Just west of Port Farrall

Present Day

"I need to go for a walk. I have to. I can't miss a day. No, I have to. I have to go look. If I don't keep looking, I'll never find them. Bennie and Sylvie. I know I saw them. Just once, but they're out there, and they'll be so scared – I have to go find them."

- A heartbroken Maria Santiago in the midst of psychosis insisting on searching for her dead children.

I had been walking for about two miles in a miserable, half-frozen, stinking march when I came across a half-deserted road. Usually roads where typically avoided – too easy for a pirate gang to set up an ambush – but I didn't care. I was tired, sore, cold, and incredibly pissed off. It was stupid of me to come so far out in the first place. When I first started walking, my only purpose had been to get away from it all. I hadn't paid attention to how far I had been walking. It was my own damn fault I was Stranded out here – freezing – in the middle of nowhere.

Still, it made me feel better to blame Mataki. That anger lit a fire in my belly that supplied enough fuel for my body to keep moving forward.

So she hated Stranded. I could understand that; hell, half the surviving world did also. But leaving someone out in the woods so far from civilization was a dick move no matter how one looked at it. Instinctively I knew that if Delta found out about our little parlay in the forest Mataki would get shit for her actions, but I wasn't about to go run and tattle to Marcus. I didn't need someone to solve my problems for me; I hadn't needed someone like that in a long time. The only sensible solution would to be to stay as far away from Mataki as possible until her little grudge ran its course.

Of course, I wasn't exactly notorious for doing the 'sensible' thing.

Two squirrels I had shot out of a tree with my pistol dangled against my hip. Their dead bodies were tied tight to my belt, smearing my pants with little drops of blood. Squirrels didn't have a lot of meat on them, but I probably had just enough to make a paltry stew. If nothing else, I could dry the fur and use it to line my boots. Walking around with frozen feet was fast loosing the allure. The road was mostly dirt now that the concrete had eroded away. Still, it was frozen solid and refused to give beneath my feet. The ground was harder than stone, and about half as comfortable to walk on.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost didn't hear the heated grumble of an engine slowly approaching. It was loud; echoing off the trees and setting my teeth on edge. I thought about ducking into the woods to hide, but decided against it. An engine that loud belonged to a huge vehicle – a vehicle too large for any Stranded to own. This behemoth could only belong to the COG.

My feet, already numb from cold, dragged to a stop along the icy road. The vehicle – a Derrick, I discovered as it crested a hill – grew impossibly loud as it inched closer. It was heading back east, towards Port Farrall. Transportation didn't come around often, so I was determined that this COG vehicle was my ticket back to the Port.

My back straight, my jaw squared…I had been prepared for an argument. As the vehicle grew closer, my tight lips slowly curved upwards out of my snarl and into a smile as the Derrick slowed to a stop and a familiar figure leaned out the side.

"A'ight there, Bri?" his whiskey-rough voice called out. "Whatcha doing in tha' middle o'the street for? You trying to pick a fight with Betty?"

No fight would be needed to get a lift back to Port Farrall. I'd recognize that moth-eaten cowboy hat anywhere. "Hey, Dizzy! You sure got great timing, you know that?"

He waved me over, grumbling something about half-frozen 'idgits' found in the snow. His warm eyes were crinkled with concern above his salt-and-pepper colored beard. His gaze followed me around to the passenger seat and as I opened the door he said to his daughters, "Go on, now. Scootch over an' let Bri warm 'er bones."

Maralin and Teresa, Dizzy's two daughters, were sitting in the middle of the bench seat. Maralin immediately scampered over the top of the seat and into the small space behind the driver's side. Teresa gave me a small, shy smile as I settled in next to her.

Dizzy slammed the driver's door hard enough that it echoed over the loud rumbling of the engine. I waited for him to shift into gear and continue down the road, but instead he studied me closely. "You wanna explain why you're hanging out here in the middle o' nowhere fo'?"

Absolutely not, was my immediate thought. Instead, I sighed and tried to search for an answer that would satisfy him and get him to leave me alone. "Would you believe me if I told you I was looking for Big Foot?"

Teresa giggled quietly, but Dizzy wasn't as easily distracted. He 'harrumped' heatedly before releasing the clutch and driving forward. "Fine, fine. Don' tell me. You just gonna give me a heart attack one o' these days, that's all."

I didn't answer. I knew Dizzy worried about me, even though I'd asked him several times not to. He might have come off gruff and uncivilized to most people, but I knew very well that there was a heart of gold underneath all that dirt. Dizzy didn't love much in his life, but he held on tightly to what he found precious. His daughters, his Derrick, and – surprisingly – me.

I kept quiet as my feet slowly began to thaw and send shivers of pain up my calves. At least the tingles in my lower body gave me something else to think about. Dizzy was important in my life, but I couldn't help but feel awkward around him now. Dizzy was the closest thing I'd ever had to a father. He'd saved my life more than once, and in hundreds of different ways. When Ace died Dizzy was the one who found me and held me as I wept in the dirt. I owed him so much more than I could ever repay.

We continued onwards towards Port Farrall in quiet solitude. The rumbling of the engine was just enough to numb the thoughts in my mind, which was nice. Dizzy was occupied watching the road for hidden E-holes that would swallow one of Betty's tires whole as the twins conversed in the back. Finally, when Teresa mentioned 'Prescott's' name several times in a row, my curiosity got the better of me.

"What are you two talking about?" I twisted in my seat to look them both in the face.

Immediately, their faces shifted into a mirrored expression of guilt and excitement. Teresa motioned for Maralin to spill the story. "There's been some rumors circulating around camp," she informed me. "Some people say that Prescott is thinking about relocating again."

I thought that bit of news over. "Relocate where?" I asked. "I thought the COG ended up in the Port because it was the only place left with enough infrastructure to support an entire city?"

This time Teresa answered instead; evidently her enthusiasm for the plan overpowered her shyness. "They say we might go to the islands! Tropical weather – can you imagine?"

"Hogwash," Dizzy interrupted. "Shouldn't put any stock in rumors and hear-say, understan' me? If and when ol' Prescott gives the order to relocate we'll figur' out what ta' do then, but until then y'all best keep your minds out of the clouds. Ya' Hear?"

"Yes, Daddy," the two girls chorused dejectedly. It effectively put an end to that conversation, but my mind still spun with the possibilities. The camp still had dozens of people dying every day – mostly the young or elderly, those who couldn't take the cold. Food was scarce and sickness was rampant. The warmer weather would help most of our problems. Not to mention, it would really bolster morale for both the Gears and civilians. And as far as we knew the grubs were never able to tunnel far out into the sea-floor.

However, there were some downsides to the plan as well. Many people wouldn't want to be uprooted again so soon after the last evacuation, especially for something that sounded like a pipe dream. Plus, there were no islands that I knew of that were large enough to house a Jacinto-sized population. Breaking people up was a slippery slope that led to a loss in command. It would be like living in Stranded camps, and the civilians had already shown their thoughts on something like that.

The idea continued to turn over in my mind until we reached the boundary of Port Farrall. Border guards recognized Dizzy immediately and waved him through the blockade. The rumbling of the engine was a siren that told the civilians in the street to move over like Moses parting the Red Sea in one of Momma's stories that she liked so well. "I never did ask you what you were doing so far out from the Port, Dizzy," I questioned him as we pulled up next to headquarters.

"Imulsion," he answered simply as he powered down his workhorse. "There was a hidden cache a few miles outsida' town. Prescott sent me to go an' get it. Gonna need as much juice as we all can get." With that, he hopped down out of the driver's seat.

I jumped down out of the Derrick and landed heavily on the balls of my feet. Teresa followed, but she took her time and climbed down the rungs one by one. I walked around to the front of the behemoth where the sight of six dead deer laying on the ground stopped me in my tracks. One was already open and mostly gutted; the hack saw lay on its flank abandoned and forgotten. Mataki had been called away for some reason.

A stray cat had taken advantage of the situation, and was nosing around in the open underbelly of the deer. It stuck its muzzle in and emerged triumphant with the deer's liver. The cat, feeling my eyes upon him, turned and stared at me, as if daring me to stop him. Normally I would – a meal was a meal, after all, and we needed all the food we could get. Instead, I motioned for him to get out of here. It was Mataki's deer; anything that pissed her off was alright by me.

The cat scampered off, leaving tiny, bloody prints in the snow, holding the liver clenched tightly in his teeth.

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit," Dizzy guffawed loudly. "There's where e'rrybody went."

I turned to see where he was looking; through the crowd I could just make out Cole's bald head wavering above the rest. As he drew nearer the exhausted shapes of Dom, Bernie, and Marcus emerged from the masses. All the people I didn't want to see, except maybe Cole. I should have made a half-ass excuse to Dizzy and beat a hasty retreat, but Mataki locked eyes with me before I could move my feet. Her eyes immediately narrowed, then travelled to my back and traced the shape of my longshot. She didn't look surprised to see me. She didn't look disappointed either, which I guessed was a start.

Dom and Cole had their heads tucked in close together and were discussing something; something unpleasant, judging by the look on Dom's face. "Nobody's sore at you, baby," I heard Cole say as they drew closer. "You want it, I'll make it happen. That's all."

"Thanks, Cole Train," Dom finished before his eyes found Dizzy. A spark of life emerged in his eyes and the corner of his mouth almost curled upwards into the beginnings of a smile. "Bernie, this is Dizzy Wallin," Dom introduced them. "He saved my ass, and Marcus'. He took on that grub bastard Skorge so we could get clear in the grindlift."

Whatever that story was, it happened long before I met Delta. I was much more interested in examining Mataki's reaction to Dizzy. Was it all Stranded she hated, or just me? When Dizzy stuck his hand out she shook it, but I still saw her nose crinkle with slight disgust. That could have just been a reaction to the smell of stale alcohol that followed Dizzy around like a shadow, however. "He's buildin' me up, Sergeant – Tai was the one who stopped that weird streak o' piss, not me. He saved my ass. Where is he? I got some extra-smooth moonshine I want to share with him."

Whoever this 'Tai' person was, the mention of his name stopped the conversation dead. The slight spark of life I saw in Dom's eyes when he saw Dizzy earlier vanished as he said, "Sorry, Dizzy. He didn't make it."

The bitter taste of sorrow filled the air. It was always hard to hear of another death, another life wasted. Dizzy looked into Dom's face, read what was there, and screwed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Shit," he said.

The conversation continued in muted murmurs that explained in greater detail how exactly Tai had lost his life. I listened for a while, until I saw the devastated look on Maralin's face. Her hands were balled into tight fists that shook with emotion. A single, solitary tear tracked a clean path through the dirt and grime on her cheek. "You okay?" I whispered to her. It was a stupid question; it was obvious she wasn't.

It took her a moment to open her eyes. She stared unseeingly past me into the ramshackle city. "I hate it here," she finally answered. "Every day you hear of someone new who died. Daddy told me about Tai – he was a hero. He didn't deserve that – didn't deserve-" her throat closed up with tears. Teresa was there in the next heartbeat, wrapping her warm and comforting arms around her sister. They leaned on each other for support as they mourned together.

I turned away to afford them their privacy just to see Mataki examining her precious deer hides closely. "Bastards!" she snarled. "Where's my frigging liver gone?"

Oops… I thought with a guilt-free conscious. I mentally wished the cat had managed to take off with the entire deer – or maybe just the backstraps. The liver was the least of her problems. Dom stepped away from Cole and the intense conversation they were having earlier to examine the crime-scene. He tapped the bloody foot-prints with the toe of his boot. "Cats," he said.

"Cat," I corrected him. "One set of paw prints." I couldn't resist Mataki's anger; I stepped closer and pointed out the evenly-spaced prints and their uniform depth in the snow. "Looks like you got out-smarted by your everyday pussy-cat."

Her narrowed eyes took in my small smirk that I tried half-heartedly to hide. Oh yeah, I thought vindictively. I know exactly what happened to your precious liver…

"That's it," she snapped as she rose to her feet. I held my ground as she checked her Lancer's ammo clips and her watch. "Time I got some fur gloves. They – or it – needs putting down. Vermin. I've got a couple hours. Coming?"

She could have attacked me – shot me through the chest – yelled at me, barraged me with anti-Stranded bullshit, and it would have hurt less. She wasn't trying to be malicious – at least not yet – but her invitation felt like a sucker-punch to the chest. Worse yet – I knew Dom felt it as well.

Putting down. Euthanizing. Whatever fancy name you want. Oh, God…Maria…

It threw me to the border of the canyon; it tipped Dom over the edge.

"Just stop being nice to me, all right?" The shout ripped through the air with a palpable sense of desperation and pure, unadulterated, pain. It was the dying shout of a hopeless man. In that moment I had a sense of how deep his pain went. His expression was contorted into a mask of rage and shame and anger – all directed purely at himself.

"Just friggin stop it! All of you. I couldn't save my own fucking wife. I couldn't find her in time. I couldn't save her. I had to shoot my own wife because I couldn't save her! Fuck you all." With that, he burst out sobbing.

Everyone snapped into action, the way they had been trained. Cole yelled at a few curious passerbies to keep it moving. Bernie pulled him into an embrace. Marcus grabbed his elbow and steered him inside, mumbling something too low for me to hear. And as for me? I froze. I didn't think, didn't react; I just watched. Somewhere along the lines I was jostled to the outskirts of the group where I watched in stunned silence. I was beyond noticing anything anymore; not the cold, not Cole asking me repeatedly if I was okay. I think I mumbled a response to him before heading off in a random direction.

Maria had been my mom, but she had been Dom's wife. I could barely remember her, all the things that made her special. He probably couldn't get the memories out of his head. And if the only thing I could think of was him raising the gun to her forehead, I couldn't imagine how many times worse it would be for Dom.

I paced outside the building for a while. Everyone eventually dispersed as the sun sank lower across the horizon. They might have tried to get me to go with them – matter of fact, I was sure they probably had – but I was beyond noticing. The muscles under my skin were clenched tight with anxiety and keenness of a fight - only this fight was purely mental. There was no one to punch, nowhere to land a blow, no temple to place a gun barrel against. This time, it was only me and my thoughts. The one thing in this world I couldn't run away from was myself.

Steeling myself against the cold, I stared at the small shack Dom and Marcus had disappeared into. The distance between it and I stood like an inestimable gulf. It was as if we were both drowning in the middle of the ocean, and the only way we would survive was to cling to each other. I couldn't run away anymore. I couldn't ignore the past.

I couldn't leave him alone to drown, like moss washed down river. For once, I had to be somebody's water rock.

The doorknob glinted dully in the diminishing sunlight and I caught it in my fist. My knuckles were cracked and bleeding slightly from the blustery weather. Taking a deep breath of icy air that hurt my chest, I yanked open the door and revealed the sulking pair below.

Dom had his head buried in his hands; he didn't even notice my grand arrival. Marcus gazed at me with that cool stare of his - that bloodless, half unfocused stare that matched the temperature of the world outside - before rising heavily to his feet. I didn't need to tell him why I was there; evidently he could read my intentions in the stricken expression on my face. He exited the room without saying a word to either of us. Apparently, he expected me to do this alone.

Clenching my jaw, I sat next to Dom on the janitor's workbench. The spot was slightly warm where Marcus had rested. I cracked my sore knuckles with agitation, trying to figure out where to start. I jumped back up to my feet; I began to pace the small bit of room provided. My pulse thrummed in my throat as adrenalin worked its way through my system.

How do you do it? How do you walk back into someone's life after fifteen years? How do you begin to pick up again, when you were too little to remember where you left off? The people you love don't usually come back from the dead.

Call me a coward all you wanted; I couldn't go through with it. I didn't know how; the words just wouldn't come. Instead, a new question rose up deep in my chest – a question that demanded an answer. "Your kids," I murmured quietly. "A boy and a girl. Whatever happened to them?"

For a long time I thought he wouldn't answer, or maybe he just hadn't heard me. Finally, though, he sighed. "They died on E-day," he croaked out in a voice that sounded like it had been rusted over with tears.

And there it was. Finally, after all these years, I had an answer. I wasn't lost, or abandoned, or forgotten. I was dead. He didn't look for me or try to rescue me not because he didn't care, but because he didn't know I needed him.

For years, I'd sketched my father out in my mind - first as a superhero who would come and rescue me, and then as a villain. I'd never imagined him as he really was - just a man. A good man, but a man with faults and mistakes and hopes and dreams like everyone else on this planet.

I may not have known my father yet, but we had this much in common: Neither of us, as it turns out, has been the only one who lost someone they love. I took a deep breath and tried to remember this fact as I let my boots dangle over the precipice and I took the plunge.

I tried to bear in mind my earlier bravado - the fearlessness I had felt when antagonizing Mataki. This wasn't fear, however, not exactly. I stuck my hand into my pocket and felt for the tiny, silver clasp of my childhood locket. Drawing strength from the diminutive memento, I reclaimed my earlier spot on the bench next to Dom.

He hadn't stirred during my fretful pacing; his only noticeable movement was when he raised his head from his hands to look at me. My boots tapped nervously against the dirt floor as I tried in vain to think of what to say. Taking a deep breath and holding it, I decided to go for the truth, no matter how painful it was.

"The thing is," I started, and then paused, and then tried again. "The thing is..." My fingers pressed together into a fist as I searched for the right words. Eloquence had never been my strong suit. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and decided to take a run at it, consequences be damned.

"The thing is...my name isn't Bri, not really. My name...my name is Sylvia." I squeezed my eyes shut tight; I couldn't bear to see his reaction. "Sylvia...Carla...Santiago...and... and I'm your daughter."

I kept my eyes shut; I didn't want to see his reaction. The room was immediately plunged into an awkward silence; the world felt like it was holding its breath. There was a short gasp of shock from Dom's side of the bench, but that was it. He didn't say anything; I didn't open my eyes. I had done my part in this world-shattering declaration. Now it was his turn.

The minutes ticked by slower than molasses in wintertime. I kept waiting for some form of shock or surprise or happiness from Dom, but none came. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of listening to the wind howling outside the flimsy shack, I gathered up my last dredges of bravery and opened my eyes.

He wasn't sitting next to me any longer. Silently, he had risen to a towering height above me. His Gear uniform formed a mountain of steel and scars before me that was physically as well as mentally imposing. I slowly dragged my eyes upward to meet his stone-cold gaze. His expression was confusing to me; I expected surprise, maybe happiness, perhaps even disbelief. Well, there was disbelief, alright.

He didn't believe me. Not even a little bit.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" he hissed out through a jaw clenched tight with anger. "You think this is some kind of joke?!"

"W-what?!" I managed to string together out of my barely-coherent thoughts.

The anguish had been wiped from his eyes, only to be replaced with anger. "You think that was going to make me feel better?! I told you to stop trying to be so damn nice to me! I don't need your fucking lies!"

"I-I…I'm not – I mean-"

"Get. Out." His voice was dangerously low.

"What?"

"GET OUT!" he roared with anger as his gripped my shoulder painfully tight and shoved me out the door. I was too stunned to resist; my boots skidded uselessly against the rotted floor. The door was thrown open before he hefted me from the small building. I tripped over the doorjamb and went tumbling down into the snow. I rolled over on my back to see him staring at me from within the doorframe with pure hatred in his eyes.

"Sylvia…Sylvia died on E-day. She's dead. I have no daughter." With that, he slammed the door in my face as my tears froze to my cheek.

Author's Note: Well then. I guess it's safe to say that wasn't the reaction from Dom most of you were looking for?

Let me know what you think! Feel free to yell at Dom in the review section – I'll make sure he gets the message. :)

Thanks for reading! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to go twirl my villain mustache evilly in my secret layer as I write the next chapter! Muahahaha!