When I Grow Up

By Necralis

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Necralis: GAH! I'm starting it again for the FIFTH EFFING TIME! Just WHAT is WRONG with me?

Vader: Yer a bloody perfectionist.

Necralis: I AIN'T! You is. 'Tis trooooo. (Points at Vader) Vadie won' let me kill Keira. (Whiny voice) Won' let me do a self-insertion either.

Vader: Self-insertions always turn into BLOODY MARY SUES! And anyway, there's TOO MANY OF THE EFFING THINGS!

Necralis: Mmm. (nods sagely) I guess. Same as we have too many FRIGGIN slash fictions. I am firmly anti-slash. It's unoriginal, slightly sickening in some cases (I'm thinkin' mainly Zim/Dib (Invader Zim) and Jack Sparrow/Will Turner (Pirates of the Caribbean) type pairings, here) and there's too much of it. And people read all of it no matter how bad it is. And it gets all the comments. (sniff)

Now! This chappie is more about Miala than Jakku, with another OC introduced…one of my favorites so far, actually, though she isn't a Mary Sue…nuh-uh. So enjoy. And review.

DISCLAIMER I bet I've made people angry with my comments about slash…I'm entitled to my opinion. At least I don't flame. Anyway Jak and Daxxie aren't my characters…Miala, Myka, their parents (…who are dead…) and their history are all mine, as is the plot, and various gadgets. Oh. And one more character who will pop up in this chapter…(mysterious smile) Bleh. Meh better get going.

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Chapter Eight

In the ominous half-light of the Fortress Prison, Jak lay quietly behind a stack of ammo boxes – he thought they were ammo boxes. Daxter perched on top of the heap like the bird someone had once mistaken him for, muttering to himself about 'that frigging Jak never pulling his weight in this partnership', crouching and peering over the edge.

"See anything?"

"Some blonde whacko with an overly short fuse tryna' hide behind a bunch of crates – Oh, you mean Guards? None of those guys. Yet." The ottsel hopped lightly down the stack, landing neatly on Jak's shoulder armor. "I reckon the coast is clear."

Jak tried to squint at him suspiciously, but Daxter was far more interested in scratching the back of his neck with his hind leg. "Are you sure about that?"

"Couldn't be surer," Daxter said offhandedly.

Murmuring a curse on all scatter-brained crazy chicks, the blonde prison escapee slid out of hiding and started wandering down the corridor. Daxter put his elbow into Jak's temple leaning against his head. "What d'you s'pose happened to that green-haired psycho?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Reckon she's dead?"

Jak tried to say, "Could be," offhandedly but he couldn't quite pull it off.

They came to a fork and Daxter leapt off Jak's shoulder, considered for a moment and darted down the left. Jak followed, the ottsel's flame-orange fur seeming almost luminescent in the gloom.

The corridors became a labyrinth and Jak gave up trying to figure out where they were going. The silence was eerie, broken only by the scrabbling of Daxter's claws against the steel and his own hollow, clanking footsteps.

Then they rounded a corner and Daxter froze and said "Oh shite-linger".

They had wandered into a large, echoing chamber complete with humming machinery patiently clinking over their heads. Garish warning signs written in the simple, blocky alphabet used by the Guards for labels and messages were scrawled on much of what they could see. The feature that Jak noticed the most, however, was the same one that sent a chill crawling down his back – there were no visible doors. No way out.

The room was what most people called a dead end.

He didn't get time to choke before something cold, metal and undoubtedly dangerous poked into his back and a crackling voice spat the word, "Freeze".

He dutifully froze. He had no desire to get his head blown off.

"Drop your weapon, convict."

Jak did not comply. Not moving was one thing. Relinquishing his gun was another thing entirely. "Fuck you."

A gun barrel smacked into the back of his head and knocked him sprawling as a constellation of stars swirled into existence inside his head.

"We're the ones giving the orders here, Underground scum. You're coming with us. Unless you want to go the way of that green-haired whacko woman-"

"Now I'm frightened," he said to the floor.

I may be in trouble after all.

 He did not resist when one of the guards pulled him roughly to his feet and forced a pair of metal handcuffs over his wrists. "What green-haired whacko woman would that be?"

"None of your fucking business, Eco-freak."

Jak sighed inwardly. They never got my name right, he thought sadly. Being shoved into line reminded him a little of when he'd been dragged, bruised and bleeding, into his own cell after his very first 'Eco Treatment'.

Daxter, meanwhile, was shrieking a mixture of swearwords and demands to see his lawyer as one of the Guards picked him up by the scruff of the neck. The Guard in front of Jak made the mistake of turning around to glance at him, taking his eyes off the convict –

Who wheeled around, flipped the chain of his cuffs over the KG's helmeted head (it badly lacerated one if his ears), yanking backward with all his strength as he jammed his boot into the small of his back and shoved.

The Guard's neck made a horrible grinding noise, then he went limp.

Daxter sank his fangs into the hand of the Guards holding him – he gave a yelp and dropped him. The ottsel skittered forward, leapt onto the back of the KG leader and jammed his helmet over his eyes, taking the opportunity to snag a tiny, square keycard and toss it to Jak.

"Go Team Extreme!" he yelled, waving his paws like a cheerleader. "Give me a D! Give me an A- whoa!" He suddenly wavered on his perch as the Guard he was standing on tried to swat him off. Daxter just hung on for dear life, making occasional comments about 'Ridin' 'em, Cow-Dax!'

Jak tried hard not to grin at the ottsel's idiocy, waving the chip in the general vicinity of the cuffs – they relinquished their grip and fell off with a clank. His hands finally free, he whipped out his Morph Gun and pulled the trigger-

The gun went 'clik'. Nothing else happened.

He stared at it in disbelief.

Out. Of. Ammo.

And this trouble I'm in might just be serious.

His mind flashed back to the Hip-Hog – his usual list of duties, Get Paid, yell at Daxter, Top Up on Ammo –

What a time to forget the most important bit.

His shout of frustration was lost in Daxter's repeated screeches. Ducking beneath a shot fired from one of the Guard's Blaster's, he rolled aside and flung himself behind the nearest cover – a pile of crates, oddly enough – and started a little in surprise as one of them bellowed "Don't shoot, you morons!"

He stared at the insignia that his eyes finally made sense of.

DANGER. HIGHLY EXPLOSIVE. KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE.

Running like a child might not have been the most dignified course but he was not about to quibble as hiding behind a stack of explosive crates rated slightly more than massively stupid in his books – hurling himself out from behind the stack and back to the fray was maybe just a little less suicidal. So he did it.

He had to duck a flying ottsel. Daxter had finally been flung off.

"Kill him, you idiots!" bellowed the leader that had thrown him.

"Jak!" Daxter scrambled back onto his shoulder and yelled into his ear. "Use the thing! The thing-

He didn't get any further because a wildly miss-aimed taser-bolt connected with him. The electricity spread itself through his fuzzy body, making him jerk and twitch as the charge plucked at his nerves like violin strings and he gave a scream of pain and slid off Jak's shoulder to the floor-

Jak gave a disbelieving cry. He dropped his gun tried to snatch him out of the air – holding the fragile bundle of fur and trying not to choke, he could not see if the ottsel was still breathing.

A purely animal snarl escaped him and he gave the Guard that had shot him a glance that was hatred and fury and pain all mixed up into one.

Then his mind was engulfed in rushing darkness and his hand, tipped with vicious claws, shot out and rammed itself into the KG's midriff and emerged, covered in blood, from the other side.

The rest of the fight lasted less than thirty seconds.

Ripping and tearing became his whole world. The Guards could not hit him and they generally could not get more than one shot in. He would kill them, every single last one of them that had dared to cause him so much pain and had now taken from him his best friend.

His only friend.

The floor was treacherously slippery when he came to himself. Staggering from the exhaustion he knelt at the ottsel's side and picked him up, cradling him in his hands.

"Dax," he whispered, though his throat was constricted almost too much for speech. "Come on, come back, we gotta finish what we started…"

But Daxter did not move and he did not open his eyes.

- -

Ouch, said Miala's brain.

The reason for that was immediately clear – she was jammed in a most uncomfortable position, up against a wall, with her hands tied behind her back. Her head and side throbbed dully, and moving hurt.

Must've fallen out of a tree again, she thought. Then she remembered what had happened and she opened her eyes and flung herself upright – her head met a solid barrier with astonishing force that added an angry headache to her many aches and pains.

Maybe, she thought, sinking dazedly back down, I had better just lie still.

What was going on? She had tried to break into the operations room – she knew that, and had been badly injured. But she had no idea how she had ended up bound and aching on a bunk in what she assumed was a cell. She decided she might as well take a look at her surroundings, as she would likely be spending quite a while within them. She cracked open one eye, then the other, sat up more carefully and looked around.

She was in a cell, a tiny one, with a washbasin in one corner and a hole that probably served as a - right. There were no windows. A thick, solid looking door with a barred slot was let into one wall.

Apart from that there was only the stench of old sweat and fear, and a pattern of rust on the top bunk – she thought it was rust. Hoped it was rust. It was cold. Miala drew herself into a fetal ball to try and conserve heat and discovered her pouch and Blaster were both missing, and an Eco Patch covered her side, undoubtedly healing her gunshot wound. It hurt. But less than it should have. She wondered how long she had been in here.

"You're awake, are you?"

She jumped and bashed her skull into the top of the bunk again at the sound of the voice.

"Whoa, whoa, don't be scared, little girl, I ain't gonna hurt you." A scarred, lined face was staring at her upside down from the top bunk.

"Who…who are you?" she ventured.

The face cackled. "The name's Diaz, girly – Diaz the Thief. Best in Haven. Or at least I was. Know who you are, of course," the person added – she, Miala realized, though her voice so craggy and hoarse it was hard to tell – "You're Cora's little daughter." Diaz's eyes were grey, like her hair, though there were faint streaks here and there of what might have been fiery red. Despite the dull colour of her eyes, they still gleamed with manic fire – quite unlike the rest of her. She was so wasted and thin that her cheekbones stuck out like blades and her skin was extremely pale – as though she had not seen sunlight for years. Despite this, she seemed young, almost childish – full of hyperactive energy that made her twitch and wriggle. She couldn't seem to sit still.

Miala did not know this woman from anywhere, though that might have been because her mother had never taken her to the market where she worked. "How did you know my mother?"

Diaz was staring at her feet. Her head snapped up with surprising suddenness. She grinned a decidedly evil grin.

"She was fun to steal from," said the woman in a singsong voice, "but she was also a good person. Saved my ass a coupla times. Almost made me return what I nicked."

"Her husband, now-" she kicked her legs back and forth and nearly overbalanced and fell "-strict old bastard, he was. Decent guy, though – hard to see why he joined the Guards."

"Hey," said Miala, annoyed, "he was my Dad, you know."

"I know that, sweetheart, but see, I'm not the kind to stop bein' honest about a person just 'cause they're dead."

"Now-" The woman leapt down from her bunk and landed lightly in a crouch. "I think you'll want me to remove those bonds, correct?"

"With what?" Miala scowled at her, thinking she was making fun, "I don't think you've got a knife hidden in that thing-"

She was, in fact, dressed in an ugly green jumpsuit with some incomprehensible lettering across the front. It was torn in places and her feet were bare, but she seemed unperturbed by the freezing cold floor as she capered around the cell. Miala wondered briefly if she was insane.

Diaz was quite young, it seemed – something had drained her of her youth. Miala jumped again as she produced a knife – a stub of a thing, but shiny even in the half-light. Diaz whipped it in a blindingly fast swipe – but it only slashed through Miala's bonds. Muttering something about stupid pieces of shit that weren't any use for escaping, she tucked the knife away into her jumpsuit.

"Sticky fingers, hon'," she grinned, "Ain't no one safe from Diaz the Thief."

The girl stood up. "Thanks," she said, rubbing her chafed wrists. The pain from her bullet wound was almost gone by now.

"No prob," said Diaz, smiling. "Always glad to help out a friend of Cora – or daughter in this case. I hope you take after your mother, Miss- I'm sorry, I didn't catch you name."

"My name's Miala."

"Charmed." The woman stuck out a hand that was as scarred as the rest of her. Miala shook it.

"So-" Diaz clambered nimbly back up onto the top bunk- "Whatcha do to get in here?"

Miala thought about it. "Hung out with a criminal. Blew up a factory. Broke into an operations center."

Diaz looked impressed.

"I was trying to help my brother," Miala added hastily, ignoring the little voice that told her she'd enjoyed most of it. "What did you do?"

Diaz looked thoughtful. "Almost the same as you did, though with less explosions and more thieving." She smiled, showing slightly yellowed teeth. "Oh, by the way-" she pulled a rectangle of bronzy metal from beneath her mattress – "I snagged this from the Red-Head bastard that brought you in. Looked important."

Miala stared at the cel of her family and said nothing.

"It's how I knew you were Cora's daughter. Sweet little thing she was – maybe a bit too softhearted. Better then the opposite, I suppose." The woman glanced at the cel, then pointed at her brother. "Who's the spunk?"

Miala went red. "That's my brother!" she said, scandalized.

"He's a cutey."

"Oh…shut up. The guy in the armor is my dad. And the girl covered in mud-"

"-is you. I guessed." She smiled again, the expression making her look somewhat less wasted. "Nice war paint."

"Oh yeah," Miala grinned at the memory, "I hated having my cel taken. I always tried to mess myself up as much as I could so they wouldn't take it. But they always did," she sighed.

Diaz gave a smirk. "Got a good reason to hate bein' taken, girly," she said softly. The prisoner stared at her feet again. "You're gonna be in here for a while…a long time."

Miala looked at her. "How long have you been in here?"

"Four wonderful years, hon'," she seemed to wilt slightly. "Horrible place. Think I'm this skinny by choice?"

Miala frowned. "What do they feed you…us?"

"Shit," said Diaz gravely. "But it's not just the physical that gets you…fucks with your brain, you know? People sort of give up hope…hope that they're gonna be free, hope that they'll ever see their family again…"

"You seem pretty sane," Miala pointed out. She was starting to hate the idea of staying here, but she was pretty sure Jak would at least try to get her out…but she was starting to like this strange woman, despite her distracting twitches.

"Cha…well, the way I see it, is that you gotta laugh. Makes me sound crazy, huh? Maybe I am, but at least I don't get carried outta here cause I started starving myself."

Miala voiced something that had been bothering her. "Don't… don't you get let out once you've served your sentences?"

Diaz laughed harshly. "Sentences? For us to have sentences we'd have to have a trial. Whatever you've heard about this prison, girly, don't believe a friggin' word of it – unless it's bad. Then it's been softened up."

She leapt down from her bunk again and wandered over to the washbasin. Turning the tap produced brown stuff, until Diaz cursed and swatted at it a few times. Water came out, and she filled her cupped hands and splashed it across her face.

"Trust me, hon', you're gonna stop bein' cheerful before long – and it won't just be the cold water that wakes you up. This place is hell."

Miala bowed her head.

Diaz bounded over to her and patted her on the head with one freezing cold hand. "But hey, gotta remember to laugh, okay? I'm starting to like havin' a cell mate."

- -

Jak stared at his friend.

He was still lying there, completely inert – he might have been sleeping. Jak didn't know anything about ottsel physiology, and was certain he was gone – but all he could do was stare at Daxter, lost in his own misery and guilt. He remembered how he had brushed Daxter off, how he'd said he didn't need him anymore-

He now realized what a lie that was. He missed him more than anything in the world.

It wasn't like when he'd done that mission – now he had no chance of bringing him back, no matter what he said or did…he tried not to think about how Daxter had felt when he'd left him…

It was too much. He found he needed to sit down, but he could not tear his eyes away.

"Come back Daxter," he had to whisper…

And then, as though his words had power all their own, the ottsel stirred and opened his eyes.

"Man, that stung…" he muttered.

"Dax?" Jak could not believe it. "Dax!"

Unable to curb himself, he picked up the ottsel and hugged him.

"Ahh! Aaah! Easy on the merchandise, buddy! I've just been fried to a crisp and…" He look down at his own fur, "Damn, I'm going to be smoothin' frizz for a week…" Jak realized what he was doing and dropped him.

"Fuck, Dax…I thought you'd been killed!"

"Killed? Me? Nah way!" The ottsel leapt to his feet and posed. "I'm inde-fucking-structable!"

Jak was now thoroughly embarrassed, but that did not stop him picking up Daxter and depositing him on his shoulder.

"Come on, Dax," he muttered, "we gotta go save the crazy chick."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…reckon she'll give me a thank you kiss?"

- -

Miala looked at the faded remnant of the best thief in Haven. She had fallen asleep, dropping into slumber like a stone. Something about her seemed kind of familiar – like she had met her once when she was very young. But Miala was pretty certain she'd have remembered someone like Diaz.

The woman jerked and whimpered slightly, pawing at the air as though it was attacking her. "Fffffuzzman…Kayet you bizatch…sssssold us all out…fffuck you…"

Miala sighed and sat cross-legged on her own bunk. One thing the prisoner had not mentioned was how boring it was in here. None of the other prisoners were up to talking – although shrieking seemed within their capabilities – unless it was hallucinatory babbling she did not understand nor wanted to understand.

They had not given her a green jumpsuit like the one Diaz wore yet. The prisoner said that they only gave you those after your first few months in the Prison.

Her words: "After they think they've broken your spirit. Not that they've managed it with me yet-" she had given a smile that was entirely teeth and creepiness – "They just think they have. Makes 'em stop trying."

Diaz was right – this place was hell.

She was losing track of how long she'd been in here.

The only other human contact was with the Guards, though they barely made the rating. She could hear them marching past and bellowing at the mumbling prisoners to keep quiet. Every once in a while someone would retaliate by swearing or trying to strike out at them – their strangled cries of pain were loud enough for her to sink deeper into her fetal ball and cover her ears.

How could her brother survive in here? How- No, she told her brain. He's still here, he has to be or all this has been for nothing…

Where the hell was Jak?

"Didn't get any sleep, did you?"

Diaz was hanging upside down again.

"No…"

"You better," she said. "Passes the time." She swung her stick-like legs over the edge of her bunk and stared dreamily into the distance.

"Um…Diaz?"

"Hmm?" The woman suddenly seemed to withdraw from the real world, staring into the distance.

"Did you ever see my brother get brought in?"

Diaz slid over the edge of the bunk and onto the floor. "Saw him," she confirmed.

"Really? Do you know what he looks like?"

Diaz paused for several seconds as if choosing her words."…He was the dark-haired, wiry guy, right? Brown eyes?"

"Yeah…this would have been, maybe four years ago? Just after you came in here? That's why I actually came here in the first place."

Diaz stared moodily at the door. She looked more withdrawn than ever, and suddenly older, as though the light had gone off in her eyes. She did not speak for several moments. "…Yeah. Yeah, I saw them bring him in."

"And?" Miala said anxiously. "Which cell? Was he okay? Did the Guards break anything he might ne-"

"He was alright. At least, then he was alright."

Diaz bowed her head.

Miala couldn't understand why the woman was giving her such short answers. "So which cell did they put him in? Can I talk to him?"

Diaz looked at her. Her expression became very, very tired. "Did you ever hear of the Dark Warrior Program?"

What Miala thought was, I've seen the bloody thing. What she said was, "Yes."

"They'd pick out a bunch of prisoners – especially the men, and especially the biggest and strongest and…and they'd…" The cragged voice broke. "They'd strap them up to the machine out there, and they'd try…all sorts of things on them…this one guy was injected with Dark Eco for months on end, almost without break-" Diaz put her face in her hands, apparently reliving their tortured shrieks in her head – "It was…it was horrible. You could hear them."

Miala's stomach clenched. "But what - what has this got to do with Myka?"

"I watched them bring him in," Diaz didn't appear to have heard her. "I watched them pick him…he was so…young, they thought maybe it would be better on a smaller person…but – but-"

Suddenly Miala didn't want to hear any more, suddenly she was terrified and angry and empty…the cel slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a clang she never heard…she was empty, she had been too late, too slow, too useless, she would never see him again, Jak had probably been killed by now and it had all been for nothing…

She gave a scream that was not of anger or terror but pain, a suffering so agonizing she wanted to keep screaming until she ran out of breath and didn't have to listen to her own guilt. The shriek reverberated around the cell but she kept on screaming until her throat was stripped raw and felt like it was bleeding and it petered out to a whimper and she felt so cold that she had to collapse into a shivering heap and cry.

But she could not cry. Could not shed a tear for her brother. She had wasted them on the rest of her family.

She gave a dry retch and Diaz dragged her over to the basin and let her throw up.

Finally she curled into a ball on the floor of the cell and tried to bury her head in her lap. Diaz carefully picked the cel and looked at it, then gave a quiet gasp of astonishment.

Miala was past caring. She curled tighter and tried to shut away the hole in her heart where Myka had been.

"Girl…Miala…I think you need to see this…"

"Fuck that." Her voice was as hoarse as Diaz's own.

"Listen…Miala…"

"I said – fuck – that!" Miala was suddenly on her feet again, glaring at the woman with unreasoning anger. "You don't know what it's like, you don't know what I need, you just sat there and watched, while he – while he-" she couldn't finish the sentence. "Get the hell away from me, you cowardly…you fucking…"

Diaz slapped her across the face. It was not a hard slap, but surprising, and Miala staggered backwards and stared at her in disbelief.

"I couldn't do anything. You hear me? Couldn't. I would have done anything to save him…him and all the people that fucking bastard put through the mincer…but I couldn't. I dare you to watch something like that…from inside a place like this…and not have it tear you up on the inside…because you can't do a fucking thing to help." Diaz's eyes were alight again, bright with unshed tears, but she stood straight and tall and suddenly forbidding-

-Then her face crumpled and she sat beside Miala and put her arm around her shoulder.

"I would have helped him. But I couldn't. And you really need to accept that…and, I have something to show you."

Miala shuddered and found she did not have the energy to argue any more.

Diaz held out the cel, but Miala would not take it, so she placed gently against the floor. Then, without so much as a warning, she pulled out the tiny stub of a knife and jammed it into the hologram emitter near the top.

Miala made a strangled noise and tried to yank her hand away, but Diaz shook her off and said, "Watch".

The picture of her family flickered, faded, then winked out completely – but another picture swirled to take its place.

It was small, and low quality, with only a few colours that flickered every few frames-

But, without the shadow of a doubt, it was her brother.

He looked older, straight backed, standing in some kind of facility with bolts of electricity flickering occasionally in the back ground, wearing armor and a red scarf that looked familiar…very familiar…

Then this shade of Myka opened his mouth, and his voice was tinny, amplified…

"Hi, Mia."

She didn't move.

"Vin's recording this for me. Jittering like a lunatic. Says it's his last favor for me, and that he'll report me to the Baron next time I come to see him." The boy smiled. "It was Diaz's idea. Smart-ass that she is, said it'd be something of value to bribe my parents with. Doesn't know that they're gone."

Miala didn't look at the woman next to her, terrified of what she'd see.

"I guess…" here, he hesitated, joking manner gone, "I guess this is a confession. A long overdue one. I'm not sure if you'll accept it – I know Dad wouldn't approve – but I think maybe you will. You were always pretty gullible, Mia.

"I'm a member of the Underground. I have been since I was thirteen. This whole mission – we need the supplies, the medical stuff, since it's forbidden to trade with us and all that shite. We don't need the weapons, though, I reckon they might be more trouble then they're worth, but I think Kayet's gonna go for them…she's been acting a little strange lately…

"Dad always said that the Underground were a bunch of anarchist scum. Screw him. I know you'll think this is disrespectful, but Mia – he didn't understand what we're about. The Baron isn't the true ruler of the city, and he's just making this whole Metal Head thing worse than it needs to be. Torn says that we've only got a few years left 'til they break through the wall. So we're preparing. All of us. We need to knock him off the throne and bring on someone who'll…I don't know…be able to fix the shield wall or maybe destroy the Metal Head's somehow…

"Anyway, if you actually got this message, then I hope I'm there with you laughing at how stupid I look in low-res. If I'm not…I guess…I have to say how much I love you, and how glad I am that you're my sister. Shit," he added, blushing red, "would you like some relish with that cheese?

"Vin's waving his arms off camera now. I think he means the chip is running low on memory. So, goodbye, Mia – I hope this mission goes ok, and that I won't need to show you this message.

"You can turn it off now, Vin. Oh, don't give me tha-"

The picture cut him off mid-word, and fuzzed back into its usual shot of her family.

Miala stared at Diaz, lost for words.

"Told ya you'd want to see it," grumbled the thief.

- -

Necralis: Done! Frigging DONE! I did it! After all that staring at the screen banging my head…

Vader: They'll hate it.

Necralis: No they won't. Didn't hate the other chapters. Did they? Hey, did you guys like Diaz? I think she's kinda cool…Oh yeah…(cries) Oh…I just confirmed the death of an OC…my first…(sniff) I hope I did it right.

Vader: Nah you didn't.

Necralis: Oh…shut up, you damn weasel. NOW! Time for reviewing! Hope you enjoyed! Hope you cried! Well not really…well sort of…well…shut up, brain.

Vader: Oh dear…

Necralis: Next one might be the final! Ooh! Ciao!