March 4th, 2013

"What are you looking for?" Valarie questioned

"I saw something in your hair…something that wasn't there before." Emma explained

Her hands were exploring Valarie's head, scrutinizing each strand of hard. The sensation of her fingers rummaging through her hair was something Valarie liked. Loved, actually.

"Found it."

Valarie then felt a pain as something was plucked right from her head.

"Ow! You got my hair by accident!"

"Oh no. I got exactly what I was looking for."

In Emma's hand was a long strand of her hair.

"Look closely."

Emma brought the strand up close to Valarie's eye which she examined. She was stunned to see that the piece of hair Emma had plucked was a ghostly gray.

"Wha-! What?! Gray hair! Why God!?" Valarie exclaimed

"There is only one possible explanation for your hair to gray way before they normally do. Stress." Emma said.

"Stress…" Valarie echoed.

"And it's not the regular stresses of school of you being the captain of the team. It must be from when you were homeless."

Valarie looked down to the floor and sighed, her hair drooping down and covering her face.

"I should've known they'd be some kind of long-term effects." she muttered.

"Valarie, I cannot even begin to imagine the emotions you felt when you were homeless. Me just remembering that time makes my throat tighten. But, through your strength, you've overcome."

"I think I had some great friends lend a hand."

Emma blushed.

"Yeah…anyway I wouldn't be too upset over gray hair. It looks good on you…I like it."

"Oh, why am I not surprised that you, Emma Gray, likes gray hair."

Her blush became a deeper shade of red.

"Ah, well, it's just a good look…you know..aesthetics and all."

Emma's blushing made Valarie blush as well. Soon, lunch was over. They gave each other quick hugs and went to their respective classes.

Elsewhere

Los Angeles, California

American Tankery Association Headquarters

Among all the high-rise buildings and smog was a multistory structure that served as the Association's seat to conduct any and all business related to the sport of tankery in the United States. As the national tournament was in full swing, to say that they were busy would be an understatement. Employees walked briskly all around the building to take care of the multitude of tasks to ensure that the competition runs as smoothly as possible. Late last year, they made the controversial decision to start the tournament months earlier than it was originally planned. They didn't want the tournament to overlap with the international competition. The Association wanted a gap between the two major events so that the winner of the nationals would have the time they'd need to properly prepare themselves to represent the United States on the world stage. Previously, it was essentially a free-for-all for any American school that wanted to represent their country. Now, using the national tournament, the process was much more streamlined and less chaotic. One such employee, a young woman who was only hired just a few months ago, was at her cubicle. Paying full attention to the computer before her. She was reading and cataloging a sea of information. As she worked, one piece of data caught her eye. She raised her hand to wave down her supervisor, who arrived promptly.

"What do you have, Erin?" asked the supervisor.

"Westfield High School informs us that their tankery records have been accessed."

"Why requested it and why?"

"Ah, it was the vice-principal of Mojave Rose. For a demographics survey."

"Mojave Rose? Oh, that reminds me. I need to double-check that they are coming to the convention in Houston. Would hate for some mismanaged paperwork ruin their time."

The supervisor left for her office and turned on her computer. There, she accessed Mojave Rose's records on the database.

"MmmHmm. Indeed they are. Good, they're all set then."

She was just about to log off when she happened to glance at the name of their instructor. She did a double-take but it was what she thought it was.

"You've got to be kidding me." she said, annoyed.

The supervisor printed out the info and returned to Erin.

"Hey, what do you know about this?" she asked, pointed to the name.

"Oh, that's their instructor." Erin responded.

"For how long?"

"Since October I think. She's been with them since the team got formed."

The supervisor scratched her chin.

"Okay. Thanks."

She left with the paper in hand. Back in her office, she picked up the phone and made a call.

"Martha. Get all the veteran supervisors to the conference room for an emergency meeting. Thanks"

The phone was set down and went straight to the room. When she got there, the rest were already waiting.

"This can't be good, Joanna." Martha said.

"No. It isn't. We may have a problem. One that could grow in a huge one." Joanna said.

Joanna presented the paper to all in the room.

"Gabrielle Buchanan has returned to the sport by being the instructor of Mojave Rose High School, out in Barstow."

A nervous murmur erupted in the room.

"Why? I thought she made a promise to never participate in tankery again so that her settlement checks kept coming?" asked on in the room.

"First off, Beth, that isn't part of the contract so we can't use that angle. Second, when you asked to make that promise she was in the hospital HIGH on MORPHINE. Did you forget that part?"

Beth looked away ashamed.

"Verbal promises aren't legally binding. Especially one made by someone doped on painkillers. We need to recognize the fact that we can no longer rely on the trauma she endured on that day on keeping her away from tankery."

"So what do we do? Everyone here knows that she tried to investigate why the protective carbon failed. Now that she is an instructor, she has the means to finish it!" one supervisor said, voice filled with anxiety.

"Is there anything we can do to remove her from being an instructor?" asked another.

"No. Per the rule book, it is up to a school's discretion on who to choose to instruct their tankery team." Beth explained.

Conversation erupted over what to do. Joanna then raised her hand to seize control of the room.

"As schools with tankery teams have to comply with ATA rules and regulations to participate in our matches, the answer is to simply update the rules."

"The schools won't like if their ability to choose is taken away from them." Beth said.

"No not removed. Just…restricted." Joanna responded.

They were confused. Joanna cleared her throat.

"In the interest of providing tankery teams with only quality and experienced instructors, all instructors will need to have been an active participant in tankery within the last three years. Eh, a bit rough but that'll take care of Buchanan."

"We'll refine it and present it to the rules committee when they convene at the convention in Houston."

Whenever the ATA wishes to change, add, or remove a rule, it first must go before the rules committee for consideration where they either approve or reject whatever was proposed. It is composed of nine former tankery athletes who have made great contributions to the sport. Captains of tankery teams also have a voice in the process. They have to be physically present when the committee meets. They don't get a vote. The only role they have is to provide feedback on whatever is being proposed. The committee almost always meets at the tankery conventions to encourage high attendance.

"Can we expect any backlash from his?" asked a supervisor.

"No doubt Mojave Rose will object, but if we sell this rule change right that it is in everyone's best interest, they'll be the lone voice." Joanna explained confidently.

The emergency meeting concluded and the veteran supervisors returned to their regular duties. The situation that popped up was unexpected and unwelcome. It alarmed all the veteran supervisors but they all believed they had it under control and that when April comes and goes, it'll be handled. None of them will ever expect the absolute hell that was coming their way.

Barstow

MacKenzie Conner was a name Redwood found to be more common than he thought. Inputting the name in the search engine yielded hundreds of results, with as numerous social media profile accounts all sharing that name. Women living all over the country. It was overwhelming. There was one from Michigan, one from Florida, and another residing in Ohio. A thought entered her mind that made him internally groan. Mackenzie, in the intervening years, may have gotten married. That would mean she was longer 'Conner' but rather taken the surname of her spouse. If true, Redwood's search would be exponentially harder. He let out a sigh. His work may be near impossible, but we remained determined. He clicked on a social media profile at random and read through the details.

MacKenzie Hayes

From Ridgecrest, California.

Living in Colorado Springs, Colorado.

He raised an eyebrow. This person lived the closest to the Mojave out of all the MacKenzies Redwood has looked through. And Westfield High School was out in Ridgecrest. But it could all be coincidental. He read on and learned more about this person. Hayes was forty-three years old. Her age lined up. Interesting. It was also found out that Hayes had made countless social media posts on her profile spanning back years. A virtual diary. It revealed that she was indeed married and had a daughter. One of these posts intrigued him.

"My daughter has recently told me she was thinking of joining her school's tankery team. She said she wants to 'follow my footsteps.' A part of me is proud but another remembers how my time with the sport came to an unpleasant end. Mixed emotions."

Redwood was leaning toward the idea that she had the right person but he wanted unquestionable proof. More posts were sifted through. He then found a comment on an internet article that talked about German tank destroyers.

"No, the Jagdpanther never had the 105mm gun. This game you play is obviously not historical. The tank destroyer only ever had the 88mm. I would know, I shot that gun more times than I can count."

Redwood has his proof. It was her. Unquestionably. Now the next step would be to orchestrate a meeting between her and Buchanan. He shuddered. How the hell do you go about doing that?

"Hey Gabby, I found the person who nearly killed you in 1990. Wanna meet her for lunch?" Redwood imagined in his mind.

If Buchanan broke up with him, right after punching him right in the face, Redwood wouldn't blame her. He needed to do this with great grace and tact. His best bet would be to have the women meet at a commonplace, without knowing that the other was going to be there. The tankery convention immediately came to mind. Buchanan was going, obviously. The same couldn't be said for Hayes. Redwood was certain that she had, along with Buchanan, some sort of trauma from that day in 1990. Bearing the knowledge that you nearly killed someone messes with the mind. Getting her to go the convention will be a challenge.

Her daughter has expressed interest in tankery. He wondered if that could be a factor. He was mulling his options when there was a ding from his computer. A new email. The subject line read,

Convention Contest Reminder

It was from the Association. Redwood read the contents.

Hello tankers!

This email serves as a reminder that your school will be taking part in the race, sponsored by Patton Heavy Duty Engineering, in Houston, Texas. While already mentioned in previous emails, it is always good to remind you that being race contestants entitles you to certain benefits. Your admission tickets are discounted. Members of your tankery team can watch the race free of charge. Managers of teams may bring a guest, whose expenses will be covered by the Association. Lastly, attached to this email are the rules for the race. Please read and here to them.

See you all April 8th!

A guest? That raises the probability of success considerably. A free trip to the tankery convention could be just what Redwood needs to convince Hayes to head. There were still some aspects that were iffy, however. Hayes would understandably be wary if Redwood, to her a total stranger, invited her to be his guest. To get her to come would require deception, deviant behavior that wasn't part of his character. He let out a sigh. It'll have to be done. He printed out the rules for the race and left his office.

Later

The team was in the garage for today's meeting. Buchanan was conversing with them. Everyone was in front of the Puma.

"Okay! I got the rules for the race right here!" Buchanan said, waving the paper in her hand."

The team became excited.

"First, let's familiarize ourselves with what we can't do. One, no modifications shall be made to any components of the engine. Two, racers shall not fire upon their competitors. Three, tires and tracks are to remain standard. No equipment specially made for racing. Hmm. That's it. Other than that, we're free to do what we want."

Buchanan looked at the Puma for a moment.

"How much does this thing weight fully loaded?"

"Eleven and a half tons." Aurora answered.

"Let's see how much weight we can shed."

The Puma crew hopped in their vehicle and hauled out all the 50mm rounds.

"Getting the obvious out of here. What else?" Aurora said.

She tapped her fingers against her cheek.

"We can also remove the coaxial machine gun and accompanying ammo belts. The radio too can get outta here."

By the end of the hour, the Puma had nearly all of its internal equipment demounted. Same for the outside which included its headlights and smoke grenade launchers. What remained was the bare essentials.

"Is there anything else that we can do to lose those pounds?" Buchanan questioned

"Yes there is, Miss Buchanan." answered Avery, the Puma's gunner and loader.

"Me."

"Ah…you?" Buchanan asked, puzzled.

"Rules said we can't shoot at the other racers. No point in me being in the Puma."

"Good…good point."

Buchanan took another glance at the rules. Something she read made her smile.

"Says here we can have a pit crew. That's…awesome."

"What would they do?" Aurora asked.

"Oh, the same things a pit crew would do in NASCAR. You know, replacing tires and refueling."

Buchanan knelt down by one of the tires.

"How fast can you girls pop out these tires?"

With confident smiles, the Puma crew sprinted toward the nearest toolbox and each got out impact wrenches. They propped up the Puma with hydraulic jacks and with absolute glee, slammed their wrenches onto the lug nuts of the tires. Each of the three girls was at a wheel. The whir of the impact wrenches filled the garage. Within ten seconds, three tires of the Puma were on the ground.

"About that fast." Aurora reported.

"Hmm. If we get one person on each of the eight tires, with enough practice, all of those tires can get replaced in a matter of seconds." Buchanan said.

"Eight people to take off the tires, as many people to roll them in so the people with the wrenches can focus on their job. That's eighteen people on tire duty." Aurora explained.

"We'd also need two people to jack up the Puma to get the wheels off the ground. One at each end. Then, one more person to do the refueling." Avery added.

"That's twenty-one people for the pit crew. About half the team." Riley said, the Puma's driver.

"It is what it is." Buchanan remarked.

She then pointed to the tires.

"Get them back on. We'll focus more on race preparation this Saturday. Now, let's go back to Room 34. We got more morse code exercises to do."

"OhMyGod! More?!" whined Ashley.

The tires were remounted and the team was led back to the room to continue their training. At some point, they'd had to stop, Ashley hoped. She couldn't bear the dits and dashes for much longer.

That Night

Valarie's playbook has grown to a healthy size. By now, all of the team's commanders have made their contributions as a result of their experiences. With the abundance of information in the binder, Valarie had written up a table of contents for better organization. She flipped through the pages, satisfied. The playbook was set aside. Though it wasn't spring quite yet, a warm breeze graced her as it blew through her open window. Sweet and gentle. Laying in her bed, she was doing a whole lot of thinking. There was a lot of her mind. The SU-100 needs which Redwood said he will take care of. Then there was the race at the convection all the preparation it entails. Then there was the approaching Montana match, though it was more of the distance than the match itself that concerned her. She has never traveled so far nor has she ever been on an airplane. Valarie didn't know how she'd react to air travel. Yet there was something she was thinking the most about.

Next week, on the 13th, was Emma's birthday.

She'll be turning sixteen, same age as her. At least for a few weeks before Valarie's own birthday where she'll once again be older. Her mind was buzzing over what to get her. She was keenly aware of Emma's love of retro games and that she maintained a small but neat collection of NES cartridges. Then it hit her. She knew what to get her now. Valarie would get a game that would make a fine addition to her collection. Pleased, she turned off the lights and called it a night.

March 5th

Boston

"The tankery convention is upcoming, and as always, Molly Pitcher will be present." Penelope announced to all of the teams' commanders.

"Though we won't be attending any of the special events, including the race."

There were looks of disappointment in all of the commanders.

"Now, now. Wipe those upset faces away. We still have something important to do when we're over there. Caroline will explain."

Penelope sat down as Caroline stood.

"We can confirm that all the schools still competing in the tournament will be at the convention. It'll be the perfect opportunity for us to get to know them and understand them. We will face one of them in our next match. But, more importantly, one of these schools will go against us in the national finals."

Caroline's high confidence that Molly Pitcher will reach the finals was a sentiment shared among the entire team. Molly Pitcher was not only one of the richest schools in the commonwealth, but also in the entire nation. Such cash gets them quality tanks and the means to ensure that the people who operate them are superbly trained.

"Then there is the rules committee. They'll be meeting at the convention." Penelope said.

"Oh yes…that." Caroline reacted.

"The ATA has informed all schools that there is a proposed rule change. What it is they haven't specified. It could be something major but if previous meetings of the committee can serve as a precedent, I bet it'll be something rather mundane. Regardless, as captain of Molly Pitcher's tankery team, I intend on participating in the process. Hopefully, attendance is good…last time was a bit of a ghost town."

Penelope picked up her bag and strapped it around her back.

"That'll be all. Dismissed."

The room cleared out except for Caroline, who Penelope mentioned to stay.

"There is an important package coming in from the mail. It is related to our special project."

Caroline smirked.

"Unless Patton Engineering has somehow miniaturized that monster, I have no idea what they are sending us." she joked.

"The manuals." Penelope simply said.

Caroline inhaled sharply.

"They're sending them already? That means the tank is almost finished, right?"

"Right you are. You have the perfect crew in mind?"

"Yes ma'am. The best of the best."

"Good. When the manuals arrive, assemble them. I want them to study it the moment it gets into their hands."

Caroline nodded as she walked toward one of the windows, gazing to all courtyard below, trees playing in the wind.

"Penelope. Do you know what I call the people who'll face us when we get our tank?"

"What do you call them?"

"Poor bastards."

Virginia

"They'll be at the convention." said a girl.

She was speaking to a group of girls in a spare room of their school.

"What's the plan?" asked another.

The girl in the front of the room pasted pictures of four boys on the whiteboard, taken from the internet.

'These are the men who are ruining tankery. They are the IS-3 crew for Mojave Rose, that stupid desert school way out in California. The goal is to get them to quit tankery. How? Covert harassment."

"Men are stubborn. What if harassment doesn't work?" asked on in the room.

"Escalation." replied the girl in the front, her voice devious.

She then pointed to a picture of Ray.

"He is the commander of the IS-3. He will get the worst of it. I believe that if we can get him to quit, the rest of his crew will follow."

All around the room were malicious smiles. Save for one.

"Ladies, I don't want this guy to have a moment of fun or peace at the convention. I want to make the son of bitch cry."

A hand raised.

"You said something about escalation. What do you mean by that exactly?" she asked.

"To protect the sanctity of this sport, everyone in this room must be prepared to do whatever is necessary. Do you all hear me? Whatever. It. Takes."

The people in the room were prepared and ready to do what they thought was the same thing, sporting the same smiles from earlier. Save for one, the same person from before. As the group left the room, she approached the speaker.

"Cassandra…if the captain ever found out what we are doing—"

"She won't." Cassandra interrupted.

"Okay, whatever you say. But this talk of escalation makes me feel weird. As your friend—"

"I'm not friends with cowards. You aren't a coward, are you Ellie?" Cassandra questioned, looking directly in her pupils.

"N-no. I'm not." Ellie replied with a shaky voice.

"Good. Then you'll help us. Because we're friends."

The pair left the room. One on the warpath, the other intensely anxious. Ellie was terrified about what the future holds.

Barstow

Another meeting. The team gathered in Room 34 as usual. Though today was important. For today the team would complete their morse code taking a certification test. They had a few minutes before the meeting would formally start, so they all chatted among themselves. The T-44 crew was noticeably short a member.

"Where's Ashley?" Emma asked.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her in chemistry." Valarie replied.

"Miss Buchanan won't appreciate her missing the test." Heather added.

As if on cue, Ashley made her late arrival. She was out of breath as she had ran across campus to make it to the meeting on time.

"Where were you?" Valarie questioned

"Some…important business to handle." Ashley answered.

There was something on her face, specifically her nose. It was a small silver object.

"Is that…a nose ring?" asked Emma.

"What? This little ol'thing? Aha…yes."

"I thought you had to be eighteen to do something like that?" Valarie said

"Not if you have your parent's permission…which I got."

"It suits you. It suits you wonderfully." Heather complimented.

The rest of the crew concurred.

"Thank you, thank you. So, what about you guys? Ever think of getting a piercing? Or maybe even a tattoo?"

They all shook their heads.

"Really? Not one of you wants to decorate your bodes?" Ashley questioned, partly amazed.

"I…dyed my hair once." Heather said softly.

They all looked at her.

"You? Heather? Dyed your hair?" Ashley inquired

"Yes. A blonde color. It was for a cosplay."

"A cosplay?" they all said in near unison.

"What was it?" Valarie urged

Heather placed her hands behind her back and rocked in place, her cheeks red. She was becoming embarrassed.

"I was…Sarah Connor. You know…from the Terminator movies.

"Heather, God help you if you don't have pictures." Ashley remarked.

Heather, with brief hesitation, got out her phone. She browsed through her photos then presented the one her friends desired. It showed her indeed in blonde hair, with a black tank top, tactical pants, and boots. Around her waist was a utility belt with empty gun holsters. In her arm was a prop automatic shotgun, of the exact type as shown in the latter part of the film. But it wasn't just the costume. There was make-up as well. On her body was mock injuries as if she just fended off some metal menace.

"Just…amazing." Ashley commented

"You went all out on that. Wow." Valarie reacted.

"You look like you just stepped right out of the movie." Emma said.

Heather smiled, the biggest smile any of them had seen.

"You…you all really mean that?"

"Of course. It's badass." Ashley assured.

An idea popped in her mind.

"If you guys want…you can come over to my apartment to see the latest cosplay I'm working on. I'll drive you all." Heather suggested.

They all enthusiastically agreed. It was then that Buchanan and Redwood arrived and started the meeting.

"Everyone ready for the test?" Buchanan said

Ashley froze.

"What damn test!?"

"The morse code certification test, obviously."

"Oooh…yeaaah."

The team got to their seats, pencils at the ready. Once the tests were passed around, it began. Silently, the team worked. Ashley's pencil trembled as she anxiously went through the test, question after question. Before long, they were all done. Redwood and Buchanan diligently went through and graded them. Everyone anxiously awaited the results.

"Alright…" Buchanan said as she set down her pen.

"Every single one of you passed! You are all certified in morse code transmission."

Ashley reclined in her seat and let out the biggest sigh of relief.

"Ah…thank God."

"And a special congratulations to Ashley. She is the only one to get a perfect score."

Her eyes lit up.

"Me? Ah..uh…yeah. I have a passion for morse code…as you can see."

Valarie shot her a glare.

"Hey…this is legit. But I'll admit that I'm surprised over this. Honest."

"Whatever you say."

Buchanan put away all the tests.

"Today's a short day so you're all dismissed. See you tomorrow."

The team made their leave. The T-44 crew together went to Heather's car. They piled in and she drove them to her home at the apartment complex. Once there, she led them to her unit.

"So this is where you live, huh? It's so clean." Ashley remarked

"Management is obsessed with that. To an annoying degree." Heather said.

They entered an elevator and stopped at the third floor. As they walked, Heather pointed to one of the doors.

"That's where Miss Buchanan lives."

"She lives here? Making you her neighbor?" Ashley asked

"Yeah. Have been since I was born."

"Your family always lived in an apartment?" Valarie inquired.

"Yes. My mom is a surgeon and my dad is a general doctor. They met in medical school, it was love at first touch."

"Uh, don't you mean first sight?" Emma said

"No, I meant touch. They met while they were both working on a cadaver. When their hands touched while slicing through some guy's guts, they knew it was meant to be."

"That…makes sense. Oddly." Valarie remarked.

"Both your parents are doctors but you all still live in an apartment?" Ashley continued asking

"We're less than two minutes away from the hospital. Plus, renting is cheap."

"No shit it's cheap, its Barstow, not San Francisco."

They continued walking when Heather then stopped at a door.

"Here we are." Heather said.

She unlocked the door and they all walked in her cool-temperature room. It was impeccably clean.

"Take a seat on that couch. I'll go fetch my cosplay. It'll take a few minutes."

She went to her room while the rest sat and waited with eager anticipation.

"So, what do you guys think its gonna be?" Valarie wondered.

"It could be anything. Movies…TV…comics…books." Emma mused.

"Whatever it is, it's gonna be so cool." Ashley said.

There was then the sound of a door opening along with the heavy impact of boots on the floor. All there eyes were fixated on the corner when Heather made her entrance.

"Hot. Damn." Ashley uttered.

Her cosplay composed of a robe that completely covered her from the neck down. On her shoulder was a mantle, a shoulder cape, made of genuine leather. Around her hands were thick gloves and around her waist was a pouch filled with herbs and other plants. On her head was a wide-brimmed hat, which topped the balaclava, covering all the skin on her head. Each article of clothing was a deep shade of black. Except one. The mask she wore was a brilliant white that made for a stark contrast. This mask had a long beak. They all knew what she was. The fighter of pestilence of an age long gone. A plague doctor. The three girls on the couch stood up to admire her cosplay from all angels.

"Unbelievable! It looks so real!" Valarie exclaimed.

"Heather, you have talent! I mean talent. Though, if I remember this book I read, didn't plague doctors spread the disease more than they cured it? Then it went away by itself…I think"

Heather intimidatingly approached Emma.

"Oh, good doctor, I can assure you, the pestilence is here, and I can sense it. It is my duty in life to rid the world of it. My cure is most effective." Heather said, her voice as serious as she can manage.

There was then a laugh behind the mask, which encouraged everyone else to laugh as well.

"Geez Heather, where did that come from?" Emma asked.

Heather removed her mask and balaclava to speak more clearly.

"From some website…filled with interesting stories. Very interesting stories"

"How long did it take you to make it?" Ashley asked.

"Months. Mostly it was me going through swap meets and thrift stores to gather all the pieces of the outfit. But this mask? I made it myself."

"How did this all start?" Valarie said, curious.

"A couple of years ago, I accidentally tore one of my dresses. It was a nice dress and expensive too. So…I fired up my mom's sewing machine and got to work fixing it all by myself. When I was fixing it…I never felt more at peace…so relaxed. It's odd, I know, but the whole process is so soothing for me. After that, I fixed my clothes when they got damaged and when my parents found out they got me my own sewing machine and other stuff like thread and needles. When Halloween came around, instead of buying a costume, I made one myself. Now, here we are."

"They like your costume making, huh?" Emma asked.

"They love it actually. They are super supportive."

As Heather finished speaking, she stood up and paced around the room. She decided to do something that all her life she fiercely fought to not let anyone outside her family know. But, she was among friends and felt safe.

"I got something to admit to you all. I have anger and anxiety problems. I got it real bad that I go to therapy for it."

"Wow…Heather." Emma remarked.

Valarie and Ashley looked at each other nervously.

"In our first match way back in November, you all saw my fly into a rage. I'm sorry. I should've said sorry ages ago. It was a reckless decision and could've backfired hard."

"Ah, Heather, it's all good between us. And hey, since it's been months since your last outburst, that means therapy is doing great, huh?" Ashley said.

Heather merely nodded.

"Hmm. I'm betting the reason your parents are so supportive is that your costume making, along with therapy, helps you immensely." Valarie realized.

Heather looked at her mask while caressing it.

"It calms me down better than my medication. And it helps keep me sane." Heather said with a chuckle.

Heather than looked back at them.

"You guys accept me for who I am. With all my problems, quirks, and peculiar interests. Throughout my life, I've been shunned by groups of people I wanted to befriend. I've been teased mercilessly by people when they find out the things I like. I always thought I'd be an outcast, with only my parents giving me the emotional connection I wanted from others. Valarie. Emma. Ashley. You are all my friends. I…love you all." Heather said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her friends walked up to her and all wrapped Heather in a warm embrace. Heather wasn't the only one crying as her words let out the waterworks in them all. Though they all thought it before, from that moment onward, they were convinced that their friendship would last a lifetime. No matter what they endure together, this bond shall never be broken. They were all strong and supported each other one hundred percent. They all knew who to thank for bringing them together. The mechanized martial art of tankery.