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So, yeah, if you review, I'll send off a reply. ;) And thank you to everyone who reviewed! Eight reviews a chapter is awesome!

Foster's does not belong to me.

Chapter Three: Strife

Once his initial adrenaline rush passed, his numerous injuries afflicted him simultaneously and he collapsed onto his knees. Wind whipped past his face; he shivered, more determined than ever to rise. The will to survive informed him unless he wished to freeze to death; he'd force his tired, sore body to its upright position. However, the prospect of rising now, with every muscle in his body screaming, hardly appealed to him. A blanket of snow began to cover him…and his eyes closed…

The world was hard and cruel, especially to small imaginary friends. Humans passing Bloo on the street hardly wasted a second glancing at him, much less aid him. Cars heaped dirty water atop the snow covering his frame. In a few moments, he would become part of the snow bank. That was, if someone didn't stumble upon him soon.
Meanwhile, not three feet away, Mac cupped his hands around his mouth and called him as loudly as he dared. Unfortunately, that wasn't sufficient to wake him, but enough to earn some very nasty looks. A few cursed him off, but he ignored them. Instead, he balled his fists in his pockets, remembered what Madame Foster had always told him about DIE supporters, and ignored them.

They're incapable of caring about anyone but themselves. They're inhuman but pitiable. You always have to have compassion for those who cannot learn it themselves. Remember- there is a reason you're here. DIE supporters exist aimlessly; they have nothing to fight for and nothing to lose. That's a very dangerous combination.

Wind swept his hair and a small mound off a bundle on the ground. The snow bank convalesced, purple bruises littering its back. However, its consistency varied from the rest. Mac, intrigued, knelt down and brushed away more snow. Beneath his gloved hands, the gelatinous texture trembled and quaked. The smallest of whimpers escaped it. Bending over further, he discerned low rasps.

Disregarding any observers, he scooped up the small creature and turned it over. What he saw nearly made him drop the already frigid imaginary friend from whence he came. (Considering his probable body temperature, prolonged exposure to the elements would soon kill him if he carelessly deposited him). He'd never seen him in a sorrier state, not even when he insisted on his "harebrained" schemes. The color drained from Mac's face and resembled Bloo's. With a gasp, he clutched Bloo as closely to him as he could and, glancing back and forth, spurted forward.

He skidded to a halt in the snow and swiftly snatched a nearby frozen metal stop sign to regain his balance. Posters decorated the side of a store and among them was a picture of Mr. Herriman and Madame Foster. He skimmed through to the reward and once more nearly dropped his beloved. Alive, the imaginary rabbit was worth ten thousand dollars and dead, five thousand. However, his creator was in the six figure amount alive…and seven dead. He drew back, sickened.

A figure approached and he hastily shoved Bloo underneath his jacket. Fortunately, the jacket was large enough so the protrusion was not exceedingly noteworthy. Nonetheless, his palms sweat profusely and he forced a bored look instead of the appalled one. The thought of bounty hunters collecting on her reward disgusted him to the very marrow of his bones. She'd taken him in when he needed a home. She'd given many friends and creators places to reside when DIE chased after them. She cared for her imaginary friend like a human and other imaginary friends like they were worth more than a bullet in the head. She was a sweet, wise old lady and the closest thing to a grandmother Mac had ever had. His blood boiled.

The closer the figure got, the clearer her outfit became. A form fitting DIE uniform hugged her hips- the customary black t-shirt and baggy black sweatpants stood out clearly against her lily white skin. Vibrant, silky red hair cascaded down her back and jade eyes flashed, alert and ready to apprehend any creator and or imaginary friend. Her cheekbones, the way she held herself, all excepting the cold, malevolence in her expression and body; she could have been Frankie's double. His blood ran cold and he barely managed to sneak into an alleyway before his body froze and he found himself listening intently to a conversation between her and her superior.

"Is there any imaginary filth around here?" a low, gravely voice snarled and the girl smirked, tugging her hair into a pigtail. Mac swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away. Resplendent with the tie, she was a dead ringer for her.

"No, sir," she replied, checking an odd watch. It beeped shrilly, she swore loudly, and took off. Clouds of powdery snow flew in her wake, but before she traveled too far, he called back to her. Irritation flashed across her face and he had the distinct impression she'd rather be the one calling the shots, not subservient to a man. He had also had the impression that if he wasn't careful, her boss would find himself on the receiving end of a five bullet salute.

"And Vicky, if I find out that you were lying to me, you can kiss your job and your life goodbye."

Muttering uncouthly under her breath, she stalked off and, without further preamble, Mac sped towards a Foster's underground entrance with Bloo pressed against him.

She shut her eyes and absorbed the darkness enveloping her. Another lost soul thanks to DIE, another lost chance to regain Foster's former glory. Another wasted relationship, another lost love. When would the cycle end? When would children grown up without fear or trepidation? When would children like Mac be allowed to be open with their feelings? Or would the world forever dwell in shadows and hatred?

Sighing heavily, she hugged herself. She wished there was a simple answer to life's problems. She wished people and imaginary friends would stop hurting like there was no tomorrow. She wished she could be confident that the tomorrow after this would be anything but this. She wished so many things…and none of it would come true.

"It's enough to make you stop believing in fairy tale endings," she whispered, clenching her eyes shut. A single tear trickled down her cheek, but before it reached the nape of her neck, a delicate paw brushed it aside. Her heart skipped a beat, but the paw and the soft, silky fur against her cheek vanished. She frowned, adding another wish to her list. However, the instant the thought struck her, the door locked shut. She released a breath of air she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"If you do not believe, Miss Frances, who will?" Mr. Herriman murmured, caressing her face with his pads. She sighed happily, turning his paw over so she could rub against his fur. Though it was hard to tell, she could swear he smiled.

"You are the only one who here who has no imaginary friend and no real bonds to tie you here. You are not within Madame Foster's employ, you are not paid-" he began stiffly, taken aback when she flung herself into his arms. The smile softened and he wrapped his arms around her; he shifted so they lay upon her bed. So many nights spent like this, just lying in each other's arms. No words were needed, no further commitment on their parts. Being together was its own testament against DIE.

"I don't need to be paid to love you," she whispered, burying her face in his warm, furry chest. He pulled off his other glove to run his bare paw along her cheek and she snuggled closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist, she around his neck and the two lay like that for hours, needing naught but each other's company.

Madame Foster, meanwhile, paid close attention to the local news and any DIE reports. Of course, the media was inundated with DIE influenced news and could hardly be trusted for unbiased coverage, but it didn't hurt to check. In the back of her mind, while she mentally noted everything, Herriman's joy, centered as always around Frankie, made her smile. Nothing like little distractions to stop your mood from becoming bleak; this was a very easy thing here. Hope was fostered by the Fosters, but she knew her granddaughter's spirits were buoyed by her imaginary friend. If she was that susceptible to this, then so were others.

Shaking her head, she studied between the lines. Another imaginary friend slipped out from underneath their clutches, another failure. She chuckled, enjoying this immensely. Of course, when the information revealed who in fact it was (though never how he managed to evade them), she let out a whoop that frightened poor Eduardo on the adjacent couch. He covered his eyes with his paws and cautiously glanced at her between gaps in his claws.

"I knew he had it in him!" she cheered, pumping her fists in the air. Wilt, sneakers naturally squeaking, glanced from her to a cowering Eduardo. He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, one which the imaginary bull-like creature seized upon and proceeded to use it to flip him over onto his lap on the couch. Wilt landed, blinking in confusion, and stared blankly.

"Go Bloo, go Bloo!" she rooted, dancing around. "You teach them!"

Eduardo wrapped his furry arms around Wilt until he couldn't breathe. Meanwhile, Madame Foster paraded around the room. They didn't see a cause for celebration...but when you live in a world where everything is difficult and you can't take anything for granted, even the little things count.

Through gritted teeth, a petite young woman addressed her inferiors. Golden tresses twirled around her head, but if you thought she was a "dumb blonde", you would be very much mistaken. And, in the case of Berry, very much dead. She tolerated no dereliction, particularly from those she thought ought to know better. Of course, anyone who worked under her ought to know better and therefore, nothing against her was tolerated. The punishment for turning traitor was severe, but, in her mind, the only absolute- death.

Flinging herself into a chair, she carefully smoothed her pink blouse over a mysterious belt on her waist. Fortunately, she'd the foresight to invest in a diminutive version of the ones others used, but even so, every time she had company, its presence troubled her. One of these days, hopefully soon, she wouldn't need it at all. Unfortunately for now, to keep up appearances, she had to protect herself.

"You let him escape, didn't you?" she snapped, digging her bright pink nails into her palm. Anyone else might have hissed in pain, but she held it all in stride. Pain was a natural part of life, like breathing. Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool…or part of Foster's.

The mere recollection of her opposite made her skin crawl and her teeth clench in rage. Thirty six years ago, hardly a large amount of time for someone like her to endure, she'd been asked to join them after some unpleasantness. She'd been down on her luck like many imaginary friends were under her regime and in desperate need of assistance. However, rather than lower herself to a world full of what she deemed false sympathy and fake concern, she spat in their faces and forged her own way. What did she need of pathetic imaginary friends who clung to the idea that their humans would forever love them? What did she need of traitorous humans who professed care and concern for their imaginary friends yet left them out in the cold? To hell with them all!

If her creator couldn't care enough to keep her around, then why should any other creators have that luxury? Imaginary friends deserved better than their stupid humans. If only they would break the shackles bonding them to their creators, they would live a much longer, more fulfilling life. Then she wouldn't have to eliminate them one by one to get to her real target nor would she have to punish them as harshly as their creators. If only they understood that if they left their origins, they would be protected. Besides, humans were incapable of truly caring for their imaginary friends. Hers hadn't cared for her.

Then what earned Madame Foster such fealty? Why had her imaginary friend stood by her year after year? How strong were they really? When had her forces grown so strong? And why did they support her so strongly? What was her secret?

Berry knew how she ruled- with an iron fist and fear. After all, what better way to ensure loyalty? Yet she doubted the old lady struck terror in her compatriots. No, her followers bided their tongues for another reason entirely. No matter how many times she tried, no one let anything slip. It was infuriating, especially since this latest recruit witnessed their last capture literally dart out on them. The first and last friend to survive a q and a, she decided. The next one would die.

Nodding absently, she dismissed him and oddly enough, didn't order torture. Drumming her fingers together, she waited until no one could possibly catch her and turned the dial to her normal form. Without the added burden of human weight and bones, she finally felt free. Lamentably, with freedom came great responsibility. If anyone around here were to see her in this guise, she would be murdered on the spot. Such were the risks implicit in her job.

Stretching her blobby purplish pink arms outward, she hoisted herself out the window, onto the ledge, and skidded across the snow. Damn, she'd quite forgotten how hard it was snowing when she was within the confines of her office. Perhaps she'd better switch back to her human form unless she desired to freeze to death. Now to adjust her transformer and…

She froze, staring back into her locked office. One of her inferiors stared back at her, nonplussed. He cocked a tranquilizer dart gun to take her into custody (she assumed he thought her to be a Foster's imaginary friend) and she pulled out a small handgun. The man crumpled, dead before he hit the ground.

Exhaling sharply, she proceeded on her way to locate any lingering imaginary friends and coax them to her side. A lot of her members were brainwashed imaginaries who hadn't yet found Foster's. That exactly where she wanted them- right before her enemy caught them. Then, they were vulnerable and eager to hear anything good, especially if it brought fresh meals and warm beds. The ability to torture, hurt, and maim were only gained through brainwashing, however, since very few friends joined if they knew they would be harming their fellow creatures.

Now, though she thought she'd find that little blue blob. He couldn't have gotten far on those injuries. And when she did…he'd come over to her or die. There was no other option.