Author's Note

Before we begin, know that I have made a few changes to the original story. I've tried to stick to the timeline, but there will be minor adjustments here and there. Zaibach becomes aware of Hitomi earlier than in the show and Dilandau is also a little bit older, think more in the range of 16 to 19 than 15. The rating is essentially the US rating R, mostly for language.

1

This was the end. Will was gone. He'd left me like he had always been threatening to and I was completely alone. He said that I worked too much and that he couldn't be dragged into my misery any longer. He said that he had tried, but that I was always too distant. He was done with me.

All these things were true. I couldn't remember the last time I had been happy. The strain of the initial round of applications, then the looming stress of the Match, and now the constant stink of shame and failure as I walked the halls the of the dead. I was an intern, fresh out of medical school, and I felt like it was already too late.

I decided not to leave a suicide note, it was too macabre and I wanted to just disappear, to sublimate into the grey slush of February. I was going to be symbolic about it though. I loaded up a backpack with my constant companions of the past eight years: Harrison's Internal Medicine, Netter's Atlas of Human Anatomy, white coat, stethoscope. My hands shook as I locked the door for the last time but I ground my teeth and they stopped trembling.

This had not been a quick decision, and falling had been a fantasy of mine for a while.

I drove my car to a parking ramp near the river. Chicago was lit in the dirty yellow light of halogen lamps, steam rising from the grates and freezing in the winter night air. The sky behind the sky scrapers was a profound, inky black. I knew better though, beyond lay the endless Dakota stars of my childhood.

I had dressed for my death in a grey cable knit sweater dress, my long coat, my backpack full of books. I thought about leaving the coat, but figured that as it got water logged it would help me to drown. I crossed the bridge over the river to the middle, between two street lights. Will had left that morning, someone died on rounds and these events seemed to prove that the rhythm of life is chaos and loss. I wanted out, and this was the only thing I could control. I looked to the north and south sides of the bridge and saw no one. Probably too cold. I'd heard that hypothermia was not a bad way to go, and if there was any ice, it should be thin enough by the bridge to punch through. There were no cars coming for a moment. I was so utterly alone, surrounded by millions of people living in parallel lines. Swinging my legs to the other side of the railing, I rested my feet gingerly on the ledge, the tension of my arms holding on to the bridge behind me the only thing keeping me from pitching forward. The wind seemed colder and more feral on this side, screaming over the hungry blackness of the river below me. My stomach, a traitor, knotted up, anticipating the drop and the frigid water. Then I heard a car began to honk its horn and screech to a stop, a man's voice yelling. I had been seen. I stepped forward and let go. There was a rush of air.

There was no splash. The second thing I realized was that my right hip and hand were throbbing. My shoulders ached from the chafing of my back pack. Tall grass, soft grey in the night, surrounded me and the ground was firmly packed, dry soil. Above me, the stars were beautiful, even more vivid than they were back home. I could clearly see the lighter blue band of the Milky Way against the rich cobalt. Had that been it? So painless, so easy?

That was when I heard voices. Young men, speaking in a thick dialect that I couldn't place. It sounded like a hybrid between Russian and German, percussive the way English is. I gathered only a few words here and there before I caught the rhythm: "this way", and "here". I heard rustling through the grass, and a metallic clanging that was chilling; the sound of metal that had been sharpened for death. I froze and lowered myself to ground. I wouldn't die here, not this way. They were in front of me, slightly to the right and moving closer.

I had been the fastest girl in my high school. Not a huge accomplishment, given the size of the school, but I knew I was fast. I slid off the backpack, and angled my body away from them in tiny, incremental movements. I shifted my right thigh underneath me. I heard a call of a different male voice, again off to my right but further back from the other two. I exploded forward with the sound, stumbling at first on the uneven ground in my damn shoes then finding my footing. I pushed as hard as I could, pumping my arms, but they were faster than I. The first one tackled me to the ground and quickly tied my hands behind my back.

"I have her!" he yelled to his companions.

"Good."

"Now we can get out of here. We were never supposed to be here in the first place. Probably a miscalculation."

"Miscalculation? I doubt that very much, Migel. They don't make mistakes." The one named Migel, the one who had tackled me, heaved me up on my feet. I didn't get a good look at his features in the dark.

"You take her. I did all the work." He pushed me in the direction of the other man, who was taller but had a lighter, more lilting voice. He placed his hand on the tight ropes that bound my wrists. I thrashed against him violently. He didn't even move. I could barely move my bindings and soon gave up trying. I stumbled along beside him, through the clearing where I had…landed? There was very real fear growing in my belly. Once in the woods I tripped over roots, branches slicing my face. I settled into a sort of numb following. I had the impression that they were trying to make as little noise as possible and that the two were nervous. I wanted to scream but my throat was tight and dry. At length there were more men, and a little beyond that there were-I don't know what they were.

They were huge, metal. The metal was shiny, like the kind that they use to panel cars. They had a vaguely hominid shape, giant golems hunkering in the dark of night. They made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He pushed me close to one.

"Will you let her down Dalet?" he asked. I thought he was referring to me, but the machine soon settled to ground. He opened a compartment on the back, and, though it was black in the woods, I could've sworn that he looked at me with pity. Then he cut my bindings, grabbed my legs and I was tossed in.

I've never been claustrophobic; in fact, I've always sought out small dark places. But the shutting of the metal door was so final. I scrabbled at the door with my hands, and the heel of my left hand caught a screw and began to bleed. The door didn't give at all, not in the slightest. I settled back down, sucking at the blood from my left hand. My clinical mind helpfully offered up that at least I was up to date on my tetanus shots. I sat in the dark for perhaps fifteen minutes, my ears straining for the slightest sound, trying hard to not imagine what it would be like to die in here. There was a sudden noise, a whirling of gears and pumping of hydraulics. The ground moved and I had the sensation of being lifted up. Almost as soon as I realized that the compartment I was in had stopped moving, there was a momentous shifting and we began to move forward in a rocking fashion that was not at all smooth. I was balanced on all fours. There was a change in the noise that the machine made and a sudden heat. The center of gravity shifted abruptly, and I was thrown off of my precarious balance, my whole body slamming into the side.

I panicked. I lost whatever tenuous grasp I had had on the situation and began to scream.