Hour 13: Descent of the Dark Wings

"Good afternoon, everyone, it's noon and you know what that means."

They had no idea what that meant. It was an argument Peter Morgan had held numerous times with Lieutenant-Colonel Stevenson, but the latter insisted on upholding the letter of the law. When this was ignored, he took to expressing a look of regret and raising a loaded pistol while his fingers twitched melodramatically. Morgan had long since given up trying to establish whether or not he was actually in charge of the Program, Stevenson's unnerving obfuscation making the task impossible. He had a script, and changing it was apparently out of the question.

"It's time for the next list of your deceased classmates and the danger zones. I'm sure you all have better things to be doing than listening to me, so I'll make this quick. First was Kevin Hetfield, killed by David Remnant. He was followed by Ian Doherty, slain by Adam Lewis. Next was Adam Lewis, killed by…"

Morgan paused for a few seconds, but it felt much longer. Stevenson's reflection shone through a surface top, and it bore an eviscerating glare. "Holly Morgan." He'd said it, but could no longer hide the pain in his voice. "Rozelinda Mayfair followed, killed automatically after entering an active Danger Zone. Finally, Valerie Woolfe lost her life to Charlotte Turner.

"A longer list than the last, but I sense that the reality of your situation may finally be dawning on you, and I don't think I need to tell you again what that is. What I do need to tell you is which new Danger Zones will become active. At 1pm that means D8, at 3pm C6, and at 5pm J6.

"This time I feel I do owe you some words of reassurance. Nothing in life is certain, and little is as it seems. That being something we generally only realise when it's too late to do anything about it, but it remains true. Most of you think you're going to die; most of you are right. One among you, however, is not. Each of you has it in you to be that someone. You have all seen and done things in your life, things that have shaped you as a person. But here in the Program, it's not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you. I know you can do it, and it's you I'm talking to. I'd wish you all good luck, but that is so fleeting that instead I'd rather wish you intelligence. I'll return in six hours."

"You are many kinds of a man, Mr Morgan, but 'subtle' does not appear to be among them." As could have been expected, Stevenson looked less than impressed with his superior's knowingly-partisan tone.

"I revealed nothing. My job is to nurture and develop these students, and if I can still help them believe in themselves now, then I'm only doing as I should be." Morgan had scant reason to care anymore about how his words were taken; a little prying had confirmed that Stevenson would need extremely good cause to interfere with proceedings to the extent of incapacitating Morgan.

"A nice try, but you implied plenty." Stevenson sighed, slightly apathetically. "But that really isn't my concern for now; it's lunchtime and I'm sure you're feeling hungry? I've had my staff cook prepare you something. He's quite talented, you know. To the kitchen?" With a slight air of hesitancy and suspicion at the now pleasant tone with which Stevenson spoke, Morgan switched off the microphone and gestured Stevenson to go first.

"Oh, I'm not coming, I brought lunch with me. Thought I'd offer to assume your role for a few hours this afternoon, giving you a more substantial break. If you want company – which is not mandatory – one or two of my men may be taking their breaks as well, feel free to talk to them."

"This is different from you, what's brought-"

"You look like you need some rest, Mr Morgan. Take the opportunity and get some, I'll catch up with you later on." Stevenson's eyes were betraying nothing of his thoughts, but equally, he was not allowing Morgan to counter. And ultimately, he was right.

As Morgan made his way to the dining room, a single thought repeated in his head, over and over again: She's not a murderer. I understand that, and so will they.

My best friend is a murderer. Myriad permutations ran through Rahne Southers' mind, but they all came down to the same thing: Holly Morgan had killed somebody. If it wasn't a fact, it wouldn't have been stated as such, and everything else paled into insignificance because of it.

The morning had turned into a nice one, with the sun shining and what have you, but Rahne nonetheless felt extremely cold. In her head, she had a cartoonish picture of a horned, demonic Holly mercilessly gunning down her helpless victim as he begged pitifully for his life. Now that surely wasn't how it happened – but how was she to know?

Her own father had said it. Anyone could be anyone, past lives, past personalities, in their entirety, potentially completely irrelevant. All a person needed was the right opportunity to do what they'd always wanted to do, or always been interested in trying out. Here, like anywhere else, there were consequences. But given that everyone would eventually die anyway, they were much more short-lived than in the real world. After all, it wasn't like you'd go to prison if you shot or stabbed someone. If anything, that kind of thing was prudent, since it was the only way to survive.

Which led to the question of what was motivating Holly. Malice had never been in her nature. Societal manipulation? Sure, that was easier for her. But then, she was good looking and popular, both true of Rahne herself. It was hardly immoral to take advantage of one's strengths when the opportunity came along. Was it?

A simple scenario demonstrated that. Rahne hadn't had any long term, serious relationships before, but she'd been out with a few guys, and been come onto by a few more. The latter included guys who were completely beneath her for whatever reason, be they creepy, unkempt, or just not very nice people. Since she could do, and deserved, better, why shouldn't she have turned them down?

She did, and it wasn't always possible to do so pleasantly. Of course she tried, but there was that time Ian had spent half the S4 school ceilidh begging for a dance. Maybe it had been the supermarket own-label vodka dulling her senses, but the only way she'd found to get rid of him had been to kick him hard between the legs. Rahne might have felt sorry for him if he wasn't so disgusting; the incident hadn't done her own popularity any harm anyway, since he'd sensibly decided to lay low for a while after that.

Poor bastard, he was dead too now. It was always going to happen, and given how few friends he had it really could have been anyone. She hadn't expected it to happen like that, admittedly, but then that really wasn't the point. What was the saying? "There but for the grace of God go I" or some shit. Even without knowing exactly what happened, could easily think of a dozen ways it could have been her. Or Holly…

They were in an emotional situation. Rahne had gotten a little drunk and beaten a grotesque but harmless guy up. She let her emotions get the better of her that night, of which she'd never been proud, though other people didn't need to know that. What was to say Holly hadn't done the same thing?

It was almost insulting to think that he kept up the stupid pretence that his crush was a secret; that could certainly have given her cause to overreact. Hell, he'd even been staring at her on the bus over here. It creeped Rahne out, though Holly had always insisted she not say anything to preserve his feelings.

Now she'd killed him. That didn't add up. None of it did. Yet at the same time, she knew any of them could have been what happened. Her best friend, the girl she knew, could and would never have killed someone. Murdered someone. Different words…were they the same here? Rahne didn't know. But she knew that one way or the other, it was the case that someone was dead and Holly was responsible.

He'd seemed different when he left the classroom. Somehow, whether because of Zoey or what, something, even if exactly what couldn't be known, had changed. And the simple fact of the matter was that there was no way of guaranteeing that Holly or anyone else wouldn't change too.

She was a killer. She just was! If the person Rahne knew and loved wasn't or couldn't have been a killer, then that meant she wasn't that person anymore. In that instant, Rahne found herself trying to establish the better proposition – her best friend being capable of murder, or someone else having destroyed what it was about Holly that made her her best friend. She didn't know, and didn't know that she wanted to, either.

She didn't know anything anymore. It could have been me. She could have been the victim, she could have been the killer; she would yet become one or both. Having so little control over the matter scared her, though it also, in its own way, comforted. For limited control meant limited responsibility. Holly had killed someone, and would have to take and live with the responsibility for it, forever.

Rahne didn't have such burdens; she didn't have any, in fact, nor had she ever wanted them. But she knew that that was never going to last. Eventually she was going to take control of her life. Now she'd never get the chance. She shrugged it off, unwilling to dwell on that thought too long, though still unable to escape another. Holly…why did you kill him?

Jenna Widdowson's head hurt. She'd awoken a few minutes ago, as Morgan's voice blared on loudspeakers located God knew where. Lying uncomfortably and in pain resembling a hangover, she recalled instantly what had befallen her but could not bring herself to so much as react, let alone move from her position. Morgan's words flew over her, a tinnitus-like noise amidst the din in her head. Until, that is, she heard one name on his list.

It wasn't Rem's inclusion, a weak smile crossed her lips when that was announced; he could be a little too nice for his own good sometimes, and Jenna wasn't sure he really had it in him to kill as he needed to. It was a certain backstabber's death at the hands of Holly that caused her to spring up.

She immediately regretted doing so, a sharp ache rippling through her. But this was no time to be lying around. Jenna hadn't slept well anyway, nor for very long, given the time. After all that had happened…what should she do now? What could she do? The traitor's finally dead, may he rot in Hell. And Holly's got the blame.

There was a thought, though she had better things to do than dwell on it. Whatever had happened with Holly though, given the state that her victim was in? He had a role to play himself. Even in the Program she wouldn't murder him in cold blood, but he could probably give her a reason. Still, there was no reason to even care.

He'd taken everything from her, including her only means of self defence. There was Darren's axe, but given she'd cut the head off at the top of the haft, it was now useless. It was double-edged, so she couldn't even hold it and use it as an ersatz knife. Shit…

A thought crossed Jenna's mind. It was a risk, she knew it might mean her death, even if it didn't it might have been a waste of time, but goddamn she had no choice. She needed a weapon, any weapon…and she knew she just might find one. Perhaps even in death, Jemi could help her.

There was no point in wasting time; however uncomfortable she felt, however upset or angry or whatever else – staying where she was would be suicide, and if she could die either way then it was better that it happen this way. Quickly gathering the food and water from Darren's bag, and taking note of the new Danger Zones before she forgot, Jenna cautiously ventured south.

She lit a cigarette; it tasted better than anything else on earth right now, and it had been far too long since she'd lit up. The 40 Jenna had with her were unlikely to last too long, she suspected. Least cancer was no longer an issue, as if she'd ever cared anyway.

As Jenna walked, she found herself feeling something she hadn't known, at least consciously, in a long time – vulnerability. When she'd left the classroom all that time ago, she'd felt on top of the world, being strong, having a decent weapon and the perfect partner with whom to inflict mayhem upon all in her path. But with Jemi gone, there were no replacements, unless she fell upon Rem any time soon, and her many enemies were wasting no time in kicking her when she was down.

But she couldn't change that; all she could do was find the means to defend herself against them. She was close. The terrain was rockier towards the south coast, which made concealing herself easier – unless Peter was still around with his rifle. On her hands and knees, Jenna crawled closer.

Silence filled the air. Jenna looked up to the lighthouse aerie but could see no one; it no longer mattered anyway – she could think of worse places to die. Jumping to her feet, she remained perfectly still a moment, before warily glancing around, her hands instinctively in the air for some reason. There was nobody there; Peter, or anyone else for that matter, couldn't have missed if they were.

All of which meant the two girls were at last alone together again. Thinking practically before emotionally, she immediately went for her bag, sighing with deep relief when finding her pneumatic spike still there. As Jenna withdrew it, and the cigarettes Jemi would no longer need, she felt her hand on something else. It was Jemi's diary, which she opened to the last entry, written on Saturday.

"It's been coming a long time, but on Monday we're finally off to Caphraig for a few days. I suppose this marks the end of a long school life, one I'll be glad to see the back of. I don't even know why I stayed on for S6 really, not done anything with it and missed most of my classes but I don't know what I'd like to have done either. Rem's the same. Come to think of it, so's Jen, she'd just never admit it.

I guess I'm just sick of this place, and looking forward to getting away from it. It's not even the people, though most of them do have their heads stuck up their arse and can't see past their own meaningless lives. I think it's more that they all seem to know what they want to do with their lives, and I never did.

Got into uni easily enough, studying Business at Edinburgh, but I don't know if I want to be doing that. Maybe marketing or something, but then I'm not exactly a people person. Fuck knows. Uni gives me a few more years to think about it anyway, and the others'll be there too, which is cool. SO glad they decided to stick with me, don't know I could do it on my own.

They'll also be on the trip, though Rem was thinking of skipping it. Glad he's not. Costs a lot for what it is, but he's the only guy in the class who isn't retarded, so we need him with us to keep us sane. It's gonna be fun anyway; much as I hate to admit it, Mr Morgan's an okay guy and probably won't care too much about what happens. Rest of the teachers are wankers though, I won't miss them.

Guess I'd better go and get my dinner, since the only two people in the world who matter besides me are coming over later! Love our film nights, hope we get to keep it up in Edinburgh. I know you can't read this, but Jenna, Rem - you guys so much! Next time I update this thing, I should be very drunk. Cannot. Fucking. Wait. xxx Jemi"

Jenna closed the book, put it back in the bag, then rethought it and placed it in her own as she looked down on Jemi's broken body. She wanted to say something, but it was hard; this was the end and she knew it. It was the last time she would ever see her best friend, and her only chance to say goodbye. For several minutes she stood there, motionless.

"Always thought you'd be at my funeral. I'm the reckless one, the one who takes it too far, who doesn't know when to stop." She spoke softly, tears in her eyes but forcibly keeping them open.

"I guess me being here now means it's up to me to hold yours. I…never thought we'd make it to 80 or 90. I mean, even if we calmed down later in life we'd do enough damage before then to kill us sooner. But we should have made it further than this. Even here, with all this bullshit, we should have lasted to the end. It was meant to be, supposed to be. But we lost. You lost, anyway, but what's the difference?

"God, there's so much I want to say to you right now, but I can't think what or how. I've always been fascinated by death in some way, intrigued as to how it all works and happens. So were you, in your own way. But I never…I've never had much experience of dealing with it. There was your gran's funeral when we were seven, and my granddad's a year later, but we were too young to understand then. I don't even really remember them; I was too young.

"Perhaps it would have been better if I'd known someone else who died, so I could, I don't know, practice coping? We all die sooner or later, and so does everyone we know. But no one ever teaches you how to handle it."

It was all so surreal. So sudden and unexpected was Peter's bullet that Jemi bore only pained surprise in her eyes. She'd drawn her last breath in Jenna's arms, and her blood still stained Jenna's clothes. So pale. So innocent. Gone, forever.

"I think it's tradition to think of a special memory of the victim at a funeral. I've spent my whole life with you…there are so many. So many." She was struggling to hold back the tears, and held Jemi close, cherishing her now cold embrace.

"One that sticks in the mind is the time your brother and his girlfriend took us to Glasgow for the day when we were 14. You encouraged them to leave us to wander around town but got us lost way out in the East End. We ended up bumping into a couple of creepy guys we managed to get to buy us alcohol, then almost got arrested for anti-social behaviour after spending several hours wandering around drinking Buckfast. All the while Andy and Helen had to drive around looking for us because his phone had died. I'm sure you remember as well as I do the sight of them running down the street just as the police saw us and went to pick us up. Then when we got home, you tried to blame it all on Helen because you hated her, she blamed Andy for his phone dying, he blamed me because I'm me and I just stood there taking the piss out of all of you, right before you threw up on me. Next day, we all felt so ill but tried to act like it never happened. What a fucking day that was."

Jenna choked out what she thought was a laugh at the recollection, but was actually a convulsion. Falling to the ground, she found herself nose to nose with Jemi. She was so much prettier than she ever realised. If only Jenna was a lesbian, she'd have found the love of her life. It was probably best that she wasn't, though; that would have made the pain even worse, which was something she could hardly imagine, nor did she want to.

"That's the sort of time we should have been looking back on together right now. There's been so many of them, and there were supposed to be more. Me, you, and Rem at uni? We'd have torn the place apart, especially once we passed the age of responsibility. Nothing to stop us then."

If only Rem could have been with her; that was the other thought on Jenna's mind. They were a trio. The Trio. Yet only one of them was able to bestow a final farewell upon the third. Where Rem was, only he knew. He was alive, at least, and had something he could kill with. The terror of that being all Jenna knew drove her still deeper into despair.

She could speak no more, having lost the last remnants of control over her grief. Her tears flowed into the dusty ground beside her friend. What hope was there now for her? All Jenna had ever lived for was hedonism and her friends, and without the latter the former had no meaning. She raised Jemi's pneumatic spike to her forehead. Better I die here, with you, than carry on pretending to exist any longer when you were the reason I did.

In that instant, for reasons she had no means of explaining, a twisted diabolical speech replayed itself in her head. No no no not this, not now, not HIM! The last words that bastard had said to her after betraying her. That she would come back from the despair he had, if not placed her in, then worsened. That he would justly die and she would live. The first part of that had already happened.

So what? It means nothing! Jenna wanted to believe that, but didn't know that she could. She was ready to die, and yet someone who had committed the ultimate crime against her was insisting she live, from beyond the grave. And it was the truth. She wanted to die, but what would that mean?

It would mean Jenna herself finishing what Peter, Darren and the traitor started. She'd return to Jemi, but on their terms. Peter was religious, and suicide was a mortal sin; final confirmation that she was in Hell would be music to his ears. She didn't want to give him pleasure – she wanted to give him pain, and as much of it as she could. As much as she felt now.

She couldn't do that dead. But a disturbing thought entered her mind – was causing more pain really worth the effort, and would it end her own? It wasn't right for her to be thinking that; it was unnatural, and went against what she lived for! Of course it was worth the effort. Some people deserved it, others needed it (whether they realised or not) and either way, many people were soon to experience it.

It was what she lived for…no, that wasn't pain. It was pleasure. The two often overlapped one way or another, but it was specifically pleasure she craved, and that mostly came from her friends. Two of whom were dead, one ceasing to be a friend beforehand. But Rem…

Rem was still alive. Jenna could, and had been, in the past, amused by the sight of anyone and everyone suffering, except Jemi and Rem. Their feelings actually counted for something, so she'd always done her best by them. She wasn't the best influence on them, of course, but they weren't idiots and there was never any pretence that she was a shining beacon of morality. They knew who and what she was, and could have chosen not to stick with her if they wanted. Now Jemi had died because of it.

But the hurt that caused Jenna was itself the reason why she had to endure it. Rem would have been hurting too, and her own death might kill him. She didn't have it in her to kill a second of her friends; in that moment, she could scarcely see the point of killing her enemies. The latter group included almost everyone in the class, and with good reason. She'd expected to laugh at them as they died; she the hunter, they the hunted. Now the other way around seemed more likely. Either way, they were irrelevant now.

Everyone was, save Rem. She had to find him. He was out there somewhere, and he had to have been waiting or looking for her. Peter truly did deserve to die; his arrogant sanctimony and superiority complex made it inevitable that he'd play this fucked up game, and he couldn't be allowed to be the death of Rem. But for once in her life, Jenna was going to put business before pleasure. He could wait.

As could her search for her one surviving friend, at least until she had finished saying her last goodbyes to her fallen one.

"I'm never going to see you again. This is the end of the first seventeen years of my life, and the start of the last two days. How am I supposed to sign off our friendship? I want to die for you, I want to live for you, either way I have to let you or Rem down! But I can't help that any more than you or he can. It's customary at funerals to play a song, so…I'll sing this one for you and then just go. It's best that way, before I change my mind. I love you, Jemi Britcher. I always have, and always will. When I get to the afterlife, find me in Hell or laugh at me from Heaven – please, just let me know where you ended up either way."

As the words flowed tearfully, Jenna knew her path was clear, despite the difficulty she faced in continuing it alone. Ultimately, her goal had not changed; she'd merely lost any potential help in achieving it and been forced to reassess her place in the food chain. But she knew beyond doubt what she had to do now, and had the reassurance that her death would always be a victory of sorts anyway, howsoever it came. Jenna hugged Jemi one last time, kissed her forehead, and started to sing.

"Lost in the darkness, hoping for a sign
Instead there is only silence,
Can't you hear my screams?
Never stop hoping,
Need to know where you are
But one thing's for sure,
You're always in my heart

I'll find you somewhere
I'll keep on trying until my dying day…"

He stood there, standing over her. His mouth hung open, and he was shaking slightly, but otherwise he was motion and speechless. It hadn't happened long ago; there was an explosion, quite loud and powerful. He didn't know exactly what or where it was, but had started edging closer to the sound, out of curiosity as much as anything else.

Then the report came. Those words…casually spoken yet sending shockwaves with the power of an earthquake through him. It happened just before the report, so there was no question as to who it was. Her bag was a few metres away, which confirmed it – her body was so ruined that it alone could not.

As he looked at the lifeless girl through brown Italian eyes, he felt his heart shatter. As if it wasn't enough that his best friend had just been murdered, Stefano Valutti was standing over the body of his beautiful girlfriend, Valerie. What had happened to Kevin, he could only guess at. But this was right in front of him.

Not that he knew how the sparkling, fashionable love of his life could have been turned into a charred shell. Why would Charlotte do such a thing? And why to her? After a few minutes of considering this, while trying to make any sense at all of such a terrible scene, Stefano realised he was not alone. Holding his gaze on Val, in that instant he realised he didn't care what happened next.

"If you're going to kill me? Do it quickly, please. I'm in enough pain as it is, I don't need more." At least this way we'll be together. I don't want to die, but better it be with you than anywhere else. There was no response.

Stefano slowly turned around, keeping a corner of his eye on Val. He was surprised to see a tall girl, in whose eyes was a look of horror and sorrow. Certainly, Alyssa Davids had no intention of killing him.

"How…how long have you been standing there?" With tears in his eyes, he choked down the words.

"Not long. I, I just…Stefano…" Her own bag looked heavy as she placed it on the ground. Somewhat awkwardly, the pair hugged. "I was too late," she whispered. "She was my friend; she might have listened to me. Maybe I could have-"

"Stop!" Stefano forced her away, still not looking at her. "We don't know what we could have. We're here because she's…if she wasn't, we wouldn't know she was here. I heard the explosion and so did you. But were you heading in this direction before you heard it?"

Aly moved as though to step forward and reply, but thought better of it. She forced herself to look at Val, despite her instincts telling her to turn away from the macabre sight. She knew she wasn't going anywhere; Stefano's bereavement meant he wasn't going to think clearly for a while, and that put him in danger. She didn't want to admit that he was right about where she was going, but they both knew he was.

"Thought not." She hadn't replied, but that was in itself an answer to his question. "I wasn't either. I was just walking around, hoping not to expose myself to a threat as I waited for the report. It's too open around here; I wouldn't have had a reason to come this way if it wasn't for this."

It was also true of Aly, much as she wanted to deny it. Even after the explosion, and the report that came soon after, other things had taken priority in her mind. She hadn't realised how close she'd been to it all. Gunshots, screaming, the sounds of fighting, murder and death; these were happening all around her. One didn't seem more significant than another.

In any case, she wasn't strong, either of character or body. An outcast even among the outcasts; that had been how she and her friends saw each other. Standing up to people – fighting them? She had neither the capacity nor the will to do such a thing, especially against someone who could explode people with her weapon, and a friend at that. She'd known Charlotte forever, and even if they'd drifted slightly apart of late, they remained close.

"So many people are already dead, and we couldn't save any of them. Didn't, anyway." Aly broke her silence, but wasn't able to reassure Stefano as she'd have liked.

"Result's the same either way. They're dead, and nothing can bring them back. We won't be far behind them. And please don't try to tell me we're still alive. A song without music is merely a collection of words that could be anything and are nothing. Music gives them life; Val gave me life. And now she's gone." Stefano was on his knees, caressing her body. He was singing to himself, softly and in Italian; she'd always loved it when he did that. He longed to hear once more her appreciation of his talent, and knew that time would come soon. It was comforting.

"Dying isn't the answer! It's not what Val would want for you!" For a moment, even Aly couldn't believe she'd just said that. Stefano turned around, hurt, but Aly couldn't bring herself to take it back. "It isn't…"

"Who are you to tell me what she'd have wanted? You knew nothing about her, so please don't pretend you did."

"You're right…but I wish I did. Tell me about her?"

"I'll make you a deal," Stefano said, with a sigh. "I'll tell you about Val. After you tell me what the point of all this is, and why we should stay alive. Come 3pm anyone left in this zone dies anyway; give me a reason to leave – if you have one."

It was the key question. Fortunately for Aly, it had been forefront in her mind, being as she was weak, lonely and isolated. She was alive because she'd thought about it and given herself reason to be. No matter what happened, she would force herself to stand up to her fears and carry on. That kind of inspiration was what Stefano needed, and she had been given the chance to save his life.

Yet she'd inspired herself before having to come face to face with death. Stefano was right; she didn't know Val. But he did, and she felt his pain. Aly's friend was a murderer, and the innocent love of another innocent's life had been taken. She looked into Val's eyes and saw that there was all but nothing left of them. It was time for Aly to give Stefano the uplifting speech he desperately needed. And she couldn't think of a single word to say.