My entire body was shaking mostly from fear, but partially from nausea. Dad had killed her. I knew that that was what he had been trained to do, and I was sure that he had killed before. But, to actually see it happen? To see a woman die? The thought was paralyzing, and I grabbed the side of the desk to steady myself. Then, realizing that he had touched it with bloody hands, and her body was only a couple inches away from my feet, I jumped back.

"She was on the phone with somebody," Krit stated.

"Which means what?" Syl asked as she tried to comfort me. By this time words couldn't come to me, and I was out of tears. The only thing I could do was stand and shake. My mind was numb, and my tongue was dry and pasty. If life could get much worse, I wasn't sure how. In fact, I felt as though I was walking through the fiery pits of Hell itself right then.

"It means that there's other people out there besides Renfro that know about Manticore technology," Dad offered. How could he be so calm? Just deducting things like nothing had happened? That life would really continue as normal.

"Are you saying that Manticore isn't dead after all?" Krit asked.

"Perhaps," Dad replied. He sighed heavily and ran his hand over his face. I knew he was watching me, but I pretended not to notice. Finally, he approached me.

He rested his hands on my shoulders and brought my chin out of my chest so that we were eye-level. "'Lanza," he said to me as if unable to still say my full name.

Blankly at looked at him, praying that I had just woken up and everything was a terrible dream.

"What I did…to her…was necessary. She would've taken us all back to Manticore if she had had the chance."
I nodded, but didn't accept his words in my heart. His killing hands were touching my shoulders, burning their poison into my flesh. I wanted to scream and slap him away, yet I knew how much I depended on him.

"That was the life I lived before you were born. Killing people, trying to live every day by the end of my rope. But, when you came, I vowed to change. I wouldn't murder; I wouldn't run wild. I'd be someone that you could look up to…not just as your commanding officer, but as…as…a father.

"Killing her was the first murder I'd committed since you were born. You have to believe me, 'Lanza. It was for the best…It is for the best."

"Dad?" I finally asked, my voice thin and pinched from having not spoken for some time. Under normal circumstances, I would've screamed and yelled at him in anger for doing such a horrible thing. But, as it was, my mom was dying and precious time couldn't be wasted on fighting. I'd yell at him later.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember your wish…a long time ago…that you could've been the one to punish Lydecker?"

"Yes."
"And how Mom said that Lydecker was dead and couldn't be here to see how his work had turned out?"

"Yes," Dad acknowledged.

"And how I asked you whether or not you truly believed that Lydecker was dead?"

"Yes."
"Well," I said to him, looking straight into his faded blue eyes. "I believe, Dad, that evil can wear many faces."

We walked swiftly down the hallway, consuming feet in a single step, because running would have made us far too conspicuous, but trudging along would have been wasting valuable time that Mom needed to survive.

With some help from friendly hospital nurses and Bling, we managed to find the room where Mom was being operated on. Dad sneaked both he and I inside, leaving Krit and Syl outside to keep lookout.

Dad and I wore the typical hospital gowns and put on surgical masks, caps, and gloves so that you couldn't see our clothes underneath. If I hadn't been so panic-stricken at that point, I would've burst into insane laughs at the sight of Dad.

We managed to find a blood bag that could be filled up by me. Unfortunately, donating that amount of blood takes a fair amount of time. Time that we didn't have.

So, Dad grabbed a blood transfusion kit with the tube and needles. He then placed it under my sleeve. The plan was to enter into the operating room, looking as normal as possible and disconnect the tube leading from her blood bag to her body, by having me interject. Therefore, this would take her off the regular human blood and put her on my own. Hopefully, Dad said, she would be well enough to leave then.

Entering the room, my stomach turned as I saw all the blood and medical instruments lying on a table besides Mom. I couldn't see her face beneath a blanket, but all her insides were openly exposed.

A wave of nausea spread over me, and I instinctively reached for Dad. He steadied me, and we approached Mom with the utmost authority that fake doctors could manage. I just prayed that I wasn't going to be the one lying on the operating table next.

No one questioned Dad or I; they simply assumed we were more surgeons called in for duty. So far everything was going according to plan. All I had to do was change blood transfer tubes and it would be, as Original Cindy called it, "aiight".

Then, there was a problem Dad and I hadn't anticipated.

The line registering Mom's heart beat, went flat. I slumped to the ground as a strangled sob escaped my lips, all of my energy leaving me, as Dad grabbed me by the shoulders. A harsh beep sounded throughout the room, and everyone scrambled to grab the electric paddles or any other medical equipment so that she could be revived. Nobody seemed to notice Dad and I in the corner.

Once…twice…three times Mom's body jumped on the thin table. Each time it did so, I felt my heart leave my body, praying to all the gods in the world-even the Blue Lady-that Mom would live. My eyes were rolling inside my skull due to the fact that all of my body had lost any and all feeling. Dad was struggling to contain his emotions, but I could feel his hands tightening on my shoulders. All of the tears I had cried up to that moment would not even begin to fill the sorrow I was feeling right then.

Finally one of the doctors, splattered in Mom's blood, sighed heavily and let the paddles drop to his sides as if they weighed a thousand tons. He glanced up at the clock above my head and pinched his lips together tightly. Then, he turned to a black-haired Hispanic lady standing in the corner who held some files and a pen, and he gave her some directions.

"Record this: 8:46 a.m., September 21, 2038, date of death."