Hello Peach Tree's, Its Mama. I'm back and with more story for you. Go on read it. Its yours. From me to you. But remember, when your good to Mama, Mama's good to you. So you best review it my darlings. For now, enjoy. I hope the wait was worth your while.

It still amazes me what a few green and blue pills and eight hours of sleep can do. Rising from the twisted piles of sheet, I stretched my arms over my head, wincing at the tender flesh around my ribs. Twisting my arms in my face, I marvelled in the pale pink lines that once were deep gashes. The pills had all but cured my bullet wound, while very bruised, it appeared to have completely sealed over night. Even so, the remaining wounds would have benched a civilian for a week. But not a Judge.

A normal civilian would require therapy or at least encountered anxiety about what happened last night. Having men pin you down, cut and kick you, try and take you would crush most people. Training requires you to detach, as a Judge people will try and hurt you through rape, murder, or mutilation. Some times all of the above. It just depends on the attacker.

Training is not just about becoming physically stronger and faster then your opponent. It is not about learning to disregard pain, nor is it about learning how to make faster more fair solutions. While they are both important, the hardest part of training is letting go. Forgetting emotions and letting your personal safety and value go.

That is why there are so few Judges, because it is nearly impossible to stop caring. But if you can do it, if you truly accept yourself as a piece of the machine that is more then oneself, your body becomes an instrument of justice. A true Judge doesn't care who's name is on the causality count, including their own, as long as the attackers name is on the list as well.

Yet, somehow, despite the 'higher development' Judges maintain to be almost childlike in there confusion about the most basic things.

As I began to yawn and awaken, it occurred to me I had never had my own quarters before. I was born in a block that was classified as 60% slums, much like Peach Tree's. But it was where I learned to read and do long division, its where I made cookies with my mom and played with my dad. It was home. But I lost all that when they got sick. After that it was the academy.

I shared a hall with seven other girls, we each had our own shelve and bunk. But it wasn't home. We were not to form friendships; we were to be comrades, allies. It wasn't that we never laughed or smiled, we did, but never did we have the luxury of just laughing until we couldn't breathe. We always were aware of the ever-present supervisors and the need to be on our guard for surprise sim-combat. There was never a rebellious phase, no piercing my ears at a friends house, no 'surprise my hairs pink.' Always grey walls, concrete floors, and itchy sheets.

But now I have my own room- I could paint the walls, and no one could tell me it was wrong. My room. It sounded weird, but it was mine. All mine. A sizeable bed in corner, concrete walls, linoleum floor, one foggy window, and a wooded door, all mine.

My stomach rumbled loudly, making me critically aware I had been too nervous to eat before meeting with the Chief Judge yesterday. Was that really only yesterday? My hand was on the doorknob before I looked down and began to laugh. That is not professional or acceptable.

A large grey T-shirt fit me like a baggy dress read, ACADEMY in large red letters and a pair of sweat pants that were easily a foot too long on me. How did I get dressed in this?

Don't be stupid Kid, he had to undress you to take care of your wounds. It wasn't like he would just put you in a bed with untreated wounds or he would leave you semi-nude after doctoring you. Your clothes did not survive the fight, look at your body from yesterday. He is being nice and is letting you wear his clothes.

Oh god he saw me semi-nude after being beat up that badly? Blushing, I fumbled over my feet. Damn, I don't have any clothes. How am I supposed to live here without any of my stuff? How can I have my things returned to me so I'm not stuck in his clothing for the rest of our indefinite tandem enforcement? Maybe I can call someone from my division and have him or her drop by my stuff? No they are probably already on duty…

Or you could ask Dredd…

Not going to happen. I will walk to the academy before I ask him for another favour. I'm done being saved by him.

I opened the door out of my room hoping that he would not see me dressed like this. He had already seen you dressed like this, what more harm could it do? Still I tried to be silent in the way only Judges can, slinking out of my room, crossing my fingers for a brilliant plan to cross my mind. The main room was mostly bare. Four windowless walls, one with three doors leading to my room and the bathroom, and presumably Dredd's room as well. The wall to the left had a large punching bag hung in a corner next to a couch facing a wall. The rest of the room was taken up by a small kitchenette and a thick metal door.

Well what now kid? Plan find clothes is out, your in top secret mode right now so no calling in the Calvary, and if you don't want to ask Dredd then look like your stuck. So suck up your damn pride and ask for-

In my peripheral vision I noticed a large duffle bag sitting on the couch- I know it's considered rude to poke around, but in my defence it was three in the morning and I was wearing a pretty much a strangers clothes.

A large piece of paper sat on top of the bag, in a rough scratchy script read ROOKIE- YOU WILL NEED THESE.

Thank god! I don't have to ask him for something more. Its bad enough he had to treat my wounds (twice) and lend me his clothing. Now I can just make a routine and learn to live with him. I slung the bag over my shoulder and carried it to the door on the far left that lead to my room.

The drawers were predictably empty, making quick work of my already folded clothing. I didn't have much. Just three sports bras and underwear, three wife beaters and t-shirts, one standard issue uniform, two sets of standard issue exercise gear, and one set of civilian clothing. It didn't take long until I was folding up my bag and storing it under the drawers, just as I was pushing it away a piece of paper fell on to the ground…

Anderson,

Congratulations on becoming a Judge, I took the liberty of packing your things up. You have done well Anderson, I always suspected you would. I've heard rumours from upstairs that you worked or are working with Dredd. A piece of advice: he is a piece of work, you already know this, but he is not all that meets the eye. By himself he is feared and revered. You alone have a huge advantage in your mind. Together? The two of you may become the edge we need to take back the city. You will have to push yourself, Anderson, the Academy cannot teach you everything. Rules must be broken to enforce the law. You cannot let your sense of morality stop you from doing the right thing. From dispensing justice. You and Dredd match each other well; I don't know what the councils plan is for you, but trust me it is big. You have potential. Don't waste it. Be careful Anderson, you might make something of yourself.

-Director of Training, Senior Supervisor and Judge of the Father of Justice Academy

` Judge Wedbrough

It was overwhelming, to be told by a woman I equally respected and feared I had potential. She spent the last ten years of my lift telling me how stupid and worthless I was- but now she says I might make something of my self? She thinks I'm going somewhere? Why is the last line so cryptic? Why did she warn me about being successful?

It was to confusing, too much to process sitting still. Without thinking about it I rose to my feet walking back to the main room while wrapping my hands in bandages before slipping on my gloves. Force of habit, I suppose, the need to keep moving keep practicing. Back at school you never just sit, there is always physical conditioning involved somehow. It helps me think.

Bouncing on the balls of my feet, my arms up protecting my face I began to hit. The punching bag at first remained still, a stoic sack of sand, teasing me into fighting harder, thinking faster. My mind raced trying to understand why Wedbroughknows so much, why she would care to send me a note. My fists were flying, sweat pouring off my body, my thoughts nearly tangible.

Time was irrelevant, it could have been ten minutes or hours, but I just kept hitting- like I could beat the answers out of an inanimate object. Exhausted my knuckles, cracked and bleeding, admitted defeat. The answer no clearer to me then before.

Walking back to my room to grab a towel and toilettes, I continued to relentlessly ponder why Judge Wedbrough would care. In school she treated me like everyone else. I wasn't even a blip on her radar, only noticing me when I messed up or said something that proved my mutant status.

Closing the bathroom door tightly behind me, I pulled the massive t-shirt over my head, folding it into a neat square next to my towel. In the cracked mirror my wounds from the day prior were nearly gone. The exit wound from the bullet was a light purple and rough to the touch, various cuts were just pink lines traversing my torso, and the flesh around my ribs slightly swollen and dark purple but not bad at all. My face had bits of dried blood on it, my hair a rats nest, but something was different beyond the dirty exterior. Maybe it was the tense set of my jaw, or the newly erect posture, but the girl I used to know in the mirror was gone. A woman, no, a Judge looking back.

I don't know how or why Judge Wedbrough or Dredd thinks we're so special kid, but we are sure as hell going to do our best to prove them right.

With my new found confidence I stripped down completely, stepping into the shower. It was like I radiated self assured control, almost happiness. As a Judge the 'after glow' is not something I am familiar with, but from being assaulted with the sweaty, smiling, content thoughts of various civilians, I felt like I was experiencing the next best thing. The water turned to a delightful freezing, I soaped up my body allowing blood and sweat to flow down the drain, along with the tension and anxiety, leaving just me. Just Anderson, comma, C.

I probably looked stupid- a shivering, smiling girl, giggling at nothing in particular while completely covered in bubbles. The water felt so good, waking me up and allowing me to process the events of the last two days. I could have stayed there forever, but a quick glance at my watch had me sprinting to rinse out my hair.

It probably should have occurred to me that Dredd might be awake by five thirty. If I had been paying attention I would know he was done working out for the morning. If I was actually thinking I would have made the intuitive leap to thinking he might want to shower.

But instead I was caught up in my little cocoon of pleasure, thinking I was ready for my day. I was leaning down to pick up my cloths, when I heard a stunned grunt.

I startled to a standing position, my body slamming into something large, hard, and warm. The figure towered over me, both of us in such a state of shock when one of us slipped that neither of us caught ourselves. Something reached around me, spinning us- we were falling, his hard warmth under me, my towel flying around me like a cape.

My fall was broken by his body, leaving my pride the only thing injured. His mouth was open, his face tinged red, his pulse elevated, breathing fast. Shit- did it hurt him. I instinctively went to stand and apologize, but an arm wrapped around my waist stopped me.

His eyes, shielded behind his visor met with mine in a burning connection, his fingers spread wide across my back. His pouty lips open in a gasp that got distracted along the way- I knew I should be getting up but I didn't want to. His face entranced me, the five o'clock shadow around his jaw, the stunned set of his lips, I could feel his eyes- but in that moment I wanted nothing more then to take of that helmet and run my fingers over his velvet skin and through his hair, just feeling that man behind the mask. My lips tingled with want; my skin feeling like it had become electrified with need to see- to understand.

"Anderson-" his voice sounded strangled and like it took effort to make a sound. That word broke me out of my haze. I stood quickly, my blush burning; I clutched the towel to my chest. Keeping my head down, I picked up my toilet trees in record time sprinting out of the room with a muttered 'sorry sir.'

I slammed my door behind me, double and triple checking the locks before stripping of the towel. I was breathing fast, my skin tingling with the contact. What the fuck?

This is bad- what the hell is going on. My skin was flushed everywhere, you're just embarrassed. A light coating of sweat over my breasts, you were surprised. My heart was pounding and my breathing fast, you just fell… your body is reacting. A deep aching throb from somewhere in my abdomen bloomed, the heat reaching and spiralling mind raced to justify my reaction, justify what my body was spelling out.

Quickly shoving on my standard issued uniform leggings and a wife beater I thrust my shit kickers on while beginning to pace. What do I say to him? Do I apologize? Or pretend it didn't happened? Would it be more or less weird to go sit on the couch? Or stay in my room? Good job, you already made this intensely uncomfortable in less then four hours of being awake, gold star for you kid.

Okay, I will go out side and sit on the couch. I can read. He will make the first move; I will just sit and read. He can say what ever he wants, if he is angry I'll apologize. We can make some ground rules. We can make sure this doesn't happen again.

With shaking hands I picked up "A Field Agents Guide: Conversing With Civilians," and made my way to the couch. Breath in. Sit down. Breath out. Cross legs under you. Breath in. Open book. Breath out. Scan the page. Breath in. Ignore the grunt from the bathroom. Breath out. Flip the page. Breath in. Ignore the shower turning off. Breath out. Ignore the sound of someone in the room. Breath in. Flip page. Breath out. Ignore that he is sitting down on the couch with you. Breath in. Nod like your contemplating the meaning of what the page said. Breath out. Flip page. Breath in. Ignore the frustrated sigh from next to me. Breath out. You can handle what ever he says.

"Rookie, we're going on a field trip." This should be interesting.

"Carla we ga'two de-cafe cwoffes an' a jelly an' a chwocolate dwounut at table fifteen!" A heavy woman carrying a large tray screeched at seemingly no one in particular. The diner Dredd dragged me to was over crowded, filled with sweaty truckers and exhausted whores. The red leather seats were torn and distressed, the table's covered in gum and grime, but he assured me the food was sanitary.

This is sufficiently awkward. We hadn't spoken a word since then. Both of us were staring at the table, me focusing on the tenth paper crane I'd made out of my napkin, Dredd scowling into space. I would hate to be that wall right now, because I would be melting. Even if I wasn't psychic it would be obvious there was tension crackling between us. Every now and then I would secretively glance up through my hair, staring at the masked face, trying to gain insight as to what the hell I'm supposed to say. Just say something. Anything. Really.

"Rookie-" he started

"Dredd-" I began at the same time. "Go ahead-"

"You first." We both said in sync. If this wasn't so freaking weird that would be funny. But this is. Let him talk. Do not embarrass yourself again today. He gestured with a passive hand wave for me to speak first. I could feel my blush building; all of a sudden my fingers were incredibly interesting. Just say what your thinking.

"I- umm- well I'm not really sure what to say." I admitted, my voice weak.

"Join the squad," he deadpanned, by the growl his voice I could tell he was in control of this conversation. I cleared my throat, willing my voice to take one the equally authoritative sound of a Judge.

"So... we are living together." Please take over this conversation.

"Yes." Okay lets try again.

"And this morning…" Please take the bait, take over the conversation.

"Indeed." Damn. Third times the charm, third times the charm.

"I fell on you."

"Yes you did." Final shot, okay please don't make me continue with this. God? Allah? Buddha? Thor? Super Civilian?

"While I was naked." His head cocked to the side, surprised I was so blunt. I swear his eyebrows rose, even if I couldn't see them. He muttered something under his breath I couldn't quite make out, but sounded a lot like 'props to you Rookie- guess I didn't imagine that.'

"Look- Anderson… this situation is-" His mouth was strained into a tight line looking for words before opening in an exasperated sigh. "Since we are living together, we are already bending the rules slightly, so we must walk this line very carefully." Dredd continued. We are talking about work, we know this. We know how to do this.

"Understandable. Once we are at a secure location, I'm assuming I will be briefed with this assignment."

"Yes, the council briefed me last night and the papers arrived this morning." We both paused, unsure what more to day. "Look, Anderson… this is uncomfortable for both of us. Perhaps some ground rules to prevent this from happening again?"

Only to make matters more awkward, a waitress from the other side of the room decided now was the best time to direct her detailed thoughts in the direction of our table. "You can brief me anytime you want baby. Yeah, I bet your briefing would be hard and big, wouldn't it?" I hate telepathy. I hate telepathy. I hate telepathy

"That sounds… favourable." Clearing my throat, I prayed I would sound like a Judge not like a scared teenager. "May I suggest knocking before entering?"

"Agreed." He turned thoughtful for a minute. "No entering each others quarters?"

'You can enter my quarters anytime' the waitresses thoughts in the back of the room interrupted, clearly straining to hear our conversation over the rumble of the morning rush.

"Uh- yes. Good."

A quick nod from Dredd gave me the confidence to continue. "On the note of rule making, this may sound obvious, but I suggest we avoid nudity." Dredd's jaw grew tense and his whole body froze.

"Yes Anderson. That would- that would be good."

"Baby, cloths are a waste on you. Come on just finish that drink and I'll go see if there is anything I can do for you. Namely me. Oh please do me. God look at those lips, I just want to suck them all night, well those and some other parts of that fine specimens anatomy."

"So- umm" I stammered, my face growing red. Shit, can he tell what she's thinking? How would he react knowing people think of him in that way? Probably annoyed disbelief. Its really hot in here, god I need another shower.

"Maybe he will spank me. Oh yes, judge I plead guilty."

"Next rule we should-" I really was trying to think, but pressure was building in my abdomen.

"Imagine that. Him throwing me over a table and pounding his hips into my still red ass from his leather clad hands relentlessly slapping it. Him tugging my hair while pulling out just in time to shoot his load all over my back while I scream in release."

"Can we leave?" I squirmed in my seat uncomfortably; I don't want to hear this.

"You're the psychic," standing he threw several credits onto the table before turning on his heal and storming out of the diner. I know I am the psychic, that would be the problem. I ran after him, easily jogging to his motorcycle. "Care to explain?" Crap. That is the 'don't mess with me' voice. Damn it.

"People's thoughts- well, there was this woman- and… and she was thinking," He resumed his tensed stance, his hand automatically reaching for his gun. "Not illegal things- well sort of but not the kind of illegal you- but." I stammered, begging him to understand. "she was thinking about you." His face was the picture of irritated confusion.

"Rookie please be specific." How is he always so calm? Swallowing my pride and the last hints of dignity I spat out.

"She was imagining very detailed sexual relations between herself and you."

"I see."

"Yeah."

We both shuffled our feet, unsure of what to do now. In school you get trained to handle everything. Hostage situations, survivor searches, drug busts, homicide, theft, war, near death experiences, near rape experiences, security, information retrieval, how to kill someone with your hands chained together and no weapons, how to talk a mentally unstable perp out of murder- but you never learn to talk about sex. Ever.

"Hop on." Dredd growled, gesturing at his motorcycle. With his back turned to me, the engine roared to life. Just do it kid. Reluctantly I wrapped my arms around his waist, all to aware of the similarities of this position to several more… creativeones I had just seen.

Stop thinking about that, it's not professional. Let's be constructive, shall we? Do you even know where we are going? Where would he be taking me? Maybe back to the apartment? But he seemed reluctant to be alone with me… not that I can blame him. This is not how I imagined today going.

What did he mean "'props to you Rookie- guess I didn't imagine that,'" why would he be imagining that? Guys don't imagine girls naked unless… no. That's not correct. It must be a manner of speaking. There is not a snowballs chance in hell Dredd was thinking of me like that. He definitely meant it as a joke or something-not like he wants something or me, Anderson the rookie.

Besides even if he was, usually girls think it back- but I'm not attracted to him. I mean sure after the whole bathroom incident my body reacted, but that was just because I was surprised. Right?

Judges don't have crushes, don't fall in love, let alone lust. It doesn't happen. In training its beaten out of you, whatever empathy and raw emotion left in your body is hidden away in a dark corner to afraid to resurface.

Judges can't care about anyone. Even if we still had the emotional ability- we wouldn't let ourselves. If we loved someone then our priorities and unbiased Judgement would be altered and make us prejudiced in favour of our friend or lover. We cant even have sex, not a kiss, not a single whisper full of want escape our lips while behind our eyes we imagine a day when we feel more then our own hand. Sex is primal sensation, an uncontrolled need. A Judge must be composed, thoughtful, decisive, unbiased, and completely in control to do what needs to be done.
Back in school people called him a god- an emotionless, bad-ass, sex god. But he isn't emotionless- I would know; he hides it behind the mask and under scowl. He feels things but he ignores it- he seems to think them as useless. However they were definitely right about the bad-ass. Part of training is hearing about how inferior you are to all the 'real Judges,' very few of them measure up to Dredd.
But sex god? How would the kids back at school know? I understand the god, but as Judges we have very little interaction with or understanding of anything that can be interpreted as sex related. Sure when your in school you look at each other and wonder what it would be like to… you know touch them, sometimes you both want to, but you never do.
Training begins at seven, so its not as if you have time to become comfortable with your… changes. Relationships of romantic or sexual nature are strictly prohibited and are grounds for immediate dishonorable expulsion and five years in the Iso-cube for Obstruction of Justice. Even having sexual relations with yourself are grounds for indefinite suspension.
Besides I don't even know what Dredd looks like. In all the pictures from the academy he was always in full uniform. I guess his strength and his confidence when he's fighting is kind of hot- and it's not like he looks bad in his uniform. But all I see is his scowl, the way he tries to control him self, his pretend contempt for everything, his confusion with what he feels and the way others react…
Even in the hypothetical situation where I felt even a twinge of anything other then professional regard for Dredd, or any one else I would ignore it. We will succeed. We will do what needs to be done to serve the city. With that fresh in my mind, I tensed myself for the roaring motor, and I felt nothing but intrigue for the man behind the mask.

Back in our apartment with a taught jaw Dredd sternly walked to the kitchenette pulling the dishwasher open. His hands gently removed the trays, setting them aside on the floor. Perched on the balls of his feet he leaned into the machine. From my vantage point I could see the shadows of his fingers pulling at seemingly random wires.

"What are you-" was all I got out before he harshly shushed me. His leather-clad fingers glided over the machine like an instrument until from the deep recesses of the machine a small camera surfaced. "What is thi-"

"Patience, Anderson," came a growl from inside of the machine. A red light scanned the room, focusing on Dredds visor before flickering and turning off. It was slow; you might not even notice if you weren't looking for it but ever so stubbly a brick on the wall slid backwards and to the side until a small crack, just enough for a finger to slide through, opened. With a grunt Dredd stood, pulling off his gloves before shoving his middle finger into the wall.

Something strange happened in that moment. My breathing halted, my eyes focused singularly on the exposed skin, I don't think I even blinked in those seconds. The only part of his body I had ever seen was his chin and lips; everything else had always been hidden behind armour.

All of a sudden my eyes were ravenous, desperate to etch his pale olive skin stretched over long elegant digits into my memory, to not overlook the shadows flickering over his hand. Never had anything looked so delicate compared to the rest of his leather and armour clad body. Yet, at the same time never had anything looked so strong, so individually super-human in contrast to the robotic man it was attached to.

For a just a few precious moments, his wrist flicked to better access the fingerprint scanner and showed me something that made me gasp. A deep smooth shadow, creasing in a cross hatched pattern stood in contrast to an angry raised white scar. The battered flesh was obviously, not new, easily thirty years old, yet it still looked so raw. In time with his heart, the scar would pulse, undulating in a hypnotic dance.

Blinking rapidly, I tried to clear my eyes. How can his scar move? That is not possible unless it had punctured the artery and if the top had been sliced out. But if it punctured the artery that badly, he should be dead; he wouldn't have had the time to heal. No one could survive loosing that much blood with out immediate care. How would he even have gotten an injury like that? In the Atomic War he was in his late teens, he must have had it before then. He's always been strong, an outstanding fighter. How would anyone get that close to? He's untouchable.

It must have been someone he trusted enough to expose that delicate of skin too. Must have been someone from before training. When he was a child, naive enough to trust someone. At some point, someone who was a comrade to Dredd, back when he was too unskilled to fight back, nearly killed him.

Dredd's head turned momentarily, and looked me deep in the eyes. Neither of us breathed. He was exposing himself, whether he realised it or not. He was allowing me to see him with out all of his armour. And his scar- to show me he was human- showing me he too failed at one point.

Maybe I was reading into it too much but in that moment; but something changed. I could feel tears behind my eyes forming, I just wanted to take his hand and ask him why. Ask him how he is so strong, ask him who did it. In that moment I wanted nothing more then to take his wrist and kiss that scar, until it faded away into even unbroken skin.

I knew I was staring. I knew it was bad. I knew it was illegal. But I couldn't get past want. In that moment I wanted to give in. I wanted to be just Cassandra, not Anderson. In that moment the haze seemed to envelope us, our eyes locked through his helmet. I knew I was reaching for my glove, I knew I needed him to know. Know I trust him too. I exposed my skin just below my wrist, and pushed my sleeve up, until I knew my scar was showing. In big block letters, slashed through my forearm were the raised words that proclaimed me a freak. MUTANT. My vision blurred while the memory began to flood over me.

Shrieks from a little girl looking for her parents. Rubbing alcohol. Saline. Steal. Beepers going wild. Flat lining. Running. The little girl sitting by herself in the waiting room. Sad faced doctors. The doctor's mouth was moving but the words didn't make sense. A voice that might have been my own screamed.

Big suitcases and caskets, 'Call Me Uncle Max,' taking me home. Smiles and toys- days go by. Leave me be 'Call Me Uncle Max,' I am a big girl I can go potty by myself. Sneers and empty bottles, don't hurt me 'Call Me Uncle Max.' Thoughts that are not my own hitting me over the head. Don't to touch me like that 'Call Me Uncle Max!' Realizing, disgusted roaring 'freak!' Shiny steal and pain, carving and screaming. Stop 'Call Me Uncle Max.' Little hands reaching and hitting 'Call Me Uncle Max' to the floor. Snapping sounds. 'Call Me Uncle Max' doesn't move anymore. Grabbing my arm, running, getting dizzy, too much blood on the ground. Curling up in an alley. Crying for mommy.

Doctors waking me up, telling me I'm lucky I was found when I was. The lonely orphanarium, sad stories, where's my Daddy? Can we keep her? Freak. Kill her. Kick her out. A dark figure telling them to overlook my status. Retake on a failed test. Second chance.

"Anderson-" someone whispers, the voice loaded with thought. I raised my watering eyes.

"Dredd…" I trail off. Both of us latched onto the scars that pushed us beyond our limits.

Not a word more was said. Nothing needed to be. We understood. We both were wronged. Nothing can make us forget what happened. But nothing can stop us from trying to fix it.

The heavy energy of respect buzzed thickly in the air. The mutual need became clear to the both of us. We both need to fix this. End this.

Bricks slid backwards and to the left, exposing a door from the wall he had scanned his hand on, opening just enough to allow us through. The newly exposed room was sterile and white, with no obvious signs of use. Two chairs and a confusing looking set of control panels faced a wall completely covered in monitors. In the adjacent corner sat two sleep machines and a dispenser of pill-form food.

I could feel his thoughts flickering, no matter how hard I tried to keep his privacy. It was obvious, his indecision, say something and acknowledge this or shut down. Take a risk or stay safe. Stay robotic.

"This will be our emergency shelter. The password for entry is in the briefing packet, along with a mandatory eye scan and DNA verification. This room is completely undetectable and virtually indestructible." His jaw was tense, trying to focus enough to take control, trying to move beyond what ever he was thinking. Sitting down at one of the chairs, I looked up at the shrouded eyes willing him to stay open.

I couldn't shake the irony, the two of us sitting in a bomb shelter-command centre that was supposed to keep us intact while it was really we, destroying each other in our own naiveté, were the risk. But this doesn't have to be this way, Dredd. We can be more then Allies. We can be comrades. I will not harm you.

"The council, is as I said, impressed by your actions in Peach Trees, both in the recovery of your weapon, and fast decision making. They are also, obviously impressed by your mental advantage." I wonder if tensing your jaw that hard hurts... Relax for just a minute Dredd. We don't need to be like this. "I have a impressive track record, and I am classified as highly effective in the means dispensing Justice. The council has decided that the combination of our skills would be beneficial to the city." His usual growl sounded tired, almost unsure if that's possible. Unsure if this battle can be won. Sitting down he continued,

"With Ma-Ma's death and the termination of her clan, there will be a struggle in Peach Tree's for control. It is our job to make sure it stays in our control. There is only one way to do that. We identify the forming gangs and hit it hard from the inside."

"This room connects to Peachtree's through a tunnel under the floor." Pointing to a tile, "If you put in the code, you will find it in your briefing packet, it will lift and expose a ladder down into a unused sewage system that goes under sector thirteen. Your GPS will be able to get you under the correct building. A service elevator 'broken' in the fight will take you up to an apartment that is listed in our aliases." Slapping a paper down in front of me he stood and began to pace while I flipped through the pages.

"Why don't the PSU handle this?" They specialize in undercover missions and intelligence recovery; I don't think I had ever heard of Judges going under cover like this.

"Because you can read minds and the council voted on this course of action." His voice had a distinct unexpected tone of annoyance to it that made wonder if even he knew why we were put in charge of this mission. I squared my jaw and looked him in the eyes, refusing to be talked down to.

"Proceed." It doesn't have to be like this Dredd. We are not so different. You don't need to act like you know everything; I can hear that you don't. I can feel your confusion and anger.

His scrunched face relaxed quickly. Whether from surprise of my curtness or from knowing there was another option, I couldn't tell you. His scowl disappeared and melted into neutrality. But just a quickly as I thought he might actually be human, he shut back down into impatience and anger.

"Just read the damned papers Anderson." His voice was angry, with me or the council I couldn't tell. But judging by his silence story time was over, and not wanting to push my luck, I flipped through the pages.

Felicia Brown: originally from Mega City Two. Recently graduating with a degree in children's education, currently unemployed. Felicia Brown has two siblings both several years older. Joy Hawkson-Brown is married with three kids. Timothy Brown Junior enlisted as soon as he was old enough to join the military, was reported MIA after the initial attack of Apocalypse War and was confirmed KIA several weeks later.

Alexander Fishmen: originally from Mega City Two. Graduated with a degree in Computer Science several years ago when he me Felicia Brown. They became roommates out of financial necessity, moving to Mega City One hoping to find work. Alexander just obtained a job working for the IT department at an independent publishing company.

There were no windows in the sterile room, no clocks either, so the concept of time seemed foreign. I flipped through page after page, topic after topic. At around page one hundred I yawned. Be a big kid, you've just finished the Blueprint Analysis. You still have all the detailing to read.

One hundred pages later I came to the conclusion that who ever wrote this was obsessive compulsive. They covered everything from my first pet, (a guard dog named Rodney) to my nicknames for my siblings, (Jo and Tim the Sequel) to my favourite colour in seventh grade (purple.)

At page two hundred and fifty my eyes began to droop. Stay awake. You cannot go to sleep until you have this memorized.

At page three hundred and seventy the letters blurred in ink splotches moving across the page. Come on, only another sixty pages. Just the Threat Assessments…

I groaned against the bright light filtering into the room through a dirty window. Ugh, what time is it? A dull ache in my neck began to complain loudly at the angle my body had knotted its self into. Just one day out from graduating kid and your already getting soft.

With a loud moan I rose to a sitting position, stretching my arms far above my head, letting my feat fall to the floor from the couch. Why are we on the couch? I must have fallen asleep in the shelter, and somehow gotten out here. Dredd's going to be pissed. Did I sleep walk?

Oh god, did he carry me? Jesus, so much for not embarrassing yourself. Not only did he get to see me in very compromising states of undress, have me be a huge liability in the field, almost get killed in my free time, but I fall asleep while doing homework so you can carry me off to bed like a baby too! Aren't we just special?

And here I was thinking we were so similar and relatable. Thinking that we could be friends or something. How the hell can he befriend lets alone respect someone who cant even get briefed with out passing out. That's fucking humiliating kid.

Maybe, if I hurry, I can finish reading and work out before he wakes up. That way when he eats I will be in the shower and we wont talk until after he's done showering. Wow and now you nervous about seeing him? Very mature.

I rolled my eyes at myself, hoping my usual morning routine would clear my head. To blue pills and a yellow one for breakfast, a wife beater and leather gloves for my date with a punching bag.

Bam! I let my fists fly, watching the bag undulate. How am I supposed to be Felicia? One hundred rapid-fire hits. I've never been to Mega City Two. Jog in place,. I my supposed to want to open my own kindergarten but the only kids I remember being around were future Judges. Push yourself harder damn it. Some reformed party girl with a soft spot for light beer and hard drugs. Sprint! I've never been to party or had caffeine, let alone slow-mo. Drop and give me two hundred. How am I supposed to act around some one who is my best friend? What do you even do with a best friend? Four hundred-sit ups newbie. Fucking hell, by transitive property Dredd is my new best friend.

This will be interesting wont it kiddo?

Well my doves what do you think? You better tell me if you want more. The more you say the more I write. The more I write the sooner I update.

So tell me my Peach Tree's who hurt our angst filled Dredd? Who saved our lovely optimistic Anderson?

That is for me to know and you to find out.