Static has a way of filling up a space like a liquid. Even at a low volume, even muffled and barely perceptible, it permeates everything. The flickering light created balance, uniting everything in the room with its own pulsing shadow, sharpening details and yet degrading reality. And the flickering sound engulfed all noise and thought in a constant, low, deafening buzzing. A numbness. There was nothing but the static, filling the room and the world and her mind. Nothing left, because just as the static came onto the TV screen after all the programs had finished running for the day, it came into her head at the end of her ability to think. She couldn't process anymore, couldn't stand the raging storm of emotion within her, so she drowned it all in static. Time had passed, but how much was impossible to tell. The world continued outside, but she couldn't experience it past the static's stasis. There was a presence, hovering at the corner where the living room turned into the hall, trying to break the oceanic spell, but she ignored it. Her eyes remained forward, hypnotized by the black and white pixels as they flashed, filling the void between them.

"There was nothing else you could've done," Soul said quietly, intruding in the least aggressive way. "You know that right."

Maka didn't answer. She hugged her knees tighter to her chest and pressed her chin to them.

"This witch," he continued pressing. "She's insidious, but not invincible."

Static and stillness. Her face remained completely neutral.

"We're going to find him. Lord Death-"

"Lord Death," she spat suddenly, curling her fingers into fists in the cloth of her pants. "Said he would be safe. He was supposed to keep him safe."

"Yeah, you mentioned that earlier," said Soul with a wry, hollow smile. "Very loudly and right to his face. I don't know how you have the balls to scream at Lord Death that way."

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't accomplish anything."

"We are going to find him."

"I…" Maka started, then trailed off. Her fists tightened until her knuckles went white, though her face remained impassive. "I can't feel him Soul… I can't reach him…"

"It's fine. We're going to try again tomorrow, when we're both rested."

"No, you don't understand. He was right there, right in front of me, but I couldn't feel him at all. I couldn't sense him even when I was looking right at him. It's like he's not Crona anymore and I-"

"It's okay," Soul soothed, pushing off from the wall and settling next to her on the couch.

"But it's not! What's she done to him?! What's she doing to him right now?! What have I allowed to happen…"

"Listen," he said sternly, resting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "You didn't "allow" any of this. None of us did. This is the witch's fault and no one else's, understand?"

"Don't try to make me feel better," she chided. "Possession requires weakness, it's not something that can just happen. And I made him weak. I told him that I didn't know what to do with him. That I didn't know how to trust him. I abandoned him, just when he needed me the most, because I was angry and afraid and look what happened. I should've stayed with him. I should've-"

"But you didn't," Soul cut her off sharply. "None of that matters now. You did the best you could with the information you had at the time."

"It wasn't good enough."

"So do better! Wallowing around like this isn't cool, and it's not helping Crona. Get it together. Do something."

His words echoed in the static, causing Maka's expression to tense.

"I don't know what to do," she finally admitted. "This is all happening so fast and I-I'm scared… What happens if we don't find him? What happens if we do?"

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it. But you're going to be useless if you're so tired you can't see straight."

"You're right," Maka mumbled in resignation.

"Always am. So go to bed. We'll get back to it first thing."

"Okay. Okay, I will, just…give me a minute."

Soul nodded, releasing her shoulder and standing up. For a moment he tried to do something reassuring with his face like grin, but when that failed he just nodded again, turning and heading to his room. She waited for the sound of his door closing behind him to follow suit, getting to her feet and making her way to the TV. Her fingers rested on the dial, hesitating, then with a short sigh through her nose she switched it off decisively, turned on her heel, and headed down the hall. But when she got to her door she hesitated again, biting her lower lip. Yes she was exhausted, just not in a way that could be cured by sleep. Emerald eyes slid further down the hall, to the end where Crona's room was, and before she knew what was happening her hand was on his doorknob instead. This time there was no hesitation.

Maka closed the door gently behind her and sat down on the edge of Crona's bed as she'd done a hundred times before. Only this time Crona wasn't in the bed with her. The place where his body should've been was vacant and flat, not even wrinkled. He'd made the bed yesterday morning, tucking the sheets in neatly. As if to make sure, she traced the spot where his hips would've been, then let her hand run up to his pillow. Feeling tears burn in her eyes, she laid down and grasped that pillow, holding it to her like a poor substitute for Crona. The sobs she'd been holding in all night ached in her throat, tearing at it, causing her to go red in the face as she restrained them. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to admit defeat. And yet the tears came nonetheless, leaking from her, running across the bridge of her nose and onto the pillow.

The last time she'd cried like this Crona had been there. He'd held her to his chest, run his fingers through her hair.

Shhh. Shhh, don't cry. It's all right now. It's all right, Little One. Shhh, don't cry.

The memory made her cry harder. His absence hurt like nothing she'd ever experienced and the pain she'd been trying to suppress came crashing down around her. Inside her. The sound of his wings tearing through his metallic bonds, the dust in her lungs as the wall burst, the vacant expression in his dark eyes before they were cast into shadow. And something else… a sensation in her mind. A whisper she wasn't even sure she'd heard. Crona's voice… what had he said there on the edge of her thoughts?

Maka… my journal…

A spasm sent her bolt upright, eyes wide. That's right, he'd said he was working on a way to suppress his Madness, that that was why he'd continued the research unsupervised to begin with. He'd said he was close. Pendra was certainly going to unleash that Madness; when they found him Crona would be overcome with it. But if he'd designed a solution, something that would purge the Madness from his blood, there was a chance of getting him back without having to fight. There was a chance that whatever it was would purge Pendra's magic too. The answers were in his journal and his journal was…

Maka launched out of the bed and slid quickly but quietly into the hall, then out of the apartment, trying not to disturb Soul. He was right, she did need to sleep, and she would. After she'd accomplished her new goal. After she'd taken his other set of advice and done something. Reaching the glow of the sodium lamp lit street, Maka took off running in her pajamas and bare feet, letting the wind dry her tears.


The medical wing was well insulated. Regardless of the heat outside, the room stayed cool. And in the frigid desert nights it stayed warm. She didn't think the temperature had changed by a degree since she'd woken up, like the wing had been designed with some kind of obsessive consistency in mind. Some kind of creepy, unsettling, and unnerving dedication to sameness that she simply couldn't understand. It was artificial… and isolating. Like the world had stopped and she was surrounded by stagnation. Like she'd just been removed from time. Forgotten in limbo.

Vera pressed her fingertips to the windowpane, gazing longingly at the city buildings and streets just outside. They were beautiful in the early morning light, glowing almost, casting long, dark shadows over each other to create a wonderful texture. She knew it was brisk out there, that anyone standing still would be eventually overcome with shivers and compelled to move about. She remembered, as if from a long time ago, that feeling, the sincerity of it. Of course she'd been cold, and hot, while under the witch's control, but it wasn't the same. The centipede in her brain had been insulating too; feeling and sensation dulled and the only thing she had known was her directive. There were also brief moments of agony when she'd fought off the spell, flashes of clarity and selfhood, pain she wished to forget. A life that had been in shambles before Pendra's seduction. What, she wondered, would she go back to when she was finally free again?

At least the glass was cool, conducting some of the chill from the outside to her fingers. In this world in which she had no agency, no power, it was real and kind enough to give her a sliver of truth. Something hot pricked her eyes, but she shook it off quickly, hardening with anger. This was all Crona's fault. Crona the murderer, Crona the monster, the one who took her family from her. So what if he hadn't lit the fire. Responsibility doesn't care about such trivial things. As Medusa's child and the executer of her will, Crona was just as guilty as the rest of them. A witch's tool can't be anything else. It-he- whatever, like her, had no choice.

Call Crona an "it" one more time…

Pendra always referred to Crona as an "it," as something other than a person. Dehumanizing. And in her hatred she'd picked it up too; the word slipped through when she wasn't paying attention, mixing, confusing her. Pain leads to hatred and hatred to dehumanization and dehumanization to atrocity. In her studies she'd seen it time and again, and in her naïveté she'd thought herself above such primal cruelty. Then came the fire and the sight of Black Blood and things had become different. Crona was a created entity, a witch's synthesized child, genderless and freakish. It didn't qualify as a person. And yet the way Maka had attacked her, the contained passion in her eyes, her love. He was loved. He was sorry. But now, after all the commotion last night, she could only assume he was Pendra's. He or it, person or monster, redeemable or not. What did it all mean? What would she do if she didn't have someone to blame and hate?

"Hello Vera."

Her blood congealed in her veins and her heart stopped beating. Breath caught in her throat. Eyes widened as pupils dilated in response to danger. That voice- no, it couldn't be. Not here, not now. Slowly, trembling, she turned.

"I assume they're treating you well," Pendra continued conversationally, twisting a dark curl around her finger. The brass bands around her wrist jingled musically.

"Y-you-you're not h-here…" Vera stammered, pressing herself against the wall by the window. "You c-can't be here."

"Come now Vera, aren't you happy to see me? We had such fun, you and I. I thought you might be lonely without me."

"Leave me alone," she whispered, barely making a sound at all.

"Well aren't you boring. Frankly, though, what you want isn't important. I've been inside your mind, Vera; we're connected. I will always be with you now, you'll need to get used to that. But enough small talk. Follow me, there's something I think you'll appreciate."

Pendra turned and candlelight danced in her curls and across the dark, bare skin of her mid section. Her long carmine skirt rustled in the dampened air. Expectantly, she tossed a look back at Vera and, understanding it's meaning, the girl started forward. There was a disorienting, dizzy sensation and she spun around, staring back at something else that couldn't be. Her body remained behind, frozen against the wall of the infirmary, yet she herself was surrounded by rock wall and candles. A long tunnel of stone and fire, with moisture shimmering on the walls and dripping from the ceiling, causing the candles to sputter every now and again. Knowledge that wasn't hers told her this was her astral self, that Pendra had ripped it from her for the purpose of bringing her back here. She didn't want to go, didn't want to see whatever the witch was going to show her. She was afraid. Yet it was unavoidable. Turning her back on her body, Vera moved forward, trailing behind Pendra like an obedient shadow, shaking.

The first hint of what Pendra was so excited about was the sound of whimpering and moaning, echoing off the rock. Then the hall opened up into a wider cavern, with shelves of supplies and glassware, tables, chairs, and a figure. Like her, he was shaking, and like her, he had no choice anymore. His head hung forward so pink hair obscured his face and one hand hung limp by his side. The other made a lump under his robe at the shoulder, reaching across his chest and through the unbuttoned collar to access flesh. It was moving and he whimpered again.

"I wanted to show you the fruits of your labors," the witch cooed, approaching her prize. "You did it. Thanks to you, Crona is mine now."

"What…" Vera whispered, her lips parting in shock. "What have you done to him?"

"Oh so it's a him now," she laughed, grabbing Crona's wrist and extracting his hand from his robe.

His fingertips gleamed black with blood; he'd been scratching himself until he bled. Pendra moved his hand down to his side, then grabbed his chin and brought his face up. His eyes were wide and ice blue, unseeing. Vera remembered that feeling and it made her sick to see that expression on another face. Even if it was Crona's.

"What have you done to him," she repeated, firmer this time, though her insides felt like gelatin.

"There's a centipede inside it, just a normal one though. You preformed perfectly, the centipede you put inside it activated its Madness and all its allies rejected it. It's so weak now I barely have to put any energy at all into controlling it. Aren't you proud?"

She didn't say anything, biting into her lower lip and looking at Crona. In her core she knew no one deserved this. No one.

"This is its natural state, to be subservient. The programming Lady Medusa layered into its mind is proof enough of that."

"Programming?"

"Oh, didn't you know? When Crona here was a child, it was subjected to both magical and behavioral conditioning. Medusa would lock it away in the darkness for days on end without food or water, until it obeyed. Until it killed. She'd torture it, cast spells, infuse it with her own blood. Submission was its only escape from the pain its own continuing defiance caused. Why are you making that face? You look like you're going to cry. I thought you'd be pleased to know it suffers, just as you desired."

"I… didn't know…" Vera breathed, though she found it difficult. Her head was spinning.

"What does it matter? It's responsible for countless deaths, including your parents. Remember how you yearned for this? Remember how your hatred for it brought you to me? And we've accomplished so much together. Bask in your victory. Watch as I complete our mission."

"No… No, send me back."

"What's the matter? Loosing your nerve? Do you not have the stomach for victory," Pendra giggled.

She grabbed a fistful of Crona's hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat. He gasped when she bit into it, taking the skin across his windpipe between her teeth delicately, nibbling. Vera felt sick and wanted to look away, but found she couldn't. She was rooted to the spot, helpless once again. Crona let out a series of little choking sounds, yet he didn't resist- couldn't, she understood that. Pendra released him after a moment of sucking, pushing him back into a chair that materialized behind him. Giving Vera a foreshadowing smirk, she released Crona's hair to use both hands to bind his wrists to the armrests. Securing his head with a leather strap around his neck. Then the witch moved her attention to his lips, kissing him passionately, inserting her tongue and exploring. His eyes went wide and he gagged as she pulled away just a little, just enough for Vera to see the centipede's blood red legs flash as it crawled from Crona's throat to Pendra's mouth.

For the first time Vera noticed a series of flexible, plastic tubes attached to the wall, connecting a cylinder of compressed gas to a mask. Her brow wrinkled in confusion; just what was it all for? What could the witch possibly be planning to do with that? Crona's blood would adapt to any sedative, so it wouldn't be effective for any appreciable amount of time. Leaving the centipede inside him would've made more sense. Unless… the Black Blood would've eventually cleared that too… Licking her lips, Pendra's eyes and curls slid over her shoulder as she fixed the girl with a devious, cruel gaze.

"You're here as my witness Vera," she said. "I know what you're thinking, and what your new "protectors" are hoping, that Crona's powerful immune response will free it from my control. That there's some chance of getting it back. But that's simply not what's going to happen. So long as you're here, I want you to take back that message."

"Ngh," Crona groaned, lifting his chin to relieve the pressure the strap was putting on his throat. His eyes flicked open, storm cloud grey and unfocused.

"It's true," Pendra continued, ignoring him and busying herself with the gas mask. "That the centipede would've been cleared. It was an early formulation and not very potent, allowing me to control Crona's weakened mind with ease, but not it's body. So I developed a counter measure: this gas. It contains proteins from my plasma, aerosolized, that will be adsorbed directly across the alveoli into the blood. No metabolic clearance, no need to penetrate the Black Blood. In just a few days its body will no longer reject my proteins as foreign and they will no longer be cleared. My magic will be a part of it, my control absolute."

Crona let out a low moan, tugging weakly at his restraints. Vera watched him blink away the haze, watched a secondary ring in his eyes expand and turn them ice blue. She heard his breath catch in his throat and saw something that couldn't be there come into his face. Because monsters are the thing in the dark, the end, death given form. Monsters have no reason to be afraid. Monsters are just as incapable of experiencing fear as they are remorse. Yet his expression, at first confused, became sharp and tense. He began to gasp in earnest as a fist tightened around his heart and his rib cage contracted. His fingers curled into fists as he strained against the leather that bound him. Even though it couldn't be, because he was a monster, Vera could see it. Crona was terrified.

"No," he moaned, voice hoarse. "No… Let me go… Don't touch me…"

"Hush now," soothed Pendra, playing with his hair with the hand closest to him as she opened the gas tank with a sharp his, adjusting the flow using a small knob on the regulator. "It will be better this way, you'll see. You'll remember what you are, don't you worry. Now hold still."

Crona thrashed, ineffectually, pulling away from her as best he could. Pendra let out a ringing laugh, catching the back of his head with one hand and pressing the mask over his nose and mouth with the other. His breathing was heavy and erratic, before he knew what had happened he'd inhaled deeply. The result was immediate. Rigidity froze him in contorted resistance, then another breath relaxed his muscles. Pale blue faded back to grey, then almost black as his pupils dilated. Under her spell once again.

"That's right Crona, that's good. This is what you are now. No use in fighting it."

"Why are you doing this to him?"

Vera hadn't realized she'd asked the question out loud until Pendra responded, giving her a cold smile. The girl stepped back, her own fear quickening her pulse.

"Why not? This is what it was made for."

"But he's… suffering…" she whispered, raising her hands to her chest defensively.

"Isn't that what you wanted? Aren't you pleased? Come now Vera, there's no need to be shy about it. We're the same, you and I. The pain of others is our pleasure. Justice can only be achieved through suffering. I told you in the beginning this would happen, I promised you returning Crona to its original purpose would cause the most delicious agony, and you agreed to become my servant in exchange for that agony."

"No! That's not what happened! You used me, you forced me!"

"You followed my centipede to my lair of your own volition. I just offered you a deal and you took it to satisfy your hatred's hunger. Don't claim you never wanted vengeance now that you have it."

"I didn't know-"

"That doesn't matter! You're starting to bore me," Pendra snapped, turning her full attention to Vera. "If you continue to snub my hospitality I will have to punish you."

"No, please," Vera wilted, cowering before her.

"You're regaining your health, it seems," Pendra observed with a cruel grin. "Maybe I'll make you my spy again. You and Crona can work together to destroy Death City."

"No! No, stop! Don't come near me! I don't want to go back! I won't!"

She yelled, squeezing her eyes shut and willing it all away. But it didn't go away. Even through her eyelids she could see the witch, a centipede curled around her wrist, advancing. There was something behind her, preventing retreat, cornering her. Vera slid into a crouch, holding her fists before her scrunched up face. Pendra seemed to float, extending the insect which reared its head and flailed its blood red legs. A scream of pure horror tore from her lips as she braced herself.

"Vera! Vera wake up!"

Hands on her shoulders, shaking her. Warm hands, firm and yet still gentle. A voice she recognized. Dry air, the same temperature it had always been. A wall at her back and daylight shining through her eyelids. Gasping, she opened her wild eyes and was met with a concerned crimson stare. Soul Evans. Trembling, she blinked away tears of relief, trying to steady her breath.

"I'm okay," she insisted, whispering. Still, her fists wouldn't unclench and her sweat wouldn't dry.

"You sure about that?"

"Yes, I-" her voice was steady even as fear boiled in her blood.

Uneasy, she looked around, rising slowly to her feet. Soul followed suit, his hands resting on her shoulders, guiding her. Again, her amber eyes flicked this way and that, then came to a rest on him as she reached a conclusion.

"Get me outta here," she commanded. "Take me out into the city, just for a little, just for a walk."

He gave her a skeptical look, pursing his lips.

"I wanted to talk to you," he started, trying to change the subject, but she cut him off.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Outside."

A moment of undecided silence.

"Please," she added, letting a little of her desperation slip through. "I can't take it any more. I need to get outta here, just for a little."

"Alright," said Soul after some consideration. "We'll talk at the park. How's that?"

Vera nodded enthusiastically, finally managing to drop her fists to her sides and uncurl her fingers. An appreciative smile twitched at her lips, which Soul returned cautiously as he lead her out of the infirmary.