Disclaimer: Unfortunately I was not the chosen Garde to be Pittacus Lore. All characters belong to him.

Author's note: Thanks so much for the reviews and I just want to give you all muffin baskets. I should have made it more clear – as it takes place a few hours after the events of the Fall of Five John did manage to find BK and heal him in time; although he was in pretty bad shape. But you guys and your sweet comments made my day.

Chapter 2

Six

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Marina asks caressing the scissors in her hand, "Your hair looks so lovely the way it is."

Making Marina in charge of haircut duty was one of my better decisions of the day, giving her something to do adds a spark in the dull chasms of her eyes. It reminds me more of what she was like before Eight died.

One of my poorer decisions was to let Nine being in charge of shopping. Although he managed to retrieve hair dye and scissors, and a lot of food – most of it packed with protein, he forgot to get anything to do with dental care, however he believed that managing to get three mobile numbers from pretty girls excused that.

I frown, my fingers sliding through my newly showered hair, "It's impractical; it's too knotty and it gets in the way and it still feels like there's blood in the ends."

Marina slightly winces at the mention of blood but the scissors are still firm in her hand, "How short do you want it?"

"Make it boyish short," I say looking in the mirror a pair of unrecognizable grey eyes staring back. Eyes that shouldn't belong to a seventeen year old.

"Ok," Marina begins to snip at my hair, making sure every strand goes into the toilet. The more I look at my dyed hair the more I feel like it resembles straw – I'll be glad to get rid of it as soon as possible.

In a matter of minutes my hair resemble boyish spikes. It makes me look older; my cheekbones sharper and my eyes fiercer. I've never been one to care about what I look like, but I like this look, a lot.

"Perfect," I grin, running my hair through the blond spikes.

"I can't say the same for the toilet," Marina sighs as I turn to the basin. Certainly, strands of my hair have clogged up the bowl and as Marina begins to flush the toilet protests making some really weird noises.

I clear my throat, "We'll sort that out later."

"What's up Tinkerbelle?" Nine leans against the door frame, it squeaking slightly at his weight. It looks almost comical – a giant in a normal house.

"Seriously Nine, let's keep the nicknames to a minimal," I stand up, "Anyway it's your turn – time to get rid of your long flowing locks."

"I don't trust pretty girls with a pair of scissors," Nine shrugs about to turn out of the door but Marina pins him there with telekinesis. Nine looks alarmed – it's the second time in less than a day he's been rendered helpless due to a more powerful telekinesis

"No excuses," Marina twirls the scissors and beckons Nine to sit down.

Nine opens his mouth, about to argue and I really would kill to have a legacy that would silence Nine, but he thinks better of opposing Marina, especially with her deadly new ice legacy, "Sure thing Ice Queen."

Marina ignores the nickname and begins snipping away at Nine's hair. She cuts his hair even shorter than mine, his long dark hair cut short and he can barely run his fingers through them. After spending a few minutes checking himself out in the mirror, he blinks slowly before saying, "Man I really did need a haircut."

"Yes you did," Marina smiles slightly, admiring her haircutting skills. "Now you have the bad boy look to go with your image."

"Than- Are you suggesting I wasn't bad boy before?" Nine crosses his arms jokingly.

"Your hair was too feminine Nine," I joke and as all of us laugh it's a sudden relief. There's a little bit of hope in all the darkness.

Marina picks up the black hair dye which I contemplated on using it myself when I purchased it in the store and looks at the jet black colour longingly, "Is it alright Six if I use this colour for my hair?"

I nod, "I'm thinking of sticking with blonde for a while. What's the sudden change?"

Marina's eyes shine, "Brown is boring, predictable… Safe. I don't want to be safe anymore I want to be dark, dangerous and deadly. I want the Mogadorians to see me as a threat. I'm not going to be the girl in the back I'm going to be noticeable"

I sip my second cup of coffee reading the article for what must be the fifteenth time, words jumble in my head dancing about. The bitter black liquid makes me pucker my lips, I don't like the stuff necessarily but falling asleep while searching the latest news on the John Hancock center is something I need to be fully awake for.

Each article blames the notorious John "Bomber" Smith, and the Mogs have a more recent photo of him carrying a Mog blaster which they must have received in Dulce. The picture does John no justice, while he appears to be his handsome self, his eyes are unforgiving and the way he's holding the Mog cannon only adds to his terrorist image.

Nicely played Mogadorians.

Sam and Malcolm are mentioned in the article too; both confirmed to be working alongside with John Smith, a few articles which Marina skimmed through gave Malcolm a ludicrous backstory- he disappeared without a trace to continue illegally making weapons and assisting John Smith with the equipment, taking over the role of Henri Smith – John's Smith father who he had quickly disposed of.

If the case wasn't so serious I would have laughed. The Mogs lack creativity in the battlefield and follow simple brute force, but when it comes to articles anything counts.

Sarah's picture is everywhere too, a reward is offered for knowledge of her whereabouts. The picture of her almost makes me smile. It's back in Arkansas and she's armoured with pistols, much different from the stereotypical cheerleader which I dubbed her before. I read quotes of Sarah's fellow schoolmates and one catches my eye, while the majority claimed Sarah was a lovely girl and Bomber Smith drove her into insanity, one claims "Sarah's not a murderer, never has been never will be. I think this is stupid."

Smirking, I chug more coffee down, obviously whoever said that has not seen Sarah with a pistol.

It's the name that makes my blood go cold, the warm coffee unable to work its magic – Mark James. He was Sarah's ex, the one that helped during the battle and continued to look after Sarah when John left with me, BK and Sam. My breath catches as I read the next sentence "Although Mark James disappeared a few hours after his statement – his whereabouts unknown."

Guess the Mogs got him too.

Nine is pacing back and forth behind me, and I'm grateful he's done it following the laws of gravity. The internet café we're in is moderately quiet, but they'd still notice if a teenage guy was hanging on the ceiling, "I can't believe they let the place burn. I swear if I see John-"

"You'll kill him?" Marina finishes his sentence, eyebrows raised. Her dark hair makes her tanned olive skin glow while making her eyes darker. She's definitely got the more dangerous look going on.

Nine gritted his teeth, thankfully despite the one or two blunt comments he's been better behaved towards Marina, knowing he has to tread his ground carefully if he wants both eyes, "No I guess I'll let him live."

"I finally found an article which you're in Nine, the workers at John Hancock were reluctant in giving your name but I guess they finally caved in. Now Stanley Worthington is dubbed as a "wannabe Bomber Smith"," Marina sighs drinking tea, "They found the equipment you have, the cameras being able to look over the whole of Chicago, they said you were planning to blow the whole city up – go the extra mile."

"I would never blow Chicago up," Nine speaks loudly.

I place my fingers on my lip, indicating at the lone waitress wiping tables. She's about fifty, decorated in moles with make-up applied to her face like its sun lotion. But it doesn't mean she's deaf or unable to watch the news.

I scroll through recent updates, there are articles with pictures of Marina, Nine and I, us three being named members of John Smith's gang, known as the 'Bomb Squad'. Despite it being completely untrue, I kind of like it.

There are no mentions of Five, but mentions of Eight being killed in a shoot off by Florida officials when refusing to surrender. It makes me furious – if John read this article he would have just believed Eight had fallen in battle, not that Eight sacrificed himself for Nine.

But then even if the article was more truthful, Eight's still dead.

"Thank Lorien, we don't look like our pictures much," Nine squints at the screen over Marina's shoulder, "I've at least grown a few inches and don't look like that much of a caveman."

"Oh really," I mutter. But he's right, we look way older – Marina is unrecognizable from the photo in Spain – her face is thinner, older, my dark hair is short and blonde and Nine almost looks like a reasonably sized teenager beforehand.

"But they know it's us three travelling together, it even states it in the article," Marina's eyes dart over the screen, "Apparently Nine is out of control and no one must approach him when seen, they've got to ring a hotline."

I smile, "Sounds about right."

Nine nods and flexes his arms, "Yeah, no one can handle these guns."

Ignoring Nine's obnoxious comment, I swivel my chair positioning myself to face both my fellow Garde members, "There's no news on the other's whereabouts. Nor anything on Ella."

Both Marina and Nine's faces fall, there would have been comfort if John was spotted in Illinois later on, or an article claiming Ella as a sidekick or even a hostage. Even if Nine refused to admit it, he enjoyed both John's and Ella's company.

"That means the Mogs don't know where they are though," Marina sighs, "We can only count that as good. And we never had any future plans that we told Five, so anywhere is safe."

"Except from Paradise," I say out of my coffee mug. Marina looks slightly confused at first before registering that Paradise was where John, Sarah, Sam and Malcolm used to live.

"So, what's next ladies?" Nine asks bouncing up and down. I knew it was a dangerous thing to allow him caffeine.

"First we need to train. I've got a new legacy that needs some honing, and all of our telekinesis is pretty weak to Five. If we do what Six suggested before, leave Florida to Mississippi where the lookout is less we can probably rent a place," Marina offers.

Nine's excitement bubbles down a little, despite a dead Eight and almost dying himself he's still ready for another battle but I control the urge of breaking his nose for Marina. She may act hard now but she's still delicate, the layer of steel around her is brittle.

"That's a good idea," I agree.

"You think it's best to miss out on the action. I bet Johnny is having more fun," Nine sighs dramatically sitting on the table with such force his coffee bounces up and splashes on his knee, "Ah shit that's hot."

The waitress looked at the coffee, then at Nine, "You're clearing that up honey."

Nine put his thumbs up, "Noted. Five stars for the service by the way."

Marina chuckles beside me, "Not like your penthouse is it? Welcome to the poor world Nine."

"Not that poor. I've got Sandor's credit card in my pocket, untraceable by anyone, even the John Hancock centre. So how about we buy some swanky clothes, a nice car, and let's cruise our way out."

After we let Nine chose the most indestructible car, we all crawl into the massive vehicle. Nine pats the wheel lovingly a half-crazed smile on his lips. "Ladies met the Toyota Hilux. This baby survives drops, drowning and crashes. Any suggestions on what to call this beauty? How about the Nine mobile?"

"We're not calling the car that," I tap the outside of the car, "Wouldn't it be better if we got an armoured car, one that Mog canons would be unable to penetrate."

Nine shook his head, "Not a good enough reason to use the word 'penetrate' Tinkerbelle. How would it look if three teenagers drove cars that are linked to gangs, huh? Kind of yells 'I'm in the bomb squad'."

"Fair enough," I mumble, "Let's just get out of here. Florida really sucks."

I want to see Sam again; I want to give him a proper kiss. Not a peck on the cheek, like the one I was about to give just before we disappeared off to the everglades. I need to check if he's still kept his promise, I'm fed up of people dying on me.

The car drive is peaceful. Both Nine and I respect Marina's need to be quiet, I want to play the game Katarina and I used to play – strategies on how to attack Mogs. But I think we've all had a little too much of Mogs, even Nine.

Nine's been quiet since the death, unnaturally quiet and the darkness in his onyx eyes have expanded, the eyes that refuse to look directly at another's. He's avoiding both of us as best as he can, making jokes and annoying comments as a cover up. Guilt is swallowing him up like the cruel demon it is.

Marina, on the other hand, almost appears stronger. After a few hours had taken its toll, she reluctantly accepted the fate of Eight, and the emotional bond between the two has given Marina someone to avenge, someone who fuels her burning desire to kill the Mogs. Exactly what we needed.

We eventually pass the Florida border into Alabama and only then can I manage to relax slightly, we've escaped the state which is high alert for us. The car windows are rolled down, the birds chime delicately and if I close my eyes I feel like a normal teenager having a road trips with friends. Only us and the freeway, the gentle breeze our friend.

"Stop the car," I yell. The words are strangled and Nine stomps his foot on the wheel causing the tires to screech. I don't worry about that, especially if the car can survive high drops.

"The Mogs trailing us?" Nine asks with his back tense, ready to launch himself.

Marina yawns and wakes from her nap after the sudden disturbance, she blinks slowly and she seems troubled – the nightmares have finally caught on to her, "What is it Six?"

"It doesn't feel right going here," I say.

"Hold on sweetheart. You said a few hours ago, let's listen to warrior princess and make our way east which sounds like a decent plan. And now you're backing out, you better have a good reason for it?" Nine frowns.

"I think we should follow the wind. It lead me to John a few months ago. We can trust it."

"Right," Nine prolongs the word making him sound as if I'm crazy. But I know I'm right, heading west would be a mistake.

I step out of the car, ignoring Nine's demand to get my ass back in it. I spread out my arms, as free as an eagle and as I close my eyes, a map of the US enclosed in my hands I feel the direction of the wind. The sun' setting now and I use that as my compass, "We're going to head slightly north east."

Marina pokes her head out of the car door and looks me solemnly in the eyes, "Are you sure about the wind?"

"As if my life depended on it."

Nine sighs, "Crap. I'm being outnumbered by you two aren't I?"

I walk my way over to his door, "I think it's best if I drive, I know where the wind wants us to go."

Nine grips tightly on to the wheel, "I know where North East is Six. We're going to North Carolina, Georgia area right? I'm perfectly capable of driving this thing."

"That's not our destination," A plan begins to form inside my head, I know John and the others will make their way west of Chicago, because this time we're not going to wait for the Mogs to find us, we're going to find them, "West Virginia is where we want to go."

"I like your thinking," Nine moves his limbs to the seat next to the drivers, acrobatically so, if he wasn't a giant it would have almost been elegant. He pats the seat, "It's toasty warm. Now let's go hunt down that damn base."

Marina shuffles in her seat "That's where we're going to go, the base where you and Nine were both captured, where Setrákus Ra probably is," she pauses, "And we're going to rip the base from it's very roots."

I hoped you liked the chapter! Next chapter will include a lot of Ella, so you'll finally discover her fate. Most ships will be canon – John/Sarah, Six/Sam and Marina/Eight. Leave a review, tell me what you want to happen next! Five house points if you recognized a quote from Pitch Perfect, which I do not own for the record.