Disclaimer: All original characters, and the DeadWar concept, are mine. The Buffyverse and all its characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

Rating: PG

Setting: A few days after "Strangers on the Bus"

Beta: KingofCretins

"You have conquered, and I yield. Yet, henceforward art thou also dead - dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope! In me didst thou exist - and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself."

-"William Wilson", Edgar Allan Poe

A blond girl chases a blond girl through the cemetery, and a third blond girl pursues them both.

Dodging through the lines of tombstones, Nina gradually begins to catch up to the pair despite the obstacle course. There are worse things than being a Slayer, she believes, responsibility or no responsibility. Now if I could just fly, she thinks. That'd complete the super-hero package.

The girl in the lead totters briefly as she stumbles over some unseen obstacle, wavers, and goes down. Now or never. Nina takes a deep breath and bursts into a sprint; she'd been on the track team before she knew what a Slayer was. Not even most Slayers can match her now.

The first girl's pursuer growls; Nina catches a glimpse from the side as the vampire shifts into game face. Leaping a tombstone, she flips a stake out of the hidden pocket up her sleeve and comes down hard on vamp-girl's back. The twin impact as Nina thuds first into the vampire, then the ground beneath her, jars her teeth, and then she's rolling over to face the demon's victim.

"Thanks," the girl says, fangs blurring her speech just slightly. "Jessie's been, like, nutzoid ever since she got her soul back. It's bad enough having Superslayer Buffy out there without your spawn trying to dust your ass." The vampire stretches out a hand to her as Nina stares. "I've been trying to stay low-that lame pig's blood in bags tastes like tomato soup after a few months, but there's nothing else in this sucky popsicle stand of a town-not that Jessie cared."

"She had a soul?" Nina's stomach turns. Did that make her a murderer? Dazed, she takes the girl's hand and is pulled to her feet. "And-"

"Did she ever!" The vampire overrides her next question. "Couldn't stop rambling on about how awful she felt for like three months. Then she, like, vanished for a couple weeks, and just when we thought she'd walked into the sun she showed up and started killing left and right. Like having a soul made her better than us, y'know? It's been a year since I actually killed anyone, see, what with the big Slayer army deal, but Jessie's all, blah demonspawn monstercakes, die die die, and..."

"She was killing vampires?" Nina leans against a tombstone, trying not to freak out. She's killed a real champion, apparently, and saved Jessie's soulless sire, who sounds pretty dangerous in spite of her valley-girl accent and fear of Slayers.

"Not just vampires," the girl says, "all kinds of stuff. Bunch of wimpy spiny purple demons a couple days ago...an M'Fashnik or two before that...and last week she ate a car thief, two streetwalkers, and a pot dealer. Whiny little hypocrite. You okay? If you hadn't helped me just then she might've got me. I was, like, trying to tell her hitting the jail tomorrow was a stupid move, how Slayers get all pissy when you kill humans, even scuzzy ones, but she wouldn't listen to me. I owe you one. Hey, what's with you?"

Nina just wants her head to stop spinning.

Tabitha is begging for her life again. The demons in the basement are angry-as usual-and Tabitha's going to have to do something even more evil to stop them from killing her. The witch sometimes seems unhappy being evil, but there's just no way for her to stop. It's too late for her.

Harmony can relate. She's still locked in her room two days after losing her soul-again!-with nothing to do but watch soap operas and drink the yucky pig's blood Willow brings her. There's no sign of the missing Orbs of Chocula (or whatever they were called), and Willow is having trouble finding the consecrated crystal she needs to make more. "Supply and demand," she'd said. Harmony isn't sure she wants her soul back anyway, but it's the only way she's ever going to be allowed to leave. Unless they just give up and dust her.

Timmy begins to make whiny protests about being used as a speed bump. Harmony sniffles. Timmy had always been a favorite of her Blondie Bear. Not many guys would watch soap opera-or admit to it, anyway-but somehow she'd persuaded Spike to try it, and he'd startled her by getting all excited over Passions. He hadn't seen an episode in two years, and now he'll never see another. He's down in the basement with the demons now.

The footsteps in the hallway stop, and someone begins to rattle the padlock. Harmony glances at the clock. It's not lunch time yet. Dawn has come to see her a couple of times, but only in the afternoon. She inhales deeply to test the scent, whimpers, and rolls off the other side of the bed to hide. Faith's home from the hospital, and boy is she pissed. Angry Slayer means badness.

"Harm!" The door swings open. "Where the hell are you? You're late!" Late? "Harm, I can tell you're in here somewhere. You might as well come out." Reluctantly, Harmony peers over the bed's edge. "What the hell?"

"You don't have a stake," Harmony mumbles. Maybe Faith means to behead her.

"Not in my hand." Faith shrugs, produces one from a pocket, and puts it back. "I'm back. It's training time, and you're not in the gym. You can't learn to fight watching...Passions? That stuff rots your brain, dontcha know?"

"I lost my soul during the fight." Maybe Faith's forgotten that. She'd been out cold somewhere around that point, hadn't she? Harmony stands up, still nervous. "I've been locked in my room ever since. It's a good thing I never have to pee, you know. This toilet doesn't work."

"Right, so?" Faith studies her face. "This ain't a jail cell. Two punches would get you through the door. Maybe four or five through the outside wall, if you wanted to just leave."

"What's the point? They'd only hunt me down. I'd be a...a fugitive, like in the movies."

"Maybe they would," Faith says doubtfully. "Starting to look like a war zone out there at night. But I guess they might."

"You think they'd let me go?"

"I wouldn't. I told you-you're late for sparring practice. You've actually been makin' some progress lately, and I'm not gonna let you backslide. Maggot." Faith winks at her. "Maggot" is some kind of joke on Kennedy; Faith never really uses it during training.

"Um, maybe you didn't hear that-"

"I heard." Faith sits down on the bed. "But here you are. Like I said...you coulda been gone by now. If that was what you wanted. And the day you get good enough to take me, I'll have blue hair and bifocals, so no...not worried."

"Maybe when Willow gets an Orb finished, we can-"

"No," says Faith. "Now. Look at me, Harm. I'm a killer. I belong in jail, or dead. But I'm not. You know why? Cause someone took a chance on me. It's time I passed the favor on." She tosses the padlock to the floor. "You're out of solitary now."

With a faint shiver, Harmony steps around the bed. "Angel isn't going to like this."

"Angel," says Faith, "can kiss your vampire ass." Harmony giggles nervously in spite of herself. "Your soul will keep. Hell...maybe you'll get it back yourself, make your Blondie Bear proud."

"What, a zillion years from now?"

"You got plenty of time."

They walk into Club Gremarye like they own the place, three vampires in leather pants and studded jackets. There are demon bars where that look might work; this isn't one of them. Patrons clad in tuxedos and evening gowns gawk at them. Here, elegance rules the night, a glittering veneer over bloodlust and carnage.

"Can I help you, sir?" the hostess asks archly. They are obviously young, and would be lucky to be thrown out on their ears. This is a place for older vampires with a taste for luxury, and for their few favored pets.

"Yeah," the foremost of them sneers back, hefting a sawed-off shotgun. "You can die."

The hostess fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Sir, you should know that won't-" The blast takes her head off, spattering the nearest table with her dust.

"This one's for Eddie, you soulless fucks!" The middle intruder produces an incendiary grenade from beneath her jacket, hurling it away across the aisle. "Stinkin' monsters think you can get away with blowing up our kind? Got no guilt about killin' you proper this time!"

Clubgoers blur into motion, diving beneath tables or racing to toss the grenade away (even as more began to arc through the air) or charging towards the invaders. The shotgun booms again, then clatters as its wielder reloads it at superhuman speed. The third of the group has produced flares by this time, covering his gun-toting ally with sputtering streams of orange fire. A dangling cage's chains rip free as a stray burst of shot strikes the ceiling; the human victims inside shriek briefly as it drops onto the table below, smacking bones against metal bars.

"You ain't nothin'!" The grenade-thrower's supply exhausted, she ducks back through the door as the first of the charges go off, spraying the room with light and heat and the sharp stink of thermite. A dozen vampires, caught too close, char to ash in an instant. Half a dozen more go down flailing at their burning clothes. The two remaining intruders begin to retreat toward the door as well, intent on escaping before the entire building catches fire.

Rationally speaking, the souled invaders ought not to get away. By this time, though, no one in Club Gremarye is thinking rationally. Caught in a twilight haze of instinct and self-preservation, the majority of them blunder toward the nearest exits or away from wherever they feel too much heat. Compared to the single, unexpected blast that had taken out Lois' bar, the casualties are surprisingly low; doors may be lost in the smoke, and night vision blinded by the infrared glare of fire, but when all else fails a vampire can batter its way through the walls.

Forgotten in the chaos, the humans intended for that night's meal roast screaming in their cages.

"What's he doing here?" Anne's electronic voice buzzes and rasps amidst the everyday sounds of dinner at the mission. "I specifically told you not to bring him, Willow."

Right, Xander thinks gloomily. Soul or no soul, she's hiding something from me. She'd been a nice girl once, if not very clueful, and it's a shame she's ended up this way. Still...he can put up with one vampire in order to serve homeless people their soup.

"Anne, you can't run this place by yourself from a wheelchair." Willow sounds more reasonable than she has lately, perhaps because there's nothing strictly supernatural about Anne's current problem. Except Anne herself. "Especially not when you're stuck inside in the daytime. You need help, and Xander needs to be here. I'll keep him from making trouble, I promise."

Why would he make trouble? He's promised-very, very reluctantly-not to try staking any of the vampires who were helping out with the slaying, so long as they have souls and continue to be useful. Maybe Anne doesn't fall strictly into the category of Watcher/Slayer-assistant, but a place like this...well, it's worth keeping open regardless. People have to eat.

"You'd better," Anne grumbles, turning her chair and whirring off toward a table without another word.

Xander looks up, expecting to see Willow glowering at him, and promptly drops the ladle into the soup kettle. The next girl in line isn't exactly a girl. For a moment, his brain screams vampire, fooled by the brow ridges. But they're smooth, not corrugated, and the girl's face is a muddy grey color he's never seen on anything living or undead. Combine that with the effect of her emaciated frame, and he's looking at death walking. Maybe literally. A demon might be anything, do anything, no matter how helpless this one seems.

She watches him drop the ladle, and her face falls too. She slumps, hopeless, against the table. If she's getting ready to tear him apart, she has a funny way of preparing for it. Before he can say anything, the demon gathers herself and looks into his eyes. "Please, I just want some food. Please."

The line is backing up. The nearest volunteer-a large black man carrying a new canister of tea-glares at Xander as he sets it down. "Serve or get out of the way," he growls under his breath. "Nobody goes hungry here."

"Nobody, huh?" The truth is, he was about to pick up the ladle again, but now Xander feels defensive. "Not even demons?"

The other assistant rolls up his sleeve, revealing bite marks. "Couple weeks ago, Buffy barges into LA, shakes up the food chain in vampire town. Folks at the bottom rungs got kicked off the regular channels. This's from Miss Anne. You need food around here, you ask nice and you get it. End of story."

"And if it'd been a vampire without a soul?"

"It asks nice, we get bags and take up a collection. Ain't none of them asked nice yet." There's impatience building up in his voice. "I told you. Serve or get out of the way."

Xander looks back at the line. The demon girl has begun unbuttoning her threadbare blouse. "I'll pay," she whispers. "If you won't feed me, at least feed my daughter. I can pay you if you want."

He swallows hard. Even if she were human, there's nothing there he's interested in. "No need," he mumbles guiltily, and scoops up a generous helping of soup. "Sorry for the trouble."

The big assistant picks up an empty canister. "Good. Don't go losin' the mission, bro. More tea!" What was that about? Xander shrugs, baffled, as the other guy carries the canister away.

Willow pushes her way through the line and behind the table. "What do you think you're doing?" she hisses. "These people are hungry, and they're waiting."

"Sorry, Will...bit of confusion there." He keeps scooping, trying to hurry. "No offense intended, but-what are they?"

"Refugees," she says testily. "This group's from the Ozarks, they're just passing through on their way out of the country. Things got too hot in Arkansas. Yes, they're demons. Lister demons are totally harmless. They've been persecuted for centuries because they're too close to human. Think on that next time you're tempted to hold up the line 'cause of someone's face."

Xander flushes red. "They're why you wanted me here. And why Anne didn't."

Willow nods, still glaring. "Think you can treat them like people? Or are they just so much walking garbage to you?"

"I..." Xander ladles out another helping of soup. "Sorry, Will. I...I've been a real pain lately, haven't I?"

She sighs. "I'll go tell Anne she was wrong." Willow turns to leave. "You've got a soul after all."

Some soup kitchens make the Smooth'n'Easy look upscale. Enid sneers at the pathetic excuses for vampires lined up at the doorway tonight. There are those who say animal-feeders are the lowest of the low; she begs to differ. These creatures have prey in their grasp and let it go-not to toy with it, most nowadays not even to preserve their food supply, but to assuage their oh-so-guilty souls. Slinking filth, and hypocrites as well.

Enid draws forth her blade, and watches her band of warriors follow suit. "I need tell none of you of the threat these creatures represent to us. Not only to our existence, but to our purity, for they expect us to follow in their trail. I say we will not bend nor bow to the demands of the ensouled or their Slayer champion." There is a brief chorus of subdued cheers. "We will not let another weak fool like Edwin strike us down. We will drown them in their own cowards' blood." More cheering. Some of the scum on the street below begin to look up. No more time for speeches.

"Smite, stab, and slay!" Enid shrieks, and leaps from the roof. Tonight is going to be fun.

"Angel." No response. "Angel," Giles repeats, "I really do need to speak with you."

Angel raises the bottle of beer and takes another swig. "Not sure who you're talking to, Giles. No one here by that name."

A few days ago, Giles might have responded badly to that announcement. Now... "I must confess I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The truth of the matter, Giles, is Angel's dead." He rises from the bench and paces to the trash can, dropping the empty bottle in, then heads back. Giles steps between him and the bench; Angel lurches to a stop just before the two can collide. "I'm not Angel, Giles. He died in that graveyard. I'm just a guy who was supposed to pass on a couple of hundred years ago."

"Yet here you are." Giles slides the carton away as Angel reaches for another bottle. "You're not dead, and this fight is not over."

Angel scoffs. "It is for me." He tries to step closer to the beer and bumps into Giles, who takes him by the shoulders and shakes him roughly.

"I was given to understand Liam enjoyed a good fight. If you were Liam, you wouldn't walk away from this."

Angel tries to shove Giles aside; too unsteady on his feet, he loses his balance and sits down hard on the bench again. "This isn't a bar brawl. It's a war. Never cared much for those."

This time when he reaches for the beer, Giles shoves the carton away. It skids off the table, crashing to the linoleum in a puddle of glass and alcohol. "Call yourself what you like, Angel. You cannot simply walk away from this, nor may you drink yourself into a stupor at my expense. Does Buffy mean so little to you? Does humanity?"

The former vampire glares up at him through bloodshot eyes. "I'm the man who became Angelus. What do you think?"

"I think that you are a good person. I think you still have skills that would be worth a great deal to the world, could you only be bothered to use them. I think you're too important to be drinking your new life away in a communal dining hall." Giles sighs. "But perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps I'm wasting my time. A Watcher has to be more than some common sot."

Angel begins to choke out laughter. "You've got to be kidding."

"You have more experience with the demon world than almost anyone alive, Angel. Or Liam, if you prefer. You have knowledge, you have skill in a fight, and you know how to train others. It seems you prefer not to use it. I suppose we'll just have to leave this one to Wolfram and Hart."

Finally. Angel peers up at Giles with something like curiosity. "She wants to work for Wolfram and Hart?"

Giles shrugs. "I'm honestly not certain what Brittany wants. They seem to want her, and she appears to prefer law school to fighting demons."

"So she's just going to ignore her calling?" From Angel's frown, that possibility seems to genuinely disturb him.

"If someone doesn't get her attention, I suppose she will. I've been unable to get through to Brittany, but you might reach her. You know what it's like to waste away in an office when you were meant for something more." He retrieves the folder he'd left on the counter and hands it over, open to a picture. "Besides...I believe you knew her Aunt Lilah."

"It doesn't have to be like this," Gabriel says, concentrating on the road. Without headlights, he'd be able to see much better; the contrast interferes with his night vision. It's getting late, though, and he doesn't want to be pulled over. Still being on the road at sunrise would be problematic.

"What if I like it this way?" Michelle asks dubiously. "Look, I know you'd never have woke me otherwise, but you've got to get over this fear of violence. What's a soul, really?" She flicks on the radio, searching for music.

Gabriel sighs. "I hope you'll find out one day. In the meanwhile, look yourself over again. I want you to have a chance at living, Michelle, not get turned to dust because you got into a fight you couldn't handle. You're still too weak for that kind of life." The sky is starting to lighten. He needs to find them a motel soon.

"So where's this magical place where everything's safe?" Her voice is filled with a scorn he's never heard from her before. She'll learn.

"From what I've heard?" He takes the next exit. "Chicago." Let her chew on that awhile.

Screaming like a banshee, Harmony hurtles out of the air at Faith, fists up and ready, and comes down square on the stake.

With a dismayed gasp, she rolls sideways and topples to the floor, not expecting to land. Naturally shes not prepared to land solidly-and solid-on her butt. Can't she even die right? There's a grinding pain radiating out of her chest, and after a few more moments of that she reaches up and took hold of the stake. It feels like plastic, and she yanks it out. The wound doesn't close right up, not like the time she had that neat ring, but it starts to heal.

"Harm," Faith says impatiently, "how many times have I told you to quit worrying about your damn acrobatics until you have the basics right?" She plucks the fake stake out of Harmony's fingers. "You told me you wanted to learn to fight the right way, so I'm gonna teach you. This point, I'm thinking that means consequences when you screw up."

"Y-you staked me!"

"Good grasp of the obvious, which means you're still in one piece. Coulda been the real thing, you know?" Faith hauls her to her feet. "Two things, then-first, you gotta quit jumping around. Maybe one day, when you've got your head straight, that shit'll give you an edge. Right now, it's just an opening for the other guy. Second, where's your game face?"

"It's not real," Harmony says. "We're just sparring. I don't have to look intimidating, and it's not like I need to bite you or anything." Faith rolls her eyes.

"Oh yes you do." Harmony stares at her, dumbfounded. "Let's get something straight, Harm. Every fight is real. You may be hard to kill, fine. But you can break an arm or a leg, you can get your chest caved in, and yes, you can even get staked or have your head cut off. I'm not gonna kill you, not on purpose, but anyone can have accidents, even a vampire, and even a Slayer. And since every fight is real, you use the weapons you've got. You've got fangs. Get them out. You don't have to try to bite me every second, but you can make me worry about it."

Harmony vamps out, still looking just as confused. "I didn't think you'd want me to."

"And that matters to you?" Faith frowns. "I wouldn't have...hey, third thing, no cell phone." An inappropriately-merry ring tone emanates from Harmony's pocket.

"Sorry," Harmony says. "But in a real fight, I'd have my cell phone in case of emergency. Who's that?" She peers questioningly at the display. "Hello?"

"Yeah, but you wouldn't answer." Faith gives up. "Who is it?" Harmony's eyes are wide, her hands shaking. Game face or no game face, she looks about as scary as a rabbit running for cover.

"That's right," Harm says in her best confident voice. "I'm still here." She pokes awkwardly at the volume button, still trembling.

Buffy's voice emerges from the speaker, quiet but perfectly recognizable. "Wow. How many of them did you kill?" The tone carries a malicious sort of excitement. "I didn't think you had it in you. Of course, if you hurt Willow, Xander, Giles, or Dawn, I'll have to pay you back extra. Only fair, y'know?"

"I didn't kill any of them. I mean, I thought Ms. Kaur was gonna stake me, but...Buffy, they haven't tried to hurt me at all. Except Faith, and I asked for that. We've been trying to tell you it'd be that way, Buffy. Just...come home."

"They really have you tamed, don't they? At least, they think so."

Faith's had enough. She grabs the phone out of Harmony's hand, producing a squeal of protest. "Damn it, B, if you thought she was dead why'd you call her number? Why the hell can't you leave us alone?" The display shows that Buffy's calling from another cell phone-probably one she's taken off a vampire.

"Now there's a voice I expected to hear." Buffy's voice is all oozing malice now; the excitement has vanished. "She says you hurt her. And she asked for it. Being Li'l Miss Vampire Abuser, are we? You always said you wanted to boink the undead, but Harm? Don't you think that's kinda tacky?" Harmony makes a face; evidently she thinks so.

"I'm training her to fight. She's gonna show up at your crypt one day and knock you on your ass, B, and the rest of us will be right behind her."

"Please. The day that happens...well, there won't be any such day. Are you still keeping Angel around? I bet he's more fun now that he's all demon. Too stupid to brood any more, by the looks of this chick I tried the blood on."

"Huh?" Faith stares at the phone. "Buffy, he's human. You made him human."

A strangled noise emanates from the speakers. "What? No, dammit, he said 'fate worse than death'! He promised me! He even threatened me with it!" Buffy snarls over the phone; a burst of static erupts. And then nothing. The connection has vanished.

Faith hands Harmony the phone; the vampire looks a little green. "So much for mercy," Faith mutters.

"No," Harmony says, shaking her head. "I...I think she meant that part too. In...in her way."

Faith looks at her, not showing whether she understands. "Well, now what do we do?"

"You don't look much like Charlize Theron," Harmony says with a shrug. "But I guess we get back to the vampire abusing." Faith blinks stupidly, and Harm smiles. For once, she's caught Faith off guard. "It's a thing. I'll explain sometime." Her game face appears again; Faith missed seeing when it vanished. "I wanna be ready. Let's fight."

"Take 'em down," the vampire leader snarls. She isn't looking at Laura or Kirsten, but beyond them at the smaller group of vampires huddled against the alley wall. Kirsten thinks she looks about ten years old, but from the clothes, and the aura of her power, the girl might be about three times that. She has that eighties look about her. Plus she's been leading a ragged chorus of "Kill the Beast" from the Disney movie, apparently without any awareness of the irony involved.

"No," Kirsten says again. "Leave them alone. They haven't done anything to you."

"To us?" The girl snickers. "That doesn't matter. We don't matter. They feed off humans. Well, we burned their nasty little place to the ground. They're next," she finishes, waving her torch menacingly.

"Kirsten," Laura says worriedly, "maybe they're right. Those two..." She points at two of the rearmost vampires they were standing in front of; the pair try to squirm further behind the rest. "They don't even have souls. I think you might be defending the wrong side."

"They haven't been hurting anyone," Kirsten tries to explain. "They drink bagged blood, when they can get it, and pay for it. They don't kill anyone when they feed. And they aren't the ones waving torches and burning down buildings. These...they didn't even know if there were humans inside."

"They drink human blood!" someone shouts from the back of the mob. "They're monsters and they don't even care!"

"We care," whines one of the cornered vampires unhappily. "You're using all the butcher's blood in town." If the mob hears, they don't show it.

"Kirsten..." Laura says insistently.

"They're out of control," Kirsten insists back. "You don't know what they'll do next."

"I know what they're doing now," Laura responds. "And as bad as it looks...I think it's the right thing." She steps forward and takes a torch. "If you won't help, then get out of the way."

"Up the wall," Kirsten murmurs, hoping the trapped vampires will take her meaning. She's seen it done before. Then she moves into Laura's path. "No," she said. "I won't."

The road stretches on into the distance ahead of her. Highways...such a marvel. Highways and cellular phones. Sadha opens hers and dials. "Good e-vening," she intones theatrically.

"And a good evening to you, Mistress," Ravensdale responds, the coded exchange demonstrating that he's alone. Sadha listens closely for background noise, but there's no real need. Of course, she's told him not to call her "Mistress", but that never seems to take, somehow.

"I've been assigned, Ravensdale. Lure him out. Tell him I'm in Houston, if you think that will make him bite." Using the fellow like this is unpleasant, but it's all for the greater good, and never mind how painful it is to look into Ravensdale's eyes and tamper with his will. Never mind how it hurts to hear the worshipful tone in his voice. It has to be done.

"It may, Mistress. Mr. Wyndham-Price is most interested in you."

"He wants me destroyed, Ravensdale, but he doesn't have to do that in person. It'd be foolish, in fact. You need to give him a reason. You're a smart fellow. Come up with something."

"I'll tell him you have acquired the Helm of Kasparov. He has a personal interest in that one himself." The Helm is one of a number of objects of power that has been lost...sometimes deliberately, because of the danger they pose to the world.

"That should do the job. Thank you, Ravensdale. You're a good man."

"I live to serve you, Mistress." And he does. He does. Sadha shuts the phone off with a wince. Sometimes you just have to...what is the phrase? Bite the bullet.

She puts the pedal on the floor and heads east. Toward the sun.

How fitting.