Author's Note: I'm actually pretty surprised at the positive feedback I'm getting on this so far… I'm so glad that people have liked this; you have no idea how happy that makes me! :D I really appreciate the reviews; you guys are the friggen BEST! :D

~And, since he's extra-amazingly awesome, special thanks goes to JinxedRonny for his constant reviews and support. I appreciate it more than you could ever imagine(:

Michaela couldn't help but feel a chill as the reporter from her local news channel told the "tragic" story of Johnny and his gang on her television. The small Asian woman's over-exaggerated facial expression, dramatic pauses, and theatrical arm movements made the news hard to bear, but Michaela forced herself to sit tight. She needed to know absolutely everything.

According to the reporter, all of their bodies had been identified, and their funerals were supposedly scheduled to take place during the next week. The police had found the two cops in "a local teenager's" backyard (shortly after Larten had saved her from Murlough) and she'd been taken in for questioning. There was no evidence in the girl's house, and (without Larten by her side) she'd resorted to being a blabbering idiot during the questioning. Unknown to the news reporters or anybody but Michaela, when the girl had gotten home, she'd been welcoming with an empty, cold house. Not that she'd expected any different, but she'd kind of been hoping that someone (particularly Larten) would be there to greet her. But she soon realized that she was alone, which was when she'd curled up in a ball and cried her eyes out, cleaned her room, made herself some tea (whenever Steve came over, he had always insisted on pouring vodka in it, but Michaela thought it tasted gross so she rarely did), and sat on the couch. She clutched her non-spiked cup of tea in her hands and sighed; she loved the comfort that its warmth gave her.

It reminded her of the warmth of Steve's body lying next to hers the night he'd saved her…

Darren inhaled deeply as he crouched on Michaela's balcony. He peered nervously into her room and when he didn't see her in her bed, felt a sharp pain in his chest. His heartbeat sped up as he slid open her sliding glass door and stepped inside her bedroom, only half of his fear caused by the fact that he knew it was stupid and he'd be in some deep shit if he got caught. The other half, the half that was overriding his own well-being, was due to the fear of where Michaela might be. He knew it was irrational, but he was worried about her. She could be at Steve's house, or at a party, or out at dinner, or even just downstairs. His paranoia—which really needed to learn to shut up— was telling him that she was in the woods somewhere, broken and bleeding and crying for help. Even though it was highly unlikely, he couldn't help but let the worry and fear consume him.

The instant he'd entered her room, he was hit by an overwhelming sense of… her. He'd had so many great memories in this room, so many great memories with this girl, and he felt every single one flashing through his mind at hyper-speed. He almost laughed when his first thought was, I can almost smell like her. It was her room—of course it would smell like her. He looked around at all of her belongings, and frowned at how… barren it was. Michaela used to always have random toys and pictures and make-up and clothes strewn everywhere. One of Darren's favorite memories was the shade of red Michaela's face had turned the first time the trio had walked in, and Steve had instantly picked up one of her bras off of the bed post. She'd blushed a furious shade of red, snatched the bra from Steve's hands, and kicked the two guys out of her room.

A small chuckle escaped his throat as he recalled Michaela stumbling over her words, just stuttering in her humiliation. An idea struck him as he gazed around the room. What other memories did this room contain? he wondered, a lightbulb instantly appearing over his head. He was just beginning to walk across the floor to her closet to see if she still had the scrapbook the two of them had made when—of course— the doorknob turned. Darren did nothing but stare at the door while it opened, petrified.

Steve stared at the heavily armored guard in front of him, ready to kick his ass if he had to. He didn't care that the man was twice as strong as he was, or that his eyes were shooting daggers at him, or even that he had a very large and very deadly weapon on him. Steve was half the man's size, completely unarmored, and weaponless. However, he knew his way around a glare and he was freaking determined. He needed to get in the room, and so he would.

Steve's angry determination and any bloodshed that would result from it turned out to be unnecessary, because Mr. Tiny walked up behind him before either vampaneze could launch themselves at the other. "Let the child through," he commanded. The infuriated guard let out an unsatisfied huff, but instantly stepped aside for the prophet and the child.

"Thanks," Steve told Mr. Tiny genuinely as they made their way through the entrance to the eerie, torch-lit room.

"Do not thank me… I'm merely assisting you in your destiny." The room grew silent when everybody noticed Mr. Tiny. When all eyes landed on the pair, the younger of the two froze in his place. He was frozen in place, solidified by his nerves. Mr. Tiny promptly shoved him forward with an exasperated look on his face. "Go on, my boy. I have not all day to deal with your foolishness."

Steve inhaled sharply, knowing that there was a hell of a lot of his people watching him. His people. He could never get enough of saying that; he couldn't wait to make it official. They were all below him, and they would all know it very soon. He approached the fire coffin, and was directly in front of it before the reality of what he was about to do struck him. He was, essentially, committing suicide— and he'd look like a complete dumbass if he was wrong.

He glanced around at all of his people, and he realized that he had to do that. He needed to lead them… he felt it in his being that he was their Lord. He recalled Mr. Dalton always shutting him down, his mother and her boyfriends beating on him, and his peers that feared him. All of his life, there were really only two people who believed in him…

He had every intention of proving all of the assholes who dared to doubt him wrong. And so, with that thought, he stepped inside the coffin. The door shut over him, and he waited five… ten… thirty seconds. He pushed the door open and emerged, unscathed.

The title was his.

Michaela pushed open the door to her room, thoroughly exhausted. She moment she stepped into her room, a breeze hit her. She glanced over to the side, and surely enough, the door to her balcony was open. She froze in place and instantly looked around, only to find that there was a person in her room. She recognized the figure, but she couldn't place it. She knew it wasn't Murlough (too short), but it also wasn't Larten (too thin), but she couldn't think of anybody else it could be. She fearfully slapped out her hand and turned on her light, petrified of whom could possibly be in her room. These kinds of things rarely ended well for her.

She stared at the person in her room, and her jaw dropped. She was certain that her eyes must be deceiving her. She blinked rapidly, but the figure remained. After a few moments of complete silence, she whispered, "Darren?"

He slowly lifted his hand and waved to her. "Um… yeah. Hi."

Michaela's tea instantly dropped to the ground, spreading glass and liquid all over the place. "You… you aren't… you can't be… You're dead!"

Darren smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. I get why you might think that…"

"Aw, fuck… I'm really crazy, aren't I?"

He shook his head furtively. That was the last thing that he'd wanted. "No. No, Mikey, you aren't crazy at all. I promise. I'm really here, you're really here… we're here, in your room, together. We shouldn't be, but we are. I was supposed to be long gone…"

Michaela let out a barking laugh as tears began to run down her face. "Darren, I'm crazy, you're dead, but you're here, and I'm crazy, I bet I dreamed everything that's happened…"

"Mikey, are you… are you crying?" He looked at her concernedly, worry lighting his eyes. "Aw, Mikes… please don't cry. Baby. Don't cry…"

"Y-you're h-here… but… you're d-dead…"

He stood there awkwardly for a moment before holding his arms out to her. She let out a strangled sob before making her way over to him. She had just been engulfed in his warm, comforting embrace when he stiffened. He looked down at her, struggling to contain himself. "Y-your…"

She looked down with a small frown on her face and commented, "Oh. I guess I must've stepped on a piece of glass."

He felt his body shake and he pushed her down against the bed. He advanced menacingly and had just pinned her arms down when he heard her exclaim, "Darren, what the hell?" It was enough to snap him out of his trance. He gazed down at her angry, frightened face before swiftly backing away from her. "S-sorry…" he choked out before sprinting out the door.

He almost dissolved into tears at the mere thought that he was enough of a monster that he was really at truly willing to hurt her. That had been too close for his liking. Way too close.

A/N: I typed this in, like, a twenty-minute span of time while at my friend's house, so I'm actually quite proud of myself (despite its extra-short length). However, said friend didn't take as long to get ready as I thought, so I don't have time to proofread/edit this as much as I'd like. Sorry about that)': But anyways, my computer still isn't fixed so unless I get another rare opportunity like this one it'll be a while until my next update. Sorry about the wait and the slight decrease in quality for this chapter, but I hope you like it anyway(: