Byron couldn't think. All he could do was watch. He could only watch as Veronica slipped out of consciousness, out of life. He could feel her breath slowing and eventually stopping. "No!" he screamed, "You're not dead! You're not fooling me again, Veronica, wake up!" He shook her, but to no avail. Veronica was gone; unable to cheat the unbreakable force of Death again.
The others circled around him, but he didn't care. The only thing he knew was this moment, another time where his memory would be scarred. He knew he wouldn't be able to put this behind him as he could everything else. This would be a part of him until the day he died.
Byron laid Veronica's body on the ground, "I was wrong," he said. He thought back to his conversation with the strange man on the roof, how he said their quest would only succeed when they tried a different plan, but that Byron would lose the one he once loved again, "I did love somebody."
"Byron?" came an unfamiliar voice from behind him. Byron looked back and saw a new face. Behind them was a boy, fourteen at the most. His hair was orange and twisted. He was small, barely five feet high and possessing little to no muscle. Byron had never seen the boy in before in his life, but he knew exactly who he was. "Kyle Hunter," Byron said, standing. "Sector Eight's Unnatural."
"Yes," Kyle said, "And you're Byron Peters, Mark Konners, Phoebe Burton, Stephen Jaxon, Gabriel Ramsey, and Kaytlen Williams."
"You're another telepath," Mark said, surprised.
"No," said both Byron and Kyle at the same time.
"He's a premonitionist," Byron said.
"A what?" said Mark.
"A premonitionist," Byron repeated, "He can see the near future just as well as he can see the present. Am I correct?" Byron said, turning to Kyle, who nodded.
Mark began to say something, but Kyle interrupted. "No," he said, "I can't tell that. At least, I can't tell on purpose. It just…happens. I automatically know what's going to happen, but I can't tell what I want to know when I want to know it."
"Do you know who our next companion is?" Byron asked, testing the boy's abilities.
"Ashley Moore," Kyle said, "It's going to be hard to find her, though. She does something that makes her difficult to find, but I can't say what. She's also in Sector One, which will be difficult to infiltrate."
"It'll take a little while to get there, too," said Phoebe.
"No," said Byron, "There's a train taking transfers to Sector One today. We can jump on it."
"We're going to Sector One," said Mark.
"Duh," said Stephen.
"And it's been a week since I left," Mark continued, ignoring the sarcastic remark from Stephen, "Caleb should be there."
"Who?" said Phoebe.
"A friend," Mark said, "Caleb Watkins."
"The tracks aren't far from here," Kyle said, "If we go now, we'll be able to jump on before it gets very far."
"Alright," Byron said, "Let's go."
The others started to walk away, but Byron lingered, standing over Veronica's body. She looked so peaceful now. She hadn't died in pain, necessarily, Byron knew that.
Byron wished so much that he could enter Veronica's mind now. But he couldn't read a dead person's thoughts; they didn't have any. But Byron wanted to know one thing, at least. He wanted to know if Veronica had loved him like he had her.
But Byron couldn't show any weakness to the others. He was their leader, after all. He had to be brave, if not for any other reason, for them.

The Unnatural did board the train and were able to mingle with the few other people who were already present. They rode the train for the rest of the day, the locomotive stopping at each Sector, with the exception of Seven, and picking up a load of transfers. None of them seemed to recognize the Unnatural, but that fact made Byron uncomfortable. Why wouldn't they recognize them? They didn't blend in that much, especially given how diverse there group was in physique. Byron was on edge the whole train ride.
The train stopped at night in Sector Two. Most of the people were asleep, but not Mark. He was back at home; his journey had come full circle. He felt something drawing him somewhere. He stood, silently walking over the sleeping transfers. He quietly opened the door to the train and slipped out, unnoticed.
Or so he thought.
Mark walked through the quiet streets of Sector Two. He had been gone for only a week, but it had seemed like a lifetime. He had witnessed countless deaths, of friends and enemies. He had met people who were like him and who wanted what was best for him, one especially so.
Mark stopped, hearing something behind him. He turned, seeing Byron following him. "What are you doing?" Mark said.
"I don't know," Byron answered, "I feel like something's calling me, drawing me to something." Mark nodded. "I feel it, too," he said.
"What do you think it is?"
"I don't know exactly," Mark said, "But I think I want to go home." Mark knew that this was impossible, of course; he had burnt it down a week ago.
Byron was silent. He kept walking. "Where was your home?" he said eventually. "Not far," Mark answered bluntly. "I don't know what happened to them," he said after a moment, "My family. I have no idea where they went or even if they survived. I mean, I'm pretty sure they did, but I don't know."
"I know the feeling," Byron said. Mark immediately felt bad. Byron's mother had died yesterday, and Mark was sure he didn't want to think of that.
They turned a corner, seeing a large, charred square of grass, making an awkward gap in the long line of houses. "This is where it was," Mark said, standing in front of the black lawn. Byron stood next to him, and the two sat in silence.

While Mark was remembering the tragedy that had begun his journey, Kristine Neff was having a wonderful time. Earlier that day, an unexpected leap had occurred in her plan.
Her scouts had returned with news. "We've found one of the Unnatural," they had told her, "She was wandering outside of Sector Eight, calling for somebody."
Kristine's interest had spiked. 'Does she know where the rest are going next?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," said one of the scouts, "They're going to Sector One next to collect the last Unnatural."
"I would advise acting quickly, Your Highness," said Matthew Scott, "They will be out of the Nation as soon as the last one joins their party. If you are to win them to your side, you need to move as fast as possible."
"Agreed," Kristine said, "Prepare transportation for me."

Peyton couldn't imagine how quickly his Project had advanced. It was ready to be sent out now; he would have the Unnatural in his possession before the day ended, he hoped.
Now he stood before Project Zero in its full glory. It was ready for action, and he knew that it would not fail like Project Leon had.
Peyton had put millions of dollars and countless hours into this Project. Not only that, but he had promised the President that he would have the Unnatural by the time they tried to leave. Now they would not have to worry about being invaded again, and Peyton would be safe.
And, in that safety, Peyton would be able to find a way back home. Maybe even with his daughter.
Project Zero opened its eyes for the first time, all three of them. It stared Peyton in the face. "Go," Peyton said, "You know what you are to do. The Unnatural are in Sector Two, and will be delayed there for the night. You have until morning to at least split them up. From there, you will be able to capture them easily."
The Project didn't respond. It just walked past Peyton and out the door.
Peyton stood there, in the lab, watching his creation walk stiffly out of the building. Peyton wondered, then, for the first time, what he had just created. Had he, the brilliant scientist, just created a way to sustain life?
Or had he, the brilliant scientist, a Dr. Frankenstein, just created some kind of monster?

Byron stood up straight. "I feel her," he said, turning and running.
"Wait-what?" cried Mark, following him.
"She's here!" Byron said, running through the streets just as well as a native of the Sector. He ran to the center of the Sector. Just as Mark caught up with him, the sun began to rise. Mist crawled along the ground, rising with the sun. The mist was thick, and, through it, Mark could see one figure's outline. He knew exactly who it was, though, and so did Byron, who ran forward, colliding with the figure in an embrace.
"Veronica," Byron said, "Again?"
"I can't explain it," Veronica said.
"You died. How did you-" Byron stopped, and then looked up into Veronica's eyes, "You're one of us."
"Yes," said Veronica, bringing her head close to Byron's.
"Stop," Byron said, backing away, "You're not Veronica."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not Veronica," Byron repeated, "Who are you?"
"I am Veronica," she pleaded.
"No you're not. Don't try to fool me!"
The woman smiled evilly. "You've fooled yourself," she said. Her skin began to change. It churned and swirled, and, eventually, a monstrosity stood before Byron.
It was still a woman, or, at least, appeared to be, but it was not a full human. It had three eyes and was easily a foot and a half taller than Byron.
Byron barely had time to look into the thing's eyes before he felt something pierce the back of his throat. He felt a brief sting of pain before he collapsed.

Mark ran forward, fire leaping into his palm. He shot it forward at the woman, but she looked at him, extending her palm towards him. A stream of water flew from her hand, colliding with Mark's pillar of fire. Mark was pushed back, but he refused to be drowned in hopelessness. He had to get to Byron. Mark called his fire back, but ducked under the water that flew at him. He stood and ran to Byron, throwing a fireball at the woman. The fire collided with her body, but she just stood, unharmed. Soldiers leaped out from their hiding places around the Sector's center, aiming their guns at Mark. Mark didn't care about them, though. He could handle them easily enough. Mark was at Byron's side. He created a wall of fire around them as the soldiers opened fire. The heat of the fire was so intense that the bullets exploded upon contact. "Byron!" Mark shouted. Not Byron. He couldn't be dead, he who had led Mark and the other Unnatural so far. Not he who had gone through so much to end the persecution of those like him. He couldn't be dead.
And he wasn't. At least, not yet. Mark felt a pulse on him, and Byron still drew in breath.
The sun was rising quickly. Mark could hear the whistle of the train as it announced its disembarkment.
Byron blinked open his eyes, jumping when he saw the fire around him and heard the gunshots. "Byron!" Mark said, "We have to go! The train's leaving!" Byron hurriedly stood. "We can still catch it! But, could you do something about these soldiers?" Byron knew what Mark meant. He wanted him to kill the soldiers by crushing their minds. Byron didn't really want to, but he knew it was the only way they would be able to get out safely in time to reach the train. He entered the minds of the soldiers, feeling each individual's mind. He knew how to kill someone like this; he had done so many times before, more than he liked to admit. But, as he began the process, he was stopped somehow. He tried again, but…
"I can't!" he shouted, "I can't do it!"