The Aurora Prophecy

by FsDxRAGE

Ten years after the events of "Deception", the Heiko family finds themselves taking surreptitious refuge on the planet Bekenstein, hiding from forces much larger than themselves. Gia Heiko, an eighteen year old quarian girl, has a bizarre dream that snaps something deep in the government, spilling the zeal of a guileful politician who unleashes a living nightmare upon the family.

6. Chapter Five - Incendiary

Remember, there is art that goes with each chapter on my blog on the BSN which is linked in my profile page! Check it out! The writing is only half of the story!

The Aurora Prophecy - Chapter Five - Incendiary

Gia's morning was off to a bad start, bad being a massive understatement. Today had to have been the second worst day in her pathetic life.

She grinned under her mask—her smile shaking with menace and raw, bare nerves.

There were only a couple of hours left before they let the students out.

So far so good.

That actually meant no police had shown up at her classroom door with handcuffs and guns drawn. How long was she going to be able to get away with murder?

Mr. Burns commanded the front of the classroom. He stared down his twenty-eight students, all of whom glared back, stewing in a room rank with fear. He was the teacher of the engineering class that used CAD (Computer Aided Design) to do designs on drafting software. As the semester was coming to an end in a couple weeks, Mr. Burns set out on a zealous warpath regime filled with exams and pop quizzes. Both of Mr. Burns' hands rested on his slender hips, grinning, yellow teeth hidden under a full mustache. He could see the fear in his student's faces—he enjoyed it.

Gia forcefully smiled back and held the grin.

"Okay, I hope you all studied for your exam today," he said, readjusting those thick glasses, his cataract muddled eyes fogging his student's future expectations, grades, and endeavors. He enjoyed toying with his kids and giving them a tough time—he was an old school human teacher. "You are going to need it because I am giving you a shape and using descriptive geometry, you need to give me its true dimensions."

"What about the vocabulary?" asked Laura, Gia's arch nemesis. She was a big time bitch.

"I lied about that," laughed Mr. Burns.

The class moaned, all except Gia whose teeth were clenched and fists sewed shut with anticipation, the emotion not being fueled by the incoming exam.

Everyone's hearts had to have been jogging inside their ribs, but Gia's was performing a triathlon, jumping hurdles, dodging bullets, and dancing a samba with the arteries. For five hours, she had been scared shitless because of what happened at Milgrom Intergalactic. What scared her even more was that nothing has happened.

"You have until the end of class to finish. When you are done, send it to the front desk and you may head to lunch," said the teacher.

This was no time for an exam. She was going to have a hard time keeping her mind on the test and steadying her fingers enough to adequately complete the point and click drawing. She just killed someone and was evading the police; now she was sitting at her desk with a handgun stashed in her bag and avoiding the police that had to have been searching for her.

Who was she kidding?

She just killed a person not four hours ago and she was worrying about getting a good grade? It had not truly sunken in quite yet. The exam appeared on the monitor built into her desk. The shape was some sort of deformed octagon skewed and at an awkward angle. Using the two-dimensional screen, they had to find the true lengths on each line while the shape was at this odd perspective. It was a pain in the ass to the other kids, a cake walk for her.

Gia grabbed her mouse and shot a quick glance at the front of the class. Mr. Burns gave her a wink and crossed his arms—his blue plaid long sleeved shirt looked like a straight-jacket strangulating his avian anatomy. He had sawdust on his blue jeans from the woodshop class earlier that day. Laura sighed, seeing the teacher's pet—Gia in this case—get undeserved treatment.

Since Bekenstein was a human colony, Gia was the only "alien" in the school of twelve hundred students, all human. There was a turian several years ago but his family packed up and moved, tired of the discrimination. Bekenstein shined like a ripe piece of fruit hanging in the galactic fruit tree, its outer shell soft, welcoming, and accommodating. It is called the human's Illium. Little did outsiders know the planet has three parasitic worms devouring the inside called racism, pride, and prejudice. Gia was now on the receiving end, but it had hardened her—crudely shaped a verbal carapace where insults ricochet off her shell. It also made her an anti-social prick and an outcast. She had quite a few acquaintances in school, people who willingly invited Gia into groups when the teacher would say, "Partner up!" for a chemistry experiment or to talk discuss Walt Whitman.

Those two words have been mentally checked off as Gia's least favorite words in her I Hate Those Words list.

Laura Mackintire was tied with partner up.

"Gia, when you are done with the exam, I want you to stay behind," said Mr. Burns.

The whole class ooooooooooh'ed at Gia.

"Shaddup," she said back, having a tough time holding back a subtle chuckle.

Her class was tight since all of them had been together for four years. Most of those aformentioned acquaintances were in this class, including Gia's best friend, Norry Beck, her pudgy human friend who sat right next to Gia. Norry also caught a lot of verbal flack since the beginning of high school, her weight being the primary target.

For a split second, Gia forgot she had killed someone, and that Detective Landford had called her as she was fleeing the crime scene at the spaceport garage where a goddamn firefight had occurred.

On Gia's HUD, she noticed three missed calls, one from her dad, Toby or Allen, she didn't know what that asshole went by anymore, and two from Detective Landford.

What did the Detective want with her and why did he call right after she killed someone? Sure he was a family friend, but he was also fully able to throw Gia into a jail cell for twenty plus years.

Using the mouse, Gia started with the closest line, trying to find its true length.

She did not have the nerve to pick up the detective's phone calls since locking down a tight alibi was her primary objective. Gia told her mom that she arrived at school early to study and she decided to stay with that story, even if her boss, Chef Athena, had seen her at work and has her location documented when she punched in.

It was worth a shot.

Why her dad called her, she did not know. She had not talked to him since she saw him last, two weeks ago. Their conversations always detonated into a mushroom cloud with radioactive fallout anyways and she had the feeling he did not want to get caught on fire again.

She also noticed he left a voicemail. That will be deleted without a second thought.

The first part of deciphering descriptive geometry was always the toughest. Once Gia cracked the code, she began finding the sides with ease and soon finished the exam.

"Mr. Burns," asked Laura with the sweetest voice possible. All Gia heard was sugar coated rat poisoning. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

Gia bored a hole into the back of Laura's skull. Her hair resembled the assassin she killed—long and golden, like the rays of the sun, but Gia could only think of how the sun causes cancer. Maybe Laura's hair gave her brain cancer—made a tumor that pushed on the frontal lobe making her act like an aggressive bitch.

"No, you 'can't,' Laura."

"May I go to the bathroom?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth and Gia pictured Laura rolling both eyes in annoyance at Mr. Burns.

"Yes you may."

Gia watched her walk out on those long legs. Gia always though Laura's dad must be a blind guy who married and had a daughter with a giraffe, and Gia always hoped Laura would slam her head on the door frame walking out of a room.

With a swipe of her finger, Gia fired Mr. Burns the test and stood up to go into the woodshop to pass time. She should have browsed the extranet on news articles about the shootout, but didn't feel like throwing up.

"Are you done already?" asked Mr. Burns, dumbfounded.

"That was too easy, Mr. Burns."

"I gave the rest of the class a handicap and you still get done first," he said.

"You…" Gia looked over at Yen's desk, one of her rivals in an academic sense, to check his test. Indeed their shape was different and easier. "Well I am smarter than everyone here," Gia quipped. Yen covered his monitor with his backpack and whispered profanity at Gia with a combustible frown.

"You're just mad, Yen, because your hair looks like a mushroom," said Gia, laughing.

"My mom cuts my hair," he said back, his voice deeper than what should have come out of that frail body.

"Your mom should feel bad then."

"Gia, stop talking during the exam," hissed Mr. Burns, swiveling in his chair to aim himself fully at Gia.

Gia threw her hands up and went into the woodshop adjacent to the classroom.

Mr. Burns, in his younger days, was a professional motorcyclist and in the corner of the woodshop was his own racing bike, its carbon-fiber shell taken off revealing the engineering porn that is the frame and engine of the super-bike. He was the one that talked Gia into getting a petrol powered bike—he said it is the most pure driving experience.

Gia could feel the extra weight of the pistol in her backpack. It constantly tugged at her, desiring more attention.

It terrified her and the gravity of this situation slammed things back into perspective.

Her stomach grumbled, but the thought of putting food into her skull was revolting. The shattered face of Fireneck flashed in her mind's eye.

The white splintered bone.

Oil spilled pupils.

The lagoon of blood.

So much blood.

Gia walked over to the tool cabinet and grabbed a chisel, the slimmest she could find, and put it into her pocket. Paranoid, she shot a glance at Mr. Burns having the feeling he saw her. Instead, he was grading her exam at his desk, nodding in approval.

Bringing a live firearm into a school would get her a ticket into jail. The thought of dumping it into the school's dumpster crossed her mind, but what if the assassins that were supposedly chasing her walked in during class or at lunch?

What if someone saw her dumping the firearm?

What if they traced it back to her?

What if Harris Liebermann was telling the truth about the assassins and her dream and the things she saw in her dream?

The numbers.
The lullaby.
The two hot yolks.

The sunrise.

The lake.

The three eggs in a basket.

The terrorist attack in front of King's Bank and the profoundly odd correlations.

Keeping the chisel in her pocket or backpack might save her life in a snatch and if she did get caught with it, she would not be tossed into the back of a police cruiser, rather get chewed out by the principal. Maybe suspended, but she could always use the excuse of I forgot I was carrying it.

The same could not be said about a goddamn handgun.

None of it made sense, but a man put his life down to tell Gia. She had to figure out what it all meant. Surely it was all real and the nut job Doc knew what he was talking about. To Gia's left, she heard her name being said by an all too familiar voice.

Gia's heart punched her in the chest and she ducked down out of sheer animalistic instinct to survive.

Officer Grant, one of the school cops had walked into Mr. Burns' room in search for his star student.

"Is Gia Toshiko here today, Mr. Burns?" he asked in what Gia's human classmates called a "Scottish" accent, which was rare nowadays.

"What did she do now?" asked Mr. Burns.

All of Gia's classmates had stopped their exam and looked curiously to the police officer.

"I was just wondering where she was," said the officer who looked like a two-hundred and fifty pound bald, pale bear.

"She walked into the woodshop not a minute ago," said Mr. Burns.

"Thanks.

Three wide glass windows looked out over the classroom from the shop, so if Gia stood she would be in full view of Officer Grant. On all fours, Gia crawled over to the emergency exit, slowly opened the door, and shuffled out into the hallway, avoiding Officer Grant. The door protested with a rusty groan, but the officer did not hear its alert. Gia released a wide breath of air and leaned against the metal door. Two freshmen getting books from their lockers gave Gia an odd stare. Gia saluted them and slowly got to two feet.

"I went that way," she said, pointing to her left.

The two boys nodded, realizing she was a senior and wanted respect from their higher classmen.

"You two have block one lunch, right?" she asked, their two freckled faces seeming oddly familiar.

They both nodded in unison.

"I will buy you both soft drinks later. Thanks," she said, slapped their hands, and ran down the hallway and towards the girl's bathroom that should make for a decent hiding spot. Officer Grant would not look in there because she is a quarian and her suit does everything for her. Seldom had she stepped foot in the bathroom during her almost four years of attending school here. During her freshmen year, she sometimes stopped in the bathroom—dismissed herself from class to think and cry over what she did all those years ago to her family.

She was a stronger, tougher woman than that pathetic little quarian she once embodied. Never did she want to become like her former self ever again in any circumstance. In the near future—through this soon to be long and brutal journey that she is going to have to endure on her own, certain situations might break her into pieces, but no matter what, she promised to herself that she would pick herself up and try her best to glue those itsy bitsy fragments of Gia back together.

The bathrooms in Milgrom Central High School were particularly nice—slate floor, timber wolf gray quartz sinks, and spotless. While Gia's reactions were fast, she had not thought through the situation, and found herself face to face with an acerbic creature sitting on the sink smoking a cigarette.

Laura slowly craned her head towards Gia—who pressed her back against the wall—and let out a smug grunt curled in tobacco smoke that smells like vanilla.

"You aren't going to tell on me, are you?" asked Laura, waving the cigarette cockily.

Gia poked her head around the corner of the bathroom and spotted Officer Grant walking down the hallway, his heavy boot-steps sounding like war drums—his handcuffs jingling like chain mail—a sword loose it its sheathe. Gia largely ignored Laura. Her heart pounded blood through her skull—behind her ears and worked its way into her neck. Why was Officer Grant taking his dear old time trying to find her?

Shouldn't the whole police department be storming the school in search of Gia, the assassin killer; Gia the murderous line cook?

Did Detective Landford hint to Officer Grant that Gia was a suspect—a criminal in the Milgrom Intergalactic Spaceport shootout? Milgrom had an excellent police force—Gia knew them all too well. How have they not found her yet? In Gia's honest opinion, she expected a Special Response team to breach into her first class during roll-call and take her away for the murder of Miss Blond Woman Killer and the crazy doctor, Harris Liebermann.

Laura stared out the doorway at Officer Grant passing by. She casually blew smoke out of the corner of her prissy mouth and rolled her eyes, not caring if she was caught or not. It was the end of the year.

"Are you hiding from someone, Gia Toshiko?" asked Laura, loud enough for the Officer to hear her.

Laura sneered at Gia.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" snapped Gia, whispering. "What have I done to you?" Gia's temper was not on simmer, but "burn-the-shit-out-of-everything" high. This was Gia's freedom and life on the line. She had to build up a strong alibi and not get caught by the officer lurking in the hallway in search of the quarian murderer.

"I don't really know, to tell you the truth," admitted Laura, dabbing her cigarette off the edge of the porcelain sink.

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"I guess I don't like the look of you."

"You have been giving me shit because you don't like the look of me?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Gia leaned off the wall and walked closer to Laura, asking in a low whisper, "Let me get this straight: you have put me through utter embarrassment and pain all these years because you 'don't like the look of me'?"

Laura blew smoke in Gia's face. The plume was deflected by her orange tinted mask.

"Yup. Officer Grant?" she said while still sitting on the sink, swinging her long legs that were barely covered with a strap of denim, shattering the dress code. "Gia is in he—"

Gia grabbed Laura's mouth and shoved her head into the mirror above the sink. A spiral crowned Laura's head as her hard skull knocked the glass mirror and her blue eyes shot open in shock and probably pain.

Good.

"Don't say another word," zipped Gia.

After all these years of holding back pent up rage, it was time to release the pressure cooker of frustration inside—pull off the cap before the steam hissed out.

Laura meekly kicked Gia in the thigh in a futile attempt to get the short quarian off her.

She could not hear Officer Grant in the hallway anymore. Gia reasserted herself in keeping a hand covered over Laura's bitchy, loud mouth.

"Mef off fme vumver uffer."

Laura had no idea what she was restraining, no idea what Gia had gotten into. The worst thing Laura had done was get marked off on homework or stay out with her jackass friends after Mommy and Daddy's curfew, drinking until they vomited off the balcony of their favorite club, too weak to stomach the hard stuff.

Gia let go of Laura.

"Goddamn it, Gia! What's your problem?"

"You might think it would be you, but sorry to tell you, babe, but it ain't you," said Gia.

"You're a freak. You want to know why people hate you?"

Gia stood silent.

"You're an asshole to everyone. Your attitude towards others is negative."

"Oh, and yours isn't?" Gia almost screamed.

The Devil had appeared on Gia's shoulder, his trident poised above his head, ready to spear and skewer.

"We tried to show you hospitality but once you got to high school—into your freshmen year, you changed," said Laura.

Gia crossed her arms and said, "You have no idea what happened to me over that summer. I've felt more pain than you ever will."

Laura grimly smiled, like Death had slashed her face with his sickle. When Gia gets into arguments with people, she sometimes knows by the look on their faces that something vile or hurtful was going to come out of their mouths before actually saying it. Gia had that feeling.

"There has been a rumor going around about what happened—what you did."

Laura's words were coated in poison, making Gia want to throw up. They hit harder than any punch in any bar fight she had been in.

"We know what you did, Gia Toshiko."

Laura walked out of the bathroom, dabbing her cigarette out on Gia's chest, putting a black pockmark on her orange robe.

"How?" Gia asked more to herself as Laura walked out.

Suddenly, the whole murder did not seem as bad as the news she just received. It was a closely guarded secret that only her parents, some of her teachers, a small portion of the police force, and Detective Landford knew about—possibly even Chef Athena.

In a daze, Gia walked out of the bathroom, her thoughts flurrying in front of her eyes, blocking out Officer Grant's monstrous form standing right in front of her.

"Gia, I was looking for you," he said, his accent thick and swoopy.

"You got me, Officer," she said, pressing both wrists into the officer's stomach.

This is how it was going to end, how she was going out and without a bang—more like a wet whistle, much like slowly releasing the air from a balloon.

"Okay, stop acting goofy, Gia. Your counselor, Dr. Jeff, needs to see you up in his office," said Officer Grant.

"Wha-what?"

She could not believe it.

"Dr. Jeff wants you. You know, it's your quarterly diagnosis."

"Oh," she said, perking up, "It's that time again?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Officer, I will head up there right now. Thanks for letting me know."

Puzzled, yet delighted and empowered with a sense of renewal, Gia briskly power walked towards the stairs that led to the second story of her school and to the counselor offices.

"Get over it and move on," she told herself, blowing air out of the corner of her mouth—subtly releasing the steam, the stress. Maybe Laura was lying, fighting Gia with psychological warfare. On the thought of psychological warfare, Gia came to the sudden and blunt realization of where Officer Grant had sent her—basically to her death.

The guidance counselor.

For four years, four times a year, she had to see Dr. Jeff to talk about her problems with him to painful depths. It was an infuriating tug of war game. Dr. Jeff was always so happy to see her, where Gia, on the other hand, was ready to flip his pompous desk, smash him with his chair, and push his limp cadaver out the window.

"Just kill me now," she puffed as she grabbed the handle to the guidance counselors' offices and pushed it open.

"Oh hello, Gia!" said Mrs. Jona behind the desk.

"Hey," waved Gia.

"Don't forget to sign in!" she squealed, grinning madly at Gia. All Gia could do was shluf her right shoulder and cock her head in an are you kidding me crook. Mrs. Jona looked like a slug sprouting from her desk, her segmented rolls of fat resembling those of a worm, tapering to a tip that was the orange bun on her head. If Mrs. Jona was any dumber, she probably would have devoured her hair ornament thinking it was a cinnamon roll, and then proceed to lick the hair spray off her sausage fingers thinking it was icing.

"Nah, I'm good."

"Honey, you must sign in," she persisted, holding a steady grin.

Gia peered at Dr. Jeff's oaken door, wanting to get it over with, then at the holographic notepad. She needed to build a solid alibi documenting where she was and at what time was going to be key. Gia, without reluctance, skipped to the holopad and signed her name. Gia let the angel on her other shoulder take over. Soon, the police would be asking questions once they suspected Gia as the perpetrator in the shootout. Having people say she was in a good mood was going to further slow the police's progression and maybe even get them off her tail. She was taking a risk, staying at school. It was a risk worth taking, or so she thought. She probably just cornered herself and had not even realized it yet.

Gia finished putting her time of arrival in and fought the urge to slam the pressure pen into the desk, or even into Mrs. Jona's hand, that looked like someone had nuked a marshmallow.

With a satisfied hrmpf, Mrs. Jona crossed those pudgy fingers in her lap and observed Gia, who awkwardly stood there.

"He's taking a call right now," said Mrs. Jona. "He should be right with you."

"You look pretty today, Mrs. Jona," commented Gia, mustering a smile that she would not see behind the veil.

"Oh, why thank you, sweetheart!"

"I like your… erm, bun," said Gia, wishing to see Mrs. Jona grab her hair with those pudgy hands, unhinge her jaw, and swallow her scalp like an overzealous snake devouring a rat too big for its own good.

"Really?" asked the receptionist, tapping her hair.

"Yeah, pulling your hair back makes your face look younger," Gia clumsily spat, realizing she just insulted poor old ugly Mrs. Jona. "No, I-I mean your face was beautiful before," stammered Gia, waving her hands in the air, constructing an invisible orchestra, "I mean to say it pulls your jowls back and… ah shit."

Under her helmet, Gia's cheeks combusted.

"Just… stop right there, sweetie pie," said Mrs. Jona after being eviscerated by a suited alien who knew nothing about fashion.

"I suck at talking to people, you—"

"Just stop."

"I mean to say… okay."

Gia showed her back to Mrs. Jona, whispering, "Sorry."

Gia entered the sitting area as instructed and stared at the surroundings in disgust. She hated this place, hated herself. She hated it when people tried to help with problems that did not need tending to and hated how they probed her mind—treating her like some kind of damn brain dead kid who couldn't take care of her own goddamn problems. She is not some sort of vegetable with two legs encased in a garage bag with a dirty fish bowl for a head. These quarterly "meetings" ever since the Incident had begun to chafe the open wound into a diseased cyst pit. Gia glared at Mrs. Jona, and then to the chair awaiting her—its armrests were inviting Gia to sit on its blue cushioned lap, like she would with her father before going to sleep.

He used to tell her stories about adventures in space, all harrowing. Mom always yelled at him for telling such stories, but the danger put her to sleep, where boring stories filled with happy thoughts and peace made her want to slap her father—he knew better than to tell stories about romance and princesses. She wanted spaceship battles and lasers. Taking the backpack off her shoulder, she lobbed it into the chair's hollow embrace instead of submitting to its artificial hug. Only a chair would welcome a murder weapon so tolerantly, because it was a structure—a machine built for a single purpose: to let anything sit in its lap. A large window overlooked the school courtyard where water sprouted from the lips of a fountain and caught the afternoon sun's rays. The water fell planet-side like silver coins spraying from the vented mouth of a jackpot slot machine. It looked as hot as it felt outside. The end of the school year was approaching as were the record temperatures for the summer heat, yet the inside of this cursed waiting room resembled purgatory, was cold enough to chill dead bodies. That was how she felt in here: dead. Gia's counselor shifted from beyond the door and cleared his throat. As he opened the door, Gia turned her back to him and grabbed her backpack.

"Ms. Toshiko, how are you doing this afternoon?" Dr. Jeff asked Gia's back.

Gia knew she had to maintain a steady and content mood, for if the police were to investigate Gia as the suspect of the shootout, they would surely make contact with all the people Gia had seen and talked to the day of the incident.

A drop of hope rippled in an ocean of doubt deep in her stomach.

The security cameras would have… should have caught her in the act and she should have been apprehended minutes after the firefight. Many hours later, she was still untouched. This encounter with Dr. Jeff was going to be the hardest of them all. They got along like a rottweiler and a burglar.

Clawing at her backpack, she said, "Excellent," in the most pleasant tone she could possibly muster. To Gia, it sounded nervous and threadbare.

Dr. Jeff, taken by surprise with Gia's mood, smiled and waved at her to come in his office. She complied reluctantly.

Dr. Jeff closed the ten foot oak door behind Gia.

Thwunk.

It was as if Dr. Jeff's office was vacuum sealed—cutting Gia off from the world so he could dominate her in this arena of psychological gladiatorial matches where both he and Gia would fight to no quick death: Dr. Jeff would usually bleed Gia out by the time he was done with her.

Gia stood in place, hand crimped around the padded strap of her backpack that concealed a weapon that had taken life.

Dr. Jeff smiled, his dimples sucking into his oily face and his black arrogant, yet sincere eyes sparkled with intrigue. His chestnut hair reminded Gia of a guinea pig's head, a common household pet here on Bekenstein. Norry, her good and only friend, had one locked up in a cage at her house. Even when the Doc spoke, his two front teeth were the only ones that showed when he opened his small mouth that had to be used only for feverishly chewing on carrots and other root vegetables. Gia imagined his little hands were paws when he crossed them under his chin.

He was, in a sense, a fur-less guinea pig in a blue and white striped dress shirt and gray slacks with a fresh doctorate degree in psychology and a master degree in xenocommunication that made him feel like the king of the whole fucking world. It was displayed on the wall behind him, so when you made eye contact with him, you couldn't help but stare at the fancy papering and blue cursive ink.

It gave the illusion that the framed certification was sitting atop his head just like a crown.

"So, you are feeling good today?" he started, opening a paw towards a seat to the left of his desk.

As soon as she sat down he would turn his chair to face hers; Gia hated sitting there.

Their knees always touched.

"Yeah, I am." She took a seat, clasping onto her backpack as she set it into her lap. She tried to think of stereotypical things to say—something a bitchy, spoiled teenage girl would spew. "Hopefully I can get into Culinary Arts of Thessia in a couple of months. I'm excited about starting a new life—fresh slate."

"You do have the requirements," said the Doc, his face more animated than it should have been. "And you are a very sharp girl," he said quickly, avoiding the subject of college.

The girls in Gia's school all swooned over Dr. Jeff. When word got out that Gia and the Doc were having quarterly sessions with each other, sometimes for hours on end, Gia could have built a yacht out of the female population's jealousy and sailed on their envy. He was young, friendly, charismatic, and apparently good looking to all of the girls.

Gia couldn't get past his fake smile, button eyes, over animated facial expressions, and the whole guinea pig correlation.

He was vile and disrespected Gia's psychological privacy.

Then again, he was supposed to break past those mental barriers Gia had constructed—that was what Mom and Toby wanted.

"I know I'm sharp," stated Gia, peering out the window and into Bekenstein's star. The sun outside was bright and buried itself deep into the back of Gia's head, triggering the hangover's last couple of blows before it melted away into a throb, then nothing.

There was an awkward silence and the Doc just smiled at Gia. Gia shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"What?"

"Hm?" hummed the Doc.

He stared at Gia longer.

"Are you trying to read my mind you creep?"

The Doc burst out laughing, but it was muffled by the stagnant and… hostile atmosphere in the room.

Keep a friendly composure.

"So, this is your last visit, Gia. I bet you are excited," he said, still smiling, leaning back in his chair, cupping the back of his head, trying not to fracture his gelled rodent hair. "We've had some good conversations in the past, haven't we, Gia?"

"Yeah, we have. I feel like I got to know myself better and have become a better person since the Incident. I am more mellow and conservative," she lied, trying to get out of this place as fast as possible. "You did well, Doc," she chuckled, punching him in the shoulder playfully.

Dr. Jeff was grinning so wide that his beady eyes were hidden behind folds of skin.

"You're lying, Gia," he fired back, grinning. "I can sense turmoil in you—a fuse lit to a thermonuclear bomb—thermite about to burn through your metal shell. You are packed full of incendiary chemicals."

He leaned forward, putting a hand on Gia's knee. Her skin crawled and she jumped, breathing heavily. Taking out the pistol and shooting him in the face momentarily crossed her mind. Gia's sixth sense felt this touch was different from the others. There was a negative, clammy energy to his hand.

Maybe it was just the whole situation of… well killing someone hours ago that was hitting her.

This morning still felt like a dream—a nightmare, and Gia was not at all shocked about what happened. She was more worried about getting caught.

"Gia," he said, his voice smaller than normal, "You can tell me anything."

"I have nothing to tell you, Doc."

"How are your folks doing? Are they okay?"

"Mom is pissed at me for being defiant," she truthfully said, her eyes flicking up from the Doc's hand into his smug smile. "And you are right, I did lie—nothing I said was true. I am getting worse—you being the culprit."

His hand left her knee and Gia was able to breathe again. She wanted to cut off her own leg, right above where his thumb was.

"What happened?" he asked, scooting closer to Gia, his tie swinging like a pendulum edging closer to Gia's throat.

The negative, radioactive energy he seemed to leak moments ago was completely gone. His intimacy and friendliness overwhelmed Gia. She thought to herself that she should just be truthful about anything he asked—do not deceive him, Dr. Jeff was going to win anyways, so she shouldn't prolong the pain.

"I went out drinking last night and got home a couple hours before waking up to go to school."

"Did you go with any friends?"

"This's a joke, right?"

Dr. Jeff put on a cryptic grin.

"I don't have any friends, Doc. You know that."

"What about Norry?"

"Are you kidding me?" she spat, laughing. "Norry is a hermit and has never missed a homework assignment in her life. The only way she might understand the word 'liquor' would be correlated with the black liquorish flavored jelly beans she buys at lunch."

"How is your relationship with your friend Norry?" asked Dr. Jeff, his upper lip curling, revealing his white rodent teeth.

"We are going to miss each other when I leave Bekenstein, though we promised to stay in contact."

"What does Norry think about you leaving?"

His tone was quiet and Gia could not understand what he was getting at. His knee bumped into Gia's.

She squirmed.

"All high school students must understand that after the four years together, we are all going our separate ways. Only an incompetent, selfish oaf doesn't understand that."

"This is our last time together, Gia," repeated Dr. Jeff.

A cloud outside blocked the sun.

"I am grateful for that."

Dr. Jeff's hand moved from Gia's right knobby knee to her upper leg, his spooned fingertips sliding to the inside of her thigh.

Murdering that blond assassin and watching the crazy old doctor named Harris Liebermann was traumatizing. The sight of Dr. Liebermann's disassembled skull flattened on the polished concrete floor of the garage—his dead gaze, expanding black pupils, and right eye that loosely swiveled in its socket paled in comparison to the touch of Dr. Jeff's hand. Gia dared not flinch in fear that he would explode—pounce and her screams would not be heard through the suffocation of the oak door.

"What do you mean you are grateful?" he asked, smiling maniacally.

Scurrying to find a breath, Gia whispered, "You're a horrible person. You haven't helped me one bit, but made me worse. Every time I come into this office, you try to wound me—probe at my sore spots that have scabbed over only to make them bleed again. You enjoy the pleasure of being dominant since you were probably bullied in high school. Joining college was the best thing you could have done. There you obtained weapons in which you are able to cleave into my mind and into the minds of others. When you saw an opening as a guidance counselor in a high school, you attacked that position until you got it. Now, you are making up the fantasy that you have always had as a teenager: being the most popular in school, getting the girls, and all that good 'ole perverted shit. I look into your eyes and see nothing behind that blank stare. You are a husk of a person, a fucked up pervert and you enjoy these sessions with me." Gia grabbed his wrist and pulled is sucker hand off her thigh. "You still do not understand why your poisonous spell has not worked with me. I should have been your slave by now—doing anything you wanted me to do like Laura did."

Dr. Jeff's wide smile slowly faded. Gia continued.

"There are rumors floating about that you two are together. You are angry at my resilience towards your mind games since Laura submitted so easily. When I come into your office and we have our sessions together, you try to dominate me and you think that you can. Guess what, pal? I act that way so I can get out. Sometimes, you do actually get an emotional response from me. Sometimes you do get in my head—not now though. I can call sexual harassment on you and get your ass fired, or maybe get you put in jail. This whole guidance counselor gig you are running is just a game, you psychopath. The sense of domination you hold over the opposite sex is thrilling to you and I'm your special little pet that has yet been cracked. You thought that maybe showing intimate contact with me by gently grabbing my thigh would break me since I am alone in this goddamn world. Just maybe I would fall into your arms, sobbing like some teenager who just went through their first breakup…you thought maybe you'd woo me enough and I would take off my mask for you. Well listen here, Dr. Jeff, you might not have figured me out, but I know you better than you know me. Being a quarian and having this suit, I have the capability to record everything I do. Your hand on me is recorded, so if you will excuse me, I am going to show this footage to Officer Grant. Then I am going to watch you get pushed into the back of his police cruiser in handcuffs. I hope you meet some big sweaty friends in jail that find you as enticing as you do me, so fuck you and have a nice day."

Gia pushed her chair back and walked towards the door, feeling insulted, violated, fighting the urge to break Dr. Jeff's face with the chair she was sitting on.

"Gia, before you show Officer Grant the footage, I have one question for you."

Gia spun around and noticed the grin still plastered across his face, like she hadn't just unloaded this nuclear bomb of information on him.

"I would love to hear you plead to me," said Gia vindictively. "Go on, kiss my feet and beg."

"Your parents set me up to monitor your psychological behavior four years ago—your freshmen year. They never told me why you snapped over the summer, they said it was none of my business, but I am friends with the police department."

Dr. Jeff leaned back his brown leather chair, propping his feet on the desk.

Gia's stomach dropped and she felt gravity ferociously tugging on her now serious face. She could still taste blood from her earlier encounter with One Thumb and Fireneck as she accidentally clenched, biting open the wound.

"It all makes sense now," he laughed, jabbing his finger at Gia from across the room. "Your parents got a divorce because you did something very naughty."

The divorce.

Divorce.

That word packed a punch.

A day had not passed when Gia ponders upon what she did to her family—she essentially destroyed it in a single, blink-of-the-eye action four years ago, the summer right before starting high school. Because of her, Gia created a fissure in her parent's relationship. This only compounded with what they went through ten years ago on the Citadel with the Hunter and Citadel Security Special Response.

"That was my dad's fault," whispered Gia, fist on the door handle.

"Oh, you tell yourself that, yet I have come to the conclusion that it was your fault. You separate yourself from people because you believe that you ruin others' lives with your interaction. In fact, you are not the little bitch you seem to be, but an altruist in the crudest form. You are helping people by not bonding with them, subjecting yourself to all your hardships alone while not sharing your problems with other friends based off of your past experiences. Gia, you are killing yourself and I don't want to stop you."

Gia stood at the door and the cloud passed, light filling the room, illuminating a truly evil smile on Dr. Jeff's oily, smooth face.

"I hate you," muttered Gia, and for the first time in years, she felt tears brim on her eyelids. They were hot with anger.

"As does everyone else, my girl." Dr. Jeff stood from his chair and pushed his rat paws deep into his pockets while pacing to the window, staring out at the fountain, not making eye contact with his puppet.

"If you give that footage to the officer, you will regret it. I have the power to tell the Culinary Institute of Thessia to reject you due to psychological behaviors and problems, and that is me being nice. If I wanted to, I could have you thrown into a mental hospital."

He turned to Gia, still smiling, the sun throwing auburn highlights in his gelled hair. He was a burning man.

"I am your master while you are my puppet. I control you whether you like it or not," he said in such a jolly manner Gia would have thought he was joking. "I own this school and the kids in it. Yes, I am having a romantic relationship with Laura and have been for some time. You are all puppets," he finished, making gestures with his hands, turning them into puppet mouths. "Since I have proven to you I have power over you, I have one request before you leave my office."

Dr. Jeff walked over to the door where Gia stood and pushed in the lock, bolting the door shut. The atmosphere in the room became heavy and the thought of assassins, the dream, the numbers, the lake, the two egg yolks, the riddle, and the murder, all becoming a fantasy in which Gia would have preferred to endure.

Dr. Jeff's hands came up to Gia's face, groping for some sort of release hatch.

"I need to see your face before you leave. I've been giving therapy to a blank stare for four years and I deserve to see the person behind the mask."

Gia pressed her back against the door, unsure of what to do. Fight and her puppet master would snip her strings, leaving her out of college and in a mental hospital.

"Th-that will kill me," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered.

Gia pushed him off her and he went stumbling backwards, colliding with his desk. His coffee mug fell over, the hot brew spilling across his desk, steam throbbing from the puddle. He laughed and stroked his chin, ashamed and enraged. His oily cheeks went red with frustration and failure—the psychopath predator was this close to digging its teeth into his prized possession.

"I am going to put a call in later this afternoon, Gia," he said disappointed.

"I'm already ruined, you sack of shit. Anything you try to do to me is pointless."

Gia wanted to pull the gun out of her backpack and unload into his chest—turn him into a colander that siphoned blood from his organs.

"I know you are. Your parents do not love you, you have one friend that you are going to abandon soon, you have no future, you have destroyed the only stable thing in your life—your family—and now you are under my complete control. So think twice before submitting that footage. If you change your mind about things, I will be in my office waiting for you. If you come back, I will not ruin your life. I just want a peek."

He smiled, the red in his face subsiding.

"Have a nice lunch, Gia."

The Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Brian Hilliard punched the button to open the elevator door to his secondary apartment that was much closer to King's Bank than his other one. It had been several hours since his close encounter with death and since then, he used the shadows to his advantage and had camped out in a public restroom, trying to clean the gore off himself so when he went back out in public, he would not get stares and raise suspicion. His clothes were still damp and the blood on his legs had crusted over, tugging painfully on his leg hair. Luckily, Toby's leather jacket took most of the gray matter from that goddamn freak's explosive entrance. The leather wiped down easily as did his face and hands.

The elevator binged open and to Brian's luck, it was empty.

He punched his floor number and the doors closed, launching him up towards the sky.

He had to get the hell off this station, and the only way he was to do it was with the help of Pira.

He did not want to drag her into this. He was sure that he was going to leave a fingerprint behind that could lead trouble hurdling right into her lap. Over his dead body would any harm come to Pira.

This was like something ripped from a nightmare and planted into reality—an insane plot drawn out by a fiction novelist to test the elasticity of their protagonist. The freak he had faced in the bathroom was a shadow that lurked in the depths of REM sleep that held an insurmountable amount of power; an inky shape that had morphed to man. He was not… natural. The strength and resilience of that man had chilled Brian and the mere thought of him made his skin pimple. He remembered the firepower that suited monster just seemed to absorb in the bathroom. If Brian were any softer, he would have been ripped in half.

Brian had been tossed into something that was way over his head—way over anyone's head except for the panther running the show, Andrea Strong. Fate must have steered Brian into this. Lightning cannot strike twice. Ten years ago, he took part in one of the most confidential government screw-ups and now this? From his knowledge, politicians are not this corrupt—are not this surgical and cold blooded; they are supposed to be lying egocentric assholes, get funding from private parties, and corrupting society with the lure of money but not this bad. It is all about the money in politics. Maybe that was what was in those two black briefcases the well dressed agents were holding.

Andrea Strong was a different breed of politician—she is a terrorist in a dress with a marble throne coupled with a gavel and power. Something was different about her and those two bodyguards. They were on a different level of criminality—on the top most tiers.

Brian lumbered down the hallway to his room, feeling exposed as the lingering fear from earlier made him nervous that an unseen bullet to the skull or a knife between the ribs would hit him at any moment. He had to have been in the crosshairs of his adversary. One of his elderly neighbors glanced at him as he walked down the hallway with a concerned look kneaded into her furrowed brow. Maybe it was the bloodstains she saw or his lack of hair. Ignoring her, Brian pressed in the code to his door and it clicked unlocked.

He half expected a barrel to be riveted into the back of his pale head when he stepped into the apartment's foyer. As of this moment, his secondary apartment was one of the most dangerous places to be. The other suited freak would be looking for Brian and was probably fingering around in Brian's other apartment in search of clues.

Right now, Brian needed to get into the shower and wash away the filth that caked him. He grabbed a kitchen knife from his block on the kitchen counter and walked into the bedroom. It was just as he left it several months ago, this being a different apartment. If one failed to keep him safe, he always had a backup. His alarm clock painted his black curtains red. A folding chair was in the corner, a pair of pants hanging over the backrest. Six empty beer bottles were lined up on a small bookshelf. A single tangled sheet was draped over the corner of his mattress. His bed was bare and rested on the floor, but something was off. The mattress was crooked.

That was not the way he left it.

Brian raised the machine pistol, his hands white as marble and consuming the firearm.

A single sheet of paper rested in the center of his bed, purposely left there waiting to be found. It was the crossword puzzle that he put in the holding tank of the toilet. A pistol that he recognized sat under the paper—his firearm that was in his bag that the suited monsters took away from him before embarking on their mission.

Brian reasserted his Shuriken machine pistol and flicked the safety off while cautiously approaching his bed. Enough light from outside sliced into his bedroom through a sliver in the curtains as he read the note. He flipped it over and read the text.

Iapetus, as you were guessing, yes, we were here in search of you. We suggest you take your sidearm for protection, you will be needing it to defend yourself since we have unleashed our primary weapon system. What you saw back there was a small display of our power—soon you will see what we are fully capable of. Information is our specialty-we belong to a section of the government that does not exist. Brian Hilliard, we know who you are. We know you have been receiving information from an informant in C-SEC after aiding the release of Toby Heiko ten years ago. We know who she is and now you have given us the location of your old friend, Toby Heiko, based off the puzzle we found so recklessly tossed into the toilet. Our main armament has been loaded and is locked in on his targets. It is only even if we warn you of our intentions.

Best of luck,

S.P.I.D.R

"Oh shit, not Pira."

Brian's stomach dropped to his knees as he desperately attacked his omni-tool in an attempt to get in touch with Pira on her personal line.

"Shit," he hissed, fumbling the number. Never before had he felt this rush of dread. He has been shot at, hunted, and blown up, but never before had he felt this emotion that almost forced him to take a seat. If these people are part of the government, then they might have tapped into his omni-tool network even after Pira had hacked past the government controlled Orwellian style ONPA act, or Omni-tool Network Privacy Act. The government has eyes on everything.

"Pira speaking."

Brian sighed, almost dropping his weapon when heard her cool voice splash out of the orange holograph on his arm.

"Tell me, are you okay?" asked Brian.

"Give me one moment."

Her voice was calm and professional and Brian could hear shuffling, then silence after ten long, painful seconds.

"What in the hell are you doing?" snapped Pira through a whisper. "I am at work! You know, the place that wants to kill you? You know better not to call me!"

"Your voice is beautiful," sighed Brian through a chuckle as he leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes, collapsing to a heap. "Is everything alright? Is everything normal over there?"

Pira was quiet for a moment, picking up on the stressed tone in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah I am okay. How about you?"

"Have you seen the news?" he asked.

"No, I've been busy with a situation down by King's Bank."

"Yeah, well about that…"

"Oh by the Goddess."

Brian heard what sounded like a crowd talking in the background.

"Can you turn that up?" shouted Pira at a fellow co-worker. "Brian, your face is on the vids!" she hissed. "What have you done?"

"I am going to make this short. I am in the mood for some broccoli toppings in about an hour. I think it is time for a lunch break, Pira."

"Got it."

She hung up.

The shower was the most disturbingly refreshing act of hygiene Brian had ever endured. The metal drain clogged with bone fragments the size of clipped fingernails, clods of wet hair, little red clots of blood or brain matter, and of course, blood. He picked at his fingernails with the lint removing blade on a fingernail trimmer in a feverish attempt to get the blood out from under his nails. Ceramic powder from the destroyed sink cloyed his nose and all he could smell was the iron from blood, taste the metallic tinge of copper behind his tongue from the explosives, and feel the burning from the plastic explosive residue.

He toweled off and gave himself a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror. His gut folded over his belt line, so he sucked in. The face that stared him down in the shitty apartment room was hollowed out—gaunt and drained of life. For the first time in a long while, Brian Hilliard was scared, not only for himself, but for his friend, Pira.

He walked over to the corner of his room and picked through the dirty laundry pile for something close to fresh to wear. All of it stunk of mildew, high fructose corn syrup, and cheese flavored salt. When he moved to his other apartment, it was because he got spooked by shadows moving behind his door, out in the hallway in the middle of the "night." As much as he hated to admit it, the paranoia was hitting him hard, the mental wear and tear was too much—his hardheaded mentality had been boiled away to a mush over the past ten years. This new nightmare was going to test him.

Brian peered at his alarm that sat upon a pile of pornographic Fornax magazines. He had to be leaving soon in order to meet up with Pira.

This brush with death had made Brian realize that he was no longer invincible and that the N7 training he received nearly two decades ago had saved his life. He was a mortal playing with gods—a puppet whose operating cross was being manipulated by a puppet master. He was merely a puppet in this galactic charade that will end in a baptism of fire.

Milgrom Central High School, Bekenstein

If Gia had eaten anything in the past day, she would have thrown it all up. Her backpack was heavy, the gun heavier, her burdens made of depleted uranium, and the density of her situation with Dr. Jeff had the gravity of a white dwarf star. She was in trouble and only had herself to rely on. Gia stopped in the hallway, hand on a locker and breathed in.

Breathed out.

Breathed in.

Breathed out.

The most dangerous criminals are the ones that walk by and you do not even notice them. They are the ultimate predators, blending in with society—camouflaged as a sheep when they belong with a pack of wolves.

Gia had once heard a statistic where one out of one-hundred people are certified psychopaths. Gia, for one, knew she was one. Any normal girl would not be so easily inclined to complete a full day of school after a bar fight followed by a firefight, a murder, witnessing an execution, then endure sexual harassment, and then catch a glimpse of their dead-end future.

Dr. Jeff was one as well, but much more vile and venomous, a rarer breed than most. He had to be one of the worst she would ever encounter in her life.

Then there was the turian with the synthetic arm, the blond bitch who tried killing her and the insane Dr. Liebermann. Today was full of psychopaths and when Gia had first met them, she could not physically define them as such. They each possessed a chirality, one side appeared normal, friendly and sincere, while the other was dangerous, asinine, and virulent—at any moment, they could explode, undergo a chemical reaction so spontaneous and violent that anyone nearby would be incinerated. Gia was unaware of Dr. Jeff's fierce obsession for her.

That rodent bastard has been playing a four year game with her and she was not even aware of it. Had Gia in fact fallen under his spell?

The bell for lunch rang out as loud as a gunshot in the brittle morning of winter. She herself felt every bit as fragile as a leaf, snap frozen by winter's seductive whisper when the sun passes under the planet. To Gia's luck, her hand was yanking on the metal pistol grip of Mr. Burns' woodshop room.

To Gia's pleasant surprise, her teacher was in the back cutting stabilizing fins out of balsa wood for a rocket.

Act normal—nothing happened, remember?

"So Mr. Burns, you need to break out the old motorcycle and go riding with me someday." Gia's hand gently glided over the frame of her teacher's old racing bike.

"Gah, damn it!" he exclaimed, waving his hand and sucking on his arthritic finger.

"I'm sorry, did I scare you?" she asked.

"It's good you wear bright colors. I can see you coming at least. If you dressed in all black, you'd make a great assassin."

Gia flinched at the word.

Nervously, Gia picked at some electrical tape on the racing bike.

"So, you wanted to see me?" she asked again.

"Are you coming to rocket club after school? Our team could use its captain."

Gia laughed and bashfully looked to her feet, chewing on her lower lip.

"Yeah, I'll try to make it," she lied. Then again, it might make for a solid addition to her alibi. She had not forgotten she was likely being hunted by the police.

Where in the hell were they, though?

Where was Detective Landford?

Why had he called her?

Why had the cameras not picked up on her in the spaceport garage?

"You say you 'suck at leading people' but everyone looks up to you, Gia. You are an engineering and mathematical genius—why you are not pursuing a career in it is—" Mr. Burns saw the fire in Gia's eyes. "Understandable," he lied.

Her mother had been pushing Gia towards aerospace engineering and she had even been asked by the most prodigious universities in the galaxy to attend their school. It was a rare chance to educate a quarian outside of the Migrant Fleet. They are apt at mathematics, electronics, and engineering—so far beyond any other race that Gia had been offered full scholarships by at least four schools. Her college could be paid for and she could earn six digit salaries, not including bonuses and stock. Gia could be a superstar in that particular realm, but she had told them all, including her mother, to "screw off."

Being a cook was ruthless, backbreaking work—the stoves and hot tops sucked the life from people as does the low pay, but it was damn rewarding to see customers place a forkful of food in their mouths and smile. The accolade of that alone was worth a life in the kitchen. Food was her passion and oddly enough, she had never tasted anything she had cooked in the past. This profession could kill her, literally.

She had read books written by loud mouthed chefs where the opening chapter goes something along the lines of this: "People come up to me all the time in the streets and ask, 'Chef, should I go to culinary school?' My answer is, 'Hell no.' You get paid next to nothing and it is the closest thing to slavery."

Gia was born a slave to her immune system, her parents, and her physical limitations.

Either way, Gia had the sneaking suspicion that she was not going to make it past tomorrow's sunrise, but she was rather calm about it. It was denial that something like this could never happen to a person like her—life had treated her poorly and nothing, she told herself, could get any worse… except for today, of course.

Good job Gia, you jinxed yourself.

"Gia, are you okay?"

"Oh yeah. It's just… school is getting out soon and I am starting my own life. I'm exhausted from the restaurant and life in general," she said back to Mr. Burns.

Her teacher stuffed his bent fingers into the denim pockets of his tight jeans. Gia eyed his scars and bulging blood vessels that his body, an organic topographic cartographer, had mapped onto his hands.

"How's the bike?" he asked.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Burns, but was there anything specific you wanted to ask me about?" she asked impatiently.

"No, I just wanted to talk to you."

His eyes slimmed, befuddled by the question and her agitation. She held an air of nervousness, and reasserted it with her fingers tapping against the worktable, glowing white eyes darting right to left. He knew something was up, but dared not ask her about it, or he would expect a door slammed in his face, maybe a fist.

"Well the bike is doing fine. I started to weld a strait pipe back home for it. Fourteen thousand RPM should be heard by everyone, and it is fun to scare the shit out of people as I pass them with the needle redlining," said Gia, eager to talk about her baby.

"What about the other engine?"

"That is on the kitchen table at home. I ruined my mom's tablecloth with it," she laughed. "Not a pretty sight when she found a quart of oil running onto the floor."

"I meant to ask, how is your mom doing?" he questioned. "I m-mean I haven't seen her in a while. She is still working as a mechanic in that shop down First and Fourteen, right?"

Gia sighed, thinking about Mom. "Yeah, she still works there."

"Leo, is he still there?"

"The midget, oh yeah," she whistled. "He's hilarious."

"Yeah," he said, staring into the wall behind Gia's head. "He was a former student of mine."

"No way."

"Yes way. By the way, I wanted to tell you I bought a small cruiser the other day from a shipyard. Something was wrong with the heat sinks and it was a fraction of the price it usually was. It's an old human beater, but oh do I love her."

"You bought a ship?" she yelled, incredulous, leaning on the wooden workbench.

"Yeah and the funny part is, I know what is wrong with it. They thought it was done for but luckily, the junkyard owner knew next to nothing about this ship's class. One of the heat sink's wires had been disconnected and the ship being old, the troubleshooting software on it is totally useless. I knew what was wrong, but suggested it was a good project ship and bought it. It will be up and running this weekend."

"That is awesome, Mr. Burns. Totally sick—I've got to come see it."

For a moment, Gia was not acting stupid, was not solidifying her alibi, but had momentarily forgotten that within 21 hours, she was going to be dead. The gunshots still resonated in her ears from earlier this morning and the Devil on her right shoulder was sitting, swaying his legs in disappointment, understanding his time with his host was soon to be up.

"Yeah, well you have my number. Call me this weekend and bring your mom—I'd love to see her sometime. It has been a while since our last dinner party."

"Yeah, well listen, I've got to run to lunch, Mr. Burns."

"I'll see you after school, right? You have a team to lead. Also, you aced the exam."

Gia waved her hand and left through the back door of his woodshop towards the lunchroom. She hated this goddamned place. The rows of lockers and riveted number plates on the vented steel boxes always intimidated her as a kid when special events from middle school and elementary school took place in the high school. Back then, the high schoolers looked like grownups, while she was just a puny alien stuck in a suit with a squeaky voice and messed up hands and feet. Gia had nightmares of coming to school and forgetting her locker combination, homework, and projects. This school was ridden with horrible memories. Gia looked down the taupe hallway and the lockers coated in a sloppy pale green, past the water fountain to where a door lead out into a courtyard looking into the cafeteria. In that courtyard, during lunch in her freshmen year, some racist seniors who lost family members in the First Contact War picked a fight with her. That was one of the few fights she lost, since there were five boys that snuck up on her.

After being humbled and picked on for a solid month, she took her self-defense classes more seriously and exacted her revenge in the boy's locker room after the school's rugby competition was over.

Gia cracked a smile, thinking about kicking their asses in that locker room. In fact, all of her good memories contained within the walls of school were about revenge.

The chorus of students broke into a full on orchestra, complete with the sounds of a running kitchen, soda cans being popped opened, forks clanking against plastic trays of food, and footsteps kissing the white tiled floor blasted Gia in the face.

The first day of lunch was always made painful by the fact that she had no friends. She always actively searched out the friendly face of Norry, her only good, true friend. Luckily, the last semester was good to her and Norry was in this block.

Gia slouched in her flat circular orange seat in the lunch room and threw her backpack on the table, cuddling with it, her face pushed into the fabric—her visor clacking against the beefy zippers. This school was the wealthiest and nicest on the planet and they could not afford comfortable seats. Either from working her ass off in the kitchen or because of these horrendously shitty chairs, her back was screaming at her constantly. Gia squirmed, trying to get comfortable and closed her eyes, taking advantage of this momentary sanctuary. With Dr. Jeff, the assassins, the alleged dreams, and her life all wanting to shove her into a punji pit, she needed to just rest her eyes for a brief moment.

"Remember, Gia. What did you see last night?" she whispered to herself, secluded at the end of the twenty seat table that Gia shared with a loud group of freshmen. She peeked out from behind her skinny arms and noticed the two boys that she saw in the hallway staring at her.

"I'll get your soft drinks in a minute."

"It's alright, Gia," they said in unison.

A smile selfishly pushed its way on her lips when she heard her name.

Gia tapped her omni-tool open with a moment of enlightenment.

What if the batshit insane doctor was right?

What if she really was this… prophet with the ability to save the galaxy from some sort of immanent doom? Sure, he was crazy. Shit, she was crazy for entertaining the mere idea that she was some sort of goddess that could fight an evil tame, but what the hell.

Let's just entertain the idea.

Gia clamped both eyes and rested her chin on her backpack. She could feel the hardened shell of the pistol jabbing her in the chin. She kind of hoped the weapon would discharge, though she was certain she flicked the safety on before dropping it into her pack at the spaceport. She knew her way around a weapon with the fluidity and confidence of any soldier she had met at the 21 Hour Diner.

"Okay, think Gia."

She brought out a notepad application and with her right hand, she began typing notes.

A blue lake. Is this the street those men died on near King's Bank?

The basket with three eggs in it. What does that even mean?

Humpty Dumpty. Look up the lullaby on the extranet to try and decipher it.

The two egg yolks. What in the hell does that even mean? Am I to cook an omelet for these assassins?

The sunrise. Does the color and heat have significance? Look up sunrise reactions and/or symbolism.

Numbers. Four sets of numbers. I need to document them—keep a notepad or something on my bedside table when I go to sleep tonight. Or if I die beforehand, then I don't even know.

Dreamcatchers. What is that/who are they?

Does my sonofabitch dad know anything?

Something massive moved towards Gia from the cashier line and Gia closed her notepad intending to return to it later. Gia turned her backpack over after finding a very fine spray of blood pocked onto the fabric. Norry, her only friend, waddled towards Gia with a smile over her face, her chubby hands passionately clasping onto her tray of food. Norry sat down, the whole table shifting under her weight and popping the freshmen on the other side of the table into the air, spilling their cartons of chocolate milk.

The group laughed, except for the two boys Gia met earlier in the hallway. Gia could hear them telling their friends to shut up, persisting that they were cool. Two tables behind Gia and Norry was The Island from Hell—otherwise known as the table with Laura sitting at it. Her group felt Norry sit down and all howled, one of the boys whistling a cat call. If one kid took more shit in school than Gia, it was Norry, the only obese person in the entire class of students.

Poor girl.

"Assholes," said Gia, throwing a thumb over her shoulder at the Island of the Damned.

"Nah, don't worry about it, Gia. I'm outta here after this semester and will never see them again," she exclaimed happily, cracking open a soda and pulling her orange hair into a ponytail, revealing her freckled face. Gia always thought freckles looked like a shotgun spread on a paper target embroidered with a human silhouette. The amount of flack she had received for her weight in this posh high school would have driven an average person to hang themselves on their ceiling fan after a cold shower and a deep cut across the wrist. Gia humbly admired her.

"What did you get today?" asked Gia.

"A pepperoni panini."

"It looks gross," said Gia.

"That's because it is gross."

Norry took a massive bite out of it and red oil pinched the corners of her friend's mouth. She licked her lips and took a long swig of soda.

"I can make a better panini than that—it looks like two used tampons sandwiched between pancaked dog food," said Gia.

Norry gave the sandwich a look of disgust, cocked her head, and finished the first half, licking the tips of her fingers.

"Why don't you come running with me someday?" asked Gia, then remembered the next time she would be running was going to be from a bullet.

With Norry's mouth full, she asked, "What?"

"I mean, it makes you feel good. After a long run, you feel better about yourself. What do you think, Norry?"

"I would rather be strung up by my earlobes and slowly dropped into a giant garbage disposal while naked, in front of the entire school."

"Goddamn."

Norry jabbed her crust at Gia, both blue eyes vindictively trying to cool Gia's fiery ones.

"Is this about my weight?"

"No, this is about your friend being concerned."

"I don't want to run."

"Why?" Gia asked, desperately trying to convey a message. Maybe once Gia was dead, then Norry would think back on this day and start running. If she stayed like this, she wasn't going to make it past sixty.

"I'm just a fatty and no one cares about me."

"I care about you."

"Uh-hu," muttered Norry, demolishing her sandwich, marinara sauce dripping onto her black t-shirt hosting Norry's favorite band, a group featuring a quarian as the lead singer. Gia was out of touch with pop-culture, but apparently they were hot shit. Blue Light she thought they were called. Hell, she might as well give them a listen before she goes out with a bang.

"You're my friend," said Gia, punching her shoulder, Gia's fist sinking into Norry's arm.

Gia noticed some of the jocks snickering at them from the other table, Laura included.

"You see? You are not invisible, Norry," said Gia in a poor attempt to cheer Norry up.

"I rather I was around them."

Gia's fists curled up and she felt her cheeks flaring red.

"Why is that?" asked Gia, concerned.

"Are you kidding me?"

Gia's eyebrow raised, curious as to what her friend was hinting at.

"Did they do something to you?"

"They said things to me, but nothing too bad. Just the stereotypical 'fatty' and moon/gravity jokes I normally get."

Norry finished her soda and crushed the can.

"Who said this to you?"

Norry, with her fleshy fist clenched around a chocolate milk carton she magically whipped out of nowhere pointed at a tall girl with blond hair and a fake tan, better known to Gia as Laura, Queen of the Damned, and recently acquired the eloquently put title of whore.

"That girl made fun of me in the locker room the other day. Man, I hate Laura. She said something about my fat and how I 'needed a bra on my back' or something like that." Norry took a swig out of her milk carton and rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Gia locked eyes with Laura and tensed up as she blew Gia a kiss with a wicked grin. Norry noticed Gia's face and body language, then slowly turned around and made eye contact with Laura.

"Oh shit, Gia, don't do anything stupid now," Norry harshly whispered to Gia, grabbing her thin wrist.

"No one makes fun of my friends."

Gia took her backpack off and dropped it to the floor while standing up. It had suddenly hit her—Dr. Jeff had told Laura about what Gia did four years ago to her parents. All Gia could see was red. She could feel the Devil's trident thrusting into her neck, giving Gia motivation to take her lights out.

Fuck it—she was dead either way, her future will be crushed by the police, assassins, Dr. Jeff, and by this supposed galactic turmoil caused by Dreamcatchers. She might as well get this chore done with. It was on her bucket list, anyways.

"Gia, seriously, sit back down," Norry hissed, spilling a dribble of chocolate milk, it settling next to the marinara stain on her Blue Light shirt.

"Let me just say a few words to her."

"I don't think you are going to use words," hissed Norry, grabbing Gia by the belt.

"I promise."

"I don't believe you."

"Fine."

"This would be better if no words were exchanged at all," Norry whispered and tugged at Gia's bright orange shawl. Gia walked around their table and towards the one full of jocks. Laura had gotten off far too long.

"Hey, Laura?" asked Gia kindly.

"Gia, yes?" said Laura who looked to her friends and giggled as if Gia was a bit of a joke. Through her smoked veil, Gia eyed Laura's drafting textbook—Mr. Burns was a couple centuries behind when it came to school material and assigned actual textbooks.

"We had homework on chapter nine, right?"

"Uhhh, yeah."

"Do you mind if I borrow that really fast? There is an annoying fly bothering my friend Norry over there and I need to shut it up."

"Don't you have a textbook that can crush—"

Gia didn't allow Laura to finish her sentence, but grabbed the hard backed book and slammed it into Laura's annoying, bitchy face. She hit the table hard, reeled backwards with a groan and fell to the ground, her nose now contorted and ugly—it matched her unique personality.

"Thanks, Laura. I think that stopped it—I saw it land on your face."

Gia wiped Laura's nasal blood off her fingers onto Laura's back before a pneumatic hand chomped down on Gia's raised fist.

She spun around, charged her target, and got a face full of blue uniform. Running into Officer Grant's thick chest was like driving right into a hardwood tree and she could feel his taser poking her in the stomach.

"Come, now," he said, his face emotionless and stoic.

Laura stood up with the help of her friends and wiped her nose.

"Murderer," she sputtered.

Gia breathed ravenously, a riptide of distilled rage almost carrying her away. The phrase "sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me" never resonated so much bullshit. Mere words—utterance of a rumor had pushed Gia over the edge.

Gia couldn't tell if she had heard her correctly or not. The Devil on her shoulder ushered Gia to strike that tainted creature until it no longer drew breath.

Instead, Gia found herself sitting back outside Dr. Jeff's office and in the embrace of her so hated chair.

"Gia, you mother should be here any minute," said Mrs. Jona, the bulbous and deformed guidance counselor receptionist.

"Great," she whispered, leaning back into the chair's cushions. She blew air from between her pursed lips and tasted blood from her earlier encounter with the other two potential rapists. They could have just been acting like asshole patriots to Gia and were just thugs. None the less, they touched her. They deserved to die.

Gia swore she could see the inside of her mask fogging up due to the fire ripping inside her.

The door to the waiting room opened and the familiar figure of her mother, Nashira Toshiko, stood in wait like the Grim Reaper. Gia would have preferred to see Detective Landford flanked by a squad of Special Response agents at gunpoint than her mom.

"Gia," said Mom. She was unable to distinguish whether the emotion in her mother's voice was from disappointment or concern for Gia's health.

"Hey," she waved. "Do you remember that girl I told you about? The bully? Well…" Gia held up her hand which was sprayed with blood.

"Bully. Is that right?" questioned Nashira, fists tucked into the curve of her waist. "The only bully I see is the one sitting in that chair."

Gia looked over her Mom. Her once white trimmed clothes were tan with age and motor oil spilled into the ocean of blue cloth. Nashira's shoulders rocked from her heavy breathing as she seethed with disappointment.

"Dr. Jeff should be expecting you, Gia and Mrs. Toshiko," said Mrs. Jona, sinking in her chair, feeling the tension in the air that not even she dared to tug on for fear of it snapping and recoiling into her own fat face.

Sighing, Gia said, "Let's get this over with."

Mom grabbed Gia's wrist and dragged her into Dr. Jeff's room. Her grip was fierce.

"Gia, I was expecting you to show… what is this?" asked Dr. Jeff as Nashira breached the pedophile bastard's office.

"I was contacted by the police at work ten minutes ago, Neil," Mom addressed Dr. Jeff. "My daughter—your patient, got into a fight with Laura."

"What?" he asked, sitting up in his chair.

"Yeah," said Gia, momentarily proud, "I broke her pretty little nose. Her face should be a livid void for the next couple weeks. A drafting textbook will do that moving at a high enough velocity."

"Listen, Neil," started Mom, "Gia's therapy, from my observations—and let me tell you, they are not very astute, rather I am stating the obvious—have not been helping."

"Hey, talk to me like I am in the goddamn room!" shouted Gia, yanking her arm away from her mother's vice grip. "My hand's numb."

"Gia, you hit another student?" asked Dr. Jeff.

"Your favorite one."

"Why did you do that? Please, both of you, sit. Let's talk through this." His face was smiling, bright red, and more shiny than normal.

Gia could see him sweating because Nashira brought a whole new level of heat into the room.

"I'd rather stand," said both Gia and her mom at the same time.

"Is my daughter resisting your sessions? Before she started working with you, she acted like anyone in her situation would. Once she started coming to you, she just progressively got worse." Nashira's tone was so toxic she could peel paint from the walls. By the look of Dr. Jeff's face, he was slowly being asphyxiated by Mom.

Dr. Jeff just stared at Nashira's blue ball of light over her mouth.

"What did you tell her, Gia?" questioned the Doc, his face draining of color.

"What is he talking about, Gia?"

"Mom, I… I am not sure."

"Stop lying," snapped Mom.

You know what? Fuck it.

"Dr. Jeff?" asked Gia who walked over to her torturer, who was now staring down his executioner. "I am not afraid of you."

"Gia, what are you talking about," he asked with a nervous laugh.

Dr. Jeff's back was against the window and Gia could see rings of sweat under his armpits.

"Mom, he touched me today."

The room was silent and Gia brought up a screen capture of Dr. Jeff grabbing Gia's inner thigh and linked it to her suit.

"Tell me, Mom, that is a bad touch, yes?"

Nashira, Gia's mom, stood silent, arms unfolding from their crossed position when she took what seemed one leap across the room and grabbed Dr. Jeff by the neck, pushing him against the window.

"I'll burn you at the steak you sick animal," hissed Gia's mom. "I have been trying to protect my daughter since we moved to Bekenstein and instead of helping her I unknowingly threw her to the wolves."

Gia stepped back in shock.

"I've made it my mission to protect her from monsters like you."

Mom let go of him and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, both eyes bulging from his skull.

"I'm… suspending her from this school for the rest of the year," stuttered Dr. Jeff. "You will receive zeros in all your classes from this point on."

"I have top scores in all my classes, Doc. Human school is too easy for me and any number of zeros won't affect my grades."

"Neil," said Nashira, "You better lawyer up. We're coming for you."

Nashira pushed her daughter out of his office and slammed the door as hard as she could. Gia swore she heard the oak door splinter, but she did not turn around to see.

"Mom…"

"Not now," said Nashira as she pulled her daughter through the hallways and out to the parking lot. The sun burned deep shadows onto the pavement.

"Mom!"

"What?" Mom screamed back.

"Thanks."

"No matter how much you tick me off at times, I love you, darling. I have your back anytime, anywhere, no matter the situation."

"Yeah, I know."

"Did you get her good?"

"What," asked Gia, perplexed, putting a hand on her forehead, shading her view of her mom.

"Laura, is that her name? The girl that has been bugging you since freshmen year, did you get her back?"

Gia threw her head back, laughing and relieved that one sticky situation was over with.

Gia gnawed on her tongue and said, "Yeah, I got her good."

Mom stood silently for a moment and said, "You know how much I am against revenge, but after what you told me about her… that bitch got what she deserved." Nashira shook her arms as if trying to dust herself off. "Oh, that felt good."

"You're telling me!"

"Listen, I have got to get back to work, but we have a lot to talk about later." Mom walked towards the fountain in the courtyard and Gia kicked a rock playfully, thinking. "Gia, honey?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"You're spending the weekend at your father's place."

"Yeah, I know," she sighed.

"He'll be happy to see you."

"I know," she admitted.

"I love you, Gia. Stay out of trouble. I might stop by later tonight. I have not seen him in a couple months."

"Trouble… yeah."

Gia watched her mom walk away and disappear behind the fountain and head towards the guest parking lot. She had the feeling that this was the last time she was going to see her. She wanted to call out and say something meaningful, maybe say goodbye or I love you, too. Instead, Gia turned to Dr. Jeff's office window and gave him two middle fingers, knowing he was watching. For some reason, she had the sneaking suspicion that she had just kicked the hornets' nest, and had just poured gasoline over it and herself. Now, all she needed was a match.