Void

Billy stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He didn't know how long he'd been walking, couldn't even remember when he had started, but he did know he was feeling the exhaustion of a very long trek. He didn't even know why he was still going. The road ahead seemed endless, a path leading to an unknown destination. There were no routes that branched from the linear direction he was following. Rusty metal bars ran parallel, trapping him in between, forcing him to continue on the course that could very well take him back to where he started—wherever that was. Complete and daunting darkness swallowed every inch around him. It didn't make any sense that he was still able to see, but then again, nothing right now did. Lifting his right foot and then the left until both resumed the tiresome walk, he continued moving soundlessly across the black plane, silently cursing the fact that the Magnum in his hand did not carry the weight of ammunition to end his life.

He could have, and should have, discarded the useless weapon, but something else was dictating his thoughts, telling him that he should hold on to it, that it had a purpose.

"Where am I going?" he murmured, letting his feet drag down the hall. He squinted past the bars on either side of him but found nothing different than what he was already facing.

Overwhelmed with lost hope, he moved with his head bowed, his eyes on his feet shuffling through the obscurity, his mind registering anything else but what his sense of sight fed it.

Where was Travis? Devin? Bruce? Nathan? Jeff? The rest of his unit? Were they eagerly searching for him like he was for them? Were they also trapped in this labyrinth, this twisted layout that could only be conceived by a brilliant but psychotic person?

Where was Rebecca? Was she okay?

That thought sent a shock of uneasiness straight to his core. Rebecca…he was wondering about her whereabouts and her safety, but he didn't know who she was. He didn't even know of a Rebecca—had never met a single Rebecca in his life, never seen one. Well, there was one Rebecca who came to mind. Long, flowing black hair, blue eyes, a gentle smile—she looked like an animated porcelain doll imported from France. They were in the same third grade class but had never spoken to each other, and so he doubted that she was significant enough for him to give a damn about. He truly didn't know anyone else by that name…

"Rebecca? Rebecca who?" he whispered, cycling through all the insignificant women with whom he'd cross paths on lonely evenings.

"Chambers," an airy voice echoed down the hall, cutting his thoughts.

"Chambers? Who the hell is Rebecca Chambers?" he asked back, forgetting that he should be more interested in questioning the source of the voice and not the identity of a stranger.

He stopped to wait for an answer but only met silence in his anticipation for another lead. He threw his hands into the air and let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, are going to answer me?"

Silence.

Great. He felt like an overgrown specimen lab rat stuck in a maze, except this one had no winding passages, making it –ironically—more difficult to escape. At least most mazes had exits, but this—he didn't even want to think how much further he had to go before freedom would be gained. When he prepared to walk again, something about the bars on his right caught his sight. Thick, crimson liquid smeared over the rust, the droplets trickling to the void that absorbed them. Finally, some distinction.

His pulse quickened and his feet began to move with more fervor. He soon broke into a run and noticed that the thin, tarnished columns that trapped him were bloodier the further down he ran. The rust on the bars could no longer be seen; all that spiraled down the rods was blood, blood that reeked of decay and copper and death. The rank smell didn't bother him in the slightest but acknowledging that discovery certainly did. What was happening to him?

A shadowy silhouette ahead ceased his movements, and realizing that he was not going to advance toward it, the mysterious entity began walking toward him like a two-dimensional character projecting to life. Billy didn't feel threatened in its presence. Perhaps it was because the figure was starting to materialize into a woman—a young lady who was a head shorter than him with soft feminine curves. Even before he saw her face, he got the sense that she was youthful, but seeing her features confirmed his assumption. The young woman stopped a few feet away from him and pierced his eyes with her wide green ones, communicating ambivalence through her soulful gaze. Her short hair and bangs framed her heart-shaped face well but it reminded him of haircuts young kids usually had. She looked about eighteen, maybe seventeen, and the one reason why he didn't guess any younger was because she was wearing a S.T.A.R.S.-issue uniform—green cargo pants, a white vest over an olive-colored tee. He didn't need to study her attire more than once to realize that she was a field medic. Billy spotted her holster at her side but it was empty. Checking her hands, he found she wasn't carrying a weapon. She was unarmed.

"Lieutenant Coen," she breathed out, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Shit. Who was this woman? She certainly knew him, or at least had some idea of who he was but he knew nothing about her.

"How do you know me?"

She didn't reply, and instead, looked at the feet; her shoulders slumped in a way that was able to channel her disappointment into Billy.

Billy decided to change the subject. After all, there were more important matters that needed to be addressed first. "Hey, do you know where we are? How did we end up here and you know a way out?"

She still did not give him a response, didn't even lift her head to acknowledge his questions. He was at a loss about what to do or say but knew that he had to get through to her for both their sakes. He didn't want to be judgmental but his ego had already convinced him that she needed his protection. With a sigh, he decided to be more assertive this time. Just when he reached over to touch her shoulder, more shadowy silhouettes formed behind her. He counted six tall figures with human outlines, but their bodies possessed no shapes, wavering behind the woman like inky waterfalls.

Before he could warn her of the potential danger, one of the figures spoke—his voice resonating authority and insistence. "Rebecca, you must arrest him."

Rebecca? Was this Rebecca Chambers?

Billy frowned. There had to be some mistake. He hadn't done anything wrong, not yet anyway. "Rebecca…? What the hell is he talking about?"

She didn't answer him but she didn't show any hints of obeying the order she had just been given either.

"Kill them, before it's too late," another voice behind him interrupted, his tone equally forceful and strict.

Billy turned around and was startled to find Samuel Regan, his commander, standing despite the numerous injuries that were visible through the tears in his navy trench coat. He noticed gunshot wounds right away, two on his right thigh and one on his left arm, but the man was still sane and strong enough to hold his own. "Sir, what are you doing here?"

"Don't make me repeat it, Coen. Kill them before they kill you," Regan ordered again, walking to stand beside him.

Billy shook his head. He was glad to see a familiar face in the midst of all the confusion but Regan was only building the haze he wanted to clear. "I don't understand. Who are they? Where are WE?"

"Rebecca. Arrest him. He's a murderer. Now," a second figure behind Rebecca interjected.

Blistering heat amplified and began to envelope his body. Who was this, this nobody, accusing him of being a murderer? He had harmed a few people out of pure defense, but he had never once intentionally or unintentionally killed someone. He had dedicated his life to protecting not just people but his entire country, this fucker included.

"You see what I mean? Go on, shoot them!" Regan encouraged, volume growing in his voice.

The Magnum in Billy's hand suddenly grew heavier. He looked down and saw that all the rounds were chambered. Six rounds for six targets.

"Murderer…"

"Murderer!"

"Murderer."

All six figures began chanting their accusations like a mantra. The hand with the weapon shook only once before he lifted it. He slid into his shooting pose, his anger spitting spiraling streaks of fire into his skin. He wanted the burning to stop, and there was not a shadow of a doubt that the only way for that to happen was if he annihilated the speakers of the lies.

The Magnum jumped in his hands as the rounds left the gun, propelling through each black outline with an airless whoosh. The humanoid shapes disbanded, the dark traces that kept their structures lined joining the void again. When he lowered his Magnum—ammunition depleted—shiny silver objects fell beside Rebecca's feet at a speed that resisted the natural laws of physics. Despite the weight of the objects which now revealed to be Berettas, the guns descended like floating feathers, finally hitting the ground with resonances that did not echo its deceitful mass. Loud clanks, like metal against glass, reverberated around them, yet Rebecca did not even budge.

Studying the guns laid at rest, Billy realized that they were S.T.A.R.S.-issue Samurai Edges, specifically customized for the rescue squad. He counted six in total, perfect matching the number of the phantom wielders. Panic started to drown his fury but he quickly shook it off. Now was no time for regrets. He told himself that he did what he had to and should feel more confident about his action, especially since it had been approved by Regan, the man he respected and looked up to since his first week in the Marines.

"Good," Regan complimented. "Let's go."

Go where? He still didn't know but was convinced that Regan knew the way.

Nodding, he grabbed Rebecca's wrist firmly. She finally looked up, her cheeks wet with tears that were still being released from her eyes. Billy was shocked by her reaction, but assumed it was from either fear or shock. He didn't, however, expect to hear her next words leaving her mouth with a tearful wail that hurt his heart.

"What have you done?" she whimpered, her arm now starting to shake in his grasp."Y-you killed them."

"They were threats," he tried to reason, but it was hard to tell her that when he didn't quite fully believe his own remark.

She shook her head, bangs sticking to her eyes. "No, they were not. Y-you, Lieutenant Coen, you're the murderer…" Her arm shook harder but it was no longer from fright. She was trying to fight his grip and he could feel the rising tension beneath the skin, tension that was aimed at him. "Now, let me GO!"

She didn't even give him an option. With strength she couldn't possibly be capable of bearing, she wrested his fingers from her wrist before sending his body back with a side kick, causing him to regain balance on one knee. Tarnishing his pride, Billy let out a gasp of shock that he couldn't suppress and found a furious Rebecca glowering down at him. She ground her teeth, her fingers curling into her palms as the knuckles turned whiter than her already pale skin.

"Don't you touch me," she seethed, as if she was talking to the most despicable being in existence.

"Rebecca-" he croaked, suddenly feeling more fearful than being trapped in this unknown, sick dungeon.

"Shut up!" she screamed, the tears dripping with the two syllables that he obeyed, but not by choice. She exhaled deeply, trying to calm herself down. When she succeeded half way, Rebecca took two wobbling steps back and bit her lower lip to fight back more tears. "Just…just stay away from me," she whispered, pleaded.

Billy stood up slowly and nodded to show that he was going to satisfy her request. "A-all right, just…calm down." He put up his hands and also took two steps back, demonstrating that he was not intent on hurting her. He turned around to shoot Regan a questioning look, hoping that he would know why this strange girl was freaking out, but his sweat turned cold when he found that Regan was no longer there. He did a full three-sixty but the man wasn't anywhere. It was like he had disappeared into thin air, or had never existed to begin with; he didn't know which scenario scared him more. The calmness he was trying to hold up until now was slowly beginning to fracture, wounding his mind and sanity.

"Regan!" he yelled, only to have the echoes of his voice thrown right back at him.

"Billy," a voice so familiar whispered. The two syllables sent shivers down his spine, the sadness uttered with his name absorbed by his heart. He didn't need to turn around to see the caller of his name, the woman who had given him everything and then left him with nothing.

"Mom," he released with a strained gasp. She was always so confident, so sure of herself. He had never heard her this vulnerable, weak, desperate.

"Billy…honey," she added affectionately, her voice shaking, almost bordering hysteria, "what have you done?"

"What do you mean? I-I haven't done anything…" he tried to deny, suppress the guilt for making Rebecca cry and fear him, for potentially having killed a crew of innocent and good men.

All traces of sorrow suddenly vanished from Rebecca's face. Her pout curved into a sinister grin, and her eyes had dried to a glare with a hard edge. He did not like the new transition at all. There was almost a crazed look in her brilliant pupils, shedding any purity they had once radiated. "Tell me how it feels, Billy. Only then you'll know how much I'm hurting."

Before he could even question what she meant, Rebecca zipped past his side, but not before he noticed a knife clenched in her right hand. He spun around and let out a voiceless scream, the shape of his mouth matching the petrified contours of his mother's, the size of her eyes expanding and then shrinking until the long lashes fell over both lids, sealing her sight, permanently. Streams of blood cascaded from her chest, on to the blade that was pierced within, and then soaked Rebecca's small hands. Tiny hands, childlike hands, not hands belonging to a killer.

Rebecca plunged the knife further into the victim's chest, the blood now spurting like a wild geyser. "I'll never forgive you for what you've done, Billy. If I could do more, I would."

The grin faded, and pain was suddenly reflected in her eyes. Whether she was showing remorse for what she did or grieving over what he'd done, Billy didn't know, and he didn't care either. Thoughts of stabbing Rebecca with the very knife that just took his mother's life swam in his mind, but he just couldn't bring those nasty ideas to fruition. The tears forming around his eyes felt like drops of acid melting into his skin, the stinging sensation crawling over him, making him feel as if a rug of pins had just unfurled itself on top of his body. He brought the Magnum to his head and prayed—begged—for the weapon to automatically reload itself so he could put an end to this nonsensical suffering, but the gun clicked empty. Finding his voice again, he unleashed a splitting scream he couldn't even recognize as his own and threw the Magnum on to the ground with almost enough force to crack it in half.

Knees experiencing lightness that made him fear his legs had somehow been amputated, he collapsed on to the cold, black earth, catching his fall with his palms that also felt non-existent. The dark, depthless terrain beneath him began to shake, the bars on either side of him quaking too as they began meeting each other. He understood right away that there would be no escape. This would be his end, these were his final moments, and the only thing he could appreciate was that it was going to be over very soon. He had inadvertently bargained away his mother's life for six souls that did not matter to him, and for that, he deserved worse than what he was going to get.

"Oh it's much more than that, Billy," he heard Rebecca whispering. He didn't know how this psycho was reading his thoughts, but it just did not matter anymore.

The boundaries surrounding him rattled him in a way that made him feel like an egg in the midst of an earthquake, but damn it, he couldn't wait till he cracked. Glancing up, he saw that the bars were less than two feet away from connecting. Closing his eyes to prepare for the impact, the landing beneath him shattered, and he felt himself caught in a free-fall, with nothing suspending him, nothing breaking his descent until—

Billy didn't know what falling toward death was like, but he did know it wasn't supposed to feel like this, like he was lying on a soft mattress, a soft hot mattress that seemed to be absorbing the rising temperature that knew no mercy. He opened one eye first, wanting to make sure he wanted to fully see what the environment around him was like. It took him a few moments to realize he was in a bedroom, and perhaps minutes to remember how he had gotten here to begin with. He couldn't recall everything, the memories before the argument he had with Rebecca mostly just a colorless blur. He would like to think that the quarrel he had with Rebecca had spared his life, but in reality, it was simply prolonging its decay, lengthening both the physical and mental discomfort—and now guilt.

He was now aware that the frightening experience was just a dream, or maybe a hallucination, but it felt like neither because there was too much truth in what he had just went through. He couldn't remember the individual components that brought upon this holistic manifestation, but the immense guilt that had eaten him before now came back to finish devouring his soul, and that was something no effects of any virus or illness could dispel from his memories and existence. The guilt had never gone away, but it had been tamed for awhile for the sake of binding the pieces of his sanity in order to fulfill some purposes that must have been important if he was still alive at this point, dangling and holding on to dear life on Death's thread.

But that was wearing thin, and he was so tired of grasping the laciniate ends. He just wanted to be cut loose, cut from the torment and the regret for which he could not repent, but he supposed that would be too easy of an escape, and he was undeserving of such leisure unless—

-unless he came clean, which felt like the right thing to do, and was the proper thing to do. There wasn't much else he could lose when everything was already taken. All he had left was his dignity and the false illusion he wore to shield others from the real Billy Coen, the side he was terrified of exposing to others because even he was scared of its existence. It stalked him like his shadow, more pronounced on certain days than others, darker at nights than mornings, right before it would sometimes slip into his dreams, turning them into nightmares he would try to suppress but couldn't forget, never forget.

Maybe it was about time he confessed, maybe then the demons would grant him some reprieve, or even leave his festering soul. Maybe then, the real healing would begin. There were some secrets one could carry to one's grave, and he'd once thought he would be capable of doing the same, but now as he lay on his death bed, he realized he wanted to talk, to experience one last time what it felt like to live a life without being chased by innumerable ghosts, the numbers still on the rise. To just live as himself, without his tainted side, just one last time. That was what he wanted.

But what he needed was her, by his side to listen to an admittance that would truly free him in both body and mind. And then she would feed him the bullet he'd been longing for, one clean shot that would eradicate all the ties she had to him, any feeling she had for him because they were for a man who was constructed to protect the true coward who couldn't show himself.

"Rebecca," he coughed, the desperate plea earning no response.

Maybe she took his advice and left without him, took off on her own, for her own good. He was starting to slightly regret asking her to hear out his advice, because now he was left without a listener when he needed one the most. The secret never slipped through his lips, only thrived in his mind, and now it seemed it would always be this way. It would die, rot with his hope for salvation.

A/N: Apologies for the late update! I had a lot of school issues to take care of since my last update, and was working on another story this week. This chapter was supposed to be longer, with a scene featuring Rebecca, but I did not get to finish it, and felt it would be better for the next chapter anyway. I'm thrilled that the story has just broken 200 reviews! Thank you for the comments and support, AND for being patient, because I am a pretty slow writer. =)