Music for this chapter is Song of the Ancients Fate, Nier Replicant 1.22 and DoD3 DLC versions.

"Big O! Showtime!" Roger shouted and the Megadeus' eyes lit up. As he moved forward, Big O slammed his fists together, shooting a bolt of what appeared as lightning to the onlookers towards the three oncoming Megadei. The bolt kicked up waves that reached up to Big O's chin, but it did little to stop the incoming onslaught.

Angel stood on the pier, watching in anguish as the battle began. "No. It's too soon. If the power within is released now it will ruin everything." She let go of a red balloon she held.

And everything changed.

Roger was having the biggest mental breakdown of his life. Inside Big O's cockpit he sat, staring down the three Megadei that came from the sea, feeling the searing heat from his arm as Dorothy took his hand in hers and helped him pilot, feeling the pressure from her other hand on the head rest. But something was very wrong. He was seeing things, snippets of the past, or the future? Memories he knew he had, but conversations he couldn't recall.

In the Speakeasy, Big Ear asked him "Who decided that there wasn't anyone else outside of Paradigm City, Mr. Negotiator?"

Before he could answer, the scene changed again.

He was facing Schwarzwald's back, in that dingy apartment before it burned down, cigarettes piled high, at the desk the former reporter was typing away, "The foreigners who come here in search of the Memory fragments slumbering underground will be back." Roger didn't even have time to protest what that meant.

In a diner by the sea, Dan Dastun was drinking coffee from a beat up mug before he asked Roger, "Mind if I ask you something? When you were still working with the military police, was Big O already waiting for you to—."

He was cut off as the scene changed again. No it didn't change, he hadn't left the cockpit, but he didn't feel right, like he had a massive headache. Still, had Roger even told Dan about Big O? He couldn't recall, but certainly if he had Dan wouldn't have called it the Black Megadeus would he?

Back at the harbor Dan was rallying his troops to little effect. "We're the ones who protect this city men, fire at those three Megadei!" 'Why isn't the Black Megadeus moving?'

The three foreign Megadei had come much closer. Roger realized it was down to close quarters combat and let experience take over for his weary mind. He pulled his good arm back, flipped the cap and hit the switch to ready a sudden impact, but when he launched the attack the big mouthed Big took Big O's fist in his mouth and chomped down on it. Big O's arm began to violently vibrate from spinning friction from the strange Big's mouth, causing rivets to pop out and fly off. Big O's armor plating began to crack.

The scene inside the cockpit changed again for Roger, and he was back at Aisleberry farm, Gordon Rosewater was rocking away in his chair, but he repeated something for Roger's benefit. "Everything contained in that book is a lie. The world being destroyed by a cataclysm, the giant robots running amok on the earth, the power of the creator wielded by man."

Whoom! In the harbour's waters Big O's arm pops off and splashes into the tides below. For a few brief seconds it's mouth appears to open and scream in pain, the left arm pulls back and flails a little as it catches its balance.

Another scene, on the catwalk of the hangar Norman turns to face Roger. He smiles faintly at the young master he serves, "I have most likely been looking after both you and the Big O… since before we lost our memories Master Roger." The elder butler turns to face the Megadeus, and again before he can ask, Roger is pulled back into the cockpit.

The cockpit shakes as a fist connects to Big O's chest, but Roger can't feel it, his mind is too rattled. "Who am I?" He shouts to no one in particular. Dorothy could only look down at him, worried. He wasn't himself. "I'm… Roger Smith." His voice was weak, like he wasn't sure himself.

From the harbor shells from the MP's close-quarters cannons arc out over the water, landing hits on the three grey Megadei. One lost its footing and fell below the waves, and as it did Big O connected a fist to its face, sending a sudden impact into the prone metal face with his left arm. It didn't stay down long and got back up, the three trying to circle Big O again.

Dan used his binoculars to get a better look at the action and frowned, he wasn't liking the odds this time. "Foreign Megadei and foreign people…" "Too bad they aren't friendly like Ray…Why am I thinking about that now?!" He thought back to that night last year, on the pier where he shot the woman that looked like the actress from his memories.

From another angle in the harbor, the fallen Angel watched distraught, fearing for the man's life in the Black Megadeus cockpit. "Roger Smith… As I thought, you weren't ready yet."

The battle raged on, not that Roger was able to tell. He was on autopilot physically, and mentally checking out. The three had taken serious damage, but it wasn't enough, as so had Big O. They moved like zombies, and advanced on Big O with movements shambling but in sync. The one with a crater in its face takes a shot at Big O's head crystal and cracks it, but it doesn't fall… yet.

From his office on top of the Main Dome, on the catwalk outside for a change, the President of Paradigm remarked dryly, "You don't have what it takes to pilot a Big, Negotiator."

Big O sinks to one knee as the three surround him, and in the cockpit Roger is still wrestling with self doubt. The cockpit fills with tomatoes, a barcode scrolls across the screen in front of him.

"Who am I?" The cockpit powers down, the round display the last thing to turn off.

"Who am I?" Roger is swallowed by darkness. His mind goes blank, but before everything goes blank he hears a voice call out to him, it's someone he knows. Someone who's a constant thorn in his side.

"Are you really going to let it end like this, Roger?" Ray's ghostly figure appears before him, and disappears just as quickly as the darkness takes him.

It's pitch black, something rumbles deeply close by. And in his mind, Roger thinks. "What am I fighting for? Why do I have to fight those who challenge me or threaten this city?"

Rattle rattle rattle… Lights from a subway car's windows light up the dark underground of the subway tunnel, startling Roger awake. A sign overheard states that this is the 50th Avenue Subway station in Manhattan. What's a Manhattan? Roger doesn't know, but he seems to know this place. The train pulls up to the platform, and, as it's not rush hour, the platform he's resting on isn't busy. People get on and off the train, appearing to be wearing last decades clothing to him. How does he know it's last decades clothing? An older woman heading for the stairway looks down at a disheveled and unshaved Roger Smith, his clothing threadbare and torn in some places. His shirt is missing buttons, he has no tie, and the white is stained with sweat. His hair was unoiled and limp around his face. He looks for all the world, dejected, but can't remember how he got there.

"Oh you poor dear. Probably lost your job recently. Here, it's not much." She drops a quarter from her purse into the empty can at Roger's feet. At the clink, Rogers eyes slowly widen and the shabby look in his eyes is no longer there, he stares and a train pulling into the opposite platform and the noise startles him more, making him back up, his foot accidentally kicking the can in front of him, making another clink. As he stands up, two other homeless men fight for the can.

Roger washes his face in the bathroom, and looking in the mirror it's not the Roger Smith of Paradigm he knows. "Well who am I then?" He thinks to himself. He leaves the bathroom and takes the 49th Street exit. When he gets to the top and looks up, the sky is off white, bright light from a single orb in the sky. There are no Domes like he remembers. The hands of the giant clock near his home aren't stopped, but ticking away on a clean white face. The brick is a shade of beige and not burnt black.

The scene before him is in strange contrast to what he knows, more like an old painting of what the city was like before the Event of 40 years ago.

"Where am I? Isn't this the Paradigm City I know?" He begins to wander the streets. Even though the scenery has changed drastically, he knows the layout, his feet know the way. "Why am I here? I was shot right?" But he reaches for his left arm, there's no pain or blood. "I think I was in the middle of a fight."

He makes his way to the Speakeasy; he needs a beer. The bar is a lot nicer than he remembers. There's a boxing match on TV on the counter and Roger chokes slightly on the smoke filled air. It tastes strong, like real cigarette smoke, not the fake tobacco of Paradigm. The bartender wasn't Dill, and he watches Roger head to the back of the bar, taking a seat facing the wall. Roger lets out a sigh, his feet hurt, but then he gasps. The person sitting next to him isn't Big Ear, it's a gangster judging by his clothing.

A young man, resembling a less insane Eugene Grant comes up to Roger. "That's my seat, beat it." Roger gives a tired look to the young man staring down at him. "Ya wanna get dirty huh?" He reaches behind him and pulls out a stiletto knife, popping the blade out. Roger just sighs and gets up. He knows when he's not wanted.

Roger wandered through what was called downtown here, the shadows on the sky scrappers much smaller than in Paradigm, but the streets still look dark for it. "A city without Domes, real warm sunlight. People who haven't lost their memories. Where is this place? Where should I go?" He decides to wander home, where else can he go?

"Huh!" At the bank building Roger calls home, he stands in front of the door. It's shiny and clean, and there are a lot of people inside, actually banking. He walks inside. The 1st floor hall typically used as a stairwell to the elevators has the teller windows open and arrayed to deal with the large number of people, people in lines for withdrawals and deposits. Roger attempts to go to the elevator, thinking this can't be right, but a security guard stops him. He looks like the same security guard from the Nightin Gale that night, but in a cop uniform instead of an orange suit.

"Excuse me sir, but do you have business here?" He was a full head taller than Roger and imposing with his arms crossed.

"This is my home." Roger sounded uncertain, even to himself.

"Sir, this is a bank. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He puts his hands on his hips, not amused with the disheveled man's antics.

"Didn't you hear me? This is my home!" The guard whistles, and several others come forward to help subdue Roger. "Who gave you permission to turn my home into a bank?" He says with some disgust. His hatred for the institutionalized lending sharks bleeding through.

"Given your appearance, should you be talking to haughtily sir?" A familiar, but snobby, voice called from behind him. When Roger turned around he saw someone he did not want to run into again in his life.

"Beck…?" It was Beck alrighty, but his hair was better kept, he had a curled mustache, he wore green glassed gold rimmed spectacles and had on a lavender suit with a gold tie. A complete change from the gaudy gold he typically wore. Behind him a woman in light pink he knew to be the man's girlfriend was in secretarial dress and carrying a clipboard.

This strangely dressed Beck raised an eyebrow. "Mister Beck. Poor manners, too. What a troublesome customer." Yet for all the snobby talk, his laugh was still crude.

"What are you doing here?"

Beck feigned being languished for having to talk to someone beneath him, "I didn't know anyone from the low-income bracket such as you who addresses me in such a familiar manner." In his typical fashion Beck hammed it up and put on a show for the gathered audience in the bank who had begun to stare at Roger.

"Get out of my home, Beck!" Roger growls.

Beck waved to his audience to get their attention. "Even if this person deposits just 5 cents, we here at Acme Bank treat him as a valued customer. We here are proud of that fact. However, we at this bank, which shoulders the burdens of social welfare, will speak in good faith with even this poor pitiable man who lives in a fantasy world." Beck bowed for his clapping audience, and his assistant sneered in a cocetis manner.

Roger became visibly ticked off; this was the last straw in his book. "Get out of here before you're crushed by rubble." He growls and raises his left arm to his face, "Bi… huh?" The watch on his wrist is nothing more than junk. The face is broken, the battery gone. Everything became black and a blur for him as he questioned, "Where am I supposed to go?"

He could swear he heard a familiar voice call to him, "You need to come back to reality, Roger."

It was night in this city called Manhattan. The skyscrapers were lit up, cars drove by, it was lively. He was wandering down 42th street now, but he was numb from before. He takes a back street and ends up somewhere familiar. A car runs over a manhole with a clank; the noise is jarring. In this darker alley the neon sign of The Nightin Gale lights the street with a few lamps, making it hard to see patrons. Roger thrusts his hands in his pockets and looks up at the sign, it gives him a sense of Deja vu.

A doorman comes down and opens the door of a red sedan, and in those moments it's as if a bright stage light brightens the whole area. A young woman of barely eighteen in a chic short red dress exits the car, thanking the doorman as she rushes up the stairs. Her auburn locks lay in a pageboy haircut, her lips painted red, her skin pale but still maintaining a healthy glow. Her eyes sparkle with an innocence only young girls know. "Hurry father."

A middle aged man exits the car now. He knows this man too, but he looks much younger, no older than fifty if that. His grey hair barely reaches his shoulders. And he doesn't seem to need the cane he carries for support, it's held behind his back. He makes it up the stairs easily and the two chat happily.

He knows her for sure. "R. Dorothy…" He reaches a hand towards her.

There's no way she could have heard him, she was so far away, but she still turns to look at him, concern evident in those violet eyes. Violet? He remembered the lenses as black with a green sheen to them. But still, it's her, he has no doubt in his frayed mind. "Do–"

As soon as he begins to approach a man of roughly thirty takes her arm, calling her name. He's fairly handsome and blonde, tall, well built. He says something to her and she laughs. This man must be her fiancee. She has a pure laugh and an innocent smile. No… that wasn't his Dorothy. She never laughed or smiled like that.

Her father gives a sad smile and heads into the club ahead of them, knowing his days as her favorite man in the world are numbered, the door closing behind him. Roger leaves, he knows he's intruding here.

A voice calls again, "You know that isn't right. Wake up."

"This is a city I don't know. My scruffy clothes are out of fashion. No, maybe it's the opposite. This is a time I don't know. Memories I can't say are mine." Roger's feet lead him to Central Park. Since he has no destination, his pace is slow. His shoulders are hunched over, not from the cold but so that others will leave him alone.

"So who am I? I could never build up any pride in my job in the Military Police as one of Dan Dastun's subordinates," He kept wandering and thought some more, "So I used some incident of other as a pretext to leave the force." Roger sighed and looked up, beyond the trees in the well lit park a mountain range of skyscrapers was just beyond. "That's when… it was right after that when I met him. I met the Big O."

A spotlight from above illuminates Roger, but instead of surprise he straightens himself up. As he walks forward, his clothing changes into the Roger he remembers. He walks onto a stage set and the backdrop is his home from the outside. It's lit by light above and from the front. As he walks onto the stage he thinks, "It was purely on some whim that I latched onto the idea of making this decaying bank building into a home. That's what I thought. But it seems that wasn't the case."

The backdrop is rolled up, the new one resembling his lounge. Norman walks in on the left, standing quietly, his silhouette is black and white, making it hard to see. "Welcome home, master."

""Master"? We've never met." Roger speaks with a melodrama, his own face blacked out features only distinct from the side profile he has.

"My own memories tell me that, as well." Norman speaks with an even cant, each word even more pronounced for his English accent, "Nevertheless, you are the master I serve."

"You really shouldn't go around deciding things like that on your own." Roger points dramatically at this manservert declaring him his master.

"Might I ask your name, sir? It is terribly rude to not know the name of the man you serve." He turns to face the young man, now his side profile visible.

"My name is Roger Smith." He declares, like some hero on the scene.

He bowed respectfully "Master Roger, I am Norman Burg. Allow me to see to both your care and its maintenance."

""It?" What do you mean "It"?" Roger shrugs and then points to the old man again, "You must be crazy! Maintenance of what?"

"I speak of that which, by working with you, can be an instrument of God rather than a mere lump of steel." He turned to face the audience and stepped forward. "Forty years ago, I lost my memory. Nevertheless, I have spent each day since working on it so that it would not rust up and be unable to move. My only fear has been that I would grow old and feeble before the man I am to serve would appear. Today, that fear has been dispelled!" He shouted that last part at the empty audience jubilantly.

"What's this "It" you keep talking about?" Roger looked from the old man to the empty audience and back again.

"I have simply called it the Big "O"."

"The Big O?" Roger shrugged again and turned away from Norman, "Why do you assume that I'm the one who's supposed to team up with it?" He turned back to Norman.

A spotlight shines on the still featureless Norman, "Speak its name into your watch, Master Roger, and you will understand." The theater fades to black.

Roger was back in Central Park, standing under a street light, not a stage light. "Big O was waiting for me." He lifts his arms and draws back his sleeve to see the stopped and broken watch. "But I've lost any proof that that is the truth. Were my memories mistaken from the very beginning? Who was I playing in those illusory memories?"

A cold night wind blows by, and a copy of The New York Times blows into his leg. He picks it up and gasps at the headline. "Paradigm Shift: Giant Discovered in Subway Construction Site. Science Makes a Quantum Leap. By Micheal Seebach" The picture is from his memory, but in black and white, it's the archetype isn't it?

"In the world I had been in, all memories and all records of events prior to 40 years ago had vanished. From that point on, maybe we had been playing people other than ourselves." He wandered to the nearest bench and sat down, reading more of the paper. A comic was in the funnys, and the protagonist resembled him, and the scene that had just played out in his head on that stage.

"My history, the history of a man named Roger Smith, is boring to the extreme. Raised in an orphanage, I gained the right to an education under the patronage of a prosperous foster family." He remembers something. A man resembling a younger Gordon Rosewater in a doctor's scrubs looking down at kids in a burning building. An old Gordon Rosewater's reflection off some cloned tomatoes. Back to the kids with barcodes scrolling in their eyes. Roger grasps his head in one hand, barely clinging to the paper with the other, tormented by a headache that came with those memories.

The voice calls again, trying to get him to wake up, but the words are unintelligible to his broken mind.

A few days later, Roger is in a movie theater watching a tragic love story between a spy and a cop. He watches the painful conclusion numbly, wearing a tattered overcoat he found somewhere. A few rows ahead, a boy with a buzz cut lets go of a red balloon as the credit roll, but Roger doesn't know him or care.

He exits the theater into a night darkened Chinatown, red lanterns light the street, they are covered in a scrawled script he cannot read. It's raining, but as he has no umbrella and must leave the theater before being thrown out he hunches over and makes due.

"Just as I don't know this city, it, in return, doesn't know me. My being in this city has no value or meaning."

Two Chinese men bumped into him from behind and knocked him over. They yelled and sneered at him, saying something in a language he didn't understand, and ran off into the rainy night. Roger lifted his face into the rain, and squinting into the distance those mountainous skyscrapers were barely visible.

"The man named Roger Smith, the Paradigm City Negotiator, the man who would team up with Big O… I'm only an actor who played those parts. If those roles were taken away, I'd have no value in that world."

Just then a car pulls up and bathes his face in headlights. He made a confused noise as the black car stopped some distance away. It's familiar. The door opens, and a blonde woman in smart military dress steps out and walks towards him. Roger blinks, is it really her?

"So, there's an Angel here, too."

The woman standing in front of him looks peeved. "I'd rather you didn't call me strange names, Major."

"Wh-what did you say?" He couldn't be hearing her right. Major? He's never risen above lieutenant.

"Don't you remember me?" She gives him a sad smile, and the two get in the car, headed who knows where.

Roger in the back seat smiles into the reflection of the woman facing him in the mirror. "What name do you have now? What role are you playing, Angel?" His reflection in the side window shows a scruffy man with a cad smile.

Angel acts surprised and regains her composure, looking made in the rearview mirror. "I really don't like being called that, Major."

"So I'm playing a soldier now, am I?" Angel remained silent as Roger laid back into the seat, dead tired from being on the street for days. The only sounds for a short time were the flicking of the wipers and the purr of the engine. "What kind of scene is this? I'm a soldier? Do I turn my gun on innocent children on the battlefield?" He made a finger gun and acted all dramatic, but there was an exhausted edge to his voice.

Angel gave a bitter smile again, "My, what a pleasant imagination you have." She became serious, "Were you really that afraid of awakening it?"

"Afraid?" The car crossed a bridge before entering a tunnel. The scene outside the windows revealed the orange tinted lights of the tunnel went steadily downwards, in the car the reflections began to slowly change.

Roger looks down at his clenched, shaking, fists. "Not all memories are pleasant ones. Among my memories, which I myself already know are suspect, the most unpleasant of all is reawakening. This emotion that I'm feeling now… This primal, illoigal emotion called "terror" that I don't want to admit to having…"

Angel noticed he was breathing hard. "Are you all right?"

"Where are you taking me?"

"To where you had been." Her reflection in that instant changed briefly to the pink clad woman of before, that he knew.

He hunched over in fear, remember the descent into the underground, the Archetype that slept there, and that something had caused that terror in him and made him black out down there… but something wasn't right. Why was there a second girl with him? Who…? Who is she?

He looked back up at Angel and pleaded, "Please… stop…"

"You want to run away again?" In the front seat it was the pink clad Angel he knew.

"Run away? I ran away? Me?" He looked up and gasped. She was no longer there, but he was. The "him" he remembered. The Roger Smith that was real to him. With a flash of realization even as the car descends downwards, all the other sounds disappear and fade away. "That's right. I figured it out. The thing I should be fighting is the terror within me that'd I'd always been afraid of. I had never admitted to myself that it existed."

Both the Roger in the front seat, and the one in the side window were the same, and from the side of the tunnel a figure he knew went by, but who?

The theater again, briefly flashes in his mind, the seats are filling up with people he knows, and the scene of the car fades to black.

"I've been pretending not to see the thing I've been fighting."

"Roger Smith." It's a voice he knows, it's his Dorothy, it has to be.

They're on 47th street. Alone and in his hobo gear Roger looks around surprised before seeing a young Dorothy in a red dress.

"Dorothy Wayneright…" His reflection is the negotiator in the shop window.

She says nothing, but those violet eyes are not impassive.

"Dorothy, you just called me Roger Smith?"

Again she says nothing, but her reflection is that of the android, eggshell white skin, black dress. Not the same woman facing him, but also the very same.

"Is it all right for me to play Roger Smith?" He is beginning to sound more like himself.

The human girl facing him speaks with the android's speech pattern. "Play? You're not an actor, Roger Smith."

His voice gains vigor, his eyes light up, and his expression changes to determination, "As long as you keep calling me that, I'll be Roger Smith." He rips the coat off and is the Negotiator, the reflection the same. The doubts are gone, the nightmare is soon to end.

She makes no noise, but now is the black clad girl he remembers, but the reflection is now the young human woman, smiling before she fades away.

The audience of that dark and mysterious mind theater watch the thrilling conclusion as Roger lifts the watch to his mouth and shouts, "Big O!"

Behind him, the black metal giant appears against the silhouettes of the skyscrapers. The city fades away, only a spotlight illuminates Roger as he calls, "Action!"

He hears that same girl's voice once more, for the final time before everything fades to black again. "Yes, this is the way."

Inside Big O is darkness, with a little light peaking through the broken glass cover of the cockpit. The light blazes in as Big O stands up, illuminating the occupants within. The Big is surrounded by the three foreign Big's still, with a lot more damage than before. Roger flips the switches on both joysticks, and yanks both back behind the elbow before swinging them both forward hard, Dorothy's helping anyway.

Every joint in Big O's hunched over body opens, and Dan Dastun immediately realized the danger that presented. "All personal, fall back! FALL BACK!" He shouted into his megaphone as his men already started beating the retreat.

As the MP's AFV's beat a retreat, anchors shot out at every point of Big O's hips. Most skimmed the water, many hit the pylons of the harbor, and the others connected to the three Megadei, piercing their bodies and wrecking them, and the last few hit and destroyed some harbor warehouses. Kaboom! The explosive charges of the grand Moby Dick anchor ended the terror of the three foreign Bigs.

Finally, after over an hour of fighting, quiet descends on the harbor. Roger gets up from the pilots chair and makes his way to the edge of Big O's cockpit, Dorothy waits for him to speak. The wind from the sea breeze buffets them, lifting Dorothy's skirts slightly.

"My name is Roger Smith. I'm a Negotiator in this city that's lost it's memories." Roger turned to Dorothy and smiled. Whatever was said, no one could hear.

On top of the catwalk outside the Main Dome, Alex Rosewater watched the smoke in the harbor and stood up from the viewfinder he was using. "Have the Military Police retrieve those three foreign showpieces." He tossed a red tomato at a slim man hiding in the shadows.

"As you wish." The slender man could barely suppress a smile on his red painted lips.

Big O made its way from the harbor to the shore, and Angel watched it go, tears streaming down her face. "So it's already too late?"

Now that the fight with the Big three was over for some hours, Ray had someone she needed to talk with. She arrived at the Ailesbury farming dome, parked her bike and headed into the farm past the rather weak security. In contrast to her previous time visiting the dome, today there were some military police around and scanning peoples ID's, questioning why they were visiting.

"This is odd. Could he be here? I didn't see the long white limo." Ray slipped past the police with relative ease, and hid in the wheat field whenever anyone passed by, waiting for her chance to move forward. She made decent progress to the log cabin when a large contingent of soldiers made their way towards the exit. She thought that would be the end of it, yet instead, she witnessed a most unexpected sight.

"If you want, I can simply end the old man." An effeminate voice floated to her ears, shrill and loud.

Ray's blood instantly ran cold and she seethed. That monster's here already?

"No, he may be old and going senile, but what son would want to kill his father who's been nothing but good to him?" Rosewater's deep and calm voice responded. Ray didn't dare move, she held her breath. Being discovered here was a death sentence waiting to happen.

"Oh well, if you insist. Killing an old man waiting to die isn't much fun anyways." Their voices came closer to where Ray was hidden. She tensed up, ready to run, or more realistically expire from fear. She had little to worry about though.

"For now, let's just get the preparations ready for his birthday party. Not like he will bother to show up this year." Rosewater's voice moved past her, the two men none the wiser their conversation had been overheard.

Once Ray was certain they were long gone, she left the wheat field and emerged onto the path. The only ones around were the young, strong, farm boys who helped tend the fields. "That took a few years off my life. Hope the old man's ok."

She walked the rest of the path, not passing another person. When she arrived at the log cabin, the old man was resting in his rocking chair, straw hat on the table next to him. "Oh, well I can't say I expected to see you, young lady. Come and sit, rest here with me a while."

Gordon Rosewater seemed in an affable mood at least. "I take it you had a nice chat with your son?" Ray sat on the stairs and rested an arm on her knee, her head on her hand, "Can't say I liked what I heard from them leaving."

"Pay them no mind, we both know nothing will happen for a while yet."

"Yeah sure, if you say so." Ray sighed, a mix of depression and frustration evident. "Well, anyways, I made it through the first half alive, and not everything went as it should have."

"That is true." The old man kept rocking away. "But you must have some questions for me or you wouldn't be here now."

"Hm. Well..." Ray looked up at the artificial sky and pondered how to phrase what she wanted to say. She didn't want him to wiggle out of answering on a technicality. "If… if I save people that shouldn't have made it to this point, or shouldn't make it past a certain point in the future, how much will change?"

He stopped rocking and flew out of his chair to a standing position. "What have you done?!"

"Uwa!" Ray was so startled she jumped, twisted around to face him, but tripped in the process and landed on her butt. "Ow…"

"What did you do young lady?" For an obese old man, he was surprisingly fast, as he now was at the top of the stairs and giving her the scariest death glare she had ever seen.

"I, um, well I… Technically nothing yet but..." Ray answered his question. When she had finished her explanation, he looked at her with naught more than a quizzical expression.

"Hm?" He pondered as he plodded back over to his rocking chair, and sat down, still thinking. "Well now, that is a tricky question. And in all honesty, I cannot say."

"What?" Ray finally got off the ground and brushed the dust from her rear. "All those theatrics for 'I don't know'?"

"Well, quite frankly, it's never happened before. So for once, you young lady, have stumped this old man." He went back to rocking away. "But I do look forward to how you handle this."

"Uh… well geez thanks for nothing, I guess." And with that Ray left to go back home.

After the fight with the Big Foreign three was over, Roger came home and had his arm taken care of by Norman. Afterwards, he passed out in his room, with Dorothy keeping watch on him. Notably absent was Ray, who had both returned home and just as quickly left, while Roger was fighting for his life and sanity.

Once she was certain Roger was comfortable and resting, Dorothy left him alone, choosing to let him rest peacefully. What she had overheard from him during his hallucinations was upsetting to say the least. Something had rocked him mentally, and, well, she needed time to digest what he had told her on the way back home in Big O.

Roger had insisted on going back to the tunnel Big O had smashed through, and they searched the rubble for a short time before finding something: a gold disk with the letters R.D written on it. When Roger saw it, he had a sense of relief wash over him, and then a pit of dread hit his stomach.

"Dorothy, I… I have something difficult to tell you."

"We can talk about it in the Griffin, let's get you there first. You are bleeding quite heavily."

"Ok, you're right." Once back at the Griffin, Roger sat down in the driver's seat and set the car on automatic cruise so it would drive home for them. "Dorothy… the one who shot me…"

"Is dead, based on the expression you made back in the tunnel." Dorothy pulled the medical kit out of the glovebox and started forming a tourniquet above the shot wound on Roger's arm.

"Yeah, but that's not what I was going to tell you." He winced as the fabric tightened on his bicep. Ouch. I know she wants to stop me from bleeding, but that hurts.

"Go on."

"Dorothy, the one who shot me… she… Well, she was your sister."

"What?" Dorothy became stone still mid wrap of the fabric. She looked up from the wound after what seemed like an eternity, her hands soaked in Roger's blood. "I have… had, a sister?"

"Yeah."

"And she shot you?"

"Yes."

Dorothy returned to covering up the gunshot wound and refused to look at Roger, but in a meek voice she asked, "Did she kill those other people, like your client?"

"She admitted to it before trying to kill me."

"Oh. I see."

"Dorothy, it's not your fault. You had no idea that she…"

"I know that Roger." Dorothy snapped at him. Her voice went back to a smaller monotone than normal, "But even if you say that, I am still what I believe humans would call depressed." Dorothy finished wrapping the wound as the Griffin neared the mansion, and she wiped her hands with the wet wipes in the kit. "That does not make it any less difficult to think about losing a sibling I never knew I had, in such a violent way."

Roger could only grunt in pain in response. When they pulled into the garage Norman was ready for them.

Now back at home with Roger properly cared for, and with nothing to distract her from her own melancholy, for once Dorothy missed Ray's boisterous company. She needn't wait long for Ray's return.

"Ms. Ray, Dorothy is in the lounge, though I am not sure you pestering her is a good idea right now." Norman was talking to the human teen at the bottom of the spiral staircase.

"I figured, if what you just told me is true. How's Roger holding up?"

"He's resting now."

"Good. He needs it after that. I'll come help you prepare for dinner in a bit." With that Ray walked up the stairs, and slowly approached Dorothy sitting at the piano.

"I do not want to talk."

"Ok, then I won't make you." Ray went over to the couch, grabbed a comic she left on the coffee table earlier and began reading.

"You are not going to force conversation?"

"Nope. It's your grief, you deal with it how you want to. Just don't take it out on me." Ray continued reading, letting Dorothy have her silence. Soon Dorothy came over and sat next to Ray. She didn't say anything for a while, but eventually asked something strange of Ray.

"If… if your sister… if she was hurt by someone, even killed, what would you do?"

"Norman will ground me if I say what I would do, and Dastun might have to arrest me, unless you'll keep your mouth shut."

"I will keep my mouth shut."

"Ok then. I'd make them regret it."

"Should I be terrified of you?" Dorothy looked at the rather violent comic book Ray was reading and wondered if that was the cause.

"Nope. Also, if anyone ever tries to hurt you, I'm going to make them regret it."

"Why would you do that for me?" Dorothy blinked in confusion.

"Because I care about you. You're my family. Maybe not by blood, but you're my chosen family all the same. Kind of like a best friend and annoying younger sister all in one."

"I see." Dorothy looked down at her hands, not sure what else to say.

"So on a completely different topic, are you wearing makeup?" Ray was sure her eyes were deceiving her.

"Why were you the first one to notice?"

"Oh poor Dorothy." Ray started rubbing her back, but it was such a sarcastic action Dorothy was becoming annoyed with her. "Thinking he would notice anything."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ok, so, let me spell this out for you with a lot of offense intended: the interpersonal communication breakdown between males and females is confusing enough for humans with experience, but doubly so for you who probably has none when it comes to relationship stuff." Ray turned towards Dorothy and became a little more serious. "And Roger is about as observant as a brick wall, and his emotional awareness of the people he lives with only goes about as high as one too. So if you want him to pay attention to you, compliment you, or whatever, you're just going to have to tell him."

Dorothy sat in silence for a good few minutes processing what was likely sound advice, from Ray of all humans!

Norman chose an opportunistic time to interrupt, as always. "Ray, would you mind helping with dinner preparations now?"

"Oh yes, sorry I completely forgot." Ray left then, leaving Norman and Dorothy alone.

"How does she always know what to say to make me confused?" Dorothy pondered, not really expecting an answer.

"Hm, that is the question of the day isn't it? Yet for all that, I believe she means well." Norman sat down next to Dorothy, and, in an uncharacteristic display of affection, pulled her into a sideways hug. When he released her he kept a hand on her slender shoulder, gently squeezing it. "And I also believe she deeply cares for you, however that may manifest."

"She's already promised not to hit on me."

Norman chuckled a bit, Dorothy's humor returning did much to ease his worries for her. "Oh, of that I have no doubt, you would likely throw her off the teriss if she tried."

"Have you known for long?"

"I'm old, but not so old as to be blind to teenage angst and emotions like Master Roger." Norman gave a knowing smile, "She does not hide it all that well, but she trusted you with something important if she told you."

"I actually accused her of it." Dorothy looked up from her clasped hands at Norman, and saw he was concerned. "Was it rude of me to do that?"

"Well yes, it was. Did she become angry with you when you accused her?"

"No. She seemed- sad."

"She's likely had terrible experiences in the past with others finding out. Just be careful who you speak to about this, if anyone at all." Norman got up then, "I better make sure she isn't burning something."

"Ray doesn't burn anything when she cooks." Dorothy stated.

"Oh?" He raised the eyebrow over his good eye at that statement.

"She usually covers up for my inability to cook."

Norman couldn't help but laugh. "Of course she does. Well either way there is a lot to do tonight so I'll go check on her."

He left Dorothy then, and she was alone with her thoughts again.

When Roger woke up, he was groggy. Dorothy had brought him a cup of tea to his room, but when he reached for it, instead of being able to grab it he knocked the cup off the tray, spilling it all over the floor.

She bent to pick up the cup and went to get cleaning supplies. "You still aren't yourself."

"Sorry Dorothy." Roger sighed and brushed his hair out of his eyes, his arm was healing well at least, since the bullet had only grazed him. "Anything interesting happen the last few days?"

"Ray has locked us out of her room. And disabled the camera."

"Oh?"

"Norman said we shouldn't worry because she just wants her privacy."

"He's likely right. Where is Ray now?"

"I think she is helping Norman with house work." Dorothy finished cleaning up the spilled tea and stood up.

"Could you ask her to come here?" Roger was a little shaky, but before he passed back out for a while he had to ask her something.

"If I must." Dorothy left and returned a few minutes later with Ray in tow.

"You doing alright now Roger?" Ray asked when she saw him, he was almost as pale as Dorothy.

"I've been better. I just wanted to ask you something."

"Sure, what's up?"

"You disabled the camera in your room?"

"Yup. Got sick of everyone watching me. It was making me a little paranoid. Also, Robin got into my yarn a few too many times for my liking." She shrugged, was it that big of a deal?

Roger snorted at Ray's candid response. "Well that's one question down, and I can understand the paranoia a bit. You aren't doing anything illegal?"

"Is reading illegal?" Her voice dropped an octave and she was clearly being sarcastic.

"What you read? Likely not." Roger sighed, he really was back to square one with this enigma of a teenager. "Speaking of Robin, where is he?"

"Rwar!" The little tuxedo had heard his name and came running. He leaped onto Roger's bed and beelined for his lap, purring up a storm.

"Well at least someone in this house is happy to see me." Roger stated offhandedly.

"Pft, haha." Ray laughed at his retort. She quickly became serious. "You should let him cuddle with you for a while, cats purr to try and heal people."

"Oh really? Guess this kitty really does like me." Roger scratched Robin's chin, making the kitten purr more. "Well one of my other questions is, have your nightmares been getting better?"

"Hm?" How odd he would ask me about that. "Yeah, haven't had any since you fought those three Big three days ago."

"It's only been three days? Why does it feel like it's been so much longer?"

"Painkillers and nightmares." Dorothy finally spoke up after just watching from the doorway as the two chatted. "And you haven't even left your bed much."

"That probably explains why I stink." I need a shower when I can get up. "What time is it?"

"4pm." Dorothy was matter of fact as always.

"We'll leave you alone, but I'm getting Norman to check your bandages ok Roger?" Ray said as she left the room, Dorothy closed the door and he was alone with Robin.

Roger showered, ate a quick meal brought up to him, begrudgingly let Norman check his gunshot wound, and was forced back to sleep, but it didn't matter. He couldn't sleep much and when he did all he saw as nightmares. Against Norman's earlier warnings, Roger got out of bed and made his way to the hanger, thinking maybe just moving around would help. He had some unexpected company though.

"What are you doing here so late at night?" Roger asked as he walked up on a forlorn Ray. She was on the catwalk, arms resting on the railing, looking up at Big O. It had only been four days, but his arm was reattached, and a lot of the damage was in the repair process.

"Big O's a good listener. And I had hoped I could calm him down. He's been agitated since that fight." Ray didn't look at Roger when she spoke, but she straightened up. "You made him worried, you know that? Not Just because you were shot, but whatever happened in the last fight you really shook him mentally."

"Big O was worried huh?" Roger wasn't really surprised by that information, it made sense. Roger couldn't recall if he had said anything when hallucinating, but from how Dorothy had treated him, he suspected he said something crazy. He walked over to Ray and stood beside her, before realizing his legs were tired and leaned against the railing. "So, what are you so upset about that you thought to come and talk to Big O?"

"Honestly, I feel sort of helpless. Like there's not much I can do no matter which road I take." Ray sighed and looked up at him. Her eyes flashed through a few emotions, but she spoke with some confidence despite that. "I… I fear I've made an irreversible mistake, and even if I haven't, I don't know how the choices I've made until now will turn out."

It was the first honest and open hearted comment she had ever made to him. Roger wasn't sure why, but he felt… kinship when she said that. He'd felt that way before, in his younger years. "No one really knows how their choices will turn out, Ray. But so long as you follow your conscience and believe you've done the right thing, then it's alright to hope for the best." Ray said nothing as she scrutinized his face. "When I left the Military Police, I wasn't sure I was making the right decision then either. But I saw this bank and thought of turning it into my home. I met Norman and Big O because of that, and you know the rest."

"Yet recently you constantly question why you and Big O work together as a team?" Ray turned away when asking him, she stared up at the metal and usually impassive face. "You know I could hear him scream."

"Huh?" Now that did surprise Roger. "What do you mean?"

"When his arm fell off in the last fight. I was miles away, almost home from some errands, and it rang out so clear I nearly wrecked my bike." Ray shivered and hugged herself. "I've heard him speak, in his own way, many times, but he's never screamed before."

"..." Roger reached out to place a hand on Ray's shoulder, but stopped himself. Putting his hands in his robes pockets instead. "I…"

"You weren't yourself. I know that. If you had been, those three Big's would've been scrapped much faster." Ray shook her head and peered over at Roger, "But you need to apologize to him."

"I was the one having a mental breakdown." Roger took an indignant tone.

"Yes, and that made him worry!" Ray was angry. "Even if you weren't yourself, you still made him and all of us worry you louse!" Ray got up in his face, and given that she wasn't that much shorter than him it didn't take much.

"Oh…" Roger backed up a little, Ray tended to rarely get this upset with him. "You're right. I shouldn't have made you all worry. I might not have been myself, nor do I know what caused it, but… I'm sorry ok?"

Ray backed off and calmed down. A half apology is better than nothing. "Fine. Fine." She sighed then, and shook her head. "Now I'm even more concerned though."

"About the decisions you made?" Roger was sure it was what she was talking about.

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk to me about it?" Roger was hoping to make some headway with her. Slowly, Ray was opening up to them, telling them more of herself, showing them her true self.

"I can't… not yet anyway. I need some time to settle a few things and… well if everything works out you'll know what I did."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then I hope I don't end up dead." She became serious.

"End up dead? Ray, what have you done?" He couldn't hide his shock at that.

"Nothing yet."

"What are you going to do?"

"Continuing to make dangerous decisions in the hopes I get the outcome I desire." That was as straight forward an answer as she would give. Ray walked towards the stairs but stopped next to Roger and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey Rog…"

"Yes."

"Next time you go see Big Ear, ask him about a therapist."

"Why? Do you need one?"

"No, but you do?" She gave him that sideways smirk she had with a lot of feigned concern before dodging Rogers hand that darted towards her arm. She gave that minx laugh and made her way to bed.

"That girl… I can't tell if she's teasing me or flirting anymore."

We Have Come to Terms

Hey, sorry this took forever to get out. My whole family got covid, I was fine because yay vaccines and science. Mom nearly died and I've been taking care of her since. She mostly fine now, so don't worry. I got this out before Christmas though, so I have that at least. I also got all A's in grad school again.