A/N: Hi. Shortest so far, I believe. But interestig still. Starts explaining what's really going on.
Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended.
The night was long.
They killed a man. A lean, malicious, shifty-eyed pervert. Sole source of income to a mother of two.
They mugged people. An old lady. A couple teens. A lone woman.
"Hand in your valuables if you want to live."
They gave half of that to three random kids. I'm not talking homeless, pitiful beggars kinda kids, I'm talking careless brats of middle-class neighborhoods.
I have no idea what the fuck goes on in their heads. Nothing they do makes sense.
They're just playing God.
I sigh. Scratching my head over this won't change a thing. I'm with them, now, and I happen to value my life.
I walk up to Jazz, trying to take my mind off of things.
"Hey, what's the deal with 'Nemo' and 'Med'?"
He turns and sighs. He knew this was coming.
"She's weird with names. They have a meaning. How you call her displays how much she trusts you."
Huh. I file that in for further inspection. A technique I've been using more and more often recently.
In this world, you have to think fast. There's no time for introspection.
I've been meaning to find a quiet, dark corner to take a look at what's going on in my own head, but there's always something happening outside, something that's life-or-death, and I've never gotten down to it.
"Yeah, but why those names particularly?"
A smirk, proud brother indulging his kid sister.
"Nemo is Latin for 'no one'. That's what she gives you when you meet her in a dark alley. When she doesn't want to be anyone in your world. Just a shadow. A vanishing image."
"Med is short for Medea. A witch from ancient Greek legends. Completely demented, killed everyone that stood in her husband's way. And then, when he betrayed her, killed him and their two sons. Then she disappeared. No one knows what happened to her after that, how she died. That story is hers alone."
"She gives you one particular name when she gives you the piece of her story that fits it."
The barely veiled message in the story has my heart curled in a tight ball at the bottom of my stomach.
My teeth release my lip when I drop my last question.
"But you don't call her that?"
"Me, Pix and Rose… We know her full story. We have her real name."
A/N: So, yeah. There's that.