Chapter 1: Rain

Far outside the limits of Lionel City, at the junction of a severely underdeveloped neighborhood, was a lonely bus stop. Unlike mag-lev stations, highway checkpoints, or other terminals that linked vast transport networks, this stop could have been mistaken for something built many centuries ago.

It was one simple bench seated within an open-faced shed just deep enough to contain it. Both sides were slim and constructed of fiberglass. The solid, rear wall they were connected to was made of steel. Graffiti tags covered the glass and the wall. As for the roof, it was of a half semicircular shape; if one turned it upside down it could have made an excellent pig trough. Two long, thin, horizontal white light bulbs ran through it.

Just to the right of the shed was a tall street lamp with a similar white bulb, casting a stark glow across the junction. On the other side was an advertisement board, about the size of two small crates stacked atop one another, flashing different commercials. One showed a clean-shaven, toothy smiling, well-dressed business type offering loan options for homeowners. Another was a propaganda reel of handsome men and women in uniform saluting the camera. Finally, the city Superintendent green icon appeared and the speakers chimed, 'Keep it clean!'

There was no sidewalk and the road was not paved. The bus stop sat on a patch of cleared soil adjacent to the dirt road. High grass encroached among the roadways and the few buildings there were.

It was very dark. None of the houses' lights were on. Most of the other street lamps stopped working years ago. The wind was picking up, causing the grass to sway in the light of the lamp and the advertisement board. Cold rain fell, filling pebble-brimming pot-holes with muddy water. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Trudging out of the darkness, Vivian Waters approached the bus stop. Her hands were jammed into the pockets of her hoodie and her hood was pulled down very tightly. Grass and mud stains covered her jeans, hoodie, and sneakers. All her clothes were soaked and heavy.

A gust of wind struck her. She gritted her teeth and breathed in shakily. Her bottom lip trembled.

When she got into the shed, she sat in the center of the plastic, orange bench. It was uncomfortable and dirty with dried gum, cigarette butts, half-eaten fast-food, candy bar wrappers, empty syringes, and a bloody condom.

Vivian squeezed her legs together, pressed her arms against her sides tightly, and kept her hands in her pockets, attempting to remain as small as possible. Looking down at the ground, she silently hoped the bus would arrive soon.

The wind blew the grass over, made the faraway forest swirl like ocean water, and tousled her blonde locks falling out of the hood. Looking up, her teeth chattered as gust after gust buffeted the shed and swirled within its tight walls. Again, she curled up as best she could. But she was soaked through and was shivering terribly.

Her hands were so cold they hurt. Reluctantly, Vivian slid them out of her pockets, brought them close to her mouth, and breathed on them. Even though they were so close, the wind snatched her warm breath away. Wincing, she took the fingers of her left hand, stuck the tips into her mouth, and breathed on them. It helped only a little. When she started to bring her other hand over, she hesitated. Most of her palm and her fingers were stained a sickly brownish color. Examining her opposite hand, it was covered in the same substance.

Staring at the dried blood, she could have vomited then.

Controlling the urge, she got to her feet and walked to the dirt road. Right in the middle was a muddy puddle. Earlier, she stopped to dunk her shoes in another puddle to get the blood off. Crouching down, she dipped both hands into the water. The water was so cold she hissed from the pain. But Vivian gritted her teeth and began running her hands over each other. At first, her freezing hands moved slowly and methodically. Moments later, she was frantically running the water of them and trying to scrub the blood off.

She wanted it off, off, off!

Finally, after bringing them up out of the water and wiping them on her pants, she saw they were clean. Gone were the brown stains that seemed to coat every crack on her palm. Again, Vivian brought her hands to her mouth and breathed on them until they were tolerably warm. Rubbing them together, she stuck them back into her pockets. Before she stood, she took one looked around at the dirt road, the scattered homes, ramshackle buildings, and the lonely bus stop. It was all too familiar to her.

There were many places like this around the city. When colonization first began, city planners envisioned a metropolis stretching all the way from the coast and across the plains right up to the mountains. A superhighway, connecting the titanium mines right to the shipyards, would see Lionel City prosper. At first, it seemed like that prosperity would become reality. Railways and paved roads began to link the settlements together and criss-crossed the great plains between the ocean and the forested mountains. City after city rose, becoming more dense, populous, and prosperous. But it wasn't to last, at least for Lionel City.

Poor budgeting, misuse of resources, construction accidents, and not a small amount of bureaucratic corruption saw only the coastal portion of the city built. Some developments were started on the outskirts of the city, but many of these were abandoned. Outside the glistening urban center were many dilapidated apartment complexes, empty parks, and ramshackle homes. Besides squatters and rebel cells, only a few working citizens were able to live out there. Too poor for their own vehicles, a petition for public transit was pushed through and they were granted this bus stop.

For kids, they were isolated places away from adults to romp through. Teenagers liked to go there to smoke, inhale, or inject whatever drug was running through the black market. Others went there to lose their virginity. Younger kids enjoyed the crumbling structures for their mystique and the games of pretend they came up with.

During her youth, Vivian and her friends ran through this very spot and other ones too. Their favorite was the apartment complex a few kilometers to the west. They were still there.

Kneeling in the muddy road, soaked to the bone, and so cold she was shaking like a leaf, Vivian began to cry. Reality came crashing down and it was absolutely unbearable.

Even after the soldiers were gone, she hesitated to come out. She was more scared of seeing the bodies of her friends than getting shot. When she did push the pantry door open, she crawled over to the nearest body and rested her hands on it. Whatever made Roseanne who she was gone. Before her was a broken, twisted, shattered lump of bleeding flesh. There was no light in her eyes and no expression in her frozen face.

Vivian had shaken her, to see if there was any life within her still. A vain hope, she knew it was. Blood came from so many bullet holes and leaked from the puncture in her throat.

She was gone. They were all gone. But Vivian went to each body; Joanna, Carla, Andrea, and Willow. Torn apart by bullets, their faces suspended in agony and fear. Despite their locked features, there was nothing. Nothing in their faces, nothing in their eyes, nothing.

Nothing.

Too scared and too wracked with grief, Vivian left. What else could she do? Each room she passed was filled with dead people. Insurrectionist bodies mingled with that of their fresh recruits. Three in one room, over a dozen in another. The entire building reeked of gunpowder and blood. By the time she got halfway down, she was running. She needed to get away.

When she finally came outside, it seemed so much darker than it did before. In the distance, she could hear shooting. Looking to the hilly woods, she saw white beams of lights and yellow muzzle flashes. It was as if she was in a dream. Maybe that's all it was, a dream, a terrible nightmare.

But she knew it wasn't. Making sure no one was around, she waited until she was out from the complex. When she was out, she stopped at the corner of a crumbling compound, checked around the corner to make sure no one followed her, and then walked all the way to the nearest bus stop. Throughout the entire affair, she had shed her tears silently.

Only now, with the blood washed off her hands, did she weep aloud. She sobbed so hard her entire body shook. Were it not for the raging wind, sweeping leaves across the road, her wailing would have woken up the few inhabitants of the burb. Long and loud, she wept and wept.

Eventually, she cried herself out. There was no more air in her lungs, no more tears left in her eyes. For a long while, she knelt their limply. But when the wind thrashed hard enough to spill some of the muddy puddle water on her knees, she automatically got back up. Trudging back over to the bus stop shelter, she sat back down and made herself small once more.

This time, however, she did not bury her face in her knees. Instead, she gazed out at the uncompleted world before her.

Once, this place was the dream of some starry-eyed colonial officer in charge of development. This is what their dreams amounted to now; some ramshackle houses, unoccupied ruins, and skeletal buildings that lacked roofs or walls. Did the death of their dream break their hearts? Or were they so deep in their cushy, gaudy life they could care less? What were dreams compared to riches, after all? Perhaps they embezzled some of the funds meant to build homes for the citizens arriving her.

Skopje was no dream. It was another building block for the UNSC. A world rich with minerals that were harvested, refined, and used to build more ships for the Navy. With more ships, the Navy would traverse the galaxy even further and colonize another planet. They would funnel manpower and resources into it, harvest the minerals, and build more ships and cities. That was the idea before the Covenant arrived, anyways.

When citizens thought of the UNSC, they thought of stalwart men and women in green BDU's, standing with rifles in hand, ready to die for humanity. They thought of the glittering starships tearing through space, discovering new worlds and bringing humanity to the furthest stars. Despite her disdain, that's how she used to see them. Now, staring at the ruins, with the blood off her hands, Vivian saw only sinister corporate men with boogeymen soldiers at their beck and call.

Never forget. Never would she forget, nor would she forgive, the atrocity.

An engine coughed and roared. Vivian looked down the road towards the city. A pair of bright headlights grew larger. When they came close, they blinded her and Vivian raised her hand to shield her eyes. The engine's rumbling grew louder and louder until it drowned out the wind. Brakes squealed and axles moaned. There was a rush of air.

Lowering her hand, Vivian saw an open door. Getting up, she walked to the bus entrance and looked up the steps. Sitting at the wheel was a middle-aged fellow dressed in a blue uniform complemented by a black tie and white undershirt. His blue cap was sitting on his dark raincoat beside him. Stubble was growing on his chin and there were dark bags under his eyes.

"Getting on or what, kid?" he asked.

Vivian slowly came up the steps, gripping the railing as she did. Taking out her bus pass, she placed the card over the pedestal beside the driver. A second passed and the word 'ACCEPTED,' appeared on the blue screen. Underneath was a message that five credits were deducted from her account. Then, the Superintendent icon appeared again, uttering, 'Thank you for utilizing public transit!' Vivian ignored it and walked up.

When she got into the center aisle, she saw the entire bus was empty. Taking a few steps, she sat in the fifth row opposite from the driver's side. It was a single-seat by the center entryway.

For a moment, she looked out the window, then slowly looked forward. She could see the glaring eyes of the driver in the rear-view mirror. After a few moments, his eyes softened and he sighed. "Where do ya wanna go, kid? I'll take ya straight there. Not like anybody's out here tonight, anyways."

"75th Street, Lionel City Service Apartments."

"Fine."

He took his foot off the brakes and the bus roared to life. It trundled down the road a little until it reached a wide culdesac. After traversing it, the bus began the journey back to the city.

It was brightly lit and warm inside the bus, so Vivian removed her hood and unzipped the hoodie. Leaning back in the seat, she gazed out the window again. The landscape seemed so much darker now. Rain ran down the glass, obscuring what little she could make out. Eventually, she turned her gaze forward and looked through the massive windshield. Through the windshield wipers, she could see Lionel City proper, its many skyscrapers and high-rises bedazzled with hundreds of white, yellow, red, and green lights. Not far beyond the center, she could see the gigantic cranes of the shipyard, lifting and lowering pieces of titanium plates used on warships.

Her eyes glanced at the rear-view mirror again. There, she found the driver's exhausted eyes. His went back to the road. "What the hell is a kid like you doing out here on a night like this, huh?"

"I..." Vivian began. "...just needed to get away from home for a little while."

The driver snorted.

"Sister, I've worn your shoes before. Been hopping from colony to colony just to stay outta the UNSC's hair. Buuuut they always find a way. They get you eventually. Now, look at me."

That was all he said as the bus entered the suburbs that made up the outer ring of Lionel City. Streets were lined with cookie-cutter houses with lush grassy lawns and flower-filled gardens. Most neighborhoods were dark, save for the warm yellow glow of porch bulbs or the dull orange haze from street lights. Windows were dark, but occasionally one could see someone staying up late, watching television or indulging in a midnight snack.

It was as if there was no war. It was as if there was no Insurrection. It was as if there were no uniformed men storming across the planet killing people.

Sometimes, when Vivian truly needed to be by herself, she took the long walk from the inner city to stroll through these neighborhoods. Sometimes, the center became too overwhelming. Constants streams of vehicles, high-speed mag-lev trains, construction, car accidents, and the endless throngs of pedestrians marching back and forth assaulted her senses. So, as soon as she came home she would complete her homework as quickly as possible. If there was still light by the time she was done, she grabbed her music player, put in her earphones, and began walking. Going among the public gardens was not enough, there was still too many people.

Middle-class neighborhoods were peaceful no matter the time of day. The majority were still at work by the time she took her stroll. A number of young children would be getting out of school at the time and the yellow buses would be dropping them off. Otherwise, it was quiet. Birds chirped and fluttered from bush to tree. Occasionally, a pet dog would come to the fence and wag its tail. Others basked in the fading warmth of day before being let back inside.

Almost year round, the hundreds of flowerbeds permeated the air with an array of sweet fragrances. In the brief summertime, the air was thick with so many scents. Every time she found a quiet bench, she would sit, open a book, and inhale deeply. It was impossible not to take it all in. Even at night, these calm streets were so beautiful.

Part of her imagined she could own a home here, one day in the far future. At least she used to. Now, she just wanted to get away.

The bus rolled through and soon they were in the city proper. Through the rainy windows, she looked at the city. Red, yellow, green, orange, and white lights illuminated the streets. Each one looked strange and unnatural through the water streaming down the windows. A number of cars were passing by, carrying those destined for the graveyard shift. It was very late and not many pedestrians were outside. But many bars and restaurants were brightly lit and packed with people.

They were late-night party goers mostly; Vivian saw enough of them during her late-afternoon commute from school. Young adults, children of the city's elite, taking mommy and daddy's credit chits to booze, dope, dance, and fornicate until the sun rose. 60th Street was home to the Titanium Club, an eighty-story skyscraper filled with nightclubs that catered exclusively to the members of the shipbuilding corporation that practically ran half the commerce and industry on the planet. Most of the members were actually too busy to visit, so it was their families who capitalized on it.

She hated passing through it. Seeing all the primped women and suave men strut without a care in the world sparked anger in her chest, even before this night. Now, her fury intensified. Looking at them, giggling and shrieking in the rain, hurrying to cross streets and get under canopies, she could not help but grit her teeth and glare.

Eventually, the bus passed through the district and it was not long before it came to a halt by the bus stop closest to her home. The engine wheezed and the doors hissed open.

Slowly, Vivian went to her feet.

"Thanks," she said to the driver, who didn't respond. Instead of going towards the front, she turned to go through the main exit on the passenger side. She took hold of the metal bar and descended a step.

"Hey."

Vivian looked up at the rear-view mirror. She saw the driver's eyes in it. "Come here."

She didn't move. This time he waved his hand. "I said come here."

Reluctantly, she let go of the vertical bar and approached. When she was right beside him, he held out his hand. "Give me your bus pass."

"I already paid."

"Give it to me."

She reached into her pocket, pulled out the small, flat card, and gave it to him. Examining it for a moment, he reached over to the boarding pedestal. He tapped a few keys underneath the screen and then held the card over the scanner. When he did, the sleeve of his organization jacket pulled back slightly. His wrist was slightly turned and she could see a black tattoo of the UNSC Navy emblem. A moment later, the pedestal pinged and the word, 'REIMBURSED,' and the total amount of the trip appeared on the screen. The driver gave her back the bus pass.

For a moment, she stared at it, then looked at him.

"I..."

"It ain't nothin', kid," said the driver. He then reached under the seat where there was a small compartment. Opening it, he pulled out an umbrella and handed it to her. "Here. You've seen enough of it tonight."

Vivian took it, muttered a thank you, and staggered down the steps. At the bottom, she hesitated for a moment, then turned around.

"I'll, I'll return it, I promise."

The driver smiled.

"Don't bother, kid, keep it."

"Thank you," was all she said, louder this time. The driver nodded and pulled the handle to close the doors. When they closed halfway, he suddenly opened it again.

"Take my advice kid," he said, "stay clear of the UNSC, or you'll end up driving a bus for them, too."

"I didn't know they ran a bus line," Vivian said, sarcastically but still flat.

"Trust me," he said with a wink, "they do. And nobody ever says thank you."

With that, he shut the doors and the bus thundered away. For a while, Vivian watched it disappear into the traffic amid the orange, rainy haze. A gust of wind broke her from her thoughts. Pulling her hood up and opening the umbrella, she began walking home. It was not a very long walk but the rain was still pounding and the wind was sweeping through the streets.

Bracing against the wind, she managed to get to the entrance of the apartment building. It was by no means a building of poor upkeep, though it was totally unlike the luxurious high-rise apartments the shipyard families owned. A clean, gray building that was twenty stories tall, with many windows on its face, was more welcoming than it ever was before.

Closing the umbrella, she went through the automatic sliding door. Throwing off her hood, she breathed deeply as the heat of the lobby enveloped her. Immense relief flooded into her chest and for a moment she wanted to cry. But she held herself well and began walking to the elevator.

As she passed the late-night desk attendant, she raised her building ID card. Whether the attendant was looking or watching television she could not tell. He didn't stop her and she didn't care.

Inside, she hit the twentieth floor button and it ascended quickly. Stock music played the entire way; besides the steady hum of the elevator, the water falling from her soaked hair and dripping on the floor were the only sounds she could hear.

Ding. The doors slid open. Vivian walked out and look both ways down the hall. It was empty and quiet. Looking at her watch, she saw that she still had time to clean up before her parents returned from the late night shift at the yards. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hurried to their apartment. It was the fifth door on the right, facing the street. Raising her ID card again, she swept it across the keypad scanner that was next to the handle. It blinked from red to green, a few lines of her information ran across the small screen, and she heard the handle click.

As gently as she could, Vivian opened the door. The apartment was completely dark, save for the red, orange, and yellow light pouring through the two windows. Other than the rain drumming against the glass and the whirr of the heater, it was silent.

Just to make sure, Vivian crept to her parents' bedroom on the right side of the living area. It was empty. Going to the opposite side, where the kids' bedrooms and bathroom were, she sneaked into her room quietly. Flicking on the light, she picked out some soft, comfortable clothes to wear. Instead of going to their bathroom, she went back to her parents'. She did not want to risk waking her sister and brother, and she would make less noise there.

Closing the door gently, she turned on the light, and took off her wet clothes. Each one made a sickly peeling sound as she removed them from her moist skin. Quickly, she rinsed off, the hot water providing great relief. But she looked up at the ceiling the entire time, she did not want to see the accumulation of mud and blood around her feet. Jumping out, she dried off and donned the fresh clothes. Turning off the light and gathering everything up, she hurried back to her room.

She dumped all the dirty clothes in the hamper and placed her sneakers over the floor heater so they would dry off overnight. Her stomach rumbled, so she went back out to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There were no leftovers, so she opened one of the drawers and grabbed a few slices of white cheese. These she devoured and before leaving, grabbed a red apple. Cleaning it under cold water, she ate it quickly too.

Although not quite satisfied, Vivian felt overwhelmingly fatigued. Even before she got on the bus, she was exhausted. Despite her hunger, it was time to rest.

Vivian shuffled back to her bedroom. Her room was small; there was a closet, a bureau, and a moderately sized composite wooden desk with her private terminal on it. All her notebooks were scattered across it and her bookbag was resting on the computer chair. The desk was perpendicular to her single window. Underneath the sill was a bookcase with two shelves. They were lined with hard copy books. Beside the bookcase was a nightstand with a drawer and a lamp. Next to that was her bed.

She went over to it and sat down. The head of the bed was away from the wall; she liked to look out the window at night. Looking out, she could see the shipyard. It seemed like no matter where one stood on Skopje, they could see those big cranes, the skeletal ships, the tool sparks, and strings of white lights. Even from those apartments she met with her friends, she could see them.

Vivian bent over, covering her face with both hands. She wanted to cry again but there were no more tears. She was just too tired, so tired, unbelievably, unequivocally tired. When she managed to look up again, eyes glossy, brow furrowed, nose wrinkled, lips trembling, she stared at the window. Water streamed down it.

The bottom had fallen out. Her world was different now. Nothing would ever be the same again. Imagining talking to her family or anyone she knew seemed like a terrifying impossibility. How could she ever look her friends' parents, who were practically kin, in the eyes again? Could she ever share any words with them? If she told anyone about that night, they would write her off as a rebel sympathizer. Even if she didn't go to prison she would be labeled. How could she bear the secret for the remainder of her life? The road ahead seemed so terrifying. No, it seemed like there was no road.

Wiping her face, despite the absence of tears, she sat back up. And she froze. Standing across the room was a figure clad in olive drab armor and digital green pattern camouflage fatigues. He was tall, towering, and held an assault rifle very closed his chest. He wore a balaclava and a helmet.

Whoever he was, he was enveloped in darkness. Or it seemed to emanate from his being, growing and roiling from him like a cloud of smoke.

Vivian could barely make him out as the darkness continued to grow. All she could make it with any clarity were his eyes. Both were open wide, very wide, uncomfortably wide. His pupils and irises were small. It seemed like he was in agony, angry, and utterly terrified.

So was she, so scared she could not scream, recoil, or run away. Vivian just began to shake and shake, sitting on the edge of her bed. The being came forward, taking long, hulking steps. When he was almost right before her, he raised his rifle and pointed it at her head.

Vivian opened her eyes. It was very dark and she could not see. Propping herself up by her elbows, she blinked. Nothing cleared. Was she in her bedroom?

She felt the cushion beneath her. Instead of bedsheets she felt the smooth leather fabric of an office couch. Leaning back slightly, she felt a pillow and the armrest. Turning sideways and reaching over the side, she found a small table. Fumbling, she flipped the switch to the lamp on it. Immediately, it winked on and the room was bathed in dull, yellow light.

It was her planetside office. By the great window overlooking the courtyard was her desk, the chairs on either side pulled slightly away from it at an angle. In between her desk and the doorway leading to the hall was the coffee table, with a leather armchair at each end and a couch on either side. A pair of empty white mugs with the UNSC Navy logo printed on the side sat on it; beside those were her tunic and overshirt, along with some miscellaneous paperwork she was drawing fleet formations on. Parallel to the couch across from her was a table with a coffee machine, mugs, and a selection of brews, a jar of sugar, and a cooling unit containing creamer and milk.

Two doors along the same wall led to her sleeping quarters and personal bathroom. But she could not go into the former. There, she felt trapped, small, and utterly alone. At least in the office space she could hear the planetside personnel attending their business. Footsteps echoed in the hall, some growing louder, others fading away. Occasionally, there was a snippet of conversation; a pair of ensigns discussing the construction of the orbital refitting station, a group of Army staff officers going over war game routines, and some Marines complaining about being left out of the upcoming operation.

Removing the blanket from her legs and sitting up, Vivian rubbed her eyes. Another new dream, derived from a memory. She shook her head then raised her wrist, but her watch was on the table. Picking it up, she read the time: 0132 hours. Setting it down quietly, she sank into the couch.

She could not tell what was worse, the boredom or being locked away from everyone. Vivian longed for Jasmine, her officers, or the other ship masters, just for their conversation. At the same time, only three days passed and she was already getting stir crazy. Perhaps that was no different; sitting in the Port for so many months already was driving her mad. To wave her hand and see a new section of the base begin construction continued to be an exhilarating, exciting feeling. But she needed to get back into space and huna new target. She needed to keep moving.

Outside, the rainfall was steady but not violent. From the array of lights below, she could see water streaming down the large window. For a while, she just listened to the rain. The temperature went down enough so that it occasionally turned to snow. But the rain seemed to always come back since she was interned in her office.

There was nothing to do except sleep, drink coffee, eat the meals they brought, and devise new battle plans for ship-to-ship actions. Her desk terminal and personal terminal were both removed on orders given by General Amsterdam. All communication devices were confiscated or rendered unusable.

Vivian adjusted the straps of her white tank top as she got up. Going back to sleep and remaining helpless against memories and nightmares was not something she was keen to avoid. She grabbed both mugs from the table and brought them over to the coffee machine. Taking out the pot, she went to the bathroom and filled it with water. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw the dark bags under her eyes, how faded her freckles were across her tan face, and how her blonde hair fell loosely on her shoulders.

After filling up the pot, she added the coffee, and began brewing. It was a standard UNSC blend; naturally, it smelled and tasted strong. While waiting for it to finish, she took a cloth and wiped the inside of both mugs. One she knew as her own, as she scribbled her abbreviated rank and surname upon it with a black marker pen a long time ago. The other was white too but lacked any denotations. Curious, she picked it up and began examining. On the bottom, she found, 'Dr. Ebrahimi,' written very neatly.

Instantly, her heart grew heavy. These were the mugs they bought during their time at OCS. She must have left it, Vivian thought, during her checkup a few mornings ago.

Only a few days, and she missed her friend. How she relied on her; for her friendship, her advice, her admonishment, and for always talking to her straight. If only she could have it all now.

Vivian went to the window as the machine groaned and the scent of coffee filled the office. Looking out through the watery glass, she saw the compound below. Vehicles rumbled in and out of the main courtyard, their red lights flaring. Personnel oversaw the unloading and distribution of cargo from the ships in orbit. Sentries scanned the perimeter from the guard towers and patrols prowled below. She could see their breath in the cold air, swirling around their heads or swept away by a gust of wind.

When would the rain stop, she wondered, sighing.

Some Marines were doing a PT run. It was so late, or perhaps it was more accurate to say early. They were restless, just like she was. Going for a run didn't seem like a bad idea. But she peeled away from the window and sat at her desk, like a bored high school student arriving at the class they disliked. After a moment, she began opening drawers, trying to find anything to occupy her. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork, and some office supplies, were all she could find until she opened the bottom drawer on the left side. There, she found the scotch Rear Admiral Travers gifted her. It seemed like a century ago.

For a moment she thought about adding it to her coffee. Instead, she reached for the cigar package he gave her. Biting off the end, she pressed one to her lips, and grabbed the packet of strike-anywhere matches. Swiping one on the edge of the desk, she held it at the end. Puffing a little, the flame took, and smoke filled her lungs. Breathing deeply, she held it for a moment before exhaling. Then, she started coughing. It took a moment for the fit to pass. She could have laughed at herself if she was less fatigued. But she waved out the match and dropped it in the ashtray.

The coffee machine beeped and Vivian went over to it. Filling her mug, she held her cigar away and enjoyed the strong, fresh scent. Filling her mug and ignoring both sugar and creamer, she walked back to her desk. Setting the cigar down in the ashtray, she took a careful sip. The cigar was a little sweet, but not overly so. It was certainly much better than whatever terrible brand Frost and the other Marines smoked.

Gazing out the window again, she thought of him. How long did she think he was less of a monster than she originally imagined? Less than five minutes, she thought. The Marine who killed her friends really was a scared little boy playing soldier. His world changed that night; she felt sorry for that boy. But he was gone, and the man took his place. Man? Could he count as human? Teetering back and forth from one perspective to the other, philosophizing that killing was necessary and justified at one point, then elegantly portraying his remorse and turmoil. Who was she to believe, the sneering Marine who threatened her over dinner so many months ago, or the fractured young man sitting in the snow? Had Jasmine mellowed him, or had time away from killing forced him to face his own actions?

Vivian knew she had taken life. Not human life, by any means, but life nonetheless. It was easier for her. Those genocidal monsters felt no regret about burning billions in oceans of plasma. Soldiers died under her command, carrying a guilt of its own. She saw people, friends, die in horrible ways. But Frost killed thinking, feeling people, with his own two hands. Even she was not so blind to disbelieve killing changed a person. Was he lying and relished in the bloodshed like she always believed, or did the bravado and facade finally drop away, revealing the truth: he was damaged, like her.

"Did you do it?" she asked aloud. "Could you do it?"

Vivian took a long sip of coffee, closing her eyes as she savored the taste. Suddenly, she heard a sudden tapping. Looking over her shoulder at the door, she waited for it to open. However, it remained locked.

After waiting a moment, she sighed and went for another sip. The tapping resumed, a little faster this time. Vivian realized it was not coming from the door. When it happened again, even faster to the point of being frantic, she followed the sound into her quarters. Her small quarters consisted of a standard dresser, a small desk for her absent personal terminal, a cot and a stand for a light. On the wall by her well-made bed was window.

She went over and gasped, nearly dropping her mug as she looked at the figure in the window.

"Captain Kelly!?"

Chapter Word Count: 6209