They are in the library, silent and studious, their minds overflowing with knowledge. But, frustratingly, none of it is the right knowledge. It flies over their heads - interesting, but useless. Merely another time-wasting theory for them to skim past.
Their quest was never going to be easy, though. Were they found out, how would they justify their endless search for forbidden knowledge? How would they justify how far they've come already? It's enough to destroy them. And yet they push on, because nothing is more important than victory.
He is alone in the office, among towers of paperwork that require his attention. His gloved hand holds a pen, gliding smoothly along the dotted line, over and over and over again. This monotony - the four walls and the endless stream of paper - is not what he'd imagined for himself.
But when he finds himself staring blankly at the bright red circle stitched onto his gloves, he remembers the pain. All the anguish and suffering, caused by a mere snap of his fingers.
And he thinks that maybe a desk job isn't so bad.
She is surrounded by people, happy and proud. Her business has taken off - her skills as a mechanic are renowned right across the country. After all, she is the granddaughter of one of the best mechanics out there. To top it all off, she is his mechanic too. She is the one to make the prosthetics that he wears (and destroys). What else were they to expect from her? She is almost famous, and rightly so - unparalleled in skill.
And yet in the quieter moments, she finds herself unbearably lonely, sighing.
Wondering when they'll come home.
He is on the phone, excited and proud. Littering his desk are pictures of his family - more valuable than any military secrets his department might uncover. And besides, who could resist his little angel's smile? She'll grow up a beauty, and he knows it.
But he is on the phone, eyes unseeing. He slumps against the wall, not even thirty years old yet.
He goes cold as he realises that he won't get to see his little angel grow up after all.
He is lost and angry and useless in the rain. There is silence and he watches the coffin being lowered. Everywhere he looks, there are tears - shed and unshed - for their fallen comrade, the best man he ever knew. In a brief moment of madness in the afternoon sun, he watches them pile dirt on his best friend and thinks that tears are a peculiar type of rain.
One little angel is screaming and crying, just as lost as he is. Her mother sobs. Everyone looks away, and he finds his eyes stinging.
It's a terrible day for rain.