Failure

"You win some, you lose some," she said in that eerily calm voice of hers as she shrugged, brushing from her the dust to which she had just watched those grand aspirations of hers crumble.

"Apparently," she pondered, before a devious smirk crept across her face "The same now goes for you."

He felt a cold stabbing pain in his stomach at this reminder but, as ever, retained his nonchalant demeanor as he made his way over to her. She was peering out over the windowsill –well, where the windowsill used to be, viewing the chaos down below.

He cast his gaze downward, thinking to himself such a very long way to fall …

"They look like ants from up here," she remarked, with a tinge of macabre laughter in her voice "So small. So easily crushed." she said, rubbing her index finger and her thumb together in a squashing motion, and smiling as if the image was one that brought tremendous satisfaction to her.

He cocked his head to one side, pondering on how peculiar it was that two people looking at the exact same thing could see it in so vastly different a way.

What I wouldn't give to know what goes on in that mind of yours, he thought to himself. But, watching her eyes flicker as she watched the minute denizens far below, a strange smirk playing across her lips, he thought better of it. There were things in this world, he decided, one was better for not knowing.

"… So easily crushed," She repeated to herself, in a laugh barely above a whisper, the wheels turning in her mind.

"You seem oddly chipper for someone who just watched all they worked for go up in smoke." He commented, more in a conversational than confrontational manner (it was not exactly wise to be the person to confront her). She merely shrugged, her eyes still fixed on the happenings far below, but seeming to be worlds away.

"It happens," she said, as calm as ever "That's life."

"That's life," he repeated, both impressed and perplexed by how unaffected she seemed.

She turned away from the window slowly, and making her way to the door, or rather where the door used to be. There was much work to be done, after all, and she knew that she'd have to be the one to do it. It was just impossible to get good help these days. He followed, as always.

"So…" he paused, wondering whether it would be wise to speak his mind "I won't find you lying in a bath full of your own blood tomorrow morning?" He enquired; much in the same way that someone might inquire whether you wanted cream in your tall skinny mocha frappuccino. It was best to keep things light with her, he learned.

"Suicide," she turned to him, a dark undertone simmering beneath her light quaver of a voice "Is the easy way out." She flipped her fringe; employing a tone both playful and unsettling in equal measure "That's just what they want, anyway. And you'd hardly think I'd let them win now, would you?"

"I suppose not," he smiled "You always were a stubborn one."

"And it would be wise for you to remember that." She carried on, quickening her pace. He quickened his to match.

"Well, if you ever do decide to…." He tried to think of the correct way to go about phrasing this delicate area " You know…."

"Kick the bucket? Pack up? Expire?"

"Well, yes." He shook his head and smiled. She was never one to mince words.

"If you ever do decide to go to meet your maker…. tell me first." Although he was looking straight ahead, he could feel her smiling as she raised an eyebrow. He continued "You know, because I'd like to know about these things in advance."

"Oh really?"

"Well, if you decide to remove yourself from the equation, then I'll be out of a job."

"Hmph. Nice to know I'd be missed."

"Isn't it though?" He grinned rather boldly as they walked out the door (or rather where the door used to be) to the scene of chaos unfolding in the corridor (or rather where the corridor used to be).

The mass of confused and hysterical staff carried on running here and there, panic-stricken, like moths trapped in a jar. The two continued walking, with nowhere in particular to go (seeing as most of the place was decimated), but still feeling that they should keep things moving.

"What will you tell them?" she asked, looking at a particularly large hole in the roof.

He looked up "tell them?"

"You know, when they ask. And they will ask, you know."

"I'll tell them the truth."

"The truth?" she cocked an eyebrow as if he had just said I'll tell them the pink elephant.

He nodded "The truth." As if he was affirming that yes, you heard me, the pink elephant. "I…" he paused, unsure whether he should be playing his cards so close to his heart "I never wanted to be put on some pedestal. It was too high, too far to fall. And, sooner or later, everyone falls."

"I wouldn't have thought a high-flyer like you," she smiled "would be afraid of heights."

"Not afraid of heights," he replied, as he joined her in looking through the hole in the roof. He could see the sky, and the light of day breaking through.

"Afraid of falling." He said.

"That's why I always bring a parachute."

Set directly after Episode One: Age of Heroes (Pt 2).

Setting: Cyclonia.

"She" refers toMaster Cyclonis

"He" refers to the Dark Ace