I'm alive! Happy New Year to everyone, hope you had a Merry Christmas, too. Yes, yes, before you ask, I'm going to continue What Happens in Cyberspace. I'm just waiting for my beta reader to respond to the chapter I just sent, and then I'll post it right away.

If you're looking for some cheerful, sappy, holiday-esque fanfiction, turn back now. I repeat, TURN BACK NOW. All this story has is an unhappy beginning, and unhappy middle, and an unhappy ending. It is my melodramatic angst at its finest. Also, I wrote this while I was staying up yesterday for New Year's Eve, so I now present to you the product of my sleep-deprived, soda-high mind.

"And… cut! Alright, that's enough for today."

Becky sighed in relief at the director's shout. As the cheery ending jingle played, she hurriedly walked away, eager to put as much distance between herself and the cameras watching her every move as possible. She hated them, this place, and most of all herself for getting landed in this horrible mess her young life had become.

"Good job today, Becky," said the director in a tone that normally would've sounded sincere, but Becky knew he was simply mocking her. Biting back a bitter lash-out, the Lexiconian lowered her head in silence and walked away, for it was painful to look directly into his frigid eyes, blind to her plight he instigated every single day. Still, Becky knew there was someone higher up who was truly the one responsible; the director was only a face upon which she could release her anger and frustration. He was only a pawn in the game. No, that wasn't it. She was the pawn.

Backstage, Becky furiously took off her ridiculous costume, nearly tearing the hems in her haste. The star and shield, her home planet's sacred symbol, should never be used in such a disrespectful manner, just another way for the government to make a mockery of her.

As the makeup artists packed away their things, Becky wanted to shut her ears to all the crew's fake compliments. How could they just stand there and smile with the innocence of a child when they knew the real reason behind all this façade? She hated that despite her supernatural abilities, it was them who controlled her like a puppet until all she wanted was for them to simply cut the strings and let her collapse to her death. Not that it would make much difference. She had died the moment she crash-landed on this horrid planet, the moment she'd had her free will, an ideal the humans ironically valued so highly, torn to shreds.

As always, Becky obediently allowed the power-draining collar to be fastened around her neck as she fought the immediate wave of nausea she always experienced whenever in close contact with Lexonite. She had learned from her first few weeks at Unfair City, as she secretly dubbed it, that resistance was futile. She had once tried to commit suicide by chipping off a piece of the poisonous mineral from the collar and shoving down her throat but to no avail. Now, there was always a layer of impenetrable plaster covering it so as to prevent any other desperate attempts.

"Good girl," said the man patronizingly, addressing Becky as if she were nothing more than a dog or some other inferior human plaything. She had far more knowledge than any human being could possibly amass, and yet it was all being squandered in this hellhole. If the government was going to manipulate her, they might as well have her do something useful, not serve as their weak entertainment.

As she walked away, Becky could feel the eyes of the stage crew shooting darts of suspicion and mistrust into the back of her head. Their venomous whispers swirled around her like the hissing of snakes. The rumors ranged from her having angel wings to devil horns, all of them laughable ignorant. She was not crafted from Heaven or Hell, but rather the grandest, most advanced civilization in the Andromenia Galaxy, and she should be treated as such, not as a slave. Then, as in reminder of her proper place, the scar on the back of her left wrist seared like fire. Becky grasped her wrist in pain, and she rolled up her sleeve to allow the cool September breeze dull the blaze. In the process, she revealed the number 301967 branded on her skin, superimposed with the seal of the United States government. This was a constant reminder of who she was on this wretched planet. A number. An alien. A freak.

Lexiconian aircrafts, much less those of the Lexicon Air Force, never crashed, never malfunctioned. In hindsight, Becky now believed it had been sabotaged by spies from Planet Zenith, with whom Lexicon had been engaged in a thousand year war. Becky had been only fifteen in Lexiconian years when she, on her very first mission as an air force trainee, collided with a Lexonite asteroid and careened to Earth. Her teacher, Huggen, had been killed instantly on impact.

Apparently, a human had spotted the spaceship streak like a shooting star towards the earth and contacted the government. Of course, the claim of an alien invasion could hardly be taken seriously, but still, a team was sent out to investigate. Dazed by the Lexonite, the first deadly mistake Becky made was addressing the dispatch in Idiolect, the language of Lexicon. That, along with the spaceship and glowing rocks, had been enough for them to put two and two together. Becky had been shackled like a common criminal and dragged, distraught and confused, before Mr. Carter, the head of the Department of Domestic Society. Over the next few weeks, Becky was forced to endure rigorous interrogations and countless scientific experimentations, many involving electric shock and torture chambers.

Finally, when all useful information and data had been extracted, there remained the question of what to do with her. Of course, she could not venture back to her home world for fear of an alien invasion. Her death would only be a waste of vital scientific research, she could not be permitted to roam free on Earth as a threat to national security, and her existence had to remain secret in case rival countries decided to take matters into their one hands and abduct her for their own personal gain. Becky, of course, believed them to be paranoid fools and idiots for this, but she held her tongue.

Eventually, it was decided that Becky be sent to Black Creek, a remote prison in Montana for the world's most notorious criminals. Actually, it was not a prison more as a city; no, such a mundane word as city could not begin to describe the vast horridness of this virtual hell on Earth. Here, the inmates were permitted to run free and bear arms. They roamed around in large gangs, attacking anyone and everyone who crossed their path, although any brawl was overseen by guards and authorized persons so as to prevent any fatal blows. No one was permitted to kill each other, not that the majority of the prisoners cared. Most of them had lost any vestiges of sanity, and they took great pleasure out of slaughtering their victims only for them to return time and time again to experience the same brutality.

Then, as to add insult to injury, someone had the malicious, ingenious idea to turn Becky's entire tragic plight into a whimsical television show for young children. Every day, Becky, along with the other prisoners, were forced participate in the filming of a show, uncreatively dubbed as WordGirl, where Becky was the shining star. With a few digital effects, the entire ordeal had been horribly twisted into an insipid cartoon. This addition to her punishment was not at all a matter of national security, but simply as a cruel, vindictive way for the government to assert its dominance over her and crush her spirit, as well as to earn some cheap money.

But one of the most torturous things about Unfair City for Becky was the glorious expanse of sky, stretching across the tranquil lakes, trees, and mountains, this perfection tied together with the beautiful radiance of the shining sun. However, it was separated from Black Creek by means of a transparent force field. It was an unimaginable torture to see the bliss of freedom so close and yet so remote at the same time. Hope, it seemed, was the worst drug of all, and yet she could never relinquish herself from it.

As Becky walked through the slums of Unfair City, the sun seemed to mock her with its cheerful beams, innocently asking, "What's wrong, little girl?" as if it didn't already know. She was lost, abandoned in a hostile world. She would never truly fly again. She was locked away in a prison of lies. So what was the truth?

"I am Bekava-sama," Becky said to begin her endless litany whenever the lies threatened to poison her mind once more. "Daughter of Aleeka-sama and Betac-sama. My home is Planet Lexicon. I am trapped in Black Creek by the United Sates government. Captives in Black Creek are surely hunting me now for being forced to make a mockery of them. They want me dead. I wish to be dead. I am dead. I… I-I… I am…"

At once, a searing pain flashed in her head, causing Becky to collapse to her knees. The world began to swim with red, and Becky knew this was when the hallucinations would start. Blood began to rain down from the sky, the crimson liquid sizzling upon impact on the road, which had now been transformed into a barren wasteland. Flowers of black flame sprouted from the blood and proceeded to devour the earth with their greed. All around, Becky could hear unearthly screams from a thousand tortured souls until she realized they issued from her own mouth. An acrid venom burned in her eyes and ate away at her vision until her world became a sea of darkness. Shadow demons rose up and began to drift around Becky and began to rip at her flesh, hissing in her ears, "Finish it! Finish it!"

Crying, Becky just barely choked out, "I am in Hell."

Just as suddenly as they appeared, the demons of shadow relinquished their hold on Becky, and the vision dissolved back into reality. Trembling with sorrow, Becky collapsed in one of Unfair City's many darkened alleys and cried until she was visited by one of the last people she'd ever want to see.

Becky knew he was behind her even before the ominous shadow loomed above her, snuffing out the feeble light of day.

"Well, hello WordGirl," her companion taunted. Looking up, Becky saw that her tormenter of the day was none other than the Butcher, who had achieved his repute for a far more sinister reason than simply conjuring meat. Armed with a full arsenal of wicked-looking knives, all gleaming in the dim light, some still stained with glistening blood, the Butcher leered at his frightened prey with a sinister grin of revenge.

Becky knew why she was being targeted. Earlier that morning, they had just finished filming an episode involving the Butcher's humiliating defeat by none other than Becky, and now was the time when he would get even.

As the Butcher drew his prized cleaver, Becky turned to run, even though she knew she would never make it in time. The Butcher had been known to throw a scythe at a bird and hit in the eye from five miles away. As a trained, former assassin, he had made the art of murder not only his occupation but also his livelihood.

Becky knew she shouldn't be afraid. Mortal wounds, no matter how severe, healed quickly for her, and besides, fear only encouraged the Butcher's ruthless antics. Still, she couldn't stop herself from running, as she had been forced to do all her life.

I'm going to get out of her someday, Becky vowed, although she knew it was a futile hope, a lie. There was nothing she could do to change her fate, not now that she had sunk to the point where she had to lie to herself. There was nothing she could do to distinguish between the truth and the lies.

All she could do was suppress a cry as the knife buried itself in her chest.

I warned you! Please, go out to a party or some other happy activity to rid your minds of this depressing wretchedness.

Wouldn't it be scarily ironic if this all turned out to be true? o_O

See you all in a few days with the next chapter of What Happens in Cyberspace!

Love to all,

Bella