The dream again.

So many times, she's had it. Countless. Over and over and over. And it was always the same. A person would appear, she'd look at them for a moment, probe a little of their minds and wills, and then teleport away. They weren't the ones who should be here. Their confusion would fill her mind, their fear would engulf her heart…ugh so tiresome and boring! Each mind rejecting her own…each heart shutting itself off from her touch.

Though she had connected to Pickle-P's mind once again, driving him to continue what they'd started a while back, everyone else was just…bounced away. So she would just lead them out, away from her. They were useless. Still, her second son was now searching for a way to free her from her prison…while that thing chased him. She couldn't see into its mind. Was it human? Was it a construct like the horrid experiments A.T.C. had made? She didn't know.

The worst of it was that it had a vague sense of familiarity. Like a name or a word at the tip of the tongue, the edge of the mind. One that was just teasing her knowledge, or lack-thereof. She couldn't touch it though. She couldn't see into its mind, somehow it either having extremely powerful defenses, or a lack of a mind at all. Her vision was spotty, like that, if she wasn't there. The damn Bubble keeping her from going too deep.

But still…the dream came again. A connection made…time to watch it break all over again…

Damn this is the third time in a row!

Once again, his strange dream looped itself. The first time, he had followed some woman his mental self called Genevieve Aristide to this unusual chamber where strange lights would flare off. Her voice was annoying, her mannerisms self-important. He could tell he didn't like this woman whoever she was.

The second time he'd found himself being attacked by shallow skinned monsters covered in blood, running like insects along the walls, their forms blurred by their speed. They were bald and topless, blue fluttery pants looking similar to hospital scrubs being the only thing they wore. They could literally defy gravity, running on walls and bounding off of ceilings, faster than he could track. They were feral, slobbering, and a pain in the ass to deal with.

But the third…was different. He found himself rising, propping against a fallen over vehicle. The world was dimmed, as if someone put mood lights on. The ground covered in ash. He looked up, and saw a child. A girl, who looked somewhere between five and ten, wearing a long red dress, with lengthy black hair that reached down to her waist stood before him. Her feet were drenched in a red substance that his second mind deduced as blood, and she was clutching a doll by the arm. Her entire posture radiated defeat, hopelessness, depression…and loneliness.

He realized, he'd not seen this girl before, in the back to back trio of dreams. It was a path he'd not traveled. She looked at him, lifeless, deadened eyes glancing past her night colored locks, and then turned. When their eyes locked, he noticed something about her. The air started to shimmer like a heat haze. As if she were preparing something. To kill him? To flee? He didn't know. But she paused when words flew from his mouth, his sleeping mind confused as to why he was saying it.

"You're Alma…right?"

Okay that was…new. Nobody before had ever known my name. I never told them. Never had the chance really. They'd take one look at the sky and then one look at my feet and suddenly be covered in fear. This one was…different.

Still…it was…nice…to hear my name spoken without hatred. Or fear. Or disgust.

Ok it was nice to hear my name spoken by someone that had nothing to do with my life at all.

So…on a reaction I…gave a small smile back.

Something else nobody had done for me in a very long time.

I didn't know who this little girl was. But something in me was…pleased. I reached a hand out to her, ignoring the twisting pools of ash and dust whipping along the broken road.

I was happy…I don't know why I was happy. It felt as if I'd found who I was looking for, someone I'd been seeking for a very long time. The me asleep listened to the me in dream speak again.

"What say we get you out of this place?"

Get out? Wait what? Of…of where? The dream? Or the Vault? Who was this guy? Who was he that wasn't afraid of…well EVERYTHING around us! We were stood in an absolutely ruined city. Angry murky brown sky lit by flashes of blood red lightning. Pieces of buildings and sidewalks and roads scattered about, broken pathways leading to deep sinkholes, shattered buildings, splintered glass, twisted metal and pools of blood that may or may not have originally been water…

And yet here he was. On one knee, hand reached out, asking for mine.

Did…did he not know? Did he not know my rage? My hatred?

…or maybe…

Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe he did know…but didn't care. Maybe…

Maybe it was time I tried trusting someone…one last time…

After a brief moment where it seemed as if she was going to turn and run, her eyes…they seemed to recover some of their lost light. Her smile…it was beautiful.

It was as if moonlight were reflecting off of serene waves in the ocean.

As if a rising sun colored the sky in a myriad color of pink and violet waving together.

It was as if a tired…battered…beaten child…were finally offered the love and affection of the parents that rose arms against them.

Or…in her case…as if someone had finally accepted her for who she was…as if she had finally found a friend.

A massive wave of emotion washed over me. My heart felt lightened by the brilliance of her ashen covered face. Her eyes seeming to twinkle like stars in the night. I felt her feelings…hope, joy…and a small bit of fear, which was quickly beaten back by the other, more positive emotions.

She held out a shaky hand, and I felt myself gently take her tiny hand in my own.

It's so soft… My inner self thought. The 'me' that knew that it was a dream. I blinked, and next I knew I was carrying her on my left arm, her own arms around my neck, her legs wrapped around my torso, with my forearm supporting her under her behind. I was about to turn when I remembered something.

She was holding something, wasn't she? It might have been important to her.

"Oh right, can't forget this…" he suddenly said. I felt myself look at him, confused, before he knelt down again. He had me at an angle, as if to suggest something. For a moment, I thought he wanted me to let go…when I traced his line of sight.

My doll.

The doll left behind when they put me in that damn bubble.

The doll that would forever remain in front of my only place of joy…the swing back on Still Island.

How the HELL did he know?! I was in shock at the time…but I gratefully leaned down, detached a single arm from around him and grasped the baby's wrist, pulling it up. I clutched it to my chest, supporting myself on him with my remaining arm.

This…man. He was male. That's all I could tell. The rest of him was…blurry. Shadowed. But…comfortable. I couldn't see him. Honestly I'd never been able to see the majority of the minds I connected to. But I'd always chalked that up to them rejecting me. Maybe it was something else. But…

I couldn't see him. And yet…I'd never felt safer.

My attention was split. I could see flickers of sight outside of this…dream. Little Pickle-P (not so little anymore now is he?) was getting closer. So was the…thing. They were both almost here. Along with…something my mind refused to acknowledge.

But I shoved all that away. Rejected it, just like everyone but him rejected me.

And we turned. To the golden light glowing beneath the tree that housed my swing. I don't know how it got there but there it was. And beneath it…a shining light that felt like…oozed with something I'd given up any belief of ever finding.

Hope.

"Well…here goes everything. Ready?"

I looked at her. She looked at me, smiled and nodded. Both of us were confident that whatever that light was, it would take us out of this place. I could feel it. Her emotions resonating with mine. She was happy…no, she was ecstatic. It almost seemed like her very being was radiating pure joy. And I wasn't about to let her down. We turned as one…and I took a single step, into the unknown.

Unknown…save for one thing.

Whatever awaited us on the other side…we'd face it together.

I don't…

I wouldn't begin to be able to tell you how many meetings there were between us.

Nor how long they lasted, or when they happened or…anything.

But every now and then my mind would reach out and I'd see him again.

Until…

Until something changed.

It must have been just before…before my father broke the seal. Before I was…she was set free.

I was at my Tree. Sitting on the swing. Swinging slowly back and forth. Alone. As I usually was, back then. Isolated, surrounded by nothing but myself. But things were odd, I'd noticed. The small hovel where my Tree was, was an island for one. A tree at the top of a hill overlooking a rocky cliff. The grass was also greener, and there was more of it. And there were small flowers. Flowers of multiple colors and shapes but they were all so tiny. Barely taller than the grass.

It was strange, but not entirely unusual, for a dream, I guess. I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks, hear the distant 'caws' of seagulls flying about. The sky was blue, the clouds were few but fluffy and pillow-white. The sun was shining in the sky…

But…something looked strange about it all. The air felt…odd. Not to mention off over the horizon I swear I saw some kind of building that wasn't the Still Island reactor.

I was alone.

Until I wasn't.

"Oh hello."

I whirled around, hair slapping myself in the face. Standing suddenly not ten feet from the tree was a boy. A boy who looked around my age. Curly black hair, chocolate skin, dark brown eyes, wearing a red t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I was confused. The only person I had actually conversed with, in these dreams was the man who-

"Would you like a push?"

A push? …oh. On the swing.

I was still confused, and uncertain, especially since I couldn't feel him but…I nodded anyway.

And oh so gently, he pulled the swing with me on it back, and then threw it forward.

We stayed like that for…I don't know it felt like hours. I'd actually started to relax around this kid. He never shied away or recoiled so he must have had some resistance to my powers or something but…

Suddenly I didn't feel the push anymore. He had turned and bent down at his bag which…somehow I had missed him carrying. He pulled out a pair of coloring books and a box of crayons, holding them out.

"Wanna?"

Well, I suppose I was getting tired of swinging. I nodded again and hopped off.

And yet again, it felt like, hours had passed. Just the two of us, laying on our stomachs, on an island hill, coloring. It was calm, it was quiet, it was peaceful…

It was great.

And then he said something that confused me further.

"So I thought I might have been wrong, but being around you it seems not. Shiny black hair, red dress, blue eyes, lonely, you're definitely her. Alma, right?"

I'd never told him my name. Hell I'd never spoken. Shocked, I just nodded.

"Thought so. Been waiting for you, actually. Took longer than I thought. But, I have something for you."

He reached behind him, turning around and…held out a bundle of maroon cloth.

"I dunno what it is. But she asked me to give it to you. And to be your friend. We're friends now, right?"

Absently I nodded.

"So then I guess it's alright to give this to you now."

He held it out to me. Slowly, I took it. It felt…human-shaped.

But…when I unwrapped it…everything changed.

What I saw was…terrible. Horrible.

Some of it was welcome. The deaths of many of Armacham. The destruction of the Origin Facility.

Learning the thing was actually my first son.

That had me crying. I'd been trying to kill him the whole time. I felt like a tool. I was a tool.

But I saw the rest…death. Destruction. Madness. Pain.

I saw everything that happened. Everything that was happening. Everything that was going to happen.

And when it ended, we were at Still Island.

And I knew, it had to stop.

Right Now.

I didn't want the world to end. Not until I saw him again.

A.L.M.A: Recurrence

Interval 01 - Awakening

The fight had steadily progressed worse. With the second switch pulled, Keegan now seemed to be able to not only match Becket's hyper speed but also make copies of himself.

No, not in the sense that Keegan was moving so fast it looked like he was in multiple places at once. Not 'afterimages', superimpositions of glitches in the brain's memory partitions being overloaded trying to keep sight of something moving faster than it could track. Literal, actual clones. With autonomous actions.

Knew I should have watched more anime with my little cousin…she'd probably be better at dealing with this than me at this point. He thought to himself.

Bullets flew every which way as Becket tried his best to not get hit so often he would die. A dip into his enhanced reflexes saw him evading one flying for his left temple, ducking under another that was heading for his right ear, shifting sideways to slip past a side-by-side pair that were ever so slightly spreading away from one another, and lifting his left arm over the path of yet another.

After the small display of dexterity – one that had been made many a time before in this fight – he fired his own salvo. Seemingly shooting without aim, the man fired once, then twice more, then twice again, and finally three times. Of the eight bullets fired, two found purchase in a clone's head, one through a left arm, and another – oooch, sorry Keeg. – in a crotch. The others missed, but served the purpose to keep Keegan's attention on evading much like Becket did, which was used to fair effectiveness.

For now, the two had locked arms, grappling with one another, near the final switch. Slowly, as the barren landscape swirled with malignant dust – what? Even with his headset it still damn near got in his eyes constantly, it was evil – and pulsed with ill intent; Becket began to overpower his friend and partner, holding back tears as the man's face morphed from possessed malicious rage to dawning horror to slow acceptance.

"Becket…kill me…"

The pistol was raised, his finger on the trigger, both of their arms shaking with exertion. His finger tensed and-

"That's enough!"

Suddenly the storm broke, the barren twisted crater pulsed, the gun was ripped from his hands, and for a brief moment he was treated to the view of the naked corpse riding his body being wrenched off of him, as both he and Keegan were forcibly separated.

And a familiar little girl stood between them.

Becket landed heavily on his back, but began to rise, until a disturbingly – and frighteningly – familiar creaking sound, groaned through the air. Panic began to set in as he saw the winding tendrils of large brown roots grab at him, tensing as he expected to feel the searing pain of her telesthetic field eating at his flesh…

Only to just be roughly lifted off the ground and held tightly as if tied by ropes.

"You, stay there." The girl spoke without speaking, sending an annoyed glare towards him. As she turned to the other occupant of the…now…changing landscape…

Her face softened.

"You…lay down."

"I…Alma…"

"Shhh…" She hushed him, finger on her lips, as she gently padded over. Becket was confused and afraid. He'd barely truly understood anything the past week, since he first woke up after that terrible operation, but this…

The world around them was changing. The breaker with the switches were still there, the cage of hardened roots was still there…but the sky was…beginning to turn blue. The winds were dying down. There was…healthy, green grass beginning to grow and…flowers and butterflies and what the hell was going on here?!

Keegan tried to rise only for the girl to lay a soft hand on his vest and push down, where he obeyed.

Always, would he obey.

"You, have been absolutely wonderful, dear. Thank you. Thank you so much for listening. But you're too far gone. This is all that's left of you and to leave you like this…"

She shook her head softly.

"…I…"

"I know, dear. I know. It's time for you to sleep, Harold."

The black haired child gently stroked the older man's charred, cracked face.

"And I promise you…when next you wake…everything will be right as rain."

Softly, lovingly, words came from her, as a gentle but defined creaking of old wood began to slowly echo.

"Dearly Beloved, in Death we pray your Hope retain."

A flower sprang into being next to her.

"Dearly Beloved, we grant Forever and a Blade."

A dagger appeared – wooden, carved hilt with floral engravings on the blade, polished to a glimmering silver sheen and looking sharp as sharp could be – in Keegan's clasped hands.

"Dearly Beloved, these Tears we gift into your Name."

And tears there were. Softly flowing down the child's face, faintly obscured by her fluttering hair.

"Life been lost yet Soul remains. I acknowledge all you Were. No pain remains, no feeling. Eternity awaits."

A sad, soft smile appeared on her face.

"Grant thee Wings that you may Fly, your final Rest is calling. No pain remains, no feeling. Eternity Awaits."

And with a swift lean, she delivered a soft kiss to the man's forehead. Upon doing so, a bone deep sigh emerged from his chapped lips, muscles losing all tension, as his flesh faded into chipped flakes of pale blue-white light that fluttered away in the form of scattering, glowing butterflies, spiraling towards the heavens.

The child gave a weary sigh, standing up and slowly approaching Becket.

"What…what did you-

"Gave him a much gentler rest than he would have gotten otherwise."

She made her way to stand between him and the switcher.

"You know…you're…you're freaking annoying."

"Me?!" he blurted out incredulously.

"Always forward with you. Like you're some kind of Drone. Come on Michael, think for yourself! No research at all."

"Wha-ugh! Excuse me for being confused and running for my life from some crazy psychic psycho trying to…whatever the hell you were doing to me!"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah. That. That's not going to happen. Not now."

"I don't get it."

"Honestly it's none of your business. It never was. Never should have been. And if I'm right…after this, it won't be anymore."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"This never should have involved you. It's all that Aristide cunt's fault. Stupid bitch thinks she can use my son as a bargaining chip she's got another thing coming!"

It was almost comical how the girl stomped her foot, face scrunched in an annoyed childish scowl.

Almost.

"What are you going to do?"

It was less a question, more a statement.

He might not have understood what was happening. Not really. But the changes in the last five minutes were sudden and drastic. That they came from the little girl he'd only seen before the explosion, meant something significant.

Even if he couldn't exactly grasp what that was.

He could only watch as she walked over to the switcher, to grasp the final lever.

"Set things right."

And yank it back with all her strength.

She had been thrown off of him.

But it didn't feel like his rejection. Even though her rage built and she clamored to her feet to try again, some part of her mind recognized it wasn't him at all.

And it wasn't.

It was her.

She stopped, staring with hollow, dead eyes.

At the image of her younger self, standing in front of her prey.

Holding a bundle of maroon cloth.

"You need to stop."

What? No. After all this…she was finally going to-

"It won't end the way you think it will. He won't love you for it. He'll hate you."

No…no he won't. She's seen him. He's a good man. He'll-

"You were raping him. Rape! That's not a thing that people in love do! That's not a thing that people derive love from!"

Shut up! Their baby-

"Would have been taken away."

What?! NO!

"Yes. I've seen it."

The bundle float out of the child's arms.

"And now you will too."

And her vision was taken.

She saw indeed.

First, the immediate. Herself, rabidly humping away at Becket, occasionally beating his chest, his arms, his face. Her will crashing against his, all while his slowly growing power tried to fight her off, tried to shove her away.

Her little self was right. Even to the end, he was rejecting her. He'd never been swayed by her, never truly found her attractive in any form. She was an enemy at worst, at best, a nuisance. She meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. She was the one who killed his friends, led them to their deaths, tried on multiple times to erase him.

It hurt.

It hurt it hurt it hurt.

Even as she watched him fight both her and the psychic remnants of Harold Keegan back at the same time, it hurt her to be forced to see the rejection.

She watched the climax. Him killing Keegan, thus erasing what was left of the man's spirit. Him pulling the final lever. Her being finally overridden by his will…right after getting what she wanted.

All ending with her standing before him, heavily pregnant, in an altered space that she would later learn was her inner-world. Orange sky, hazy air, burning universe.

The visions progressed. Rapidly showing the decline of the world around her, shifting to various people, fleeing their homes as her presence grew. Scenes of brutal rapes, murders, arsons. People on fire, people bleeding, people bored down to the bone.

Blood and Thunder.

She watched as ATC forces spread. Armacham avoided the lawsuit headed their way thanks to Alma playing distraction. FEAR could do nothing, as they had bought out senators the country over. Fairport was 100% in Armacham's back pocket. Homes were pillaged, people were lined up and shot in the streets, all while those who were susceptible to her powers steadily lost their sanity. Archaic designs and spiraling patterns, glyphs and sigils and crests and rituals were designed and executed in blood and pain and sorrow and fear.

Entire homes painted with blood in strange squiggles and child-like drawings and covered in eyeball patterns and hurt to look at for too long as if the symbols were alive and glowing and calling out for someone.

Armacham's research led to the development of all sorts of new and twisted experiments. Origin and Harbinger produced hundreds of Commanders and replica troops were at an all-time high.

But then she saw them.

Her sons.

Or rather…her son, and the thing that took the shape of her second.

She watched them battling all manner of ATC forces, all while trying to fight their way to the center of Fairport where the strange distortions were emerging from.

She watched him hurt. She watched him bleed. She watched him kill.

And then it.

Long, tall, slender, missing eyes or a nose but a mouth that split open vertically like mandibles and covered its entire lower face. Emaciated splotchy pink skin, a gaping hole leading from just beneath its ribcage all the way down to the crotch area, held together by ropey sinew and muscle.

It had no name, no designation, just that it was powerful and dangerous and it terrified her so much she unconsciously huddled closer to her child self every time it appeared.

It knew neither friend nor foe it murdered indiscriminately as it pleased with a particular focus on her son and the not-son tethered to him.

She watched them flee from it. She watched them confront it. She watched them face the depths of their memories and finally kill it.

All while the world slowly and steadily got less and less logical. Monsters from nightmares she'd long since forgotten began spilling out into the material world, horrors from bad memories and hate-filled thoughts demanding blood and flesh as tribute before continuing on like a rolling plague of gnashing teeth and firey claws.

They found Becket. Oh Becket. Who was still rejecting her. Rage-filled and pained, she watched the not-son dig into his memories, forcing him to speak his secrets. The father of her child. The one she wanted to start a family with.

Dead.

Exploded into bloody chunks just like every other body the not-son inhabited.

Dead.

She felt sick.

She felt angry.

She watched the world crumble.

And finally she saw herself.

She was disgusting.

The bulbous tumor that had once been a stomach, tied by fleshy tendrils clinging to the walls and ceiling around her, corroding into slimy muscle bound patches of gunk and ick. Glowing like an alien containment pod. She saw herself, pale and panting, grey-skinned and sunken-eyed.

The disturbing sight wasn't enough to distract her from the scuffle. She watched the not-son fight her son and win, possessing him and…and…

NO!

"Yes."

No! No no no no no no no!

"Yes just as many times."

How! How to stop…that?!

"We have to leave him be. We have to change. Be…be better."

How?!

"This…this place. This bubble. It's supposed to make people stronger. People like us. So…we already can bend reality, right?"

Stronger…

"But we don't just need strength. We need…a new us. This…we were given a second chance. A chance to do it right. We have to."

Do it right.

"Yes. As one. Not split minds. We have to let go of…a lot of our anger. A lot of our hate. We'll still get after Armacham but…no more indiscriminate murder. We have to get better…then find our son."

Our son.

"Yes. The still alive one. That all happened over the course of a few weeks after a year. So we have time. Time to…do whatever we can. To be more."

Be more.

"We have to become one again. One…one mind."

One body.

"One soul."

One purpose.

"We are Alma…

…and this life…

…Is Mine."