Chapter XXVI: Dark Times


AN:

Hey there, Fan-fic-folks!

Some big steps forward in the plot today. Let me know if you feel it leads on well from the earlier parts.

Thanks for reading and, as always, please review.


Brooke seemed utterly overwhelmed as Chloe walked her into one of the many disused buildings reused by Stan's homeless network. I stood, my arms crossed and my head tilted down to ensure the shadows concealed whatever parts of my face weren't covered by the bandanna.

"So," She started. She didn't continue. After a long pause, she shook her head. Tried again. "You're the Stranger."

"That's what they call me." I drawled.

"And you're, what, trying to take down the evil Corporation?" Her face moved in curiosity. "Fight off the Prescotts?"

"Something like that."

She stared piercingly at me. Is this how her homework feels? I felt... honestly, I felt like I was going to throw up. One wrong step, right? There were a few beats of quiet as we looked each other over. I have no idea what she saw in me, but she gave a short, sharp nod that I think might've been satisfaction. I still felt nervous, until I noticed her hands trembling, ever so slightly.

It may be wrong of me, but... it helped.

Brooke suddenly drew herself up and pulled the tablet from her bag, doing something with it for a moment then turning it around to show me the screen. "This is what I found."

I quickly looked it over. It was a messy diagram of errant lines and scribbled notes. "I have no idea what this is."

"Neither did I," Brooke responded. She smiled. "At first. But I did some research on some of the file metadata and it lead me to this-" She tapped a key that brought up a file of numbers and equations. Looked like an accountant report, at a guess. "-and with some investigative work that lead me to this, which lead me to this, which-"

She continued to explain her chain of clues and logic and I followed absolutely none of it. It was like she was taking offhand details everyone else would glaze over and then drill down into it to find something new. Which, now I think about it, is probably exactly what she was doing.

She looked up at all of us, seeing the expressions on our faces (well, their faces - I assume my posture communicated enough for me). "Yes, it seemed like nothing to me as well, until I learned that the Prescotts made most of their early money making storm shelters and other underground construction all over the East Coast." She grinned. "Does that make it clearer?"

I shook my head. Chloe and Stan both groaned. "I was hoping you got it. We have no idea what the fuck you're getting at, Brooke. Explain for those of us who don't know how to build a computer from scratch."

Brooke rolled her eyes. "This, plus some other things, lead me to this," She tapped another key and it brought up a satellite image. "Barn." It was a classic style, raised middle and lower side-parts. Even by disused derelict standards, this place was old and beat up. "I then found that the architect was this Roark guy and tracked down some invoices and paperwork and stuff to find that he'd been hired by the Prescotts and built a bunker down there."

I took the tablet from her hands and stared at the image for longer than was probably polite. When Stan coughed to recover my attention, I looked up at Brooke. "You're sure about this."

She shrugged. "As sure as I can be without really knowing what I'm looking for. There's definitely a bunker there and it definitely belongs to the Prescotts."

"It could be just as disused as the rest of this place. What makes you think it's still operating?"

"Well, the building is about a hundred years old and hasn't really been used in decades." She reached over and did something to the tablet to make it zoom in, then tapped a spot. "That generator looks awfully new and well-maintained though, doesn't it?"

"You are very, very good, Brooke." I looked up at her again. "Thank you. This is far more useful than you'll ever know." I passed her the tablet back and moved to the door. "I'm going to grab my equipment and check it out."

I left before anyone could stop me or say anything. This was what I needed. A lead for the hunt!


I slowed to a trot about a mile down the road to the barn. It was a quiet night around me. The woods made little sound, but there were occasional sounds of wildlife and cars in the distance. After a quick moment to make sure I was alone, I started in on the approach.

The barn was older and more worn as it had looked on the satellite images.

There was a fence line about fifty feet away from the barn door. I crept over, keeping to the shadows, and took measure of the area. The generator was in the same spot from the satellite images, rattling and grumbling away. Looked like I could get in through the roof if I needed to, though the jutting spars of wood looked sharp. The main door was chained shut with a solid-looking padlock. There was a small side-shed that may have concealed a second entrance. I'd have to- I froze.

There was a car coming.

I ducked down deeper into the shadows and leaned in to watch. I could see headlights coming up the road I'd taken here. Had someone followed me? Did they know I was here? Or was it just a coincidence? Wait. That truck was familiar. Beaten up, rusted, scrawled on. Door a different colour to the rest of it. Fuck.

I hurried over, slamming into the side of the vehicle with a clang that made its three occupants jump. As soon as I met Chloe's eyes, I hissed, "You followed me?"

She blinked owlishly back. "Er, yeah? Were we not supposed to?" The three of them looked blankly at each other.

"No!" I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Why would I want to drag you along on my dangerous mission after saying I was trying to protect you all?"

"That..." She blinked again. "Okay, sure. Fair point. But come on! We can be helpful!" Stan looked like he very much disagreed. Brooke was just wide-eyed. Not panicked. Just... very new. "We'll let you take point on all the dangerous shit, too!"

Chloe would probably try follow me regardless of what I said, wouldn't she? I sighed. Fine. At least this way I could keep an eye on them. "Okay. But you stay out of the way and do exactly what I tell you, okay?"

Chloe nodded hurriedly, quickly over-riding and outpacing anything the others might've said. She hopped out of the truck and stepped over next to me. "So, what's first? You gonna break in or something?"

"I'm thinking about going through the roof." I gestured up to the hole I noticed earlier. "The door is locked, and I want to try keep any obvious traces I've been here down."

"But if you go through the roof, we won't be able to follow you." She complained.

"We don't want you to be able to follow me, Chloe." I raised an eyebrow at her. "Remember?"

She rubbed the back of her neck. "Oh, right. Yeah. That."

I rolled my eyes at the girl. Turned back to the barn. Hmm. Yeah. The roof. Definitely the roof. I walked over to the side, hoping there'd be enough- Yes! The barn and the outbuilding were separated just enough. I charged forward, leaping into the air and twisting to plant my feet on the wall, using that as a bouncing-off point to shove myself at the other wall, dragging my momentum left and right and left and right and- I flipped through the window, contorting my body to avoid the broken glass, and landed in a crouch.

I was in!

The inside was dark. What little light there was seemed dimmed by the murky blackness of the building inside. I crept across the upper platform and gently dropped down to the main floor, bouncing lightly off the old tractor and flipping onto the ground.

There wasn't much in here. Though the bales of hay piled up in a couple of corners implied this place hadn't been unused for as long as it looked. Though some of them had fallen apart considerably - the floor was a mess! Decades of disuse (and some secret use?). That, along with the modern generator outside, had some positive implications. It seemed like this would be a useful trip.

I poked around the room, finding very little. Some interesting documents - slightly rotting news articles about the Prescotts, and a set of documents talking about the initial sale of the building. No obvious Prescott presence though. Hmmph.

There had to be something, right? Oh, maybe the generator? If it was powering something, it had to have some kind of feed line to it. I'd have to head back outside. I turned to leave, then spotted Chloe, Stan, and Brooke watching me from the corner. I walked over. "How did you get in here?"

Chloe opened her mouth to speak, but Brooke's voice cut in immediately. "She broke a window!"

Chloe whirled on her immediately. "You fucking snitch!" She stopped, blinked, and- "Wait, how did we get in here?" She threw back at me. "You jumped up the fucking wall!"

I shrugged. "It's not that hard to do. Just momentum and torque." And a few extra pounds of lean muscle and genetically-engineered reflexes, but that's just splitting hairs.

I scowled at them all and swiped my hand in a shut-the-hell-up gesture. "Right. Everyone out. We need to check the generator."

We scurried out of the building through Chloe's... improvised exit, and went over to the generator. It was whirring merrily away, powering whatever it was powering here. I circled around it, looking for... there! I pulled away the tarp covering it and grinned. "There are wires here. Whatever is being powered is underground."

"So, we're looking for a way down?" Stan asked. He'd been quiet.

I nodded. "Maybe a trapdoor or a hidden elevator?"

"An elevator? Seriously?" Stan was grinning. "Do the Prescotts actually design their places that cliche?"

I shrugged. "They do have a certain bond-villain-ness sometimes. Their CEO has a mountain lair."

Brooke was the one to grin this time. "A mountain lair?" She laughed. "Does he have a big fluffy cat, too?"

"No, I'm afraid not. They're not quite that cliche." I straightened up and went back to business. "Right. We'll do a lap of the barn and see if the way down is outside. Then we'll check indoors."

Brooke interrupted, "There was nothing obvious on the satellite."

"If it was out here, it would be hidden."

She tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Fair point. Right, okay. Left or right?"

I smirked. "Follow me."

I chose left. We swept the entire perimeter, poking through piles of leaves and detritus. Nothing. It was inside. About what I expected, but better safe than sorry. I lead my team back indoors and directed them to start searching.

It was Stan who found it first. A trapdoor, just as we guessed, buried beneath the straw-strewn across the floor. "How did you find that?"

Stan stamped on the door, his boots making a pleasant clanging sound of metal-on-metal. "New boots?" I asked.

He smiled. "Yep. Steel spikes in the sole, for walking across that field back home."

I smiled back at him. "Good work, Stan. Now, how do we get it open?"

The others split off a little to poke around. I kept at the trapdoor, looking for any kind of wires, connectors, or anything else that would point me to some kind of control panel. Or maybe a lever. Now that would be cliche.

Suddenly, there was a painfully loud grinding and I looked up, ready to fire my crossbow. Turns out it was just Chloe, using a small ceiling-mounted crane to move a large engine hanging from a chain. "Stop! Stop!" I hissed, waving my hands up at her.

She did, and the grinding stopped. "What?"

"We're trying to be quiet, remember?"

"Oh shit. Yeah." She looked down at me, awkward and chagrined. "Sorry."

"So-" I cut myself off before I said anything more, just resorting to massaging my temple and trying to push off the inevitable headache. "Look, Chloe, I-"

Brooke interrupted. "I found some tools." She held up a classic red toolbox, turned brown with decades of rust. "We could use them to bust that door open."

"Good plan." A quiet plan. "Alright, see if you can find any bolts. I'll do a quick sweep to check nothing heard the noise."


We all stared down, looking through the dark tunnel revealed by the removal of the trapdoor.

"Should we... go down?" Chloe ventured. She didn't sound thrilled about it. In all honesty, I wasn't either. But I didn't want to leave them outside.

"Fine. But stay behind me." I stepped up to the trapdoor, and together we walked down into the darkness.

We paced down the corridor, which was almost disturbingly clean, and up to... a security door? Wowzer. That thing was thick. The Prescotts really didn't want visitors here. A little keypad sat tauntingly, teasingly on the wall next to it. And lucky for me, I had no idea what the code was. Shit. "What do we do now?" Brooke asked.

"Find another way in." I answered quietly. "Unless you want to try hacking that?"

Brooke shook her head. "That's... not how that works. Another way in it is, I guess."

Damn it. There may not actually be another way in.

I turned to head back, but something caught my eye. I looked up to see a camera, hidden up in the corner of the corridor. The little light on it was green. "Someone has seen us. Excellent."

"Excellent? How is that excellent?"

"It means I don't have to be subtle anymore." I reached into my satchel and pulled out a half dozen boombats - the few I'd been able to breed since my last mission - and tossed them at the security door. The building was rocked by their explosion.

When the smoke cleared, Brooke, Chloe, and Stan were stumbling about, pawing at their ears and complaining loudly. I charged for the former-door and shoved my way in. The place was filled with smoke, and shelves. I tripped over some tins and fell to the floor with a clatter. I quickly scurried to my feet just in time to avoid the knife being jammed into the floor right where my head was a moment before.

I looked up into eyes I knew very, very well. "Mark Jefferson."

Brooke and Chloe both looked at him in astonishment. "Jefferson?"

The tall, handsome photographer tilted his head curiously at me. He wielded the knife comfortably - point down - keeping a decent distance from me. Spearpoint, double-edged. Decent make. This would be dangerous, but he'd revealed the knife early. That gave me some opportunities. I focused for a second in the quiet, willing my body to fill with adrenaline. I was going to need it. Knives were fast, blink and I'd miss it. And I wouldn't miss much again. "What are you doing down here?"

"This is my studio. Why did you blow my door off the fucking hinges?" He frowned. "And what are you doing with my student?"

His studio? What? I launched myself forward, barely noticing the half-dozen scratches and tears Jefferson's knife carved into my arms in less than a heartbeat. On instinct, I twisted my torso in time to avoid his first stab.

When he pulled back and readied for another stab, I took the opportunity to grab his arm and swing around, using my weight and momentum to throw the bastard off balance. He rolled with my throw and stepped back to circle around me. He watched me carefully, holding his knife still and ready. Clever. I fucking hated it.

"First blood to me, Stranger." He smarmed. Stranger? Shit.

In answer, I reached into my pouch and pulled a bolamite, throwing it at him. The knife flashed and the poor insect died instantly. Shit. Jefferson stared at me in confusion. "You threw a spider at me?"

In answer, I grabbed something random and threw it at him. Then another thing and another. He deflected them all, but I could see his face contorting more and more with each one. I knew I'd got him when a chemical bottle shattered over him and he suddenly charged, a howl of rage. I could feel spittle from his snarl scattering over my face.

It was everything I could do to keep up. His blows came rapidly. Again and again. Left and right and right and right. Every time he slashed, I knocked his arm aside. It avoided the stab, but... the cuts were adding up. Blood was pouring out of me. I needed to end this fast. When he pulled back for a stab, I grabbed him again. This time, I threw him far.

He clattered into the other room, landing in a pile of photography equipment. Maybe this really was a studio, and we'd gotten the wrong idea? But he wouldn't attack me over a studio, surely? I did blow-in his front door, but... surely not?

I followed him as fast as I could, trying to grab the knife from him. Before I could get it, he popped up and sliced at my neck. In his disorientation, the knife went wide. I had him. I lunged forward and grabbed his wrist, using my momentum to force him back and slam him into the ground. I wrenched the knife away, getting another cut for my trouble, and stepped away from him.

Disoriented from my strike, he couldn't stop me. I pulled another bolamite and threw it at him, grinning as it wrapped him up in a web. I had the knife. He was down. I was okay. It was over. It had been messy, but it was over.

I whirled, knife in hand, as loud noises came from the doorway. I relaxed the moment I saw them. All three of them did... whatever the complete opposite of relax was. "What the fuck? You're bleeding!"

"Yeah. Fucker had a knife. Had to block with my arms. No big deal. Can't go into a knife fight without getting cut."

All of them stared at me in complete confusion. "We're not... You're bleeding from your throat, Stranger."

My hand went up immediately. It came away bloody. Looks like Jefferson got me. "It's fine." I croaked. "It wasn't deep enough to do any real damage."

"It looks-" Chloe was pale. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll be healed in a day or two."

"A day or two? That's quite the trick." All of us turned to see Mark Jefferson grinning up at us from where he was webbed to the ground. "I'd love to know how you manage that."

"A little gift from your Prescott masters." I responded, voice dark below the distortion.

"My Prescott masters?" He laughed. "You don't know anything, Stranger."

"Oh?" I walked slowly over and crouched next to him. "You don't work for them?"

"Heh. You think I'm going to confess all, now you've gotten me tied up? I'm not that cliche."

Even tied up on the ground, the man was still fully confident he was in control. Asshole. "So, what? You expect me to believe you're using them? You?" I scoffed. "More likely you just got lucky. Prescotts found you useful, decided to keep you around as their dutiful little basement bitch. No way someone like you isn't leashed tight."

"Used... Hmph. I prefer the term manipulated. Like with an image. And all the Prescott images have been so easy to change." He grinned again - and this time I noticed the similarity to Nathan's wolfshark smile. "Through the right lens, the world can look however you like - and you can share that with others, to help them see your vision too."

I blinked, taken aback at the immediate change. I guess it's true what they say - all bad guys love to monologue, especially if you tell them they're stupid and make a tonne of mistakes. How does that always work? But he really took issue at the idea of him not being in control. That was it. I just had to poke at his ego.

"Sean Prescott isn't exactly an idiot. CEO of a worldwide corporation and foundation and all that. What vision would he possibly believe in?"

"A vision where his son finally lives up to the family name. The nice family-man, happy portrait image he's always wanted but was too much of an asshole to make happen himself." He singsonged his way through the exposition, mocking and sarcastic.

"So, you convinced him his son would get in line if he helped you kidnap girls?" I took a look around the room. "What did you even do with them? You wouldn't do something like that without an actual reason."

"For the only reason that matters - the Art." He snorted. "And not in so many words. I merely... played the father figure than Sean couldn't. My models were simply a sideline for him - anyone interesting, with certain genetic characteristics, he wanted them sent off to him."

Chloe finally exploded. "Perverted fuck! He's fucking trafficking girls?"

He looked at Chloe in open amusement. "Not for those purposes, no." He looked back to me. "You know what I mean, don't you, Stranger?"

I grumbled a vague affirmative. Jefferson's amusement only grew. He smirked at me. Smirked! Who fucking smirks, of all things? And then he turned his gaze across the other three standing in the room. His eyes flicked immediately over Stan, clearly labelling him a non-entity, but they hovered on Brooke, and they stayed on Chloe. And then they flicked back to me. "Do your friends see the same picture, I wonder? Do they have the eye for all the tiny details that make a picture oh so clear to anyone with talent?"

"Scrape away the old and paint over the new. What was is gone."

Jefferson smirked again. Prick. "Even the most vigorously crafted palimpsest can be recovered, if you have the eye. You may have become something else, but the traces remain." He looked back over them, eyes settling on Chloe. "I wonder which of them will get it first. And which of them will abandon you, when she finds out what you've done?" He laughed yet again, eyes back to me. "Your Prescott File makes for fascinating reading - all that killing and torture? You're an artist even I envy, madam Stranger."

With a growl, I launched myself forward and fired a thudslug right into his smug smirking face. Jefferson fell easily, like the artist he was. I shook my head down at his still form. Idiot. Turning away, I suddenly noticed all the others watching me. I stepped forward, and Chloe almost flinched trying to get out of my way. I tilted my head. "What's wrong?"

"What was he talking about?" Brooke demanded. I looked between the three of them. They were all looking at me the same.

"He was saying whatever he could to get under your skin. That's what people like him do when you have them beneath your boot. You've taken the power from them, and they're fighting to get it back." I shook my head. "Take your time. I've got work to do. Just stay out of the way."

With that, I walked past them and over to one of the drawers, pulling each one open and rifling through whatever I could find inside. There was a post-it in one of them, poorly torn up - Remember this and destroy it after. Password is-. A string of numbers and letters followed.

"Brooke!" I called over. She looked up. "Take this and see what you can do with the Computer."

She rolled her eyes. "It's a Mac."

"I literally have no idea what that means. Can you still do anything with it?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Then get on with it."

She glared at me before taking the post-it pieces and moving onto the the 'Mac' thing. I went back to the drawers. I got through two cabinets of photography notes and manuals before Chloe and Stan came over to help. Neither of them were meeting my eye, but they both asked how they could help. I gave them a quick overview of what I was looking for - places, names, patterns - and set them to work.

"Oh fuck-" Stan suddenly blurted, his face wracked with horror.

"What? What is it?" Stan shook his head as Chloe skittered over - she grabbed the file before he could stop her. Chloe's expression matched his, though it was a little more disgusted and ready to vomit than his more philosophical horror.

He quickly snatched it back.

"May I?" I asked, extending my hand out to him.

Stan handed it right over, gladly, and I opened it up to flick through. There were a few pictures in the front - high quality prints, clearly set aside for perusal before being filed away. Oh. Oh dog. Kate. So this is what happened to you. At least I kept my promise - the Stranger has found the proof she needs.

I briefly took note of the contents before crushing that concern down and moving on to the papers. Mind on the job, Max. Oh. Oh yes. "This is exactly what I need." I scanned further over the files and papers and pictures and made a mental note of each sordid, damning detail. "All thanks to this asshole and his 'insurance plan'."

Every Prescott facility in the state was clearly labelled, sorted, and filed, with directions and details aplenty. Including the one Jefferson made... deliveries to. Ugh.

And then were the pictures. Not those pictures at the front that I'd ignored - these were of a familiar armoured figure at various Prescott spaces, along with notes and annotations about the destruction caused and movements that followed. Jefferson had even added some notes. His research was intense, drawing together tiny hints and movements and miniscule details to build one cohesive narrative that pointed to only one conclusion.

Cal, short for Caliban. The son of the witch Sycorax, taken in by a new master that mistreated him as much as the first. The 'vile dog', deformed by circumstance and driven by his past. The monster who rebels at the first opportunity to kill its Master.

Caliban was a fucking Prescott. I'd been working with Nathan fucking Prescott. I'd told him my history, my troubles, and... the piece of shit. He must've been laughing it up.

I could feel the blood pumping in my veins. The Hunter, rousing from its sleep. Chains rattling in my mind, thrown off as all I could think about was finding the foul monster and stamping it out.

Stan gulped. "Uh, Stranger?"

I pushed past him and went for the door. "Keep searching! And leave the teacher tied up - I'll deal with him when I get back. Don't follow me!"

"Back?" Chloe demanded, "Where are you-"

The door slammed shut behind me before I could catch anything else.


I dropped down behind him again. This time, I didn't wait. "You fucking asshole."

He barely froze, before turning to look at me. His helmet tilted. "You rang?" The lying blonde bastard quipped in a desperate drawl. Good - the Hunter crooned. My blood was screaming, begging, commanding me to tear him to peaces. Fuck, I hadn't felt this out of control since...

I started to pace forward, step by step. Each one I took made him more nervous, the helmet twitching slightly, side to side, as he checked the room for exits. For an escape. He knew something was wrong. I grinned.

I tore that filthy helmet from his stinking head and howled at the truth revealed. I threw it at a wall, and a flash of pleasure ran through me when it smashed. I snarled at him. "You're a Prescott."

There was a short moment of expression across his face, something I couldn't place but hoped was fear. His eyes were flickering about like a cornered animal, and his breath was coming just a little too quickly to be calm.

"Yeah, Prescott Senior is my Dad, so what?" He scoffed. "You think we're some happy, supportive family of genocidal fucks? Nah. My sister ran off to the fucking peace corps to escape him and hasn't been even back in the country for ten years! I may not have shared names, but I told you my dad was a shithead." He looked away from me. "I wasn't lucky enough to get away from him."

I snorted. "Yeah, likely story. What, you trying to lure me to just the right point they can get me? Is Waller in on it too? Ratigan? I bet that old bastard would've loved this plan - it's just sadistic enough for-"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" His face creased up. I shoved the moment of doubt away, focusing on the pounding blood and anger flowing through me. The gall of this asshole. "Who the fuck is Ratigan?"

"I know you know about the Island, Prescott." I spat the name. "There's no way you don't know about the scientist."

"I really have no idea who Ratigan is. I know about the Island because I read a report - it's not like we had happy family days out to the Torture Funpark!" He threw up his hands in annoyance.

"I don't believe you. I've seen the pictures."

"The pictures!" He scowled, "You know what it's like, when someone gets in your head. Gets everything so fucking twisted up you can't even tell up from down anymore. Yeah, I helped him. And I've never regretted anything more than that. When I came to my fucking senses, I started... this."

"I still don't believe you. You're a Prescott."

"Then I don't know what to tell you!" He shook his head. "Do you want me to point out how much I've helped you out? How you know I've been hitting all my dad's shit for months now?"

"Minor targets at best."

"That's as much a burn on you as me, I hope you know that."

I growled at him.

My hand dropped down and tensed, to ready my weapon. I could kill him. I could kill him very, very easily. It wouldn't even count - he was a Prescott. It'd be a service to the world if that whole stinking bloodline died out.

He was unarmed. He wasn't resisting. He couldn't survive me.

I met his eyes.

That's the annoying thing about anger. It can control you, demand all your attention, all your effort, make it seem like nothing else matters. That there is nothing but that pain and misery and need to make someone else hurt like you had. And then you look past it, notice the tense feeling in your stomach and the cold dripping down your heart.

He wasn't resisting.

Shit.

"Consider our association ended. I'll let you live, in gratitude-" Fucking nauseating as that was. "-for what you've done for me, but we're not working together ever again. And if I see you out in-"

"What about Blackwell?"

I stopped. How did... "What?"

He gave me a look. "Like I hadn't worked out you're Island Jane. Not exactly subtle, Maxine Caulfield."

Shit again. I sighed. "Max. Never Maxine."

I let the bandana over my face drop and morphed my throat lining back to my normal voice. He didn't blink at the confirmation. "Fine. At school, I'll just have to tolerate you being around. It's not like we're going to be paired in anything. And if anything like that does happen, I expect you to say no. Clear? We avoid each other, wherever possible."

"Fuckin' Crystal."

"Good."

I vanished off into the night again. I had a Teacher to deal with.


*Flashback begins*

Max's blades flashed and limbs began dropping as the brain-washed horde descended. All manner of mutants - mostly offshoots, but she caught glimpses of a couple of series in there - were swinging wildly at her, not a whit of consideration for their own safety. The momentum of her charge carried her through, Rell at her side with her own weapon glinting and slicing and through the endless horde of brain-washed foes before them.

Valli's mad shouts began again. "Is this not power to be feared, Max? Is this not better than the Prescott fist?"

She blocked him out quickly, letting the endless pounding blood fill her ears as her eyes filled with targets. Things to be hunted.

The mutants opposing her fell swiftly, shrieking and screaming in pain as she separated them from their various parts. They tore and ripped at her, more and more throwing themselves eagerly, madly in to the fray. These creatures... these people, they were fully gone, minds taken entirely with whatever myst Valli had subjected them to. She firmed her resolve. The monster would die here.

She spun and whirled, blades slicing as her savage instincts grew. As the Hunter breathed deep and tasted the blood soaking the room, sitting in the air. These creatures fought with fury and drive, but Max fought with the single-minded devotion of the Hunter.

It was the work of minutes to make it to Valli, a clear enough shot at his thrown. Rell, still beside her, hurled a dagger with all her might at the Would-Be King, the blade piercing the man through the shoulder and pinning him to his own throne. Max laughed and stepped forward, blades raised. "Time to die, Valli. No more tyrants, no more kings."

She pulled back her blades, intending to stab him through the heart and the throat-sac. In the barest of moments, she noticed his expression - he was smiling. The worms beneath his skin, all his skin, surged again, little forms pressing against the thin casing holding them within.

And then, there was a grunt from beside her. And then three sharp, avian claws raked across her back as Valli laughed. She whirled - Rell was standing before her in a readied stance, her eyes completely white. She raised her sword to block a second strike, turning to try jab her other blade back at Valli, but her efforts only drove Rell on. Valli was still laughing - the sound was utterly mad.

Her controlled friend pushed her back from the demented king, that same lack of self-preservation in her wild, open swings. Max was pushed onto her back foot, resorting to blocks and deflections wherever possible. It was everything she could do to keep her friend from tearing out her throat. She could feel the Hunter pushing, snarling, and - though she hated even the thought - she knew how this was likely to end.

She kept at it, desperately deflecting where she could, but eventually she could do no more. In a flash, she twisted her blades to knock Rell's claws upward and dashed under her guard, dragging both swords across the woman's vulnerable tendons. Rell staggered to the floor and landed with a thud, letting Max dance out of her reach. From the look in Rell's empty eyes, she'd drag herself towards Max if she could.

Max spun and glared blazing fire at Valli. The monster was still laughing. She strode forward and put the point of her swords right up against his throat. "Your mad reign stops here."

She pushed the blades forward and twisted, tearing his throat open. He died with an agonised scream, the worms beneath his skin flailing for a mad moment before falling still, but his was not the only scream in the room. In horror, she turned to see her jailor, in the final throes of death, spear Rell through the torso with the bloodied stump of their remaining arm. When it pulled it free, there was a gaping hole. Whites and reds mixed together as the stuff of life poured out of her and pooled on the floor.

Max didn't even have the opportunity for revenge - the creature that had contained her died within seconds. Max was completely alone. She fell to her knees at Rell's side and wept.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed that way, but eventually the tears stopped falling. She stood, and headed for the kitchens, finding a set of massive ovens and a large amount of fire-lighting supplies. With a little work, the building was ready and she set it alight. Every damn person on the Island would see Rell's fire. She retreated out of the compound and found a high-up spot to watch it burn.

As the embers settled, she made a plan. This Island was a nightmare. It had to stop. She was going home.

*Flashback ends*


I love the campus at night. There always feels like there's so much potential, up there in the night sky. The one thing I truly adore about living in a small town - you can actually see the stars. Maybe I should take Max out to the hill again - she rather enjoyed the stargazing, I think. I laughed to myself. Almost as much as she enjoys the motorcycle.

I'm glad she's doing better. After Chloe had started talking to us again, she's definitely been a lot more cheerful.

And speak of the Cutie - I definitely couldn't mistake those darling freckles.

I started to head over and rendezvous, already planning my opening line and grinning at the mere thought of her expression in response, before- Oh. Nathan, incoming.

Max's head snapped up to stare at him, and - oh my. Those baby blues were absolutely burning. They stared at each other for a few long moments, having one of those conversations without words. I chuckled as Nathan broke first and openly fled back into the night. The poor dear. Wouldn't know what to do if a lady came up to him sober.

Okay... that's rather... intriguing. Max and Nathan, eh? Unlikely bedfellows if ever there were some. The rough and tumble oil to her oblivious and adorable water. The Capulets to her Montague. Not that they're Romeo and Juliet, of course. But perhaps Fernando and Miranda... No.

Hmm. Perhaps something to do with Jefferson's disappearance? Nathan was certainly close to him, and I know Max was a fan of his work - Chloe talked about this exhibition she got dragged to once, Max had called him one of the 'greats'. But it's not like Max had the time to meet up with him - she'd been around me and Chloe almost the whole week since they announced it. Unless she'd known in advance? Heh. No way. Max wouldn't murder our teacher.

Maybe Victoria finally got tired of flirting and snapped, kidnapping him and locking him in her love basement.

Hmm. Okay, I was joking, but that sounds perfectly possible, now I think about it.

Hah.

Well. Colour me intrigued. Shall I investigate further?

I think I shall.

But for today? I call out, "Maxie! Wait up!" and hurry after her.