Sometimes, life can be tough.

Bitterly, Ryan remembered the words her father constantly said. He was a happy man, always willing to do what he could to make his children's lives easy. It didn't matter to him how much he had to work, if he didn't sleep for a day or two, if his body was sore all over the next day. As long as his kids were happy and had what they needed to be so, he was alright with whatever came.

She recalls, then, always thinking he was a fool. Was it really worth it, putting your own health in jeopardy because of children?

It was one of the reason she didn't want to have any herself, ever; she didn't wanted to know the answer to that selfish question.

But ya know what ya do, Ryan? Ya just keep on goin'. Ya keep on survivin'. What else can ya do, right? Layin' down an' givin' up? That's a coward's way. An' we ain't no cowards, are we, Ryan?

She remembers holding his hand, looking up to him, smiling that arrogant little smile that would follow her all through her life. It would become signature to her, a cocky little grin that she'd use multiple times, over and over, making a name for herself through that distinct piece of character.

She remembers answering in her most confident tone: "No, pa, we ain't."

She was six, yet she knew who she was. She wasn't a coward, she wasn't someone who would give up. When life pushed on her, she'd push back until it broke, because Lord knew she wouldn't be the one who did.

That's right, darlin'. That's right.

Looking down at the body of the dead man before her now, she piles yet another shovel-full of dirt on top, questioning herself as she does.

If her father saw her now, eighteen years later standing above this dead, nameless man, would he still think it was alright not to lay down and be a coward?

Inwardly, she scoffed.

Yeah, pa, we ain't cowards. Think I showed him that when I put a bullet through his brain.

…

She was raised a catholic girl in the middle of Texas, in a small catholic town filled to the brim with catholic people. Real God lovers, they were, always willing to please that man in the sky with whatever sources they had. She remembers all the times they said grace around a table set for six, all the times she would halfheartedly pretend to pray to some form of deity she was quickly losing faith in.

You see, when she was seven, she stopped believing. She didn't think there was some man there, ready to save them with some tribulation of sorts. She didn't believe none of the bull the priest would spout during mass, yet she sat through them anyways, if not to just solidify her ideals of rejection. The bible was nothing more than a book of lies to her, pages filled with nothing but false-facts and misplaced idolization. If it weren't for her parents and siblings being ever-faithful servants to the Lord, she would have been out of that little town faster than they could bless her soul.

She stayed because of them, though, because they needed her. Sure, it was a small town, but it wasn't nice. Times were harsh, the people were worse. She grew to adapt as she grew up, became the strongest in that town if only in the opinions of herself. Yeah, she had lost ahold of her Lord and savior, but that didn't mean she couldn't pretend she hadn't. She still participated in whatever shindigs they chose to have in honor of their almighty Maker and whoever else they chose to praise. To her, it didn't matter who they did their mass to – it could have been the Easter bunny for all she cared – because she would just sit there without a word sinking into her closed-off mind, hearing but not believing.

It was in mass that she learned to block out others, learned to appear to listen without actually doing so. It was a trick city-folks learned quickly, something country hicks wouldn't learn until they left the comforts of their tiny towns and adventured out.

That skill would grow to be her best ally, and her greatest downfall.

…

Ryan had been the eldest of four children born to a Mr. And Mrs. Kyle and Allison Henderson. Their large family caused for an increased need for money, a need that two working parents alone couldn't fulfill.

So when her youngest brother was born a few months after her sixteenth birthday, Ryan quit the public school she went to and got a job. It didn't pay much, working as a construction worker, but it was helpful. Every two weeks she'd bring home a stack of fresh bills totaling well around the $170.00 mark, slipping it into the wallets of her parents without their suspicion. Minimum wage at that time was $5.15 an hour, so she was sure her ma and pa knew something was up when they suddenly had much more money than they realized. Yet neither brought it up. Maybe they were too catholic to be logical, thinking it was a gift from God and his angels. But Ryan was sure her parents hadn't been that absorbed by some fake folk-lore, right?

Now, Ryan was a smart girl, ever since she was young. She could tie her shoes faster than others, knew the multiplication table before she even started learning about addition in school. Her ma taught her well and quick, made sure her daughter was always ahead of the learning curve because she knew that education was important. But as she had more kids and the weight of burden and necessity became too large, her ma was forced to quit the time she spent with each child, unable to keep teaching them things they wouldn't need to know for a few more years. Instead, she focused on working and bringing in money, while Ryan became engrossed in the technology her father had gotten her for her tenth birthday.

Computers were rare in those times. They were still a developing thing, something she was so unused to seeing. Only a few people in their tiny town had computers, and she was one of them, courtesy of her pa.

It was a big thing, that computer, all square and clunky. Sometimes it would turn itself off for no reason, sometimes it would move as slow as a turtle. It agitated her sometimes, the way it refused to respond, how it would stop everything all together and sort of retreat in fear.

So she fixed it. She fiddled around, went onto things and learned its language. Programming became her life. By the time she was twelve, she had it all figured out. Even the new languages that were made for the newer computers were in her mind, she could manipulate them.

The year she turned thirteen her pa bought her a newer, more advanced computer. She hugged and kissed him every day for a year straight because of it; that computer was her baby. It moved quicker than her old one, superior in every form of the word.

Her eldest sibling – Mark, only ten at that time – pestered her. He kept saying he wanted to use it, but never would she let him. No, she was too engrossed in the lines of text she entered on the screen to allow him to ruin it. All those programs she created could never be destroyed, but she didn't want to risk the chance.

It was when she turned fourteen that she knew of the world wide web. She went on blogs and sites dedicated to the thing she loved - codes. And then one man changed her life.

He talked to her like they were friends, a bond formed in the hidden lines of the internet. Their trust grew as they conversed about the language of computers, and soon enough he introduced her to the world of hacking. If she could do one task for him, he'd allow her into the cyber club filled with people like themselves, people engrossed with the codes.

So she did it. She hacked a site and sent it to its death, used her commands to decimate it.

She didn't know the consequences of her actions, wouldn't know how many people it affected until it was on the news and she was hiding her IP address from the world.

But what did she care, at that moment? She had been welcomed into that cyber gang with the highest of respect; what she did was talent; what she did was skill.

It only took her a matter of months to overthrow every huge website built, a few more to become the leader of that cyber crew. She led those masked people on with a head of power, knowing what she could do and glad that she could do it.

So when she was sixteen and needed to get out of school to help her ma and pa – the two people she loved the most – she hacked the state's school's system. Made it so she was always there; her parents were never the wiser. She gave herself great marks in all her classes, made sure no one reported that she wasn't present; she made herself a ghost.

It was a great plan, until they caught on. But it was too late - she was seventeen, on the cusp of her eighteenth birthday. Only a few more months and she'd be out of that catholic town with its catholic people and the God she had never believed in.

When that doorbell rang and her pa answered the door, she was positive it was a representative from her school. She had been found out, she'd have to quit her job, she'd have to wise up and admit her faults.

But the wetness in her ma's eyes made her realize otherwise. A visit from the school wouldn't cause her pa to look at her with such sadness, wouldn't cause her ma to be tearing up like she was.

Then in walked a man in uniform, stars on his shoulders from years of service, a badge in his hand with government clearance. A military man, she thought at first, with all his medals of achievements hanging on his breast.

"Ryan Henderson," he stated as he approached her.

And she'll never forget what happened next, no matter how many lives she lived.

"By order of the president of the United States, you're under arrest."

Oh, Lord, she had never seen a catholic town pray so hard in her life.

…

In handcuffs she listened as they read her rights and spoke kindly to her, like a sheep being lead to slaughter. She can't recall how long they drove, or how long the plane ride had been. It was a special plane, seating just herself and the two military officers she came to know as Joe and Terrance. Whether those were their real names or not, she didn't care; it was what they were called by her.

Joe had been the one who entered her house, Terrance had been the one who drove the car. They were good people, she figured, men of servitude. Now, they didn't serve a God, she knew. Their deity was real, you could see him – the President of the United was as real as Joe or Terrance or herself. Even if she only saw him on the TV screen every once in a while, she knew he was someone you could touch with your hands, see with your eyes, hear with your ears.

So when they asked her to be a government hired worker, under the rule of the President, she agreed. The choice wasn't even given, really; between a job and jail, it was obvious which any normal person would choose.

Joe was the one who told her of what had happened. They saw her hacking, seen how easily she had gotten through every firewall, every encodement. He even mentioned her once-upon-a-time attack on the Pentagon's system, trying to be stern but failing to hide the admiration in his voice. She had gotten through their defences, she remembers with that arrogant smile she still uses, but she hadn't touched a thing. Just left a warning to up their security and got out with no detection.

She questioned how they knew, asked how they caught her.

"Some detective found you out. Said there was a moment where your IP address wasn't changed."

And she knew instantly who she had to blame for her arrest.

That silly brother of hers had gone on it, hadn't he? 14 year old Mark had caused the four year servitude of 17-almost-18 year old Ryan.

Not like she minded.

Nah, she enjoyed the challenges they gave her; it was like a game.

"Get into Russia's system, but don't get caught."

"Make sure China isn't planning anything, but don't get caught."

"Canada is doing some sneaky business, check up with them. Don't get caught."

She never got caught.

She was the best at what she did.

Even as the languages advanced, even as she received the newest computers and the hardest tasks, she finished them with ease.

And her ma and pa forgave her, said the Lord did, too. But she didn't need the forgiveness of no imaginary man, yet she pretended she did. She faked tears on the phone, said she was so happy she found the wrong in her ways and repented.

She lied so they would accept the money she wired to their accounts.

…

When she was 22 they released her from her contract, considered her a free woman after finishing her sentence of servitude. She up and left that country the instant she was free. Like hell she was returning to that life, no matter how much she enjoyed the challenge. She wasn't going back to no catholic town with their catholic people and the God she long ago forgot about. She wasn't going to stay in that country, just waiting for some big thing to hit and call her back to help. She wasn't going to help none of those people again, not as long as she could help it.

So she left for a while, first to London, then to Amsterdam. For a while she spent her time exploring India and China, then finally settled in Japan.

She wired money to her parents to keep her siblings in good hands. Little Mark was not so little anymore, becoming a man at 18 years of age. He worked their fields and stayed a servant of God, forcing their sister, little lady Mary, to keep to the ways of the Lord, even after her sixteenth birthday. Mary still went to school; she was a good girl, real smart and everything. Did all she could so her ma and pa wouldn't need another trip to the hospital like her ma did years ago, a year after Ryan was gone. She was the one in charge of keeping the youngest child, sweet boy Anthony, five at the time, in line and well.

They were still a catholic little family in a catholic little town.

But Ryan wasn't. Ryan knew she wouldn't be welcomed back with open arms in that family if she went back. She cussed, she liked to smoke and drink. She had engaged in physical intercourse before marriage with Terrance one year on a drunken impulse, and now she was not worthy under the eye of God, was she?

Nah, she wasn't, but the President? She was worthy to the President.

She'd some day be worthy to someone else, too.

She had no use of a catholic little town.