Chapter 11
"Supremacy"

"The greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse." – Edmund Burke

"What did you say?"

Sam dropped her hands to grip the table again. "I know, it's hard for me to believe too. It all seems like a bad dream."

For a full thirty seconds, John said nothing. The insinuation was impossible, yet Sam was completely serious, enough that he hadn't decided if she were still drugged or simply lying to win his sympathy. At last, he opened his mouth and decided how he would respond: with the truth. "No one gets away, Sam."

"You're right. I wasn't supposed to get away," she explained simply. Met with his dubious silence once more, Sam sighed. "If you don't believe me, get my data pad. Look at the files. Spartan-B169. It's all there; I saw it for myself."

John continued staring at her without uttering a word. How could he possibly respond to this?

In his place, Sam continued of her own accord weary it seemed less from her captivity and more from having withheld this secret for fourteen long years. "My sister… She's my twin. We were an experiment."

"When?" John spoke up all at once. Realizing his question was incomplete, he continued, "You haven't been…"

"…augmented?" Sam finished for him. "I left before they could turn me into one of their weapons. We were 6 when they recruited us. All our family and friends had been murdered in the Covenant attack on Draco II. We'd been jockeying around foster homes and orphanages until they found us. They offered us a way to avenge our home. She said yes. I was just too scared to be alone, so I went with her." Here, her mouth twisted in a wiry smile as she admitted, "I was always the weak one."

His mind reeled at this news, racing a thousand different directions, none of which produced a coherent thought. One moment he was drawn into her story recalling the various Covenant attacks he had personally witnessed, the next he doubted her sincerity, then he would remember her words on the pelican after he rescued her. She hates me, Sam had cried over and over. This led to John's next question. "You met your sister when you were captured."

She nodded numbly but didn't answer otherwise.

"She hates you because you left," he understood, slowly piecing together the random bits of information he had been fed since he met Sam.

"They tricked me!" she snapped so abruptly her words hit the air like a fist. She glared at him with wild eyes and promised, "I never would have left her if I had known."

"None of this makes sense, Sam," he confessed, not one to often be stumped, but even the Master Chief lowered his forehead into his hand to rub at his brow.

"Look at the files!" she prompted him again. "It's all there. You have to believe me."

John eased up in his seat to meet her gaze. Where she was initially burdened by this truth, now it seemed she was desperate to be heard. His mouth set in a firm line, and he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back to offer her his undivided attention. "I don't want to read your file… I want to hear it from you."

She eyed him uncertainly like she suspected his intent, but the Spartan was neutral staring back at her. As she realized he was serious, she looked at her lap gathering her wits and trying to thread together the words that she had hidden away for so many years. "We were the first siblings the Program ever adopted," she began and looked at John anxiously as if to check that he were still listening.

He didn't move but kept his gaze trained on her.

"I'm sure they thought if they could brainwash kids to forget their families, then why wouldn't they be able to break that bond too? It would have opened up more recruitment opportunities." Her eyes had dropped as she spoke to address a lose thread from one of her pockets. She rolled it absently between her fingers.

"Turned out they met their match." She smiled to herself, proud of this fact, and glanced at him. "We never faltered. We always helped each another. We traded places sometimes and even took beatings for the other. Pretty soon they cut Sasha's hair so they could tell us apart; they threatened us; they beat us; they did whatever they could think of to break us…" Sam inhaled slowly with her eyes unfocused apparently recalling the training they had endured. When she focused on John once more, her face had settled in resignation. "But then they realized they couldn't tear us apart.

"They thought our loyalty to each other compromised our eligibility for the Program," she explained succinctly. "We were liabilities so long as we were together. So one day they sat us down and gave us a choice: To stay or to go. We both hated that place as soon as we got there, so I thought the answer was obvious. We were better off on our own."

She snapped the loose thread from her pants. "That was the trick… Sasha had always been stronger, and they saw it too. They never gave her a choice. They knew I'd surrender.

"When I was 11, I sat in a docking station with nothing but the clothes on my back waiting for my sister to show up. But she never came." Sam snuffed humorlessly. "I would have been dead by night if Lyra hadn't found me. They were planning on terminating me. No loose ends, like you said." She rolled the broken thread into a ball and tossed it away.

John remained mute barely able to register this story less reply.

Sam read the dazed stupor on his face and smiled, amused to have left the great Master Chief speechless and simultaneously relieved by the truth. There was one last question of his that she had evaded since they met, but now finally she answered it: "I saved you because I couldn't save her. That's the truth, John."

"Sam…" he struggled to fill the space, but the words never came.

She abruptly looked down at her lap to hide the tears brimming her eyes and laughed under her breath as she wiped them away. "Fuck, this is embarrassing…" When she looked at him again, her hazel eyes were rimmed with red, matching the end of her nose. Still she speared him with a stern, serious look. "If you tell anyone I cried, I'll kill you."

His life had been reduced to a series of ludicrous twists all summed up by the woman sitting in front of him; John had no idea what else he could, and so, he laughed like she had told him another of her bad jokes.

O O O

UNSC Odin, 0907 hours
Seven days after 'Augusta incident'

Vice Admiral Reeves drummed his fingers on his mahogany desk as he ruminated over the current predicament. Not only had Spartan-117 taken off with the Insurrectionists—led by none other than Samaire-B169, aka Sam Quinn, now he and his new rebel friends were turning up in some very unfortunate places. The 'Augusta incident' remained primetime news owing to rich commercial maritime leaders like Erik Paulsen who wouldn't be silenced by money no matter how the UNSC's PR department lobbied to bury it. And most recently Reeves was shamed by the disaster at the Ivanoff Research Station that ultimately resulted in losing both Sam Quinn as well as Spartan-104.

"I told you to keep an eye on him," Reeves muttered irritably without looking at the AI's holographic image hovering at the edge of his desk.

"I gave him the opportunity to turn, and when he didn't, I misjudged him," Hypatia replied.

"If you had caught him, we wouldn't have lost Sam Quinn. We could have used her to lure Spartan-117 out!"

"There's no excuse, Vice Admiral."

"No, there isn't," he agreed, and his shoulders shook as he laughed inaudibly. What had begun as a simple conflict had grown into an utter cluster fuck. Goddamn Spartans… Finally his gaze turned from his desk to consider the AI, and his amusement abruptly disappeared. "Make the call."

"Aye, sir." Hypatia bowed her head to signal her work, and within seconds, she nodded to the Vice Admiral that he was connected.

"I've lost control of the mission," Reeves said stoically. He paused after his admission, still sore about his inability to get these Spartans to heel, before he conceded, "It's time."

"Aye aye, sir," the man answered from the other end. With that, the transmission was terminated.

The man answering the call sat back in his chair and on second thought reached for the cigar he had reserved for this occasion. Colonel James Ackerson was by all public accounts retired, but he'd found much more fruitful, rewarding opportunities outside of his official station. "If you want something done…" he murmured to himself while trimming the end and calling the next in line. Once the transmission was picked up, he reported, "Commence Operation: VIS." With that, he lit the cigar, enjoyed the first few puffs, and sat deeper in his chair to wait.

O O O

Insurrectionist Otrera, 0928 hours

"I want to know what Operation: VIS is," Sam said as soon as she strode into the bridge. Only a day had passed since she'd left the vessel, but already she felt nostalgic assuming her position before her team. Were it not for them, her fate would have finally caught up with her: She'd be terminated like she should have been fourteen years ago. Naturally she hid this fact no matter her candid exchange with John earlier that morning. She hadn't explicitly asked it of him, but he'd spent most of his life operating in secret. He seemed to understand when matters were best kept under the radar without needing to be told. And so, Sam stood in front of her team with every shred of fierce determination she could muster; she promised she would take them to the end, and here she was. Casting her attention to their resident intelligence officer, she added, "You better have an answer for me, Boone."

Noah stood at the small holographic table behind the command center grinning like a student who'd aced his homework. "While you were catching up on your beauty sleep," he replied, "Lieutenant Fred and I were working on the files. The good news is we know what Operation: VIS is… The bad news is we know what Operation: VIS is."

Sam arched her brows at such a conundrum and answered sarcastically, "Well, I guess I'll take the good news first."

The officer nodded before tapping at the table, which brought a series of files into view. "It's part of a top secret mission. We've only just scratched the surface. We have no idea the exact breadth, but we know it's big. And we think we've figured out the objective."

Here, Fred stepped forward from the lines to explain, "They're training the successors to the Spartans."

"What?" Anya intervened. "Like a Spartan-V class?"

"No, it's a whole different program," Boone corrected while plucking out a few prominent files from the bunch to enlarge for everyone to see. "Practically off the books. We got lucky and managed to find where they were storing all their data and likely doing much of their research. Without the interrogation records and medical reports, we wouldn't have had a clue."

"The Spartans are still active. Why develop a whole different program?" John spoke up next.

"Politics. Money. Jealousy," Fred answered. "We don't know, but the fact is it's real."

"This is why they're hunting John; he's the scapegoat that will bring down the whole SPARTAN Program and make way for this new generation," Sam understood only to meet John's gaze, stunned. She had suspected a conspiracy of course and even baited John with it to gain his support, but she had no idea how deep this went. "They've been planning this for years."

"Yes. But these soldiers…They're way more dangerous than the Spartans ever were," Boone said.

Sam's attention immediately snapped to focus on him. "What do you mean?"

"They used the Spartans like a case study. The Spartans were methodical, effective, brutal even, but they're still human soldiers. They decide the best course of action, even when it's at odds with standing orders. Command doesn't like to be shown up by a bunch of low-level officers—no offense." He glanced at Fred and offered a wry smile.

The Spartan naturally didn't acknowledge it.

"They wanted to create a class of soldiers who were more… obedient," Boone finished.

"Dr. Eduardo Ruiz studied the Spartan classes in depth and developed new, advanced psychological techniques to negate a soldier's own innate will," Fred spelled out more clearly.

Takeda glanced at his comrades to see his confusion mirrored in their faces, wondering, "Is that even possible?"

"They supplemented the psychological tests with biological and neurological procedures," the Spartan Lieutenant answered. "The end result, based on the interrogation tapes we saw, seems to be a sort of hypnosis."

"So you just tap their shoulder and snap them out of it," Rodriguez suggested somewhere between joking considering how ludicrous this was and genuinely curious.

Fred's sharp blue eyes narrowed subtly, enough to make Rodriguez look away. "It's a lot stronger than that. The subjects are completely unaware of their role in the program."

"They're already in the system," Boone jumped back in with a certain electricity like this were the climax. "They're your commanding officer… the soldier beside you in the foxhole… the on base doctor treating the wounded… They're everywhere just waiting to be activated."

Appropriately the team grew silent while the implications of this report seeped through the room. Sam was one of the first to speak next, "They're waiting until the SPARTAN Program's dead. Then they're going to activate these soldiers?"

Fred crossed his arms over his chest adding another layer to the seriousness of his tone when he replied, "I'm not convinced they're going to wait any longer. The situation's gotten out of hand."

"Shit," Rodriguez muttered under his breath.

John shared a similar reaction though he kept it hidden beneath his stoic façade. This was the time to stay strong. "What's our next move?" he asked.

"We have to expose the plot to take down the SPARTAN Program," Fred replied. "We need to figure out who's behind it."

"I bet whoever's backing these soldiers will point us in the right direction," Sam offered.

"The Ivanoff Research Station seems to primarily have documented and researched the program," Noah pointed out. "There's another location where they actively recruited and trained. In the reports, they refer to it only as 'The Pit'." He pulled all the reports including this name to show the team.

Sam eyed the numerous files hovering in the air before her. There was enough to suggest it was a legitimate lead. "What's its location?"

The intelligence officer coughed and tucked his hands behind his back while stealing a glance at Fred.

The Spartan caught the hint and admitted, "We're still figuring that out."

Of course… Sam mused to herself. It wouldn't be nearly as fun if we had all the answers. But this had to be it: ironically the answer to both saving the Spartans and finally destroying them. Once this got out, she had no idea how the UNSC would be able justify the creation of any further Spartan classes or other super soldiers for that matter. With her thoughts, Sam's attention slid to John only to find him looking at her expectantly. She held his gaze searching his face as she wondered, What's going to happen to you, John?

Sam had no idea, but they had come too far to back down now. Finally, she tapped the table meaningfully for her team. "No one sleeps until we know where The Pit is. Understood?"

O O O

The tension knotting up her neck, shoulders, all the way down to her lower back was more than coffee could answer—even the stout, black stuff Sam loved. That didn't mean the Lieutenant didn't still try to clear her head with a big mug of it. Her face hurt from the blows it had taken; her ribs ached deep down to the bone (though Green promised they were not broken); she felt exhausted and sick all at once. But she held her head up. Someone had to lead her team, and she'd made it too far to let the UNSC bully her into a corner now. She slipped a couple of anti-inflammatory pills out of her pocket and kicked them back with a long sip of coffee. It burned all the way down her throat and back up making her eyes water and face wring in a pain. When Cassidy stepped up to pour herself a mug as well, Sam promptly composed herself.

She was about to walk off, but Green caught her first, "I didn't realize you two were close."

"Who?" Sam wondered unsure the comment was even directed at her.

Cassidy in turn smiled sinuously, ripe with a secret, and glanced toward the Spartan Master Chief chatting with Boone and Fred in another corner of the room. She sighed. "Takeda's going to be such a dick now."

Yet again, Sam was reminded of her wayward behavior returning from captivity, and she tried to keep her tone nonchalant as she countered, "I was drugged. He could have been a giant rainbow unicorn for all I knew."

The medic laughed, but it didn't mean she was thrown off the scent. "It seemed pretty deliberate. I mean, I was there, and you didn't want to hold my hand."

Am I in fucking high school? Sam growled to herself before adopting an apt reply. "Tell you what. Next time I'm drugged and barely conscious, I'll make sure I find you." She wrinkled her nose over a fake, toothy grin before turning from the blonde and dropping the act completely to resume her irritated expression. This shit's giving me a migraine. She glanced pathetically at her mug of coffee. Why'd I leave my flask on the Acheron?

Cassidy watched after her with one corner of her mouth curling, less than amused.

Ignoring those lingering eyes, Sam found her seat at the end of the metal table, trying to sit without looking like a rusty machine, and turned her concentration to her data pad. She pulled up the next file from the group Boone had sent everyone and set about searching for clues to find The Pit. Before she could fully immerse herself in her work, she felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder. She looked up to see John standing beside her and offering a protein bar. Given her conversation with Green moments prior, Sam couldn't stop herself from self-consciously sensing everyone was looking at them. She immediately turned away from him.

"Stop being nice to me," she mumbled so hushed and hurried under her breath that even the Spartan's ears couldn't catch it.

"What?" he wondered in what Sam deemed too loud a tone. Didn't he notice the team staring?

She didn't look directly at him and instead continued fussing over her data pad. "What is it?"

John frowned at the odd question coupled with her behavior but replied, "Protein bar. I'm passing them out."

Sam's head bobbed up suddenly, and she scoured the team around them to see each with a protein bar in hand. Fucking Cassidy! Her expression fell as she realized her ridiculous mistake. The high school mentality was catching to her chagrin, and she quickly stole the bar from his hands, adding a belated, "Thanks."

Task completed, the Master Chief assumed the available seat next to her with his long legs stretched out on the opposite side so he didn't have to wedge them under the table. He tore open his meal and asked, "Have you found anything?"

Are we friends now? Sam wondered sarcastically but soon recognized she was being too sensitive. He's just doing the rounds. It wasn't often—or ever, for that matter—she shared her deepest darkest secrets with someone. Evidently she had no idea how to proceed. "Not yet," she answered, deciding to at least act natural until she was back to her senses. "I'm just skimming the reports trying to get a handle on this. It's like science fiction, thinking they could activate someone and take away their will."

John took a moment to chew on a hunk of the bar, musing on her reply and his own misgivings. Eventually he swallowed and admitted, "I never thought they would go this far."

Sam took a long sip of her coffee and couldn't help pointing out, "I'm sure someone thought that when they heard about the SPARTAN Program. If we don't stop them, this is never going to end. They're going to keep experimenting on us and augmenting us until we're not even human anymore."

In the midst of her reply, John had turned to stare at her, and his sharp gaze lingered even after her words ended.

She looked into the mug where her hands were cradling the warm surface, waiting for him to speak up, until she couldn't stand the weight of his silent eyes any longer. "What?"

"I thought you were a dramatic, Innie hippie when I first met you," he admitted while leaning back against the table. "Now, I think I understand you."

Sam smiled against her better nature to hear his succinct deduction. 'Dramatic, Innie hippie?' She glanced at him and countered, "Yeah, well, I thought you were a UNSC puppet. Turns out you missed that program."

Rather than appreciating her joke, the Master Chief stared vacantly ahead considering something Sam could only guess at. She looked at her mug of coffee once more prepared to drop the subject, when he told her, "I never questioned any of this before I met you."

Frankly Sam wasn't sure if she should be proud or apologize to him; as usual his tone gave her no indication of his opinion on the matter. When she first took him to the Acheron, she threw everything she had at him, standing by that old proverb that promised the truth would set them free. And somehow now, she wished she had been able to relay all of this to him with a little more tact.

"At least you know, John," she offered quietly after a brief silence. She watched his profile even though he didn't look at her and assured him, "You're not a machine. You know what's right and what's wrong, and you get to decide."

John continued looking off lost in his own thoughts. Seconds passed until he revealed, "This morning I caught myself asking what would have happened to me if Dr. Halsey had never chosen me." His gaze slid over to her, his expression transparent in a way Sam had never seen.

She smiled, choosing humor as she often did when she was uncomfortable, and sighed, "You'd probably have a 9 to 5 trying to pay off your kids' tuitions, go home to your wife, and work on your beer belly while catching up on the playoffs." Her brow arched as she finished, "Boring, huh?"

I wouldn't know, John answered to himself. That kind of life was more foreign to him than some of the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Inevitably, his attention settled on his young comrade again. "Why didn't you? You left. Why didn't you get a normal job, get married, do all the 'boring' stuff?"

Sam eased her elbows onto the table taking her mug of coffee with her; all the while her eyes pensively searched the air in front of her signaling that she released her humor for the moment to reward his honesty with her own. Apparently she was getting the knack of this whole truth thing. "I couldn't leave Sasha alone…" she began and hesitated only briefly before catching John's eye and admitting, "But more than that, I was different. I couldn't even remember my last name, but I was too afraid to look it up because I didn't think it'd fit me anymore." Her mouth twisted with her frankness at once shy and hopeful. She bent closer to him, dropping her voice to whisper, "When this is done, I want to."

'When this is done'… he repeated in his head. For him, there had never been an end—except death. Yet again, he considered the wall in front him as a fresh wave of unexpected thoughts plagued him. When this is done… He had no idea how to finish that sentence.

O O O

UNSC Camp Patmos, 2108 hours
Chi Rho, Ectanus 45 System
Seven days after 'Augusta incident'

Master Sergeant Dorian Brown collapsed onto his cot with a short grunt of exhaustion. He unbuttoned the top of his crisp uniform, tugging at his tie, until finally he could breathe. One deep sigh practically embedded him in the mattress, and while his body was drained, his mind busied warning him that if he stayed like this for too long he would need to iron his uniform all over again. It seemed a waste already that he had donned his full uniform in preparation of greeting an advanced officer only to discover the details of the officer's arrival had changed. As if that weren't enough, he had been battling a severe migraine since the morning. Such was his luck lately.

He groaned and gazed off vacantly at his desk where a flashing light on his data pad caught his attention. Unread messages, he understood, which translated as more unfinished business in his mind, but it had to be attended to all the same. And he needed to get out of his uniform. Grumbling, he stood up and began undressing all the while typing in the passcode on his personal data pad and waiting for his mail to finish syncing. With his shirt and tie removed and slung across the hanger, he took a moment to peruse his inbox.

One particular email stood out among the rest and took priority. Opening it, the video automatically began playing, and he was smiling before the first second.

"Did you start?" his daughter's thin voice called out, and there she stood with her hands planted on her hips waiting impatiently for the person filming to catch up.

"Yes. Go, go, go!" his wife's voice prompted in return.

Like a light switch, his daughter flipped from sullen to beaming. "Watch this, daddy!" Her arms dropped to her sides, and all at once she took off at a run through their backyard. Then suddenly she tumbled hands over feet with one fluid handspring. At the end, she posed, beaming.

Unconsciously, Dorian's brow flexed even if she couldn't see him awed and impressed. He swore last time he went to one of his daughter's open classes at her gymnastics school they were still learning cartwheels.

His wife was laughing, and the camera shook as she applauded.

"Did you see it? Did you get it?" his daughter wondered impatient once more to have her new skill revealed.

"Yes, I got it. You looked awesome!" his wife promised. "Do you want to tell him bye now?"

"Yes!" his daughter rushed toward the camera, centered herself, and blew a kiss with both hands. "Bye, daddy! I miss you! I'm going to do two handsprings next time, ok?"

"Two?" Dorian repeated and shook his head.

Then the camera turned, and his wife grinned and waved. "Hey, babe! We're all doing great here, but we miss you! Can't wait to see you in a few weeks. Love you! Bye!"

He smiled wistfully in turn musing how a few simple weeks felt light years away. Rather than looming on this significant fact, he watched the video three more times, each time impressed once more by his daughter's skill. She'd probably pester him again for private lessons once he got home, and he tried to calculate how much that would cost them annually.

A new message pinged onscreen to interrupt his thoughts, and Dorian slumped lower in his chair at the reminder of his immediate responsibilities. Reluctantly he set the video aside to consider this new message which seemed by all measures a routine time sheet. But it housed a pivotal code.

All at once, Dorian doubled over holding his head where every pulse ricocheted inside his skull. His heart rate sped up turning the pain into a dizzying clamor, and he continued grasping his head digging his fingers into his scalp like he could hold smother the growing pangs. He crumbled out of his chair onto the floor collapsing in on himself still trying blindly to somehow hold back the pain. His nose began bleeding. He groaned like a wounded animal. Another second of this, and he thought his head would explode. His ears were bleeding, ringing beneath a stabbing pressure. He dug his fingernails deep into his scalp, but that pain was absorbed into the rest. Dorian groaned again, the sound like gravel through his throat and clenched teeth.

Then it all stopped.

O O O

Odin, 2300 hours

"How many did we lose?"

"Four," Hypatia answered from her same position at the Vice Admiral's desk. "There were some unforeseen issues with the signal, sir. We've never activated so many at one time during our trials."

The man swirled his scotch absently in his hand watching the dark liquid pitch closer and closer to the edge. "Sacrifices must me made," he mused aloud. "We'll need to confiscate the bodies and prepare the autopsy reports."

"Aye, sir."

After taking a biting sip of his drink, Reeves set the crystal glass aside and granted his full attention to the AI. "What of the others?"

"All accounted for," she responded. "As planned, they each tapped into the system to receive their orders. Since we didn't station them too far apart, they should assemble within 24 hours."

"24 hours is a long time, Hypatia, for Spartan-117 and his accomplices." Reeves gazed into the dark confines of his office and could only imagine the trouble John and his team would bring. He bristled at the thought.

"We still have the Spartan team on hand, Vice Admiral," Hypatia reminded him.

"Who recently lost their CO," Reeves replied. His eyes slid over to the holographic avatar. "How have they responded?"

"Predictably. They believe he followed Spartan-117's path and betrayed his federation."

The Vice Admiral nodded subtly at the news. Predictable, yes, but then again these Spartans keep surprising me. It further deepened his resolve that he had made the right choice on whom he placed his bets. "And Spartan-B170," Reeves continued aloud. "She's shown no further reaction to her sister's presence?"

"If you'll recall the video footage I sent from the interrogation room on the Cronus, it seems Spartan-B170 holds no ties with the rebel Sam Quinn. Her vitals remain within the normal range. I've seen no signs of duplicity."

Reeves scoffed, "You thought the same of Spartan-104."

The AI calmly clasped her hands before her and assured him, "And I've adjusted my perspective accordingly. I won't make another mistake."

Unlike some of his human peers, Reeves could trust Hypatia meant what she said. That was the brilliance of a machine with no ulterior motive: transparency and the sole objective to follow orders. He appreciated the simplicity. For this reason did he decide, "Promote Spartan-B170. She'll lead the team to find her sister and the Spartan traitors while we wait for our contingency plan to arrive."

"Aye aye, sir."

It was risky to keep the Spartan team in play not knowing what they would uncover or who would be the next to turn, but it was even more dangerous to sideline them. He needed to keep them focused on the mission so they wouldn't step back and see the bigger picture. He had enough on his plate as it was trying to tow Spartan-117 and his friends back into line.

The Vice Admiral attended to his scotch, swirling the liquid again, while he wondered under his breath, "You have 24 hours, John. What's your next move?"

Author's Note: What? I'm uploading two chapters within days of each other? Yeah, I surprise myself too sometimes :)

Thanks to Halo Fan for the awesome review! Sorry not sorry about the cliffhangers :D I kinda enjoy torturing you guys by leaving things hanging. Maybe I should write telenovelas in my next life haha Glad you're still reading, and I hope you like this chapter as well. Less of a cliffhanger, right? :)