March 30, 1986

"Repeat that," Jormungand said slowly, facing away from a rather nervous employee.

"Kent's dead," the unhappy messenger said, "It appears that he was shot several times, we think with his own gun."

"Dammit!" snarled Jormungand, banging on the wall nearest to him.

The messenger winced as he heard the sound and his eyes dilated in terror at the large dent his boss' fist had made.

"Any news of those two bitches?" he snapped.

"Um, well," stuttered the man, "Not necessarily. However, a girl was taken into an ambulance. It appeared that she had been shot several times and was in critical condition. Another girl and a police officer are reported to have followed her to the City Hospital."

Jormungand cocked his head.

"I'd call that news," he said, "How's the injured one?"

"Apparently completely healed," the man said, "All of her wounds seemed to close up and her blood loss disappeared. She's in a coma but other than that she's made a complete recovery."

Jormungand turned around suddenly.

"Are you sure about that?" he hissed excitedly.

"Yes," he said, surprised.

Once more Jormungand turned away. No, it couldn't be her. That idea had ended with another headstrong bitch and a fast running river nearly two decades ago. Still, if there was one thing in the world he didn't believe in, it was coincidences.

"You know," he said, "I was going to rip out your tongue originally, but this is very good news. Very good news indeed. So good that it cancels out the original message. Try not to be the next one to bring me bad news though. I'm a great believer in the kill the messenger policy."

The man's eyes had practically rolled back into his head in fear as he nodded. Jormungand smirked in satisfaction. His reputation proceeded him.

"Now, I want men sent out to the hospital, just to watch for now. Take most of them and keep me updated. I'll give orders when the time comes," he said.

Nodding again the man turned to go.

"Oh, and one more thing," Jormungand said nonchalantly.

The man stopped in mid-step.

"Bring me the files on the Baldor Project."

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On her hospital Vi stirred. It wasn't a big movement and couldn't really be called such; it barely qualified as a twitch after all. Still, it was movement, and it had been occurring with some regularity. Again regularity was probably the wrong word for it. More specifically it occurred whenever someone would speak to her. On some level or another the words registered in her brain.

Other things were registering, things she wasn't really consciously aware of. To be perfectly frank, she wasn't actually consciously aware of anything. The things that did make any sort of impression were vague and odd. Things were still filtering through her mind though. Once more, Vi stirred.

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Vi was more than just a little confused. Only minutes ago she'd been being carried through hell itself, and now everything was black and empty. She frowned as she thought about it. Had it been hell? Of course it had, there had been blood and flames and screams. However, she vaguely remembered some sort of park though. There was a Ferris wheel, and there were children with balloons and there had definitely been a security bike. If that was hell, then hell was getting pretty damn weird.

Still, if it had been hell than her situation would make more sense. It would mean that she was in limbo which would explain the complete lack of anything but darkness. Now that she thought about it that really didn't make any sense. You didn't go from hell to limbo, did you? Vi shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

As she did so she realized that she was in her Nix uniform. However, one vital thing was missing; her mask. Had she lost her damn mask? Shit. That thing had taken her a whole day of hard sewing and pricked fingers to make and now she had lost the damn thing. Vi looked around on the ground as though it would reveal it.

The thought came to her that the mask wasn't really important. It was just a little thing really and the only reason it had been so hard to make was because she didn't use patterns. In all honesty it didn't even cover her face that much and she had often wondered why the hell heroes even bothered with it. Did it do something to the photo match-ups or something like that?

Just as the doubts entered her mind the answer did as well. The mask was a symbol that set you apart from the rest of the world. It said that you weren't a bystander; you weren't like the people you passed on the street. It put you into something approaching a fraternity of people who were, for lack of a better word since she'd never been particularly good with words, different.

She vaguely wondered if that was what went wrong with the Umbrella Academy. They'd worn masks their whole lives which they'd known deep down had made them different. As such they'd started thinking and being different. No wonder they were all so messed-up, those uncles and mother of Claire's, forced for eighteen years of their lives to be different and their minds had adapted in self-defense.

Then there was Vanya, the one who didn't have to wear a mask as much as the rest of them. She'd been surrounded by people who thought and acted differently all her life. Maybe she'd driven that damned car into the other one as a way out. Vi doubted that she actually had of course, none of her conspiracy theories said that and besides, she'd had that thing going on with Kraken. Still, it must've driven her crazy before her death.

In another futile attempt to clear her head Vi shook it. She needed to look for her mask, needed it if she was going to rescue Claire. If of course, she wasn't in limbo or hell or any of those places.

"Come on," she heard Claire's voice whisper, "Wake up. They're still shitloads of asses out there waiting for you to kick 'em. Come on."

"Huh?" Vi said aloud, looking around.

There was nothing there but the darkness and once more she started to wonder where she was. She had rescued Claire, hadn't she? Well, not exactly but she'd seen to it that she was free. Vi had seen her from the platform that she'd been standing on with Kraken. Wait a minute…what the hell was she doing on that platform?

A few more memories rushed into her mind. Yes, she'd been fighting some snake guy. Then he'd shot her…he'd fucking shot her and lit the fucking place on fire! Yeah, but she'd shot him too so they were even but…but this did mean she was dead. She couldn't have survived those bullet wounds, not to mention the blood loss.

Dejected she sat down on the solid darkness. That was it then; limbo probably. What did one do in limbo? Probably you weren't allowed to kick anyone's ass so Claire's message didn't make much sense. Oh well, it didn't matter anymore. What did matter was that she was dead before her sixteenth birthday, dead before she could get her license for her motorcycle and not have to drive around at night. She was dead before she saw Claire resolve things with her mother, dead before she really knew anything about her father.

"You fucking fight this," another voice said, "You broke your own damn arm once to keep yourself safe, and this is a lot bigger than that. You're a fucking fighter so fight like your life depends on it, 'cause it does."

Vi sat up straighter. The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. It was male definitely but…she didn't quite…An odd thought creeped into her brain. Maybe…well…it would be silly…but just as she thought about her father she'd heard that. Maybe it was something. What was he talking about though?

"Please baby, you were always so strong," her mother's voice said, as if to emphasis her father's point, "Please."

Their words made her doubt her conviction of being dead. What if she'd gotten to medics in time? What if they'd managed to fix her up? Was she just unconscious and hallucinating? Or was it both? Either way nobody had the right to fuck with her like this. Give back as good as you get, that was what she'd lived her life by. Angrily she got up and clenched her fists.

"I wanna go home," she said, her voice low.

When there was no response she yelled;

"I WANNA GO HOME!"

She knew she was just like a child as she screamed up to the heavens but it didn't matter anymore.

"You take me home or tell me I'm dead right now! Can't be both, so tell me which the fuck it is!" she demanded, punching the air.

To her complete surprise her fist hit a wall. She hit it again and felt it crack under the pressure. More determined she started kicking at it.

"I-WANT-TO," she shouted, punctuating each word with a kick, "-GO-HOME!"

The wall crumbled and Vi put her hands up to shield her eyes from the white light that poured in.

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With a gasp of air Vi's heart monitors beeped loudly. Mary Hart's head shot up in time to see her daughter turn her head turn weakly towards her.

"Hey Mom," she said faintly.

Sobbing with relief and joy Mary threw her arms around her.