she saw Anne pulling roasted vegetables out of the oven. Uncle Alan moved pigs in blankets onto a platter, and Aunt Zoe putting what looked like a dark-chocolate and raspberry cobbler in the oven beside Anne.

Moving over to the fridge, she opened it and pulled out a platter with covered up cups on it. Walking over to a small, free area of the counter, she put the platter down. Moving over to the spice cabinet, she grabbed the nutmeg. Closing the cabinet, she moved back over to the platter and took the covers off of the cups, sprinkling the nutmeg onto the eggnog. She quickly moved back over to the cabinet again and puts it back before moving back over to the platter, where she picks it up and walks out of the kitchen.

Walking back into the dining room, she placed the platter of eggnog down onto the table where Emma had indicated to after noticing her standing by the table. Moving back into the kitchen, she helped bring a few more things to the dining table before she sat down. Anne, Uncle Alan, and Aunt Zoe joining her and Emma at the table soon after. A short amount of time later, they were all eating the great dinner put together by Aunt Zoe, and as they ate, Taylor, and if she was told anything, Emma prepared herself for the upcoming talk.

[Afghanistan Phase - Evasion Day]

{Date: December 29th, 2010, Time: 20:31, POV Taylor Anne Hebert}

Taking a glance at a pane of glass, she noted the man in the raincoat was still following behind her, keeping her head forward, Taylor began glancing around, trying to find anything or anyone of assistance. Spotting only alleyways, empty sidewalk, and a sparse amount of cars further ahead, she inhaled quietly, her heartbeat slowly picking up, "Son of a–"

And as snow began falling for the eighth time that day, Taylor waited until she was near one of the alleys before she bolted, "Looks like I'm going to be home late again." She thought.

Moving into the alley, she continued to run, glancing over her shoulder. She saw the man entering, looking forward, she turned left, ran another four meters and turned right, continuing to make her way through the maze of alleyways. Taylor eventually exited them and walked out into the lot of a burnt down warehouse, rushing over to the husk of concrete and metal. She slipped under the rusted, deformed loading bay door.

Standing up, she looked around, old containers and shelves were scattered around, alongside the burnt out remains of a few forklifts. Walking further into the massive building, Taylor ducked behind one of the containers as she spotted a figure entering the building on the other side of the bay.

Keeping silent, Taylor waited in the shadows of the ruined warehouse, and when the man slowly crept past her hiding place a few minutes later, she lunged forward, metal fist raised toward the back of his head.

Chapter Text

[Warehouse Smack Down]

{David/Solid Snake, Date: December 29th, 2010, Time: 20:43}

Barely hearing the sound of her movement, he took a step to the side and dodged the punch before stepping back, grabbing the extended arm. Snake felt when her balance wavered, realization of what was about to happen most likely washing over her, and seized the moment.

With a hard tug on her arm and a sharp turn, he drove his left foot between the phantom's legs, dropped his hips, and his right leg—bent like a spring—launched up to attack the inside of her thigh. The world tilted as his whole body straightened, releasing the coiled tension. A yelp of surprise escaped his opponent's lips as she flew up and over his hip, before slamming onto the spalled concrete flooring of the old loading bay.

Blocking the girl's kick with his forearm, David stepped back as she rolled up and onto her feet, stepping to the side of her kick, Snake slipped around behind her before beginning to wrap her up in a chokehold. Twisting out of the attempted hold, she then tried to put him in one. Turning to the side, he hit her in the nose with the back of his fist and backed away.

Beginning to circle each other, they both enter their own different CQC stances. He enters his favored commando sambo stance and the girl… enters into his stance, readying himself for the quick and brutal strikes that are to come. Snake then decides to deny her the chance to use the overwhelming force and quick takedown strikes utilized by the original body double, and makes the first move.

{Taylor Anne Hebert, Date: December 29th, 2010, Time: 20:44}

When the cloaked man came rushing forward, her surprise skyrocketed as she was out on the defensive, something, while coming naturally, didn't feel right, not at all. Pushing through the slight discomfort, she blocked the man's first two strikes before attempting to redirect the third. That punch, however, ended up being a feint, with the man quickly getting a hold of her arm and pulling, turning as he did, to deliver an elbow strike to her solar plexus.

As the air was forced from her lungs in a flash of pain, she was thrown to the ground, rolling once, she quickly sprung back up and threw a punch which was blocked as the man stepped forward again. Quickly shifting her weight, she began throwing punch after punch, alternating the angle and speed of each blow, testing his defenses. When he blocked her eighth punch, she was forced onto the defensive as he stepped forward and nearly into her guard.

Soon, with muscles aching and old, still fully unhealed wounds beginning to reopen, more memories came flooding forward, and alarms begin ringing in her ears as the destroyed warehouse around them transitions into a munition's storage room. Her body now feeling old, yet still able to properly fight, still on the defensive, she eventually managed to get a grip on the man's arm after she dodged a strike.

Wait… she wasn't in a munition's storage room, she was in a… a… the feeling of the man breaking her now weakened hold brought her back to the present, just in time to block a strike at her hip. Directing it to the side she stepped back, blinking, two different rooms over laying one another, two different men standing before her, two different types of clothes upon her body, two different people, two different sets of memories.

And as two different puzzles slotted together, she stepped forward, probing jabs testing his defenses, slowly speeding up, until they were beginning to mirror each other's movements. The man kept her at bay with little trouble, but she was slowly getting faster. Kicks and punches hit his defenses with more force, attempted grapples nearly came with iron grips, with the strikes from her left arm being dodged or expertly batted aside.

Eventually she would close in on him, nearly into his guard now, she would send a punch forward at what she thought was an opening. This would prove to be a mistake, as when another memory flashed to life, showing her mistake, the man grabbed her now exposed arm, and pulled towards himself as he stepped forward. A foot between her legs as his other hand was planted in the center of her collarbone. He pushed back and then down while continuing to pull, slamming her to the ground and smashing her head against the concrete of the… the warehouse.

Looking up through blurred vision, she saw those same blue eyes staring back at her as she tried to regain her breath. Letting her body go limp, she watched as he slowly stood up before he said,  "You used his technique, but you relied entirely on your instinct and memory. However, you don't have the build or mind set, so why use it?"

Slowly standing up, Taylor said, "His style of CQC is the only one that takes advantage of a metal arm. And if I'm going to fight properly, why not use the style that fits me best."

Looking around, the man turned back to her and said, "We can talk more later, for now we should get out of here and go somewhere else."

"If we're near where I think we are, there should be a relatively good restaurant nearby, I've never been to it, but it's a lot better than a burnt out warehouse."

"Then we'll go there."

Nodding, Taylor turned and began making her way toward one of the doors of the old building. Stopping, she looked over her shoulder and said, "Well? Come on, I'm sure you want to keep an eye on me." Before continuing to walk away. Wordlessly, Snake followed behind, keeping an eye on the girl as they made their way to the apparent nearby restaurant.

{Date: December 29th, 2010, Time: 20:52}

Sitting down at the private-ish booth at the back of the slightly expensive restaurant, they both ordered their choice of meal shortly after the waitress arrived, with their drinks arriving shortly thereafter. Looking at each other in silence, Taylor spoke first, "Before we get down to business, could I at least have something to call you by?"

Narrowing his eyes, the man said, "You already know who I am."

Nodding, she said, "I do, but I want to hear what you'd prefer me to use. Besides, I may be another technical clone, but I'm still myself," looking down slightly she quietly added on, "even if I'm being twisted apart," at the end.

Looking back up at him, she asked the question again, "Still, what would you prefer I call you?"

"… Snake."

"Alright, Snake, what would you like to know?"

"Who are you? Which memories have won?"

"Neither have "won" I am still Taylor Hebert… but, sometimes it hurts, to think, to hold myself back, and not just let go."

"Let go?"

"To fight, to survive, to kill… to become the demon I thought I was. It's not that drive for conflict that some people think parahumans have… it's like a withdrawal, from the thrill of battle, the adrenaline, the fear, and terror. But I've managed, and I've only had a few slip ups."

"And the memories? How do they work?"

"They come and go, but each one feels like a piece of a separate jigsaw puzzle, that's being used to fix another, to patch up the holes, and replace what's missing."

"Replace what's missing?"

"Yeah, they change themselves just slightly, then slot into place among the shattered mess that is my mind. But, don't worry, I get the feeling I'll be a completely different person than both of them were. That's the reason I'd like your help."

"And what would I even help you with?"

"Learning to fight properly for one, because I doubt anyone else in the world still knows CQC like we do…"

Looking down at the table and taking a shaky breath, she continued, "I only woke up earlier this month, and I've learned I lost my arm and two years of my life, I've got shrapnel near my heart and in my skull, my parents are dead, and I lost my memories because someone couldn't let an old man stay dead…"

Looking back up at Snake, she said, "I… I've already mourned for them, I couldn't properly do it, but I did. And I don't want to lose myself, I don't want to "die" before I can even drive a car, and I know… I know I'll never be the same person as I was before it all. The same girl… but I want to be able to… to live… before I'm replaced by the past."

"Hrrmnn…" Clearly thinking it over, they both sat in silence while Snake thought it over, thought over everything really. Here was a girl with the implanted memories of Big Boss, asking for his help so she wouldn't become like him, like the original.

When their food arrived, they both ate in silence as Snake continued thinking over it all. When they finished eating, he finally spoke, "I won't teach you CQC, not until you can fully prove to me, you won't be like him. Besides the reason you've already stated, why do you actually want me to teach it to you?"

"Because we both know once someone with enough power learns of me, they'll stop at nothing to either kill me, or use me in some way, and I refuse to let that happen. Not again, never again."

Nodding, Snake said, "I'll think about it, for now, just continue doing what you've been doing already, and limit the amount of fighting you do… I'll contact you when I've made my decision."

Silently nodding, Taylor spoke as she waved the waitress over when she saw her again, "We split the check?"

Getting a nod from the man, she asked for the check when their waitress walked over, taking out the card given to her by Zoe and Alan. She paid for her meal, while Snake took out some dollar bills and paid for his portion, telling the woman to keep the change as a tip. Nodding, she left as they both began getting up, making their way out of the restaurant, Taylor turned to Snake before he left and spoke, "Snake… what do I do if the need to fight gets… too overwhelming?"

Stopping in his tracks, he looked at her over his shoulder before saying, "Then fight, but don't let the battle, the urge control you, never let it control you, or you'll lose yourself to it."

Nodding, she watched as he walked away, turning around she began walking as they went their separate ways. With the adrenaline finally fading, she felt the pain coming from her shoulder, back, neck, and side, quietly hissing in pain. She made her way to the nearby bus stop, getting on the bus when it arrived a few minutes later, she sat at the back as it began making its way along its route.

Partway along the route, Taylor began drifting off, halfway through sleep and wakefulness, she was startled away from the edge by multiple fireworks going off in the distance. Jumping in her seat, she snapped her attention to the distant form of the rapidly fading firework "display" slowly looking away, she brought her attention down to her hands, where she saw that they were… shaking? Why were her hands shaking?

{Date: December 29th, 2010, Time: 21:28}

Unlocking and opening the front door, Taylor walked in and took off her boots after closing the door, walking further into the house, spotting Emma on the couch. She indicated with her head towards the bathroom door when she looked up at her. Getting a nod, Emma indicated with her head toward the kitchen, nodding back, Taylor made her way toward the bathroom under the stairs.

Opening the door, she walked into the small room, flipped on the light, and looked at herself in the mirror, feeling her right eye begin itching, she shook her head and tried to get rid of it. Staring at herself in the mirror again, she saw… a man in the mirror, a metal horn in his head and an eye patch over his right eye. He had a red metal arm, grabbing onto the edge of the counter. She met his gaze, and received a smirk in return.

Hearing a noise to her left, she looked over and saw Emma standing there, looking back. She only saw herself… but she could see the differences now… in her face, in comparison to the photos of her from before the accident. Her mouth was slightly less wide, her jawline was a bit too sharp, her eyes slightly too narrow, her nose a bit higher and shaped slightly differently.

"Taylor!" Quietly whispered Emma, looking over at the other girl, Taylor spoke softly and said, "Yeah?"

"What do you need my help with?" Asked Emma.

"Checking my shoulder… again."

"What did you do!?"

"I got in a fight again, but I'm fine, no broken or dislocated bones. Now come on, there's probably not a lot of time to do this." When Taylor finished talking, she took her shirt off and grabbed the aid-kit out of the medicine cabinet. Opening it, she handed the needed medical items to Emma before grabbing the sutures, a needle, and some wound cleaning supplies.

Waiting until Emma had taken off the old dressing, cleaned, and then redressed her shoulder wound. Taylor nodded to the other girl that she could leave before carefully taking the stitches out of her side, when they were all gone, she thoroughly cleaned the area outside of her wound. After that, she restitched it and applied a dressing over it.

Putting her shirt back on, she quickly put everything back into the aid-kit before putting it into the medicine cabinet and closing the mirrored door. Turning, she left the bathroom, turning off the lights and closing the door behind herself as she did.

Seeing that Emma wasn't in the living room anymore, she walked into the kitchen, silently sitting down at the island. Taylor sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to figure out how to broach the subject that'd been on her mind for nearly the entire way back home.

Taking a deep breath, Taylor said, "Aunt Zoe?"

"Yes dear?"

"I… I want to tell you something… but I think it'd be best if you sat down for this."

Stopping in what she was doing, Zoe softly spoke, "Okay dearie, if that's what you think, just let me finish preparing dinner."

"Also, is Uncle Alan home yet? I think it'd be best if he was also here."

"Not yet honey, not for another…" looking at the clock on the wall, Zoe continued, "twenty-three minutes. Do you think it could wait until then?"

Shaking her head, Taylor said, "No, ma'am, I don't think it can."

Nodding, Zoe opened the oven, put whatever it was she'd been making in it, closed it, then turned around, walked over, and sat down across from her before saying, "Okay, what do you need to talk about?"

"I…" chewing on her lip, she continued speaking after a moment, "I think I need a therapist."

"Why do you think that, dear?"

"My nightmare and memories and the influence that they're having on me… When I was coming home… my… my hands started shaking after some fireworks went off… and they wouldn't stop for thirteen minutes. Then there are the times when I feel fine, but then… I have a… a mental breakdown or I disassociate with everything around me. Hell, I've been hallucinating memories and people…"

Looking down, she shakily inhaled before continuing, "I have issues, and I don't… I don't know how much longer I can take it until I try to get these memories ripped out of my head or reinforced until I'm not me, just so it can stop."

Tensing up when she felt arms wrap around her, she loosened up slightly when she heard Aunt Zoe say, "Okay, Taylor… I'll talk to Alan, and we'll get you to a therapist, just never say that again, you will always be yourself, not what other people want you to be, and certainly not what those memories want you to be. Do you understand me?"

"Ye… yes ma'am."

"Good. Now, until Alan gets home, how about you help me finish up dinner, hmm."

"Okay." Quietly said Taylor, as she got up, with both her and Zoe beginning to work on the last things for dinner.

{Date: December 30th, 2010, Time: 09:34}

Walking into the therapist's office, Taylor's nerves started acting up, even with Aunt Zoe and Uncle Alan with her. Walking up to the receptionist's desk,the woman behind it looked up and said, "Welcome, how can I help you today?

Aunt Zoe was the one who said, "Yes, we're the 9:40 AM appointment for Doctor Masaki."

Looking down at her computer, the twenty-something year old receptionist spoke after a few moments, saying, "Ah, yes here you are, let me page Doctor Masaki, one moment please, if you could just please wait over there, the Doctor will be here soon."

Nodding, the three of them walked over to the line of chairs sitting against the wall. Sitting down they began waiting, looking around the room, Taylor saw various posters on the walls, some small tables with magazine racks on them, and one of those large table things with the loops and beads. The news on the TV up in the corner, saying something about a "Cornell University" and its decision to raise the minimum grade requirement for graduation earlier in the year.

Moving over to the table, Taylor sat in the small chair and began moving the beads and small blocks along the tracks. For a few minutes, she would play with the… bead maze, occasionally glancing over at something when she heard a noise. Eventually, Doctor Masaki would walk out of a door with a small girl that had short, blonde hair who was probably only a year or two younger than Taylor.

Briefly making eye contact, the smaller girl's eyes widened a moment later, wondering why. Taylor quickly realized the girl was staring at her "horn" looking away from the younger girl. Her calm now broken, she began to get nervous – something which she thought must have been from before the crash – immediately she started trying to regulate her breathing.

After a few moments, she managed to calm down and looked up, seeing Doctor Masaki walking up. She started to get a bit more nervous, but keeping calm on the outside, turning back to the maze. She began moving the beads and boxes again to keep the nerves back. Eventually, she began thinking on ways to convince Aunt Zoe and Uncle Alan to let her get a dog.

After a few minutes, she heard her name being called from her left, looking that way, she found Aunt Zoe waving her over. Getting up, she walked over to the two adults, technically three adults but Doctor Masaki was standing off to the side a bit, probably to give them a small amount of privacy.

"Taylor, we've talked with Doctor Masaki, and have decided that what he tells us, is what you decide on." Said Alan.

"I decided on what you're both told by Doctor Masaki?"

"Yes, you get to decide." Reaffirmed Zoe.

{Date: December 30th, 2010, Time: 10:02}

"S-so how does this work?" Asked Taylor, her nerves starting to get to her as she sat down on the quite comfy red sofa.

"Well, we can talk about anything, from how your day went, what you ate, what you've done today, anything. I am simply here to provide you with support and guidance with emotional, psychological, and behavioral challenges you may be facing." Said Doctor Masaki as he sat down on an equally identical sofa across from herself.

Nodding, Taylor said, "O-okay, umm, well I'm here for my issues with my memories and nightmares. So why don't we talk about those?"

"We can do that, Taylor. Now, why don't we start with your memories, what exactly are you having issues with?" Said Doctor Masaki with a gentle smile on his face.

"We-well, about I think two years ago I was in an accident, and I was put into a coma, I-… I lost my conscious memories from before the crash, but I think my subconscious still remembers. While I was asleep, someone apparently started doing hypnotherapy and artificially inducing hypnagogia on me."

"I see…" writing something down, Masaki continued, "Do you… remember any of these memories vividly, have you dreamed of them."

"I… I have." Softly said Taylor.

"Would you be comfortable… telling me of these memories." Carefully asked Doctor Masaki.

"I… I can try Doctor."

"That is all you must do, Taylor." Kindly, said Doctor Masaki.

"I remember opening my eyes, and seeing a man walking up to me, when he came to a stop, he said "Okay, Ahab, Time to go." And when he knelt down, I was able to see that he was wearing only a hospital gown, he also had bandages covering his head and right forearm and hand.

"Hmm, could you describe him in more detail? His musculature maybe?"

"He… was large, like a… a soldier, he had broad shoulders, um… powerful? Looking arms, and a lot of scars." Said Taylor, partly unsure how to properly describe the man.

"I see, so you would say he's fought before?" Asked Masaki while writing something down on his clipboard.

"Yes, I think he has."  Answered Taylor.

"Alright, you can continue."

"O—okay."

"Umm, he then answered an unasked question, by saying, "The woman? I – we – gave her a light. She took the short way down." Said Taylor.

"We? That's an interesting thing to say."

"I… yeah, I guess it is."

"What do you think he meant by it?" Asked Masaki.

"Umm, well, if he said "We gave her a light," it could have something to do with fire?"

"Quite possibly, but I want to know why you think he said "we", Taylor. Why do you think he corrected to that word?"

"Oh, uhh, it could be a few factors… but, maybe the most likely one is that… that…" Shaking her head, Taylor continued even as a headache started flaring up, "but we aren't the same, I don't know him…"

Instantly, the memory began changing, muddying, a man, and a woman over lapping, voices mixing and rejecting each other, pain stabbed into her skull as whispers on the edge of hearing faded in and out as the two figures continued twisting, until there was only the man, and she could hear Doctor Masaki calling her name, "Taylor!"

Snapping back into focus, she looked across from herself to see the Doctor staring at her, worry in his eyes, "Taylor? Are you alright? Are you… okay?"

"I… Yes, yes I'm okay Doctor, could we move onto the rest of the dream?"

"Yes, of course." Said Masaki with a nod, his worry not fully faded.

"Okay… where was I again? Ah, right. The man paused for a few moments before continuing, saying, "Who am I?" Before he looked away and ducked his head, "You're talking to yourself." He then points at me before continuing, "I've been watching over you for —-e years." Pointing a thumb at himself, he then said, "You can call me Ishmael." And then I said—"

{Zoe Barnes, Date: December 30th, 2010, Time 11:56}

When Taylor and Doctor Masaki walked out of his office, they both walked over towards, with Taylor going past them both and over to the bead maze, confusing her until Masaki said, "Taylor told me she was fine with me informing you of the end results of what we talked about... I am… extremely hesitant to diagnose her at this stage, but… there is a chance she may have gained Borderline Personality Disorder — BPD — or Dissociative Personality Disorder — DID — due to how both her memories have been affecting her, and previous trauma that her conscious mind is suppressing. There is also an equal chance that she has both BPD and DID." Said Doctor Masaki.

Before she had a chance to speak, her husband spoke first, "Is there any reason she would have developed these disorders?"

"From what she told me, yes, the majority of her memories/dreams appear to be focused – at the moment – on stealth/evasion and first-aid. Two examples I can give for stealth and evasion, is hiding under hospital beds and then crawling past armed soldiers, and avoiding the spotlights on a helicopter. An example I can give for first-aid, is learning how to relocate a dislocated elbow joint and knee, which unless you are a trained medical professional, is something you never do on your own, even then it is advised to immediately go to the nearest hospital."

This time, Zoe spoke first, "Jesus Christ, is… is there anything else?"

Grimacing, Doctor Masaki nodded and spoke, "Yes… now I've worked on a few Wards before in the past, but… Taylor has the most severe case of PTSD I've ever – in all my years of being a therapist – seen in a child. Now, I'm not saying she's beyond help, not at all, but… she'll probably be having episodes for the rest of her life. So what she'll need is something or someone to focus on, a lifeline if you would, to keep her in the present so an episode doesn't get bad enough police would need to be called, I also highly recommend getting her a service dog, a medium to large sized one."

At the Doctor's words, Zoe's heart dropped, speaking slowly, she could feel the desperation in her voice as she felt a lump forming in her throat, "Is there anything we can do, besides getting her a service dog I mean."

"Yes, I assume she's adopted?" Getting a nod from Alan, Masaki continued, "Do you have any biological children then?"

Another nod, this time from Zoe, who said, "Two, both are older but our youngest was, and still is, her childhood friend."

"Good, good, I highly recommend having you, your husband, and both of your daughters go through lessons on how to spot and deal with the different types of PTSD episodes and panic attacks that Taylor could experience, the last thing anyone needs is things getting worse. Now I recomm—"

{Taylor Anne Hebert, Date: December 30th, 2010, Time: 13:57}

Sitting down on the couch, Taylor grabbed the remote from off of a small side table and turned on the TV, switching through random channels; she eventually stopped on a new channel. Putting the remote to the side, she looked down, opened her notebook, grabbed her pencil, and began drawing while occasionally thinking back on the words of Doctor Masaki. The TV acting as nothing more than background noise as she does.

("—Today marks the unveiling and adoption of the "IRVING" BUACV by the US Army. For those who missed it, earlier today AT Corp and the Army was proud to—")

Drawing the outlines of mountains, sand dunes, rocks, and old structures for the next several minutes. Taylor would quickly lose track of time before getting brought back to the present by the sound of the front door unlocking.

Looking up, she watched as Zoe and Alan walked through the door, the howling of wind against the house finally registering in her ears. Hurrying in, the door was quickly shut, with both adults moving to the kitchen to put groceries away. Getting up, Taylor went and helped them both put it all away.

As she was doing so, Alan started speaking, "Taylor."

"Yes sir?" Said Taylor.

Having gotten her attention, he continued, "Zoe and Me were thinking of getting you a dog, a puppy specifically, that would eventually be sent to be trained as your service dog."

"A… service dog?" Asked Taylor, a mixture of joy and confusion filling her.

"A service dog, yes, they'll help with things like panic attacks, PTSD-based flashbacks and nightmares with deep-pressure therapy, create a personal space for you in public, even help with daily tasks if you need them to. But, the dog's training will have to be specialized to you and your type of PTSD, so it knows what to look for."

"O-okay, that'll be nice, I think." Said Taylor, finishing her sentence quietly. Turning to look at Alan as the three of them finished putting the groceries away, she said, "So, when will we go and pick a dog?"

"How about later today, after it stops raining?" Asked Zoe.

Looking towards her enthusiastically, Taylor nodded and said, "Uh huh, that'll work."

"Good, now why don't you continue doing what you were doing, and I'll come and get you when it's time to go."

"Okay. Thank you Aunt Zoe, and thank you Uncle Alan," said Taylor as she quickly left the kitchen, walked back into the living room, grabbed her notebook, pencil, and the remote. She then turned the TV off, and put the remote on the small table next to the couch before making her way upstairs and down the hall.

Opening her bedroom door, Taylor walked in, closed her door, set her notebook and pencil on her desk, then moved over to her closet. Opening it, she took out some matching clothes and laid them out on her bed, changing into them. Taylor grabbed her cassette player, a tape, and her headphones, sitting on her bed and putting on the headphones and inserting the tape. She hit play, then laid back on her bed, closing her eyes as the music began and attempting to recall anything else about the memory of the hospital, and a few minutes later, she fell asleep.

Chapter Text

{Date: March 14, 1984, Time Unk}

Opening her eyes, Taylor was met with a small crowd of civilians, patients, nurses, and doctors stuffed into the hall, muttering filling the hall as people try to see further down the smokey hall. While attempting to spot Ishmael, one man said, "What's happening out there?"

With a nurse saying, "It's alright, we'll be okay."

Another man said, "I can't see what's happening."

Walking forward, she began pushing her way through the small crowd. After a minute of making her way through the crowd, she made her way up and into the middle of everyone. Through the gap between a few people, she could make out the sight of Ishmael, or at least his back anyway. Attempting to move further up, she was lightly pushed back by a nurse who proceeded to say, "Hey," before looking forward again. With everything quieting down slightly, Taylor, and presumedly everyone else in the hall, were able to make out the sound of boots moving across the floor.

Seconds later, three men with weapon-mounted flashlights rounded the corner, with one nurse asking, "Who are they?" Before, when they were close enough, the soldiers opened fire, the 9mm rounds ripping into the people at the front as everyone but herself started screaming in panic. Everyone in front of her turned around and pushed her back as she also turned around. Just starting to push back towards the gate, Taylor stopped when lights and gunfire came from the other side, blood splattering on the walls as more people died.

Stumbling back as everyone was killed, Taylor was grabbed from her left and dragged into a side room, falling to the floor as the voice of Ishmael entered her ears with the words, "Get down!" Suppressed gunfire, screams, and a few men and women begging for their lives coming from the closed door right behind her as it all quieted down.

Ishmael himself immediately began to quietly, and slowly crawl across the floor for a few seconds before getting onto his knees, then his feet, and moving across the room. He took cover at the edge of a surgical curtain with his hand raised to tell her to not move. After a moment, he waved her forward and began making his way further into the room. But as he did, the sounds of boots and, from her angle, the edges of flashlights came into the small side room, ducking into one of the bed areas as a flashlight scanned the end of the room.

Quickly crawling under one of the beds, Taylor watched as one of the two men walked forward, stopped, turned right, and entered a sectioned off area. He fired at the man on the bed twice, then turned and crossed the hall, repeating his actions in the second area. When the man went through the third surgical curtain, she heard a soft knocking sound, and when the soldier fired twice more, she jumped awake.

{Date: December 30th, 2010, Time: 14:38}

"Taylor, sweetie, it's time to go." Said Zoe from the other side of her door.

Taking her headphones off, Taylor said, "Okay, Aunt Zoe, give me a minute, and I'll be right down."

"Alright, we'll be waiting in the foyer." Replied Zoe before everything went silent.

Sitting up, Taylor put her headphones and cassette player away before grabbing her jacket, and finally, the brassard she'd bought earlier in the month. Putting the jacket and then the brassard on, Taylor made her way downstairs, walking into the foyer, she put her boots on. Turning, she found Uncle Alan, Aunt Zoe, Emma, and surprisingly enough, at least to her, Anne looking at her, after a moment Zoe said, "You're wearing your… shoulder pad?"

Before Taylor could correct her, Emma did, "It's a brassard, mom, it was and still is used by military police around the world." And upon noticing the curious looks she was getting, she quickly added, "Taylor told me about them when we went on our trip to the boardwalk."

"Ah, I see, well let's get going," said Aunt Zoe as she opened the front door.

Walking out of the house, Uncle Alan unlocked the car as Emma, Anne, and Taylor walked past him. Aunt Zoe closed and locked the front door behind the five of them before putting the key in her pocket, turning around, and making her way to the now starting car.

Buckling in, Taylor looked up as Aunt Zoe climbed into the car, closing her door as she swung her leg in. After everyone was buckled in and the doors closed, Uncle Alan backed the SUV out of the driveway before beginning to drive to the selected animal shelter, Aunt Zoe turning on the radio as he did.

On the way to the shelter, Emma and Taylor spoke various topics, yet always circled around to school. Anne did whatever she was doing on her phone but would chime in at times, and Aunt Zoe and Uncle Alan simply listened in. Eventually, Alan drove into the lot of the shelter and parked the SUV.

Unlocking the doors and shutting off the car, Uncle Alan, Aunt Zoe, Anne, Emma, and Taylor got out of the SUV, looking around as Emma closed the door behind her. Taylor turned and started walking across the parking lot, walking up beside her, Emma asked, "So, what kind of dog do you want to try to get."

Thinking on it for a few moments, Taylor spoke, "I think I might try to go for a Shepard. I mean, they're smart, loyal, naturally protective, and because they're so smart they're easily trainable."

"Can't argue about that, especially since it'll be your service dog." Said Emma as she pulled the door open, Taylor nodding at her in thanks as she stepped into the building, Anne, Aunt Zoe,Uncle Alan, and then Emma following behind.

As Taylor, Emma, and Anne looked around, mostly the former two, Uncle Alan and Aunt Zoe walked up to the receptionist's desk and began asking about seeing if any puppies were available for adoption.

After a minute of waiting, Uncle Alan waved them over. After rejoining the two adults, they followed an employee down the halls of the shelter until they were brought to a door at the back of the building that led to an outside area.

Walking into the outdoor area where all the puppies and dogs were playing separately, Taylor stepped to the side as Aunt Zoe, Emma, and Anne entered behind her and Uncle Alan. Noticing them, every single puppy ran over, running around Taylor as she walked forward and toward Aunt Zoe, Uncle Alan, Emma, and Anne, following the puppies with her eyes. Taylor smiled at them before pausing as she swore she could feel eyes on the back of her head, slowly turning around, she met the eyes of a fully grown dog.

The dog was a one-eyed mixed German Shepard and, slowly walking over to the fence, she opened the gate and carefully stepped through, making sure to avoid letting the bigger dogs in with the puppies and vice versa.

Approaching the dog, she got onto a knee and offered out her right hand, carefully walking up, the dog sniffed her hand before coming up to her proper. Sitting down, the dog's tail started swishing on the grass as she began lightly petting his head and neck. Running her fingers through his fur, Taylor said, "Aren't you absolutely gorgeous," with a smile on her face as she admired the dog's mahogany and black coat.

Hearing the gate open and then footsteps coming up behind herself, Taylor turned her head and looked over her shoulder, seeing that it was Emma. Taylor tilted her head slightly in question, unknown to her, the dog also did the same after spotting the other girl. Letting out a small giggle, Emma said, "So, I guess you found your dog, huh?"

Looking back at the dog in front of her, Taylor nodded with a smile on her lips as she stood up and said, "Yeah, yeah, I think I have."

"Are you sure? I mean, I'm not saying he isn't beautiful, but we did come here for a puppy."

"I'm sure," Confirmed Taylor before she continued, "besides I have a suspicion, stay here right quick."

Getting a nod from Emma, Taylor stood up and said, "Stay," to the dog before walking away for a few steps. Coming to a stop, she then said, "Heel," watching when he didn't move, Taylor remembered another phrase and said, "Foose."

When the dog stood up and trotted over to her left side, Taylor could feel her smile getting slightly bigger as she walked up to Emma, the dog right by her side. Looking at the dog and then Taylor, the other girl said, "How did that work? And what does it have to do with your suspicion?"

"To answer both questions…" Taylor then got back onto a knee and started to pet the dog, said dog's tail thumping against the grass as she continued speaking, "This good boy is a former working dog, whether he was a police or military dog, I don't know. But I do know that he is most certainly retired."

"Well, I'll go tell mom you've made your choice," said Emma, who got a nod from Taylor before she walked back toward the area with the puppies.

Standing up while saying, "Foose," Taylor walked over to the tree toward the back of the fenced in area, dog by her side, and sat down with her back against the tree. The Shepard laid down across her lap and closed his eyes as she lightly pet him between the ears. Laying her head back against the bark of the tree, Taylor closed her eyes as well and waited until Emma supposedly came back.

Around two to three minutes later, she could make out the sound of Emma's footsteps getting closer again. Opening her eyes, Taylor, and the dog looked at Emma at the exact same time, smiling at that, Emma said, "Alright, Taylor, come on, we've got to go."

Slowly standing up, Taylor asked a question, "We're adopting him, right?"

"Yes, we're adopting him, we just have to go sign the paperwork then we can take him home."

"Oh… well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

As Taylor ran around her, Emma looked at her and said, "There's the Taylor I know," with a small shake of her head as she jogged after her to catch up.

{Date: December 30th, 2010, Time: 17:00}

Walking in the park with Marcin, Taylor was busy thinking over the hour she'd spent learning all of Marcin's commands in the backyard. After they'd gotten home with both him and the puppy, Emma and Anne had picked out and agreed upon to take home. Spotting a bench twenty-meters up the path, she slightly sped up her walk, Marcin having been stuck to her left side like glue for the entirety of the walk so far.

Approaching the wooden bench, she wiped the snow off of it, unslung her backpack, and sat down. Looking at Marcin, she looked out at the small field of snow then back to him, smiling, she opened up her backpack and reached in while saying, "You're dismissed, Marcin."

Taking her thermos of hot chocolate out, she let a small smile cross her face as the 87 lbs dog took off and dived into the snow. Unscrewing the cap, she took a sip of the warm hot chocolate before putting the cap on and just, sitting back while watching her new dog play in the snow.

Thinking back on the past month, Taylor slowly realized that her memories were no longer fading, nor did it hurt to try to remember them. She couldn't recall anything but emotions, sounds, smells, and touch, but at least it was something. Hearing a sound on her right, she looked in that direction and saw a girl walking up the path, three dogs at her side.

Suddenly, Marcin jumped out of the snow and onto the walkway near the girl and her dogs before shaking the snow off of himself, coming to a stop a few feet away. The girl stared at Marcin as the dog turned his head and looked at her.

Not knowing exactly how well trained the other girl's dogs are, Taylor called out "Foose," snapping his head over, Marcin quickly trotted over to Taylor, the other girl's eyes going between her and her dog before she continued walking.

Approaching her, Marcin sat down and stared up at her, smiling slightly. She reached down and began petting him, looking to her right as she heard boots on the concrete. Looking up slightly, she met the eyes of the auburn haired, butch-looking girl. Nodding at her, she turned back to Marcin and "dismissed" him, causing him to immediately run back into the snow.

"He's well-trained."

Looking to her right, she saw the girl looking out at Marcin. Nodding, Taylor said, "He is. But, I'm still learning his commands."

"You didn't train him?"

"No. I've had him for a little over two hours now. My guess is that he's a former military or police dog, the former's more likely."

"Why."

"If he was police he would have an owner, military checks the majority of the marks, well-trained, well taken care of, gray on his muzzle, and a missing eye, most likely from combat. The gray suggests high stress situations were common and that he's probably 6–7 years old, which is typically when military K9s are retired."

"You know a good amount about dogs, at least working ones."

"Thank you," looking over the three dogs with the girl, Taylor spotted a few things and said, "former fighting dogs?"

"Yes, how could you tell?"

"Scaring is consistent with other dogs, and I doubt you would allow them to participate, especially since they're so well looked after."

Noticing the girl beginning to ever-so-slightly shift on her feet, Taylor spoke up in the lull, "My name's Taylor."

After a moment of silence, the other girl said, "Rachel."

"It's nice to meet you, Rachel…" After a moment's pause, she asked, "Do you know what time it is?"

Taking out a phone, Rachel said, "5:29 PM."

Quickly standing up, Taylor put her thermos back into her backpack before slinging it over her shoulder while saying, "I've got to go. It was nice talking to you Rachel, even if it was for a short amount of time, if you'd like we could meet back up here sometime later this week?"

Clearly thinking about it for a few moments, Rachel silently nodded.

"Great, if nothing gets in the way, I should be coming here daily around 4:30 PM for around an hour." Turning, she called Marcin to her side before beginning to jog off, "Again, it was nice to meet you Rachel," said Taylor, finishing her sentence with a wave over her shoulder as she made her way home, thoughts of her next dream on her mind.

Walking into her room, Taylor allowed Marcin to follow her in before she closed her door, walking over to her desk, she placed her jacket over the back of it before taking her clothes off and putting on her pajamas. Turning, she walked over to her bed and sat down on the edge of it, looking at Marcin, who was sitting in the middle of the room, patting the bed next to herself, she said, "Come on, Marcin, you can come on up."

As Taylor pulled the blankets back and slid under them, Marcin walked over, jumped up onto the bed, and started bedding down as Taylor pulled the blankets up. When Marcin laid down with his face towards the door, Taylor reached over, turned her bedside lamp off, then rolled over and closed her eyes. Falling into a deep sleep a few minutes later, her mind brought up a particular memory from the fog of the past.

[Here's To You]

{Date: Unk, 1995, Time: Unk}

Slowly opening her eyes, the first thing to meet her was the sight of her bullet and shrapnel ridden legs sitting in a pool of blood on spalled concrete flooring, speaking to herself, she said, "What… What happened?" Even just saying those three words hurt, her head feeling dizzy with her vision graying. Then, she remembered, a single gunshot, a man holding an M9 and dressed in combat fatigues with a bandanna on his head.

Reaching down, she grabbed a cigar from a pouch on the back of her belt with her left hand, hitting play on her cassette player as she brought it up. That familiar piano echoing from the speakers and into the storage bay. She let out a brief, pained chuckle before whispering, "Yes… I remember now."

Hearing her CODEC ring, she brought her hand up once more and accepted the call, a familiar voice entering her ears when she did. ["Hello, Ahab."]

Leaning her head back, she replied with, "Ishmael… heh, You've really kept me waiting." Bringing her lighter up, she listened to what the man had to say as she leaned her head forward, flicked the lighter on while covering the flame with her metal hand, and lit her cigar. The light of the fire briefly illuminating her face.

["I just wanted you to know that I've made it out safely. They won't suspect a thing. You played your role perfectly."]

Bringing her hand back down into her lap, she flipped the lighter shut while saying, "I see. That's good. So at least I've…" Pausing mid-sentence, she continued, even as it began feeling like agony to speak, "done something right here."

["Hrrmnn… I never expected him to succeed."]

Giving a brief, low, pained bark of laughter, she said, "Then it seems that Solid Snake was more competent than either of us gave him credit for. Quite a heavy tuition, for such a meager lesson…" Taking a few moments to breathe, she continued speaking, "It's over. He's destroyed the Metal Gear, and activated the self-destruct sequence. Outer Heaven… will go up in smoke in a matter of minutes… and the public… will think that Big Boss… died with it."

["I see. Are you sure you can't make an escape?"]

Giving out a chuckle, she said, "Positive. He got me good. I can't feel my lower body… This is it for me, Ishmael. No amount of digoxin will get me up this time."

["Outer Heaven won't die with you. As long as a man carrying the name of Big Boss is alive, there will always be someone striving to create a nation for soldiers…"] The pause in his sentence let her refocus, the pain also helping, even as her vision began to slowly get darker and darker, and her body colder and colder. ["Are you familiar with Zanzibar Land?"]

Giving the other man a small, humorous scoff, she said, "How could I not? Tselinoyarsk — the location of our first and last mission as part of the FOX unit…" sharply inhaling, she continued through the numbing pain, "Last I heard of it the–they split off from the Soviet Union and became their own state."

["Hrrmnn… No, never mind. It's not something you have to worry about anymore. Don't worry, I'll keep our dream alive…"] Hearing his tone take on a more somber note at the end had her gaining a small, albeit agonized, smile as her vision blurred. ["From today onward, the name Big Boss is something you no longer have to bear. Thank you, Ahab, and goodbye."]

Giving out a laughing chuckle, she reconfirmed what he'd said with, "So my mission is finally coming to an end… After so long. It was my pleasure, Ishmael. No… Big Boss." Reaching down with her left hand, and up with her right, she shut off her cassette player with a metallic clink, and disconnected the CODEC transmission. The ammo storage bay became deathly silent in her ringing ears, except for the sound of her pained rasps.

With the sound of boots on concrete, her vision cleared as legs clad in torn stockings, or was it jeans? Appeared, a green glow behind the figure, looking up, she found a familiar, if constantly shifting face looking down at her, vision beginning to blur once more she said, "So you… you've come to pick me up then." The woman then dropped onto her knees, reached out, and put a hand onto her cheek.

"I guess… my battle… really is over." She said with a small huff as her vision went dark, a single tear leaving her remaining eye as her heart stopped.

Chapter Text

[GROUND ZEROES - Debriefing]

{SIGINT, Date: December 31st, 2010, Time: 04:23, Location: Area 63/Camp Romeo, Darién Gap}

Disembarking from the MH-53E, SIGINT ducked down as he moved away from the "Sea Dragon", rain pelting him while aircraft mechanics rushed over to begin refueling and checking over the aircraft. The few bright lights scattered around the small heliport, temporally blinding him. Fully standing back up when he was far enough away from the helicopter and could see again, he approached his escort.

Their gray-colored flight suits and black tactical gear stood out in the steel, concrete, and jungle-based environment. But so did his own black suit. Climbing into the back of the Multicam Tropic-painted M1151 EAC, his escort followed him in, with the driver starting up the HMMWV shortly after and beginning to drive them further into the facility.

Taking a left, they drove down the length of the heliport. On the three other pads to their left sat two modernized UTH-66 "Blackfoot" helicopters and a single AH-64 "Apache" the hidden nature of the base not allowing them to have any more aircraft, especially due to its, at the moment, unofficial nature. Briefly stopping at one of the many checkpoints in the facility, the reinforced steel gate opened for them after his identity was confirmed.

Moving deeper into the base, he noted the infantry patrols going down the sides of the roads and walkways. The two-man sentry teams standing outside of buildings, and the sniper duos and MG nests hidden on rooftops and in the guard towers. Driving by an open-top cargo truck being escorted around by an LAV, SIGINT spotted the head components and weapon mounts for those new BUACVs in the bed of the truck.

Turning his attention elsewhere, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a sealed, waterproof envelope. Carefully opening it, he pulled the slip of paper out and slowly read over his new orders. Committing them to memory, he places the paper back into the envelope before taking out a lighter and rolling down his door's window. He flipped the lighter open, then flicked it on before holding it up to one of the corners of the paraffin-treated envelope. When it ignited, he threw the burning envelope out of the window while closing his lighter. Rolling his window back up, he began thinking on his new orders.

Project Reynard has been approved, and you are now authorized to begin performing "trial" missions in Africa, South America, and East Asia. The following vehicles and funds have been allocated for use by your strike teams and cleanup crews by Washington. Do not be ID'd, do not fail, and leave no traces that could lead back to the U.S. — "Janus"

• X50 M1151 HMMWV EAC (Unmarked).

• X30 M6401 "IRVING" BUACV (Unmarked).

• X15 Ground Mobility Vehicles (Unmarked)

• X15 Ranger Special Operations Vehicles (Unmarked).

• X15 LAV-25A2 (Unmarked).

• X10 UTH-66 "Blackfoot" General-Purpose Medium-Lift Helicopters (Unmarked).

• X8 CH-47F "Chinook" Tandem-Rotor Heavy-Lift Helicopters (Unmarked).

• X5 MH-53E "Sea Dragon" Heavy-Lift Helicopters (Unmarked).

• X1 AH-64 "Apache" Attack Helicopters (Unmarked).

• $8,000,000 Black Budget.

When the humvee came to a stop in the small parking area of the base's command center, opening his door and stepping out of the vehicle, his escort in the back following him. He gave a nod to the driver before closing the door and making his way into the building. Walking down the halls, SIGINT eventually made his way into his office, closing the door, he moved behind his desk, pulled his chair out, and sat down.

Turning his computer on then logging in, he immediately began sending out orders to the various strike teams while placing the cleanup crews on standby.

As the strike teams were mobilized, he turned toward a second monitor. On one side of it was the stilled image of a snow-covered park. In it, a young woman sitting on a bench with another standing near her. Three dogs were sitting at the feet of the second girl, and all five of them were looking at something out of frame. On the other side of the monitor was the digital personnel file of the second girl.

Everything from her genetic information, birth certificate, and criminal record, to all known and possible sightings – or to those with the correct access levels, all known sightings – even her PRT threat evaluation file was here. Speaking of the PRT evaluation file, he began combing it over.

After roughly two minutes of reading through the uncensored file, he marked her down as a person's of interest with the possibility of being a future operative. 'Although, that would require getting around that policy and agreement with the PRT and Protectorate.'

Closing down the file and the stilled camera recording, SIGINT began looking through the various missions that are in the three authorized conflict zones, choosing two missions, one in East Asia and another in Northwest Africa. He then began selecting the four best teams he had available before sending his choices to his intel team to compile into a proper briefing. That briefing would then be sent to the team leads and anyone else involved on a need to know basis. All before breakfast was even served.

All in all, it's turning out to be a standard Wednesday morning.

Chapter Text

[Police Theme]

{Date: December 31st, 2010, Time: 05:13}

Waking up with a start, I sharply sat up as my heart restarted and quickly began hammering against my rib-cage. When a drop of sweat dripped into my eye, I let out a hiss while closing the eye and wiping my forehead off. Looking around through my one good eye, I saw that Marcin had awoken when I did and was staring at me. The rest of the house was utterly silent as I turned to look at my clock, reading the time, I saw that it was only 5:13 AM.

Sighing, I pushed my blankets off of my legs and slid out of bed, grabbing some clothes at random. I opened my door, and, after allowing Marcin to walk through, stepped through and closed my door before turning and walking down the hall. The sound of Marcin’s claws on the wooden stairs, lightly echoing in the sleeping house from up ahead, reaching and then going down the stairs. I turned and walked down the hall towards the back door, where Marcin was waiting.

Unlocking, and then opening the door, I let Marcin out. Closing the door behind the dog, I then turned around and walked back up the hall for a few steps before turning left and entering the kitchen. 

Putting my folded up clothes on the island, I quickly put on a pot of coffee before grabbing my clothes again, going back to the back door, let Marcin in, and closed it behind him. Before, I turned around and walked back down the hall, where I opened the door to the bathroom tucked under the stairs next to the basement door.

Walking in, I flipped the light switch and closed the door before setting my clothes down on the edge of the sink. Walking over to the shower/tub combo, I slightly pulled the shower curtain to the side and turned on the old tub, before quickly pulling the tee diverter up. Leaving the water on a cooler temperature, I put the curtain back into place.

Stepping back, I quickly took my clothes off before stepping into the shower, beginning to wash myself. I did my best to ignore the blood that would appear on my hands and arms with every couple blinks of my eyes. Two minutes later, I turned off the water, pulled the curtain to the side, and stepped out of the shower/bath. Grabbing a towel, I dried off before moving over to the mirror and putting on the clothes I’d left on the edge of the vanity counter.

As I was about to put on my shirt, I paused and lowered my arms, placing the shirt back onto the edge of the sink. I looked down at my arms and blinked in surprise, ‘I should not have this much muscle mass already…’ flexing some of the muscles in my upper body, I very quickly realized something, 'These aren’t standard medical nanomachines.’

Quickly putting my shirt on, I hastily did my hair before unlocking and opening the bathroom door and beelining it for my room. Ascending the stairs, I reached the top faster than I did earlier in the month, and while walking down the hall, I noticed I was moving slightly faster than before.

Opening my bedroom door, I made sure to let Marcin in before closing and locking it. Moving over to my desk, I opened the drawer on the right and grabbed the phone inside. Opening it, I quickly put in his number and hit call while pulling open another drawer filled with medications. 

Putting it to my ear and waiting for a few moments, I spoke as soon as he picked up, cutting him off from saying anything first, “What in the hell kind of nanomachines did you have them put in me?!” I quietly yelled.

[“Miss Hebert, I assure you, I do not know what you speak of,”] came the annoyingly even reply.

“Bullshit!! You know exactly what they put in me!” I yelled, a bit louder than intended, while sorting through my med bottles.

[“Contrary to what you may think, Miss Hebert, I am not omniscient. So, please, inform me of what you’ve found.”]

Letting out a brief sigh as my anger faded into a dull emptiness, I said, “My muscles are already at the point of looking like I’ve been exercising for half of a year when I flex them, I move slightly faster, and after running up the stairs and down the hall I’m not out of breath.”

[“So, that’s the timetable then… Miss Hebert, you are correct, you do not have standard medical nanomachines. From what you’ve described, I believe you may have an early version of third-generation nanomachines. It is nothing to worry about, I assure you.”]

“What are the side effects?”

[“Side effects? There are none.”]

“For some reason, I don’t believe you, SIGINT. But, fine, there are no side effects, what do they do?” I asked as I pulled out, and then sat down in my desk chair.

[“If it is, in fact, the nanomachines doing the things you’ve described. Then they have the ability to break down alcohol — preventing intoxication, purify any water source you drink, slightly enhance your rate of healing, allow remote checking and management of your vital signs, and finally, they will allow you to remotely access terminals, network nodes, and CODECs.”]

“That sounds far too beneficial to not have downsides.”

[“I assure you, Miss Hebert. There are no downsides, nor are there side effects. Now, I have important work to get done. Goodbye.”]

With a continuous drone the line was disconnected, pulling the phone away from my ear, I snapped it shut and threw it onto my desk. Continuing to sort through my medications with a renewed focus, I soon found two pill bottles that had my immediate attention, “Pfizer brand 75 mg geodon” or as the common name on the bottle labeled it, “Ziprasidone”. And the second bottles contained “Fluoxetine” or “Prozac”

Opening both bottles, I dumped a few pills onto the desk before resealing the bottles and putting them off to the side. Looking down at the pills on the wooden desk, I blinked, and suddenly, I was looking straight down at my hand, and in them were two Ziprasidone pills, and a single Prozac pill.

Snapping my head up when a cold breeze hit my head, and I felt the feeling of a hand brushing through my hair. I was met with a shattered mirror instead of my bedroom’s window. And in that mirror’s broken reflection, were three different versions of myself. 

The one on the left had a blackened, skull-like ballistic mask on her face, an eye patch over her right eye, and her horn seemed… longer, unnaturally so, at least three inches. And her hair was styled into a wavy bob cut.

On the right, a single eye, cold, broken, and bitter, stared back. Her hair looked to have been cut by hand, with the locks falling down to her shoulders had they been allowed to, but they were pulled back into a small ponytail at the base of her skull.

Feeling my heart rate increasing, I shifted, and both my own reflection, and those of the three doppelgängers moved, the fractured glass causing them to meld and twist together. Beginning to look back down at my hand, I paused as I noticed the exact same pills on the mirror’s shelf, as this in my hand. 

Snapping my gaze down to the pills, I dropped them from my hand and stumbled back while looking back up. Only to be met with the sight of my bedroom’s curtain-covered window. A small amount of light from the sun’s rising form peeking through the small gap in the middle of the hanging cloth. Feeling a nudge against my right leg, I looked down and saw Marcin staring at me, ears perked up.

Reaching down with my right hand, I pet him between his ears before saying, “It’s alright, I’m okay boy,” when I said those words, I didn’t really know who I was addressing. Was it Marcin I was trying to calm down… or me?

Shaking away the thought, I turned and walked out of my room, before making my way back downstairs. Making my way into the kitchen, I poured myself a cup of coffee, taking occasional sips of it as I made herself breakfast.

Quickly eating my breakfast once it was done, I wrote a quick note about going out into the city, leaving it on the counter. I grabbed a spare key and my satchel, put on my boots, and then walked out of the house before making my way down to the nearest bus stop.

Boarding the bus when it arrived about thirty-three minutes later, I put the $1.50 into the fare box, and walked to the third row of seats before sitting down on the left side. As the vehicle began making its route, I suddenly started tasting iron, if faintly before the smell of corpses entered my nose.

Looking around the bus, I didn’t see anything wrong, no one was dead, and no one was bleeding. Freezing, I felt a chill race down my spine as I felt that someone was watching me. Turning to look out the window, pain flared in my eyes, but most prominently in my right eye.

Blinking, I brought a hand up and wiped away my tears before settling into my seat and watching the world outside the bus pass by. The bizarre sight of a girl flying over buildings in the distance caught both my attention, and my confusion.

‘That’s… weird, I’ll have to look into that… The library probably has something explaining it. I’ll check when I get there.’

{Date: December 31st, 2010, Time: 07:01}

When the bus started slowing down, I looked up from the unfinished drawing of a sea harrier buzzing past the cockpit of a Blackfoot, the interior of the aircraft halfway through completion. With a flash of recognition, I stood up and followed a woman off of the bus before turning right and going in the direction of the library.

Walking down the slightly crowded street, I noticed that the city had small amounts of disrepair and neglect showing, even here in this part of it, almost like a slow poison was consuming it. No, infesting it. Noticing movement from an alleyway, I brought my attention to it, yet saw nothing. Marking it down as my mind playing tricks on myself, I continued walking, all while trying to ignore the occasional stare due to my injuries.

Ducking my head down, I began walking faster, various emotions swirling in my head before anger settled in place, ‘Stop looking, stop looking, stop looking, it’s just a piece of metal, IT’S JUST SHRAPNEL YO—‘

“You doing alright, kid?”

Jumping, I turned my head slightly to my left without revealing my horn to the man, spotting him sitting on the ground at the mouth of the alley. I paused, wondering how to answer his question before soon saying, “I’m… I don’t know, sir.”

“Heh, well, I may not be licensed or a doctor, but why not tell me about it? Now, I know I may be some old bum to you, but I’ve fought in more battles than your parents have been alive.”

Nodding, I said, “I… I guess.”

“Then come, sit here in front of me. Oh, and, weren’t you taught to look someone in the eyes when you spoke with them?”

Walking into the alley, I silently sat on the ground, my side angled at him so I could see him, but my right side wasn’t visible to the older gentleman. “I don’t want you to be freaked out, I’ve already been stared at a lot since I got off of the bus.”

Snorting, he said, “And not before you got on it? Girly, I’m old, I’ve killed people, I’ve seen battlefield injuries and walked through the aftermath of a war. Some scars aren’t going to unnerve me.”

Taking a deep breath after a moment of silence, I turned and fully-faced him. My marking of shrapnel, barely visible through my black hair in the lighting of the alleyway and morning sunlight, not fully revealed to him. And when the old man was able to properly see my face, a very brief look of shocked recognition flashed in his eyes, before it quickly faded.

“Well, I haven’t seen that kind of head injury in… nearly thirty-odd-years. What happened to you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t exactly remember, from what I was told I was involved in a mass casualty incident in 2008, I have retro-grade amnesia and this horn,” I said before gesturing up at the shard of metal sticking out of my forehead, “because of it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that lass, am I to guess it also has to do with you wearing gloves? Even with the current season, the temperature isn’t right for full fingers.”

“I–I’m not comfortable talking about it.” I said as I bowed her head.

“Heh, I get the feeling I’ve pried too deep, but, fair enough. Besides, I imagine you’ve got places more important to be.”

Realizing I did have something a bit important to do, I jumped up, before saying, “Oh shoot, you're right, thanks mister.”

“Don’t thank me yet, kid. Oh, and, never be ashamed of the scars you bare, cover them if you must, but wear them with pride, for they shape who you are, and who you will be.”

“I’ll remember that, sir,” hearing a strange noise as I turned to face the old veteran in order to properly give my thanks, I stood stock still before quickly scanning the alleyway. The old man was… nowhere to be seen, ‘What the– But I was just talking to him?!’ Turning, I quickly started to walk away from the alley and down the sidewalk, glancing over my shoulder before looking forward and speeding up into a jog.

Around six minutes later, I arrived at the library, and while slowing down to a walk, I began ascending the concrete steps when I reached them. Reaching the top of the steps, I walked up to the main doors and pulled the one on the right open. Stepping inside, I opened the second right door and entered the building proper.

Walking past the front desk, I briefly stopped by a small map that displayed where everything in the library was, spotting the place I needed to go, I made a beeline for the history section. The high roof, tall shelves, slightly dark corners, and ringed second floor balcony making me instinctually glance around for anyone hidden up high while I walked. Eventually, I reached the history sections and, after finding the correct aisle, I began walking down it. Looking at the various books on the shelves. I picked out a few and I made my way over to a table in an empty corner of the building. Pulling a chair out, I set the small stack of books off to the side and sat down before scooting in. Grabbing the first book from the stack, I began slowly reading it.

{Date: December 31st, 2010, Time: 09:12}

Setting the last book down, I leaned back in my chair and silently stared at the ceiling, ‘Alright, to recap what I’ve missed. After Ahab, or… I guess I died in 95’ Behemoth attacked Moscow, which all but brought an end to the USSR, which… resulted in the start of the Mercenary War, or as it’s also known as Zanzibar Land's war of independence…’

‘Then in 96’ Behemoth attacked Johannesburg, this “bird cage” prison was built, the local Protectorate leader Armsmaster joined the, well, Protectorate. Leviathan appears and attacks Oslo, then Behemoth ends the year with an attack on Cologne.’

Looking down, I stared down at the various notes written in my notebook.

• 1996: Lease of Hong Long from China ends. Leviathan attacks Busan. Behemoth attacks Buenos Aires. 
• 1997: The NEPEA-5 bill is passed. Leviathan destroys Sydney, Australia. Behemoth attacks Jinzhou. The Mercenary War comes to an end. Leviathan attacks Madrid. 
• 1999: Behemoth attacks Ankara. Leviathan attacks and then sinks Kyushu, Japan is devastated in the resulting aftermath. December 24th, 1999, The Zanzibar Land Disturbance.

‘Ishmael… What happened?’ I thought, before I continued catching up with the times, which in retrospect is kind of ironic, isn’t it?.

• 2000: The Brockton Bay Brigade arrest Marquis, resulting in the man being sentenced to the bird cage. The Brockton Bay Brigade unmasks before the public, advocating capes without masks, and becomes New Wave. Behemoth attacks Lyon. The Siberian Incident occurs. Leviathan attacks Naples. Nutty wack jobs celebrating Leviathan appear in Atlanta.
• 2001: Ellisburg is taken over by Nillbog, the resulting PRT and Protectorate counterattack fails, the city is quarantined with Nillbog being labeled an S-Class threat. Behemoth attacks Vanderhoof. Leviathan attacks Hyderabad. Behemoth attacks Lagos.
• 2002: The PRT expands to Canada. Leviathan attacks Shanghai. Behemoth attacks Bogotá. The Simurgh first appears in Switzerland, a few days later the Simurgh screams and the entire population of Lausanne is driven to madness. 
• 2003: Simurgh victims are deemed unsavable and are killed. That nut job cult rebrands to the “Fallen”. Leviathan attacks Seattle. The Simurgh destroys London. Behemoth attacks Lyon a second time.
• 2004: The PRT raids the core group of the Fallen and marks them as defeated. A crazy woman rebrands her own cult as the “Fallen”.
• 2005: Leviathan sinks Newfoundland. The Shadow Moses Incident.
• 2007: Jamestowner attacked a convoy carrying nuclear supply to a Pennsylvania nuclear facility (Idiot). The Boston Blowback happens. Fleur is murdered in her civilian identity, the unmasking movement ends and Lightstar leaves New Wave (I’m unsurprised, it was going to happen eventually). The Tanker Incident occurs.

‘So, Snake is, by technically, a dead man and a terrorist leader, huh? My, how the tables turn,’ Shaking away the thought, I closed my notebook a few minutes later after marking down some other minor events. Standing up, I placed my notebook and pencil back into my satchel before slinging it over my shoulder and grabbing my small stack of books again.

Making my way back over to the history section, I placed each book back where I’d gotten it from before silently leaving the building. Thoughts of what to do next on my mind, ‘Maybe I can see if Emma wants to go down to the boardwalk? No, no, she’s in school… I wonder if PRT does guided tours of their headquarters? If they do, then maybe that. No, probably not, would be neat though… OH, right, I still have to complete those courses so I can get into a school.’

Walking down the steps, I made a left turn and began making my way to the bus stop that went back the way I’d ridden from earlier in the day. The cold winter wind blowing against my face, the skin around my horn getting colder than the rest of my head. I thought, ‘I wonder what it takes to make homemade toffee?’

{Date: January 1st, 2011, Time: 12:55}

Setting the finished, still cooling baking sheet of toffee on the counter. I carefully ignored the several batches of burnt and or ruined toffee that sat in the trash as I grabbed the measuring cup filled with melted dark chocolate, before I began pouring it over top of the batch of toffee. 

“H-How did you get it on the ceiling?”

Looking to my left, I met Emma’s utterly priceless, if confused look before saying, “I… I don’t want to talk about it,” with a slight blush to my face, putting the now empty measuring cup to the side. I grabbed the bowl of crushed almonds and started sprinkling the crushed up nuts onto the hardening chocolate.

“Taylor… that is an entire batch of toffee stuck to the ceiling, how did you— mmphf.”

Freezing in place, Emma stared at me as I quickly cut myself a piece of toffee and put it in my mouth, bitting down with a slight crunch. I paused for a moment as well, grimacing slightly with a small cough, as the sweet, rich, salty, and bitter flavors clashed. Before quickly chewing and then swallowing the slightly burnt candy, Emma following and reacting in near sync with me.

Lightly coughing, I quickly drank some water before softly saying, “Still have to work on not burning the bottom… noted.” Before I offered a cup of water to Emma, who took it and drank the entire thing before saying, “No… *huff* really?!”

“Your sarcasm has also been noted,” standing there for a few seconds in silence, we both broke out into laughter at the same time, our giggling and laughing echoing throughout the house as I leaned on the counter before we calmed down a few moments later.

Looking back up at the ceiling, Emma said, “We really… mmphf, should… get that… off… of there.” as she popped another piece of burnt toffee into her mouth. Swallowing, she continued, “And by “we” I mean you,” she said as she pointed at me before popping not one, but two pieces of toffee into her mouth.

“And you should stop eating that before you throw up,” I remarked as I grabbed the tray of toffee and put it out of Emma’s reach while saying, “And if I have to scrape the toffee off of the ceiling could you go get me a ladder or something? I really don’t trust these chairs to hold up with me standing on them.”

“Hmph, fine be that way, just make sure to make a batch that isn’t burnt on the bottom. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go and get you that ladder, your highness.”

Taking a small moment to blink at Emma's sass, I quickly said, “Don’t forget the bowl of grapes and palm tree leaf while you're in there!” Before, I began searching the kitchen for something to scrape the burnt and very much hardened toffee off of the ceiling… hopefully without causing too much damage.

"That doesn't even make SENSE!" Yelled back Emma.

{Date: January 2nd, 2011, Time: 19:32}

Stepping off of the bus, I looked around briefly, before turning left and making my way down the sidewalk, the cold breeze of winter brushing against the back of my head like a comforting hand. And in only a few minutes, I was making a right turn, one which led into a neighborhood.

Continuing my walk, I looked at each house I passed, many of them were starting to look run down, others were being maintained to various degrees, with a few having been all but abandoned. All in all, the neighborhood was beginning to slip from middle-class and into lower.

Looking for the right house, I eventually looked to my left and spotted it across the street, looking right and then left. I quickly crossed the street and walked up to the house, my gaze briefly locking onto the numbers above the right corner of the garage door, ‘1631 Millard Ln. So, this was home, huh?’

Making my way up the cleared driveway and then up the path leading to the small front porch, I stopped before the small set of stairs. Taking a deep breath, I stood there for a few moments, the cold of the night air sinking down into my bones. Psyching myself up, I walked up the old steps of the house’s porch, the light hanging next to the door lighting up the polished wood.

Coming to a stop at the door, I simply stared at it for a few moments, snow beginning to fall down around me. Taking a breath, I raised my hand and pressed on the doorbell’s button. Waiting for a few moments, I was able to make out the sound of a car turning onto the street back the way I’d come, the muffled sound of a TV, along with a voice yelling for someone.

A minute later, I was able to make out the sound of someone walking up to the door, with the noise stopping after a few seconds, before the sound of the door unlocking reached my ears and a rather nice looking boy opened it in order to stick his head out before he said, “Hello, how can I help you?”

“Oh, um, my parents used to live here about two years ago, and I was wondering if there was anything of theirs still here.”

“Yeah… uh listen, give me a minute, alright?” said the boy as his eyes flicked up to my horn before he closed and locked the door, the sound of his footsteps sounding out as he walked away from the door, before I was able to barely make out extremely faint voices from the other side of the wooden door.

As I stood there, my nerves began getting to me, starting to fidget. I turned to the right, and looked up at the night sky, where after a few moments, I felt the sudden need for a cigar, ‘What I wouldn’t give for an H. Upmann— Wait what? I don’t smoke, I never have! Why would I want a… Ugh, whatever.’

My mood thoroughly ruined, I took my eyes off of the sky and turned to face the rest of the neighborhood, a song from a nearby parked car’s radio catching my attention.

[Long Road Out of Eden]

[Moon shining down through the palms]

'Would I even be let in? I mean, it doesn't make that much sense if I am. And if by some miracle I am, I doubt there's anything that belongs to my parents still here. If there is, it would probably be nearly, if anything, a box, or two at most… And god, did I sound both suspicious and awkward.'

[Shadows moving on the sand]

Listening to the song, my nerves slowly calmed as old memories surfaced. One in particular had my attention and kept my mind from wandering, and allowing the wrong kinds of memories to come forward.

[Somebody whispering the twenty-third psalm]

It was about dancing and playing in the rain with a tall, brown haired woman. Returning to the present, I held out my left hand and I stared down at it for a few moments before reaching down for the glove covering it with my right hand.

[Dusty rifle in his trembling hands]

Hearing the door unlock again, I dropped my hands to my side again before turning around and watching as a large, what she had to guess blue-collar, Puerto Rican man stepped through the now open door before closing it behind himself and turning to look at her, and asking in a thick accent, “Why are you here?”

Taking a breath, I said, “As your son?” Getting a nod from the man, I continued, “As your son has most likely told you, my parents used to live here two years ago before they died, and I… I wanted to see if anything of theirs was still here. And I, want to apologize for the inconvenience, because I didn't realize that you and your family lived here until I was out front.”

“So, how did they die? Your parents. And why are you not living here?” Asked the man while crossing his arms over his chest.

“They were killed two years ago in a… cape fight? I think that's what they're called. But umm, I only woke up earlier this month, and I’ve been staying with a friend since I was discharged from the hospital.”

“What were you in the hospital for?”

“I was in a coma, sir. Retrograde amnesia, sir, I am unable to remember anything from before the fight.”

“I see. And the horn?” Asked the man, as he gestured toward the right side of his forehead.

“From the explosion that happened toward the end of the fight, sir. It’s shrapnel that the hospital was unable to remove.”

“Hmm. How old are you?”

“Fourteen, sir.”

“You were twelve then.” 

“Yes, sir, I was.”

“It was not a question or a statement, simply an observation.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Do not apologize, you have done nothing wrong. Now, I will let you inside, on the conditions that you follow my son, as he will lead you up to the attic. And look around only the attic, as we have not made use of it since moving in, you are also allowed to take anything you can physically carry. Do you understand me.”

“Yes, sir, I understand, sir.”

Nodding, the… 6'4, Puerto Rican man turned around, opened the door, and walked inside before he stepped to the side to allow me inside. Walking into the house, I glanced around as he closed the door behind me. On my right, I saw some furniture, with a few paintings on the walls, jumping slightly when he quietly walked past me. I watched as he walked over to a chair in the corner of the living room and sat down while calling out in Spanish.

As I began slowly remembering, I noted the sound of a door opening upstairs, along with the sound of footsteps moving towards the top of the stairs. However, I was lost in my reminiscing. Because, at first it was just faint smells, and then I had the feeling that things were out of place or missing. Then, I began hearing things on the edge of my hearing… bits of conversations… or are they songs, maybe?

“See the sunset.”

Snapping out of my reminiscing when the boy from earlier came down the stairs, I watched in silence as his father talked to him in Spanish before he turned to me. 

Nodding at me, he waved for me to follow him, before he turned and started making his way up the stairs. Following the boy up the stairs, I was then led down the hall. Pictures of the family line the walls, looking forward, I met the eyes of the boy leading me down the hall as he asked a question.

“So, why doesn’t your family live here anymore?”

Tilting my head slightly at his question, I looked at one of the pictures on the wall to my left as we passed it before looking back at him and answering, “My parents died a bit over two years ago. I woke up recently, and now I’m staying at a friend’s house.”

“Oh, shoot, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” Said the boy before he looked forward.

“It’s fine.” ‘It’s not.’

“You didn’t know. Besides, I’m getting over it.” ‘No, I’m not, why do I lie to myself, and why did you have to ask.’ 

The rest of the short walk down the hall was in utter silence, neither one of us wanting to break the quiet, even with how awkward it was. Eventually, we reached the end of the hall, where the access hatch for the attic sat in the ceiling. Jumping up, the boy hooked his finger in the pull ring, and with his fall, pulled the hatch down, the ladder unfolding with it, nearly smacking him on the head and back as it came down.

Smirking slightly, I quickly hid it as he turned around and waved me up the ladder with a flourish and a slightly sarcastic, “Ladies first.” 

Letting out a small snort of amusement, I walked over to the ladder and climbed up into the attic. As I began looking around, I noted that the boy had just finished following me up, and so, I asked a question as he climbed to his feet, “So, since we were talking, and you’re up here now, what’s your name?”

“Carlos. And since you’re asking, what’s yours?”

Moving away from a cardboard box after looking through it and finding nothing but old clothes, I absentmindedly said, “Taylor,” and as I was searching a third box, I heard my name be called from behind me.

“Hey, Taylor, I think I found something.”

Turning around, I made my way through the maze of boxes and containers, walking up to Carlos. He turned around and held an old doll out to me, one that had both my own, and the other person’s memories flashing up in my mind at once.

“Mama, mama, look what I found in the attic. Hm? Oh my, where’d you find— Man down! Man down! Incoming!!! On the left! Blackfoot, incoming!!”

Shaking away the memories for later, I took in the appearance of the doll, which consisted of old jungle fatigues, a Vietnam chickenplate, a Bianchi M12 holster, an LC-2 equipment belt, a balaclava. And finally, a headset with a microphone attached to the right side.

‘We had dolls of our soldiers made? Wait… I remember now, Paz mentioned something about setting up a gift shop in the more civilian area…’ I quickly shook my head as I took the doll from Carlos’s outstretched hand, before looking around the rest of the attic, then back down at the doll ‘That doesn’t explain how you got here mister,’ 

Examining the doll in my hand in silence, I turned it over and spotted the small rope hanging attached to the back of the doll. One side had a carabiner on it, and the other was connected to the STABO rig by the D-rings on the shoulders.

Grabbing the carabiner, I hooked the doll to one of my pants' belt loops. Letting the doll hang, I looked up at Carlos and said, “Thanks… I don’t know how this got up here, but thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Carlos with a wave of his hand, “besides, from your reaction you didn’t know that doll was up here.”

Shaking my head, I said, “No, I didn’t. I didn’t even know my parents were military.”

“Huh, you’d think they’d tell you about something like that.”

“Yeah,” I replied as I started searching around this area of the attic, especially since this space contained boxes that seemed much older than the others nearer to the attic entrance, ‘Older than me,’ I thought. Eventually, I found a box that had an old wedding dress in it, another that had some old business suits, and a third and fourth box that was just a bunch of old children’s toys and clothes.

“Oh, what’s that one, mommy? Hmm? Ah, that one is an AH— The day is ending—”

Pushing a box to the side with Carlos’s help, I froze and stared at the TL500i transport case sitting against a couple of stacked boxes. Beginning to make my way towards it, I had Carlos help me with slowly making a path over to it. And once we’d reached it, I had him help me lift and then move the heavy-duty case back toward the front of the attic.… Well, it was more like he lifted and carried it, while I cleared as much stuff as I could out of his path.

Anyway, soon Carlos was setting the box down before stepping away from it, keeping a small, respectful distance behind me in the old attic. While still being able to see what was inside the container if I allowed him too.

[Beatiful Mirage - What Was Lost]

Opening the box, I fully paused at what lay inside, dozens of memories surging forward as I stared down at the Outer Heaven flight suit and pilot helmet in the padded box. The flight suit had, from what I could see of it in its folded up state, stitches on various parts of it, ‘field repairs’ I thought. 

Reaching in, I carefully removed the helmet from its padded space and then from the cloth bag it was in. Looking it over once it was out of the bag, I noticed it was also damaged, although the damage was painted over, and so was the Outer Heaven logo on the right side of it… I realized, after a few moments, that it was probably done to escape anyone hunting down surviving members of Outer Heaven.

Putting the helmet to the side with a muted, dull thud. I reached down into the box, and carefully extracted a small hardwood storage box recessed into the velvet padding. 

Delicately holding the small mahogany box in one hand, I slowly opened it with the other. Putting the lid next to the helmet, I carefully reached into the container and grabbed the beaded chain, pulling my hand back. I moved the chain around until the metal tabs hanging from them were in my palm.

Staring down at the dog tags in my hand and reading over the information on it, I went wide-eyed at what was on them… Hebert Annette R. DOB: J 13 1969. BT: AB NEG. MOS: 152F. 

‘You… you were…’ I then quickly flipped the tabs over and, sitting on the back of both tags’, was an all too familiar logo, it was the logo of Outer Heaven, the four eyes, pronounced canines, and the missing lower jaw all there. Kneeling on the dusty wooden floor of the attic, I set the box down next to the helmet and closed my eyes while taking a deep breath, before carefully putting on the tags. The soft *tinking* of the tags’ tapping together, barely audible throughout the attic.

Once the chain was connected back together around my neck, I opened my eyes and continued looking through the box that had belonged to my mom, all while thinking, ‘Mama… Papa… I’m… I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I don’t remember you. I’ll… I’ll try to remember, I promise.’

As I looked back into the box, I realized the depth of the box and the amount of padding needed for the mahogany box didn’t match up. Reaching in, I began feeling around at the padding until I felt a depression on the right side of the securement pad, it was big enough for a single finger, and so, I pressed down on the padding.

Sinking in and then past the foam padding, I hooked my finger underneath and lifted. And out came the foam padding, and beneath it, was a small box, it was bigger than the mahogany one, but still small in size. Wondering what was in it, I carefully pulled it out of the box.

Setting it on the edge of the container, I unlatched the two locks and carefully opened the lid slightly. Spotting what was inside, I simply stared at the object in silence, my breath escaping me as the information for it shot to the forefront of my mind.

‘Beretta M92A1, 9×19mm Parabellum, MFR: Outer Heaven, SN: OH-645-789-1994.’

“Taylor… What’s in the box?”

Looking over my shoulder, as I inhaled, I looked Carlos in the eyes as I said, “It’s uh, it’s a service pistol.”

“A what.”

“A service pistol,” I said again as I looked back at the box before I closed it and set it off to my left, in plain view of Carlos, before I reached in and pulled the folded up flight suit out.

“Why would—“

“Because that’s what veterans do, and… and,” staring down at the first mahogany and glass box at the top of four mahogany and glass storage boxes. Setting the flight suit down at my side, I reached in and picked up the box on top. Pulling my hand back, I looked down through the glass, and at the medal inside, ‘A Distinguished Service Cross… Mom, what the hell did you do?!’ Shaking my head, I carefully put the medal back where it was before picking up the flight suit and placing it over top of the five boxes again.

Grabbing the box containing mom’s service pistol, I placed it back into the case before putting the foam and box that had held her dog tags back over top of it. Picking up mom’s helmet, I put it back into its cloth bag and then put that, where it had been in the box, the foam padding cradling it. Grabbing the lid, I flipped it back over and put the latches back in place with two dull *Clunks*

{Date: January 2nd, 2011, Time: 22:53}

Looking through my work displayed on my laptop's screen, I leaned back in my chair while interlocking my hands behind my head. Before looking over at the heavy-duty transport case sat against the wall, I decided to deal with its contents tomorrow and turned back to my “school work”, placing my hands back on the keyboard. I continued relearning the things I needed to relearn. 

Because, while my memories helped with hand-to-hand, mastery over various weapon systems, espionage, and environmental warfare just to name a few, I knew absolutely nothing about parahumans and in turn capes. Which was apparently needed because it was a class in the various schools, 'Well, except for Immaculata… probably. Eh, it's not like it and Arcadia are really options for me right now anyway.'

Finishing up what I was required too, I saved my completed work and then sent it where I had too. Closing my laptop, I slid my chair back, stood up, stepped to the side, and pushed it back under my desk slightly. Walking around the rolling chair, I moved over to, and then collapsed, on my bed, Marcin following after me from where he'd been laying by my desk, jumping up onto the foot of my bed. 

Rolling over, I pulled my blanket up and closed my eyes. Feeling sleep slowly claiming me over the course of a few minutes. And as my mind slowed, I thought about what tomorrow could bring, 'Maybe me and Emma can go to the movies? Or walk on the boardwalk… I should probably take Marcin to the park again, maybe Rachel will be there this time.'

Chapter Text

[Not Your Kind of People]

{Date: January 3rd, 2011, Time: 19:21}

"B.P's dropping!"

'Taylor?' I thought, my mind racing as I tried to recall what had happened.

"Intubate! Now!"

"Cardiac arrest! She's in V-fib!"

'Taylor, where are you?' I silently called, panic slowly filling my mind.

"… Clear!"

'I- I remember now, the… the crash… the fire… Taylor!' Slowly remembering what had happened, panic and terror filled me as I remembered watching as the fire nearly consumed my friend for a second time, except this time, I was trying to protect her.

"No response! Hit her again!"

'Damn it, don't you die on me! I can't lose you again!' Screaming into my mind, I could do nothing but listen and pray as Taylor seemed to be dying right next to me.

"… Clear!"

'Please, god… anyone, please, don't let her die.' I thought as I barely made out the sound of a defibrillator going off.

{Several hours earlier, Taylor Anne Hebert, Date: January 3rd, 2011, Time: 03:07}

Waking up with a groan of annoyance as the nightmare faded, I rolled over onto my side and opened my eyes, staring at the wall for a few moments. The humid, oppressive air of a jungle faded from my waking mind.

After a few moments, I rolled onto my back and sat up. The darkness of the room was familiar, comforting. I stretched, my joints popping in the quiet, looking around. I saw Marcin staring at me with his ears perked up from the foot of my bed, A small, genuine smile touched my lips as I smiled at him. Before, I turned on the lamp on my nightstand and got out of bed.

Standing up as I slowly looked around my dimly lit room, I found my attention wandering over to the TL500i by my closet, deciding to go through it, considering I have nothing to do. I slowly walked over to it, rubbing away at the gunk in my eyes as I fully awoke.

Bringing my hand away from my face, I squatted down in front of the box before grabbing onto the handles, I lifted the heavy-duty case up and made my way over to my desk. Setting the footlocker down next to my desk, I unlatched the latches, and opened the container.

The helmet bag and my mom's flight suit came out first. I placed them on the right side of my desk, the helmet resting on the folded, faded olive-drab canvas. The stack of mahogany boxes containing her service medals went next to them. Then, I pulled out the small box that had once held her dog tags.

Standing up, I briefly moved over to my night stand to put the box on it, before I went back over to my desk. And, after removing a layer of padding, I found the small case for my mom's service pistol. As I lifted it out, I saw another, slightly larger box beneath it.

I paused, placing the pistol case on the desk absentmindedly, before reaching in for the second box. Pulling it out, I opened the box and, inside, on a bed of foam, was a maintenance kit for a Beretta M9, and two fully loaded magazines.

A flicker of something — not my own emotion — stirred within me. A cold, professional approval. I placed the open kit on my desk, retrieved the handgun from its own case, and then my hands began to move, guided by a purpose I didn't fully understand.

I turned on the desk lamp. And, in its fluorescent hum, I unloaded the firearm, checked the chamber, and placed the magazine aside. Then, the process began. It was like watching a movie of my own hands. They moved, divorced from my own thoughts, depress-rotate-slide. Each piece detached with a satisfying *shink* and found its place on the blotting paper.

Recoil spring, guide rod, barrel. Perfectly spaced. To some, quickly growing, part of my mind, the familiarity was a warm, comforting blanket, a ritual. To another, smaller part, it was a horror.

My thumb traced the stylized, winged, and fanged skull engraved in the middle of the grip. The insignia of Outer Heaven. The Soldier in my head, the woman forged from Venom Snake's memories, pulsed with a fierce, quiet pride. 'My men carried these. My nation forged them.' Her thoughts were clear, sharp, and utterly alien. She knew the history of the man whose life she now mirrored. 'He knew the nuances of this pistol, the resilience of its frame, the distinct click of its decocker. He knew it like his own shadow.'

But the girl, the fractured fragments of myself, of Taylor Hebert, stared at the weapon with a growing, cold dread. This wasn't just a gun; it was my mom's gun. The Beretta M9A1, engraved with the name 'Annette' on the grip, just below the slide. The phantom memory of my mother was a soft, blurry warmth, a whisper of a smile. But the name now resonated with the brutal clang of battlefields, with the distant thrum of rotor blades, and the acrid scent of cordite.

My gaze drifted to the right. The folded flight suit, faded olive drab, sat like a patiently waiting ghost. It was old, patched in places, a testament to years of wear. A protective bag lay on top of it, and I knew what was inside — the helmet of a Hind-D pilot.

'Khamsin,' the Soldier supplied the name, a sharp-edged fact cut from his past and lodged, unwanted, in mine. 'Annette Hebert, Khamsin, ACT-02, Attack Platoon, Chopper three.'

The mahogany boxes caught the lamp's glare. Service medals. Outer Heaven. My mother. A respected member of... Big Boss's army. The dissonance was a physical ache behind my eyes. My mother, the quiet university professor, had flown a Hind for a rogue military state. Had killed for it. Had been a part of his dream.

The pistol's box lay open beside the two fully loaded magazines, nestled in their padding. The maintenance kit, meticulously laid out, beckoned. My hands, the Soldier's hands, reached for the cleaning rod. The motions were hers, but the feeling of the cold metal was mine. My mother, the soldier, the professor. The girl who used to be Taylor Hebert. And the phantom who now walked in my skin.

Each click of the cleaning rod drove the realization deeper. I wasn't just haunted. I was a consequence. A product. The boundaries between my life, my mother's, and the legend forced into my head were blurring, bleeding into one violent, impossible truth. The pistol, the suit, the medals — they were proof.

And the ghost, the Soldier inside me, felt a grim satisfaction. 'We are finding our way home,' she thought. 'Our way back to Outer Heaven.'

I flinched, pushing the thought away with a shudder. The feeling of her pride was a violation, an alien emotion in my own mind. I forced my hands, my hands, to reassemble the handgun. They resisted for a moment, then complied, the movements still fluid but now tinged with my own trembling terror. I placed the pistol and the maintenance kit back into their cases and closed them.

Standing up, I left the ghosts of the past arrayed on my desk, grabbed some clothes and went to begin my own morning routine, a desperate attempt to feel like myself again.

{Date: January 3rd, 2011, Time: 03:57}

Looking back on it, I realize my thoughts are a fractured, messy thing. Sometimes, there are gaps. Blank spots where time just disappears, and I'm left feeling tired and confused, my body aching for reasons I don't understand. I suspect there's another part of me, a shadow that moves when I'm not looking, that makes decisions I can't remember. This morning was one of those times.

I remember deciding to go to the kitchen. Then, a blur. I didn't turn on the main light; the dim, yellow glow from under the microwave was enough. For whom? For the other one. For the shadow.

From there, it's like watching a movie through thick glass. The next thirteen minutes were a symphony of quiet, efficient motion. A temporary surrender. There were no wasted steps, no hesitation. My hands, her hands, moved with a purpose that felt borrowed, a lifetime of mess hall prep duty compressed into my muscle memory.

She pulled eggs, cheese, bacon, and sausage from the fridge. Onions, tomatoes, and lettuce from the crisper. Bread, waffle mix, porridge. Each item was placed on the counter in a precise, orderly line, an assembly of components for a mission. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the knife was the only sound, sharp, and clean in the oppressive silence.

By 03:20, the prep was done. The roar of the blender was a violent intrusion, muffled by a dish towel. The thick, green liquid was for immediate energy delivery, a primer. The next forty minutes were a masterclass in controlled chaos. She wasn't a cook; she was a logistician. The waffle iron, multiple pans on the stove, the pot of porridge — all fronts in a single, coordinated operation. The air filled with smells, and for a fleeting moment, a buried part of me, the real me, smelled a perfect weekend breakfast and felt a pang of warmth before being submerged again. To the Soldier, it was merely the chemical signature of vital macronutrients.

She worked without pause. The omelette flipped with a flick of the wrist. The sandwiches were assembled with the speed of someone field-stripping a rifle. By 04:04, a feast meant for a family sat on the counter, a table set for one.

I felt a flicker of my own trepidation as she started on the omelette, but it was quickly suppressed. The process wasn't about savoring; it was about consumption. Her fork moved with a steady, relentless rhythm. The taste registered as an afterthought. Plate after plate was emptied.

Sitting back, the vast array of empty dishes was a testament to the monstrous appetite of the machine I was becoming. I didn't feel full or bloated. Instead, a low, powerful hum of energy spread through my limbs. The nanomachines were beginning to work. The fuel was in the tank.

The cleanup was as swift and silent as the preparation. Every dish washed, dried, and stored. The kitchen was left pristine, as if the ghost had never been there. She then walked us over to the basement door, opened it, slipped through, and descended the creaking stairs into the cold dark As the door closed behind us.

The air down here was heavy with the smell of damp concrete and dust. This was her sanctuary. My training ground. An old rubber mat, a heavy kettlebell, and a steel pipe for a pull-up bar. Crude, but more than enough.

She shed my basic clothes, leaving me in a tank top and shorts. My breath plumed in the frigid air. The routine was decided. She would push the body to its absolute limit. If it survived, this would be the new catechism, written in sweat and muscle fiber.

Eight sets. No rest. The goal was not just strength, but the fusion of endurance and power.

The first set was easy. My hands, one of flesh and one of metal, hit the mat. Twenty push-ups, the movement perfect, mechanical. My bionic arm was the fulcrum, unfeeling and tireless, as my right arm burned. Ten burpees, a violent, full-body shock. Then the pipe. Ten pull-ups, my back, and biceps screaming. Ten bodyweight rows. Finally, twenty swings of the kettlebell, a powerful, rhythmic pendulum. My heart was a heavy drum, adrenaline pumping.

By set four, the workout had changed. My body screamed. It was a war between the exhausted girl I was and the soldier she was making me become. My right arm burned and trembled, but my bionic left arm was a tireless, cold anchor in the pain.

And that's when I, the real Taylor, started to scream. I was trapped inside, feeling every searing nerve ending, every strained ligament. My right shoulder felt like it was being torn apart. My lungs were raw, desperate for air.

But she didn't listen. 'Pain is a signal,' she thought, her calm a terrifying contrast to my panic. 'It is data. The nanomachines are repairing the micro-tears. Acknowledge the data, then disregard it. Continue the mission.'

The final set was a different state of being. The pain was gone, submerged under a tidal wave of something else. A high-octane, hypomanic energy. The nanomachines were in full effect, a hyperefficient engine at maximum capacity. My heartbeat was the only sound in the world. I was no longer thinking as I pushed past the pain, and into a trance. We weren't a girl and a soldier anymore; we were a single, focused entity. A weapon. I wasn't thinking, just doing, every movement a mission, even if it was just to escape the pain faster.

The push-ups were a piston.

The burpees, a violent prayer.

The pull-ups, an ascension.

The kettlebell swings, the pendulum of a clock.

On the twentieth swing, the kettlebell came to rest with a heavy thud.

And then, it was over. The internal battle ceased. She let go. And I — the real me — crashed back into my own body, collapsing onto the mat, trembling with the aftershocks. Lying on my back in the profound silence, chest heaving, every muscle fiber screaming.

For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged tear of my own breathing as I felt a deep, aching loneliness. A part of me, a part I didn't recognize, felt her grim satisfaction that the vessel had been honed. But it was an alien feeling, and it only made me feel more alone.

I stared up at the dim bulb, at the spiderwebs in the corners. Slowly standing up as I felt the nanomachines begin repairing my muscles. I looked around the basement before I felt control leave me again, and it was terrifying. But, the work wasn't over. Her work wasn't over. Grabbing a few items. She turned, and walked over to, and then ascended the stairs before moving us up the stairs and to my room.

Opening my closet door, she grabbed the old rucksack sitting in the corner. And pulled it out, setting it on the floor of my room. She turned to her chosen payload for the morning: three thick, heavy college textbooks from the basement, a rolled-up towel, and two full one-liter water bottles. The goal was thirty-five pounds. A light patrol load.

She knelt there, opened the main flap of the ruck. And quietly spoke in our head, her voice, the old, familiar voice of a woman I'd never met, guided my hands in a quiet, instructional mantra. 'Remember; heavy items low and close to the spine, light items high and away.'

My hands moved with an efficiency I didn't possess, and that felt borrowed. 'It was…' Came the whispered thought as the first book, a dense tome on organic chemistry, slid into the main compartment, its hard spine pressed flat against the back panel. It was the anchor.

The second, a physics textbook, followed, settling on top of it with a solid, satisfying thump. Together, they formed the foundation, a solid block of weight positioned to ride high and tight against my spine, transferring the load directly to my hips and legs, not my shoulders.

Next came the water bottles, placed on either side of the books to keep the center of gravity from shifting. The rolled-up towel went in last, stuffed into the top of the compartment, filling the remaining space and preventing the contents from jostling. The principle was simple: a stable, predictable load was an efficient one. An unbalanced pack would fight you every step of the way, an unnecessary drain on energy that could mean the difference between success and failure on a mission.

Cinching the drawstring tight, the thick cord hissing through the metal grommets. She pulled the main flap over and buckled the two leather straps, pulling them taut until the canvas strained.

Standing, she grabbed the ruck by its haul loop. The weight was solid, a dense, compact mass. Which she swung it onto my back in one fluid motion. The straps settled onto my shoulders, and the weight pressed against my back with a familiar, almost comforting pressure. It was a burden, but it was a purposeful one.

Moving with a practiced silence, she left my room and descended the stairs. The house was a museum of a life I was supposed to be living, filled with family photos and quiet suburban peace. In the foyer, I set the ruck down gently on the cool tile floor. It landed with a soft, heavy thud as her control faded.

Sitting on the small chair in the foyer, I simply stared into space for… however long. Before, I actually pulled on my running shoes, lacing them with quick, precise motions, each knot pulled perfectly tight. Shoes on. Ruck on the floor beside me, ready. I took one last, steadying breath in the silent house, then stood, shrugging the heavy pack onto my shoulders and settling the straps. The weight was a part of me now.

I unlocked the front door. The chill of the early morning air washed over me as I stepped outside, pulling the door closed until I heard the soft click of the latch, I then locked the door and pocketed my spare key.

Turning back around, I saw that the street was empty, the world painted in shades of gray and deep blue. I adjusted the straps one last time and started walking, my pace steady, the weight on my back a constant, demanding companion on the long road ahead as I set off in a random direction.

[Frank's Choice]

{Date: January 3rd, 2011, Time: 08:13}

Unlocking the front door, I stepped back into the house as I pocketed my key in my jacket, closing the door behind myself. I quietly took my rucksack off, letting it fall onto the floor with a heavy thump as I took a step forward and began removing my shoes. I felt as the cooled air of the house drifted over my sweaty form and the front of my wet shirt.

Once my shoes were off, I shrugged off my jacket, and while carrying it in one hand, grabbed my ruck and walked further into the house, moving straight for the stairs. The air-conditioned air made my skin feel clammy and cool, while my shirt stuck to my upper body and back.

Ascending the stairs, I paused at the first step when I saw Anne staring at me through the door that led into the dining room as she sat at the table, Emma presumably with her. Looking at her, I watched as she gave a single, sharp flick of her chin upwards: go upstairs. I nodded slowly and started up the steps, a cold feeling creeping up my spine. The house was too quiet. It was the kind of silence that waits, coiled and heavy.

Slowing down at the top of the stairs, At the top of the stairs, my footsteps felt loud, intrusive. I noticed it immediately — my bedroom door was open. I slowed, my heart starting a low, anxious drumbeat. I left my ruck and jacket leaning against the wall and crept the last few feet to my doorway, pressing myself flat against the wall.

Peaking around the door frame, I found Uncle Alan and Aunt Zoe inside. The air in the hallway felt heavy, the silence in the house no longer peaceful.

They were staring at my desk. It was no longer a place for homework; it had been turned into a shrine. My mother's shrine. The olive-drab flight suit, the Hind helmet, the neat stack of medals with a symbol they had spent a lifetime trying to forget. And the centerpiece: the field-stripped Beretta M9A1, its components arranged with a chilling precision I didn't remember creating. It was another gap, another blank spot from before I packed the rucksack. She must have been out again.

I pushed myself off the wall and stepped into the doorway, my movements slow and deliberate. Their heads snapped toward me. Aunt Zoe flinched, a hand flying to her mouth. Uncle Alan just stared, his face pale, his lawyer's composure utterly shattered. He looked older, somehow. Frailer.

"Taylor," Aunt Zoe whispered, her voice trembling. "What is this? Where… where did you find this?"

Her eyes were locked on the gun. I followed her gaze. The stylized, winged, fanged skull of Outer Heaven was etched into the grip, a perfect match to the one on the empty box on my nightstand. The box that once held my mother's dog tags.

"It was in the attic, at… at my old house," I said. The words felt like they belonged to someone else, flat and devoid of the panic churning in my gut. "In the old footlocker."

I walked past them and stood before the desk, my back to them. I could feel their fear, a palpable force in the room. My fingers ghosted over the cold steel of the Beretta's slide. It felt… right.

"Do you have any idea what this is?" Uncle Alan's voice was strained, tight with a panic he was trying desperately to control. "Taylor, do you understand the danger? If anyone… if the wrong people ever saw this…"

He didn't need to finish. The ugly part of me knew exactly what would happen. Rendition. Black site. Interrogation. The end of this quiet life.

"I understand the danger," I said, still not turning around. I picked up the pistol's frame, the weight of it settling into my palm with an easy, unnerving familiarity. "It's a part of my past. A part of my mother's past."

"Annette… she wanted this buried," Zoe breathed, taking a hesitant step forward. "She wanted you to have a normal life. A safe life. She ran from all of this so you could be safe."

I finally turned to face them. I looked at Aunt Zoe, at her tear-filled eyes and trembling hands. I saw fear for me, for my safety. But the other part saw a civilian, a liability, someone who didn't understand the nature of the war that was now living inside me.

"Normal was never an option," I stated. It wasn't meant to be cruel, just a simple fact.

"The gun, Taylor," Alan said, his voice a low, urgent plea. "Why is it… why is it in pieces? How did you even know how to do that?"

This was the test. I held up the frame. "It's an M9A1. Outer Heaven standard issue sidearm from '93 to '95. Open-slide design minimizes jamming, but the trigger pull is a little heavy on the first shot. It needed cleaning. The oil was starting to congeal."

The silence that followed was absolute. I had not answered as a curious child who found a dangerous toy. I had answered as a soldier assessing his equipment. I saw the realization dawn on their faces, the last vestiges of hope draining away. They weren't looking at their niece, the quiet girl who had woken from a coma a month ago. They were looking at a stranger. A ghost wearing my face.

Zoe's expression crumbled from fear into a deep, profound sorrow. "Oh, Taylor," she whispered, her voice breaking. "What did they do to you?"

Before I could answer, my hand instinctively went to my neck, my fingers brushing against the thin chain I wore hidden under my shirt. I felt the two small, cool rectangles of metal resting against my skin.

Uncle Alan saw the motion. His eyes flicked to the empty, open box on my nightstand, the one with the Outer Heaven logo on its lid, then back to my hand at my neck. He didn't need to ask. He knew where the dog tags were. He closed his eyes, a look of utter defeat on his face. The secrets they had helped my mother bury nearly fifteen years ago hadn't just been unearthed. They had been inherited.

The standoff dissolved, leaving only a heavy, exhausted quiet in its wake. There were no more questions to ask, no answers I could give that would make sense to them.

Finally, Alan opened his eyes. "Anne and Emma are downstairs," he said, his voice hollow. "They're… waiting. For breakfast."

I gave a single, slow nod. I began to reassemble the Beretta, my hands moving with a fluid, practiced grace that was horrifying to them and second nature to me. *Click.* *Slide. *Shink.* The weapon was whole again. I laid it gently in its case, alongside the maintenance kit. I didn't bother with the magazines.

I walked past them and out of the room, leaving them standing there with the ghosts of my mother's war.

The walk down the stairs felt different. The silence wasn't just tense anymore; it was a chasm that had opened up between us. I had scared them, not with anger or violence, but with a calm, cold knowledge that didn't belong in a fourteen-year-old girl. The Soldier saw their fear as a tactical asset; they wouldn't press me further. The Girl felt a distant, hollow pang of something that might have been regret… or was it sorrow?

I stepped into the dining room. The morning sun streamed through the windows, illuminating the table. Emma was there, looking nervous, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. And sitting across from her was Anne. She looked up as I entered, her expression unreadable, her eyes holding a calm, knowing depth that mirrored the Soldier's gaze in my own mind. She already knew. Of course, she knew.

I pulled out a chair and sat down, just as Aunt Zoe and Uncle Alan descended the stairs. Breakfast was a war fought in silence. The only sounds were the scrape of forks against plates and the soft clink of coffee mugs. No one spoke. Aunt Zoe pushed her eggs around, her appetite gone. Uncle Alan stared into his coffee as if searching for answers in the black liquid. He was the first to break.

"I have to get to the office," he said, his voice flat. He stood, his chair scraping against the floor. He didn't look at me. Zoe followed suit, murmuring something about errands. They left the room without a goodbye. The chasm had widened into a canyon.

Anne, however, finished her meal with a deliberate, unnerving calm. She met my gaze across the table, her eyes holding that same knowing depth as the Soldier in my head. Then, she stood, collected her plate, and left as silently as she had eaten.

And then there were two. The heavy, oppressive silence was gone, replaced by a different kind of quiet—an awkward, fragile one. Emma wouldn't look at me, her attention fixed on her glass of water. I knew I had to be the one to break it, to try and build a bridge, even a small one, over the ruins of the morning.

With just the two of us at the table now, I looked at Emma and said, "Hey, Emma. Could I ask you something?"

"Mhm," she hummed, taking a mouthful of water.

"I wanted to see if you'd like to go to the boardwalk with me again?"

"Oh! I, uh, I already planned to go somewhere with my friends today," she said, hesitating. "Would it be alright if you joined me? That way I can introduce you to them, and we could also spend some more time together like you want to?"

Smiling a bit, I said, "Yeah, that'll work for me."

Emma quickly got up, a wave of palpable relief washing over her. She pushed her chair in, grabbed her plate, and practically fled to the kitchen. When she walked back into the dining room, she saw me still sitting at the table.

"Well, come on?!" she said excitedly, a desperate attempt to outrun what had just happened. "What are you waiting for?!" She almost ran toward the foyer.

Shaking my head, I did the same as her, just at a more casual pace. Before I left the kitchen, I scribbled a quick note for whoever might read it, saying Emma and I would be out for the day and probably back around 8:00 or 9:00 PM. I put the pen away and made my way to the foyer.

{Taylor Anne Hebert, Date: January 3rd, 2011, Time: 11:37}

As Emma and I walked down the street after getting off the bus, I continued telling the... "historical revision" of what happened at Camp Omega, the details sharp and clear for reasons I didn't fully understand. It was like recounting a movie I'd seen a hundred times, the phantom memories providing the script.

"And, as he ran toward the extraction site, Miller spoke over the radio and said, 'The heliborne assault will commence soon. You need to exfil before…' A beep echoed out in the command center, interrupting him. 'Hm? What is…?' Miller wondered, before a steady, low, repeating beep began to sound out."

"What happened next?" Emma asked, her voice laced with an impatient curiosity that made me smile.

I let out a quiet laugh. The part of me that was still just Taylor was enjoying this, spinning a wild tale for her friend. "Calm down. I'm getting there. Now, where was I… ah, right."

"Miller then said, 'You gotta be kidding me! Boss, radar's picked up unidentified aircraft — two of them. They're hostile! Speed, 500. Most likely attack aircraft.' And as he ran, Snake knew he only had twenty seconds to make it to the EVAC site, with the Marines on his tail complicating things."

"Marines? Oh right, the ones stationed at the base. So, what did Snake do to lose them?"

I smiled and nodded, letting the narrative continue. "As Morpho began closing in, Snake climbed into a jeep and hot-wired it, putting the pedal to the metal. As he sped down the winding roads, Miller spoke again, 'Boss, the unidentified aircraft shot down the military's choppers! Their payload's been confirmed — bombs. That place is gonna get blown to hell!'"

We paused to cross the street, then I picked the story back up. "Driving past the rows of tents, he made a right turn and pulled to a stop before an abandoned section of the base. Snake bailed out and made a run for the Krokodil hovering near the rocky edge."

"Krokodil? What's that?" Emma asked.

The names and facts came to me instantly, data from a life I never lived. "It's a helicopter used by Eastern forces and PMCs back in the 70s and 80s, MSF, the PMC Snake founded, had recently gotten a few before the events of this memory take place." I explained, the words feeling unnervingly natural. "Before the MI-28 Havoc and a resurgence of the MI-24 Hind in the 90s. Same for the UTH-66 Blackfoot, but that was more of a prototype for the UH-60 Blackhawk."

Getting a nod from Emma, I continued. "Reaching the gunship, he climbed on and ordered the pilot out of the area. As the helicopter pulled away, two F-4 Phantoms flew over the base at high speed, buzzing them just before the entire site lit up the night with explosions, cluster munitions ripping it all apart."

"Wait, wait, wait. Someone from the U.S. destroyed the base?!" Emma asked, incredulous.

"Yep. Someone with power, covering their tracks. Miller just had time to say, 'The base…!' before the side hatch closed, and he yelled, 'Who the hell was behind that air strike?!'"

"And that's the end?" Emma questioned, a hint of disappointment in her tone.

A cold dread washed over me for a second, a phantom feeling of being watched, of faceless men in boardrooms deciding the fate of the world. I pushed it down and forced a laugh. "Not unless you want to get into government-controlling, shadow organizations that may or may not still be around."

Emma shook her head frantically. "Nooo, thank you! I like being able to sleep at night."

I let a genuine smile grace my lips. "Then yes, the story is over."

After we'd walked for another few minutes, Emma spoke up. "So, where are we exactly?"

"Close to the theater. Now, why don't you tell me about these friends of yours? We're going to see a movie with them, after all."

Emma hesitated. "I haven't…? Oh, well, the first one is Madison, she's… alright."

"Just alright?" I asked, my smile teasing.

"Sigh. No, she's smart, really smart, but she's a bit of a… weeb."

"What's a weeb?" I asked, genuinely confused.

Emma gave me a look of disbelief before realization flashed across her face. "Right, coma. It's a term for someone obsessed with Japanese culture, mostly animation, called anime, and comics, called manga."

"I see… What about the other friend?"

"Sophia's… intense," Emma said carefully. "Some trauma she won't talk about."

"Intense, huh. I should be able to manage." The word trauma echoed in my head. A sudden, cold focus descended, a familiar shift I'd come to dread. The world seemed to sharpen, the colors leaching away, replaced by tactical data.

I shook my head slightly, trying to push her back. I glanced around and spotted the theater down the street, pointing it out to Emma. As we made the turn, I could make out her friends waiting.

The first was a petite girl in colorful winter clothes, Madison. The second, Sophia, was taller, athletic. She looked nice, and my first thought was a simple, friendly one. 'I wonder if I could ask her about her workout routine?'

Then, the other voice cut through my thoughts, cold, clinical, and female. Her voice. The Soldier's.

'Target analysis: Height, approximately 5'6". Weight, 130–140 lbs. Long hair, potential liability in close quarters. Posture: tense, hyper-aware. Scanning her environment. She's a potential threat. Or trying to look like one. Assess for—'

A wave of panic washed over me. 'NO. I'm not her. I'm not her. Get out of my head.' I shook my head again, more forcefully this time, trying to banish the cold, analytical voice that wasn't mine. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, then opened them, forcing myself to see a person, not a target.

She was an athletic-looking girl with long hair, just like I first thought. That's all. I took a deep breath, the high-energy focus of the Soldier finally receding, leaving me feeling a little shaky, a little too raw. 'Yeah, just a girl… She looked nice.'

{Sophia Hess, Date: January 3rd, 2011, Time: 12:08 PM}

I leaned against the theater's brick wall, the rough texture a familiar anchor in my boredom. Beside me, Madison was chattering about some new pop star, her voice an annoying, high-pitched buzz I was actively tuning out. 12:08. Emma was late.

"Maybe we should just get the tickets?" Madison whined, pulling her pink scarf tighter.

"She'll be here," I grunted, my eyes scanning the street. Patience is a virtue of the hunt. Let the prey come to you.

Then I saw her. Emma's familiar red hair was a splash of color in the gray afternoon, her gait confident—a product of my work. But she wasn't alone. Another stray for Emma's collection? No. The one walking with her was different. A tall, lanky figure in a black leather jacket that looked like it had survived a war.

My focus sharpened, the predator in me waking up. This new girl moved with a weird economy of motion, no wasted steps, shoulders level. Her boots hit the pavement with a quiet, deliberate rhythm. The clothes—khaki pants, a thick shirt, that jacket—were pure function. No style, no attempt to be anything other than what they were.

As they got closer, the details started to resolve, and my internal alarm system, the one that separates sheep from wolves, started screaming.

It was a girl. And her face was a catastrophe. Not in a way that made me want to laugh, but in a way that made the hairs on my arms stand up. Jaw: squared-off, stubborn. Lips: a thin, neutral line that was a scowl in waiting. Nose: ramrod straight, the kind that had been broken badly and reset without anesthetic.

But the eyes… the eyes were all wrong. They were large, which should have made her look vulnerable, like prey. But they were deep-set, sunken into shadowed sockets and half-covered by heavy lids. They were the eyes of a soldier I'd seen on the news, holding nothing but a soul-deep exhaustion and a flat, chilling stillness.

Then I saw the scars. It wasn't a single line from a back-alley knife fight. It was a roadmap of violence. A pale web of tissue, like an old burn, patterned her right temple. A jagged line cut her left eyebrow in two. Another sliced across the bridge of her nose, pulling the skin just tight enough to give one side of her face a permanent, silent snarl.

Every instinct in my body was screaming. This wasn't a victim. This was a survivor. There's a world of difference between the two. One is a target. The other is a threat.

They stopped a few feet away, and my gaze was drawn to the final, impossible detail. Sticking out of her forehead, just above her right temple, was a piece of metal. An inch of jagged, non-reflective black shrapnel, emerging from a puckered white starburst of scar tissue. It wasn't a piercing. It wasn't a mod. It was a piece of an explosion someone had decided to leave in her skull.

My hands, shoved deep in my pockets, curled into fists. All thoughts of pushing her around, of establishing dominance, evaporated. You don't poke a sleeping bear, and you sure as hell don't fuck with whatever this girl was.

"Hey," Emma said, smiling, completely oblivious. "Sorry we're late. Soph, Maddy, this is Taylor. She was the friend I've been telling you about. The one that woke up from a coma."

Madison gave a weak, nervous little wave. I just stared.

'Woke up. From a coma.' The story was pure prey-like bullshit, but the girl in front of me was anything but. Every signal she gave off—the eyes, the scars, that goddamn piece of shrapnel—was a warning.

Taylor's heavy-lidded eyes met mine. They were flat, analytical, holding no fear whatsoever. She gave a single, sharp nod.

"Sophia," she said.

The voice didn't match the eyes. It was soft, almost child-like, but the thing looking at me through that face wasn't a child at all. It was ancient. My instincts recoiled. It was like hearing a lamb speak with the voice of a wolf. Two different things in one body.

I didn't say anything back. I just pushed myself off the wall, my decision made. The rules are simple: you hunt the weak, you avoid the strong, and you run from the unnatural.

This girl who was supposed to be a victim, this girl who just woke up from a coma, was radiating a quiet lethality I had no intention of testing. She wasn't a wolf in sheep's clothing. She was a wolf wearing the shredded pelt of a sheep, using its mangled voice as a warning.

And I heard it loud and clear.

{Taylor Anne Hebert, Date: January 3rd, 2011, Time 12:08}

Emma's introduction hung in the cold air between us. My attention, which had been a chaotic internal battle, snapped into a sharp, singular focus. The shorter one, Madison, nervously pulled her pink scarf higher, her eyes darting between me and the ground. 'She was a civilian through and through.' The thought was cold, clinical, and not my own. It was her voice, the Soldier's, a detached assessment I quickly pushed down.

The other one, Sophia, was different. She was leaning against the brick wall, but there was no relaxation in her posture. She was a coiled spring. Her gaze was level, intense, and fixed directly on me. Emma was right; she was intense. The Soldier's voice was a low murmur in my mind. 'She's assessing you. She sees a threat. Do not show weakness.'

I met Sophia's stare. The part of me that was still a twelve-year-old girl wanted to look away, to shrink from the sheer hostility in her eyes. But the Soldier held my ground. I gave a single, sharp nod, mirroring the one she'd given me in my own analysis just moments before.

"Sophia," I said. My voice was calm and even, a deliberate choice to match her intensity.

Then I turned to the other girl, letting a small, hopefully disarming, smile touch my lips. "Madison. It's nice to meet you."

Madison gave a weak, nervous little wave, her eyes wide over her scarf.

"Well, now that we all know each other," Emma chirped, blissfully bulldozing through the thick, unspoken tension, "let's get tickets before the good seats are gone!"

She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the glass doors of the theater. The sudden, normal contact was grounding. As we walked, Sophia and Madison fell into step behind us. I was acutely aware of Sophia's presence at my back, a predator's silent tread.

'Two hostiles at six o'clock,' the Soldier noted dryly. 'Maintain situational awareness.'

I ignored her, focusing on the lobby. The warm air rushed over us, thick with the intoxicatingly normal smell of melted butter and popcorn. It was a scent from another lifetime, a memory of a girl who went to the movies with her parents. For a moment, the ache of that loss was a sharp, physical pain.

"What are we seeing again?" I asked, forcing the feeling down.

"Clash of the Titans, the remake," Madison said, her voice muffled by her scarf. "It's supposed to have a ton of action."

"Good," I said, maybe a little too quickly. "I like action."

We got in line. The low hum of the crowd, the bright, flashing lights of the arcade games, the rattle of ice in the soda machines—it was a sensory overload. The Soldier in my head was cataloging it all: 'Two main exits, four auxiliary. Security consists of one overweight man at the ticket podium. Minimal threat.' I focused on Emma, on the mundane conversation about which size popcorn to share.

"We should get the large," Emma insisted. "And a giant soda. And maybe some of those sour gummy things."

"I can get my own," I offered.

"Don't be silly," Emma said, waving a hand. "We'll share. Sophia?"

"Don't care," Sophia grunted from behind me.

We reached the front of the line. The transaction was a blur of crumpled bills and the rattle of change. Tickets in hand, we moved to the concessions counter. The sheer variety was overwhelming. After a brief, confusing debate, we ended up with a bucket of popcorn large enough to hide a small child in, two massive sodas with a mess of straws, and a box of candy.

I watched Emma and Madison divvy up the load, their movements easy and familiar. I felt like an anthropologist observing a strange, alien ritual.

"Here," Emma said, shoving one of the giant sodas into my hands. "Don't drop it."

"I won't," I said, my grip on the cold, slick cup secure.

With our supplies gathered, we headed for the hallway that led to the auditoriums. The ticket-taker, the overweight man the Soldier had already dismissed, tore our stubs with a bored expression.

"Theater 7, on your left," he mumbled.

We walked down the carpeted hall, the walls lined with glowing movie posters. Sophia took the lead, her long strides purposeful. Emma, Madison, and I followed. As we reached the doors to Theater 7, Sophia pushed one open and held it, looking back at us. Her eyes met mine again, just for a second, still filled with that same cold, calculating intensity.

I stepped past her, through the doorway, and into the waiting dark. The darkness was a welcome relief, a curtain falling on the difficult, exhausting performance of being overly tough.

{Date: January 3rd, 2011, Time: 19:14}

After saying our goodbyes to Emma's friends, me and her began our walk back to the bus stop. During the walk, we finished off our drinks from the movie, and talked about various random things for a few minutes. Eventually, I pause mid-sentence, and, after thinking it over, switch topics.

"The memories are starting to stabilize, at least I think they are." I quietly admitted after a pause that lasted a few seconds.

Quieting down, Emma sobered up and said, "They are? That's… that's great. What do you remember, or at least know now?"

"I…" Looking up at the night sky for a few moments, I looked back down in front of me and continued, "I remember my mom, specifically, sitting on a porch and pointing out helicopters to her, and then she'd tell me what they were called and what they did. I also remember your ninth birthday and how Uncle Alan and who I think was my dad tripped into the pool, and then my mom and Aunt Zoe worried over them afterward."

"Taylor! That's great!" Happily, said Emma as she looked directly at me.

"Mhm, but… the other memories are also more vivid now, I can… feel his emotions, and smell everything in the dreams, and… and it makes me scared for what's next, even as I know that fear is fading."

Nodding, Emma then said, "Have you written that down in your journal? I know you talked to me about it a few nights ago."

"Not—not yet, not yet, but I will when we get home . I just wanted to tell you so you won't be too shocked if something really important comes back to me."

Stopping, Emma fully turned to face me and said, "Taylor… I'm… not in the best headspace, I haven't been for a little while now. But anything, no matter how small, coming back to you? That's big, and—"

Hearing something familiar from behind her, I felt my body react in a split second. Grabbing Emma by the shoulders and I threw us both onto the ground to the right. And as we hit the concrete, Emma let out a yelp, which turned into a scream of terror when the wall we'd just been standing in front of exploded in a shower of dust, broken rebar, and chunks of concrete. The sound of metal grinding and shrieking against itself echoing in our ears as something flew past us.

Scrambling into a crouch, I maintained my hold on Emma and pulled her up before immediately moving us both behind the intact front end of a mangled car. Peaking my head over the hood, I spotted several men with AKs run down the street in a panic before they were lifted into the air for a few feet, and then thrown at the whirling form of shifting metal. Blood and mist spraying out with each impact.

With a shriek of metal briefly grinding against itself, an object launched itself toward us before hitting the asphalt and skipping then sliding under the car we were behind. Noting it down, I watched as the thing made of shifting metal formed into a single entity, the wolf-like shape telling me who it was. A truck turned down the street behind us and barreled down the road before coming to a screeching halt two cars down from us.

Ducking down, I waited as I heard the doors for the passenger and driver open, along with the sound of boots hitting concrete as everyone in the bed of the vehicle dismounted. Hearing them move ahead, I peeked over and saw at least seventeen men with rifles, ducking down when one turned to look behind himself. I looked at Emma.

Who was staring at me with terror in her eyes, I quietly said, "A pistol slid underneath the car, find it." Before I looked back over top of the muscle car's hood. This time, I searched for escape routes. After all, a cape fight is the last thing we want to be in the middle of.

Spotting only a few alleyways as alternate escape routes, I immediately began planning our escape, which led me to realize our only real chance of escaping was if we stole the truck sitting in the middle of the road.

"It's near the middle of the car. But I might be able to grab it," softly said Emma.

Giving a single nod, I said, "Do it."

Waiting as Emma got down and reached under the car, I carefully watched the gangsters. After a minute of looking, Emma came back up and tapped me on the shoulder, looking over, I saw her holding out the pistol to me. Taking it from her, 'Hi-Point C-9, chambered in 9×19mm, with a ten-round extended magazine.' I held the magazine release and pulled the mag from the pistol, inspecting it, I found the mag to be holding only six rounds, 'Sloppy, why should I be surprised.'

Looking at the thugs, who were doing nothing but either annoying Hookwolf, or distracting the other cape, I then turned back to Emma and said, "Alright, I have a plan to get us out of here, but I need you to listen carefully. Got it?"

Getting a nod from the terrified girl, I continued speaking as I slid the mag back into the pistol and racked the slide, chambering a round with a distinct metallic *clack*

"As soon as I say go, you need to run around the rear of this car and move straight for the truck's passenger seat, then you need to climb in, and keep your head down. Understand?" My voice was steady as I gave Emma her instructions, a cold calm that felt alien to me. I watched her terrified face, the way she nodded, her eyes wide and trusting. She trusted me. And that trust was a weight that suddenly threatened to crush me.

Taking a breath to steady my hammering heart, ready to give the command. I looked past the mangled car, at the chaos down the street. Hookwolf, a whirlwind of blades and fury. Men with rifles, shouting and firing. The distant scream of sirens.

And the plan, which had seemed so clear and logical a moment ago, suddenly felt insane. 'Steal a truck? In the middle of this? Shoot at people?' I looked at Emma's terrified face, then back at the firefight. 'I couldn't do this.' My hands started to shake.

The sounds of the battle warped, the shriek of metal reminding me of the explosion, the heat on my face feeling like the fire that had taken everything. I was just a girl. A scared, fourteen-year-old girl who was in way over her head. I was going to get us killed.

And then, a change. It was like a switch being thrown deep inside my soul. The frantic terror didn't vanish, but it was suddenly locked away, pushed into a box and shoved into a dark corner. The hammering of my heart smoothed into a steady, powerful drum. The shaking in my hands stopped. The chaotic scene before me sharpened, the colors muted, the details resolving into pure data. A cold, hypomanic focus washed over me. The shadow I always felt at the edge of my thoughts stepped forward and took the wheel, except... I could remember this, and it didn't feel like she had total control.

My mouth opened, and her – our – voice came out, sharp and absolute. "Go!"

As Emma scrambled from behind the car, running for the truck, I rose, the Hi-Point steady in my hand. I fired two rounds over the gangsters' heads — not to hit, but to suppress, to draw their attention to me and away from Emma. They turned, startled, and that was all the time she needed. I followed, my movements fluid, using the cars as cover. I slid into the driver's seat just as Emma dove into the passenger side. The keys weren't in the ignition. It didn't matter.

My hands moved with a skill that wasn't mine as I dropped below the steering wheel, ripped the ignition panel free, stripped two wires, and then twisted them together. The engine roaring to life a moment later. Sitting back up, I slammed the truck into reverse and stomped on the gas.

And as the vehicle shot backward, I brought the pistol up, firing through the windshield at the men who were now turning toward us. My left hand was on the wheel; my right held the gun. The first target took three rounds to the chest and went down. I shifted to the second.

Pain, sharp and immediate, erupted in my torso and right shoulder. 'Ballistic trauma,' I noted calmly. 'Functionality of right arm compromised.' I ignored the pain and kept firing. Two more shots, wide, before another round struck the handgun, sending it flying from my now-numb grip.

Weapon lost. I grabbed the wheel with both hands, turning the truck hard, my eyes looking to the right to swing the rear of the vehicle around. Instead of an open street, my vision was filled with the massive grille of a ten-ton truck, barreling through the chaos, its brakes shrieking.

'Shit.'

The sound of screaming metal was absolute. The world flipped, a violent kaleidoscope of shattering glass and twisting steel. I felt a surge of agony race up my left side as our stolen pickup slammed into a brick wall with a final, metallic crunch.

[November]

{Emma Barnes, Date: January 3rd, 2011, Time: 19:21}

Slowly coming too, my nose was assaulted by two smells,the first was sharp, pungent, chemical-like. And the second, it was… it was… smoke? Slowly opening my eyes, I thought, 'Why does everything look… weird? And why do I smell smoke?" And then the memory of what had just happened rushed forward, and with it, came panic.

Looking to my right, I saw Taylor, her arms dangling toward the ground as blood leaked from her mouth, the seatbelt being the only thing keeping her. No, keeping both of them in place. Fear building in me, I reached out with my left arm and shook her right shoulder, "Ta—Taylor? Taylor! Wake up, Taylor, wake up, we need to go!"

Getting no response, I looked around the inside of the truck, glass covered the roof and, upon looking behind myself, the rear half of the truck was warped and smashed. Wearing the sound of an electrical discharge, I snapped my attention to the front of the truck and saw a small amount of sparks emit from under the hood.

Looking to my right, I saw a wall of flame, smoke billowing up into the night sky, with some of it being blown towards them by the wind. Noticing something spreading along the ground outside the truck, I quickly began looking for a—a—a flashlight. Opening the center console only caused loose ammunition, a few old, crushed beer cans, and a bunch of paper to fall out onto the roof.

Turning again, I opened the glove box this time, and out fell some more papers, a rather stubby revolver, and a flashlight. Snatching it before it hit the roof, I turned it on and looked over toward Taylor. Shining it on her, I saw blood lightly trailing out of her right eye socket. Her left arm looked unusually limp, even for someone unconscious, and... two bullets had gone in her right shoulder, and three more had hit her in the chest.

Beginning to hyperventilate, I turned to the right again and shined the light down onto the liquid outside, its color was that of greenish amber, 'Tha—That's gas… OH, FUCK, THAT'S GAS!' I thought, before I started hurriedly attempting to unbuckle my seatbelt, the flashlight tumbled out of my hand and onto the roof of the flipped over vehicle.

Unlatching the buckle, I immediately fell onto the glass covered surface, my knees hitting the bottom of the dashboard on my way down. Hitting the roof shoulder first, I rolled onto my back while gasping in pain. Pushing through it, I rolled over into a small crouch in the cramped interior of the truck and, after readying myself, unbuckled Taylor as well.

Barely catching her as she fell, I gently laid her down on the ground before grabbing the still activated flashlight and looking over Taylor further, attempting to spot any other injuries. Finding nothing else wrong with her body besides the bullet holes in her torso and the definitely broken arm, 'or would it be the shoulder? Fuck! Which one is broken!'

Shaking my head, I began checking over her head, and, not finding anything new besides some glass shards poking into her face, from when all of the glass in the truck broke. I began figuring out a way to get both of us out of the truck without getting any more attention.

'Come on, come on, what would Taylor do? What would Taylor do?' Realizing that, due to the angle, position, and state of the truck, getting out through Taylor's door, and the front and rear windshields aren't workable options, I turned around. And, after trying to open the door the normal way didn't work, I laid on my back, before I began kicking at the damaged object.

The sound of my foot slamming into the door echoed in my ears as the gasoline slowly spread across the ground. After a few more seconds of kicking, the door cracked open, the top of it bending with the sound of cheap metal scraping on asphalt. But, in the corner of my eye, I saw that the gas had gotten too close to where the sparks were getting past the hood of the truck.

And in what seemed like slow motion, I watched as a spark bounced off of the ground, arching up and then down into the growing puddle of fuel. In an instant it ignited, the wave of heat washing over Taylor and me. Pushing myself back, I felt the back of my left forearm press against Taylor, glancing back, I looked forward again before looking to the right.

Spotting a small, relatively intact section behind the driver's seat, I rolled onto my knees and began attempting to move Taylor. Muscles straining, I slowly moved her into the small space, even as smoke started pouring in, and the fire pressed against the doors.

With another spark, I brought my hand up to cover my face as the engine area burst into flames, lowering it. I went wide-eyed before closing them and looking away as smoke billowed into the cab. Feeling heat against my right leg, I opened my eyes and looked down, before quickly pushing the papers on the ground away as they caught fire.

Quickly pulling Taylor up against me, I feel the fire, the heat, begin pressing against me, it's unbearable, but I have t—to endure, 'I have to make sure, Taylor lives.' And even as the oxygen in the confined space is consumed, and my ragged breathing is reduced to broken gasps and fits of coughing.

And soon, all I could hear was the crackling of the fire, the sizzling of metal, my own panicked breathing, and the pounding of my heart in my chest. Eventually, as my vision began darkening, I could feel the heat against my back fading as a smell entered my nose, and before long, my arms went limp and Taylor fell back.

Attempting to move brought only agony, but I continued to try and move, even as I wearily realized my back was being cooked by the fire, and I screamed myself hoarse. But then, the heat of the flames lowered, the pain of it all faded, and… and…

[Flaming Death]

At first, it was unnoticed, the sounds of Hookwolf and Kalarie fighting, along with the gunfire from the Empire ground troops drowning out the noise, while the smoke hid the event from those only glancing back. But eventually, one of the men noticed, even through the sounds of gunfire and the smokes obscuring nature. Turning around, he spotted a wall of flame being sucked into the wreckage of a flipped over truck.

And as he started to speak, the shrieking sound of stressed metal echoed over top the sounds of the gunfire and cape fight, which had also come to a complete standstill. With a wave of heat felt even thirty meters away, the bottom of the truck ripped apart in a cone-shaped burst of flame and glowing shrapnel. Something shot out of the wreck with a scream eerily familiar to that of rocket engines. This caught the attention of everyone able to see the event.

Coming to a stop some thirty feet up, the figure in the sky looked down at those on the street, jets of burning flame emitting from their back like the thrusters of an old space shuttle. And with an invisible wave of energy that sent terror, disorientation, and nausea racing through those that felt it, the figure descended.

Coming down upon the man closest to the wrecked truck, the cape lashed out with their hands and set the man alight, the flame itself sticking to his body and clothes. Even as he fell to the ground and began rolling, all while screaming in agony. One man who had recovered quickly brought his rifle up and fired.

The round hit the cape in the shoulder with a spray of fiery blood and a scream. Gaining the attention of Hookwolf, who'd by now recovered and subsequently mulched the rookie cape he'd been fighting. Charging forward with the sound of shrieking metal reformed into a roar, he ran through the men who were burning alive, those still alive having begun to run from the fight already.

And as the freshly triggered parahuman turned toward him, he lunged. The jet of fire engulfed him in its blazing heat as the foul smell of burning napalm-b settled over the area.