Tell us all again, what you think we should be,
What the answers are, what it is we can't see.
Tell us all again, how to do what you say,
How to fall in line, how there's no other way,
But, oh, we all know:

You're guilty all the same,
Too sick to be ashamed.
You want to point your finger,
But there's no one else to blame.
You're guilty all the same.

- Guilty All the Same, Linkin Park (2014).

The Doctor had gotten free of the chokehold, but the Eyeless still had a strong grip on his lapels. The Time Lord, meanwhile, had the glass man in a makeshift wrestling hold. Before of them were vying for the upper hand. The Eyeless, while it lacked any creativity in using all the textbook moves in hand-to-hand combat, was effective in the execution of the various and many fighting techniques. The Doctor's saving grace was that he was well educated in much of the same disciplines and was able to predict the moves. For the ones he didn't know, his instincts were what had literally saved his neck. Thrice.

In a parody of a waltz, the two shifted and spun in the attempt to trip their counterpart while avoiding the loss of their own footing. Dancing across the gantry, they twirled right into the very lift that the Doctor had spotted earlier. The door shut behind them and the floor moved. Suspiciously enough, there were no traps within the lift. Not jets of poison gas, flamethrowers, traps doors, or wires set to electrocute its passengers. But it was still far from safe, as the Eyeless had been an unaccounted for extra.

The Doctor's head rattled as he was shoved against the wall. While the Doctor was much stronger than a human and the Eyeless had about the same strength as a human, it didn't change the Time Lord's weight which leaned towards less than average for his height and gender for humanoids. Humanoids. Should be Time-Lord-oids if he had any say. His people came first… Oh, that didn't look good.

The Doctor twisted, avoiding a punch to the face and simultaneously tripping up his opponent. Just like the Time Lord's lack of weight being a disadvantage, so was the glass man's. The Eyeless was now pinned, the Doctor having a knee right between its shoulder blades, although it was most certainly putting up a good fight. The arm the Doctor had twisted in a subduing pose had a small anchor inside of it, like a little sailor's tattoo. Unable to stop himself, the Time Lord let slip a strangled giggle as the Eyeless bucked and thrashed to shake him off. It was with gritted teeth that the Doctor slammed his opponent back down on the floor. There was a creak from under him, and the Doctor wondered worriedly just how brittle the Eyeless were.

But the glass man seemed just as confused as the Doctor was, ceasing its struggles and tilting its head questioningly in the direction of the sound. The creak turned into a groan and then into a grinding noise that made the Doctor's teeth vibrate. His hearts seized in his chest for what felt like to be the hundredth time that day. Was the Fortress finally arming the weapon that destroyed Acropolis? Had they all finally pushing too far and fully awakened the structure?

"No," the Doctor muttered out loud, frowning to himself and answering his own internal questions. "No, it's something else, the Weapon's above us, not below where the something else is…" As he finished explaining himself out loud — a habit he never fully shook off in the absence of his companion, instead directing it to the Eyeless — the lights flickered. "…And now the power is being diverted to the something else." The sound steadily got louder and louder making the Doctor's frown deepen and he pursed his lips.

"Well, that can't be right," he protested before turning back to the pinned glass man. "Hang on, would you? Just need to get at the comm." Freeing up on hand while making sure to adjust the position of his other in an attempt to compensate for the weakened hold, The Doctor dug around in his pocket before bringing the comm out and displaying it to the Eyeless. "The comm, see? Comm see, comme ça." The Doctor chuckled at his own wit before turning his attention to the screen. It clearly displayed their progress as they gradually rose closer and closer to the Weapon, only floors away. But as the sensation he was experiencing from the lift and as the noise below them growing louder revealed, not everything was as it appeared to be.

The Doctor's hearts sank just like what the lift was actually doing. "Oh," he murmured, deflated. "The comm's been lying to me." He glanced at the Eyeless. "Well, us, actually. I've been following the direction's the Fortress has been feeding me and you've been chasing me, so, really, we've both been tricked." The glass man remained impassive and the Time Lord couldn't tell how the Eyeless took his words of explanation. The grinding, sputtering, booming noise continued to increase in volume; it almost sounded as if the Fortress was cackling at them. The lift shuddered and quaked in response. "We should probably work together," the Doctor suggested. "If we want to survive, that is. It's the rational thing to do."

The Eyeless studied him closely for several long seconds before nodding its acceptance. The Doctor released it and shook the proffered hand given to him, sealing the agreement. Unfortunately, it was at that moment when the lift had reached its final destination, its doors opening and the metal box tipping over to forcibly eject the duo out.

They plummeted for nearly five meters before the Eyeless was dashed against a metal surface, emitting a sound like that of a crate of bottles after they fell out of that milkman's truck. The Eyeless lifelessly slid away, shattered by the impact, and the Doctor continued to plunge in the darkness for another meter before hitting a ledge himself. He wasn't shattered to bits but was sent rolling right over the edge to fall another five meters, his descent ending on his back after hitting solid rock.

"Ow," he stated.

A sound reminiscent of the Tower Bridge preparing to open radiated throughout the chamber: heavy gear grinding, bolts being pulled back, a deep groaning clack of metal against metal… The Doctor had a perfect vantage point of the source of the racket, flat on his back and utterly unable to move. Miraculously, nothing was broken in his fall, but he surely had numerous fractures and countless bruises to show for his trouble. Not to mention he was currently paralyzed, stunned from the fall. It was hard not to black out.

He was in a three-meter deep by ten-meter wide trench which was slightly curved. All above him, covering nearly every available surface, was a great mass of cogwheels that were interlocked with each other, spinning at different speeds that corresponded with their various sizes. There were drive shafts and pistons the size of redwood trees, house-sized flywheels, and drive belts big enough to drive an eighteen wheeler on. Partially obscured by the curve of the trench, about a hundred meters away, was a giant cylinder that was reminiscent of a wheel from a steam roller, ten by ten meters, fitting just so into the trench. The large mass of cogwheel, drive shafts, pistons, flywheels, and belts all interconnected with each other and, eventually, connected to the axle of said cylinder. It took the Doctor less than a second to work out exactly what it did.

There was a creak, and a clank, and then the sound of something being released. With a thunderous rumble, the cylinder began to roll towards him. "Seriously?" The Doctor complained. "This is really an inefficient and melodramatic method of killing a person, even if that person is me or Indiana Jones. I mean, I s'pose I'm flattered that you would put this much effort into planning my demise and all… And I've got to hand it to you, it does look like it'll work." The sound of the cylinder rolling toward him was deafening, the instrument to his untimely end appearing to rest at a minimum weight of a hundred tons, maybe more. Easily.

It seemed impossibly large as it loomed ever closer to his position, hydraulics hissing and steaming as it pressed forward, the sides of it scraping and sparks on the walls of the trench. It was like a juggernaut or the Energizer Bunny, would just keep going on and on without anything being able to stop it. The edge of the roller bushed the tips of his trainers. The Doctor forced his feet to move, but they only twitched. Using all of his concentration and willpower, he attempted to throw them over his head so he could flip himself upright. They only got halfway.

The Time Lord had just fallen ten meters only to land flat on his spine, he felt that he should be given some credit for being able to do that much and should be cut a break so if the Fortress could just stop for a moment and —

With a mighty hiss, steam blowing his trench coat hard enough to make it flap against his legs which were sticking straight up, the cylinder shuddered to a halt. Just in time too, the heels of his feet resting on the cool metal.

This time, the Doctor didn't make the same assumption that he had times before where he thought that he had been the one to bring about any change in his surroundings. As his body was bent at a right angle where he was flat on his back and looking up at the ceiling, the Time Lord was provided with a perfect view to see exactly why the cylinder had stopped when it did when he compared all the new positions of the gears, pistons, flywheels, cogs, and whatnot. The purpose of the cylinder hadn't been to kill him; this vast expanse of machinery hadn't been meant for him at all.

"You're kidding," the Doctor could only whisper hoarsely to himself as he came to the realization that the pyramid had turned completely on its base, the source of the very noise that had sounds like ice breaking to the Acropolitians outside. They had watched the action in stunned amazement as the Fortress completed rotating on its central axis, the structure locking in its new position with a triumphant and echoing slam. The side that had originally been buried inside the Factory was now pointed at the Eyeless ships, having torn itself free.

There was just one problem with diamond-reinforced type five space concrete, it was easy to resonate.

And while the Doctor had been impressive with his display earlier, he had weakened the ceiling more than it had been already. There was no way to be sure that it wouldn't have resonated enough on its own from the Factory, however, his use of the sonic earlier certainly didn't help. Glenda remembered his words just as the big window shattered and the floor beneath them bucked and groaned in protest as its integrity was compromised.

Someone dragged the albino to her feet and began to pull her away. Several tiny hands were gripping and pulling, leaving her little choice in where to go except to follow them or risk the lot of them getting killed. Sparks flew from all around her, the source being the production line machines, the last dregs of power being released after so long. Glenda stumbled, attempting to not trip over her own feet or her little guides who led the way to what they supposed to be safety. If the Doctor fails, she thought to herself hollowly, there isn't anywhere that's safe to hide.

The fighting — or should she say 'slaughter'? — continued above them. There was an explosion so vast that the shockwave nearly sent Glenda, her little helpers, and Dela flying to the ground. Windows shattered all around them, raining down glass like water from a storm. The debris cutting and hitting their heads heavily. There was a pause in the destruction of the city, filled only with the sound of death lasers being fired on both sides.

The peace didn't last long, unfortunately. There was the sound of something whizzing overhead followed by a horrible, nonsensical racket that Gilly couldn't describe if her life depended on it. Horrid crashes and booms, followed with shockwaves so strong that no one could keep their footing, all five of them being thrown to the ground. Something terribly and wickedly hot flew overhead back in the direction of the Fortress. Dela let out a choked cry before throwing herself on top of the children and Gilly. An explosion — one that rivaled the one that had first caused the ex-mortician to become blind — made the ground tremble beneath them.

What Glenda had sensed was the last Eyeless ship being shot with enough force to send it hurtling into the heart of the city where it crashed into several tall building, making them collapse and topple over into each other like so many dominos. During this process, the little sun on the bottom of the ship had been ejected and sent flying back into the wall of the Fortress. There was nothing that the unsightly pyramid could do but brace itself as the sun tore through its walls like butter, ripping through its insides by destroying the gantries and pipes and defenses. Gradually slowing down from the hindrances on its trajectory flight to the heart of the structure where the weapon lay. It made a feeble splash against the central column, a small blob of lava against the mountain. It never penetrated the outer wall of the column, rapidly cooling against the outside of it.

Gilly's whole body either stung or tingled depending on its location, any place that a child rested against her fiercely protested. It only took her about ten seconds to realize that she was horrifically sunburned, all exposed skin being covered in tiny blisters. The ex-mortician felt weak and nauseous, not having the will to move as it seem like she would be sick if she even attempted to do so. She had never had sun poisoning this bad in her life. She would need water and medical attention as soon as possible. Assuming they all survived, that was.

She felt those around her begin standing now that the most obvious wave of death had passed. Dela was encouraging her to do the same, but Glenda declined. At the blonde's persistence and at the boys' pestering, she finally snapped, "I can't. I'm blind and have a severe case of heat stroke. If I tried to stand, I would likely fall back down and injure myself. Even if that didn't happen, I wouldn't be able to walk very far before I finally did collapse and none of you are in any shape to carry me. I would apologize that I'm not a character in a story where they somehow find the strength to continue on, but I'm not sorry for this weakness, I'm only human. If you were hoping for a hero or a noble supporting character, look elsewhere."

Dela hesitated, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving Gilly behind, but none of what the albino had said was a lie. It had been hard enough before, leading her around with the children guiding her. If only Fladon hadn't been… She cut off that thought. It was bad luck to talk ill of the dead, and there was nothing that anyone could have done to prevent him from being crushed by the factory ceiling. And even if he was present, it would hardly be fair to expect him to carry Glenda's weight all the way back to the settlement, the albino resisting the whole while. The blonde was being left with very little choice, but the least she could do was make sure that Gilly wouldn't be left exposed out in the open.

Tugging the reluctant ex-mortician to a standing position, Dela urged, "Just trust me, it will be safer for you to be sitting over here while you wait." The thick cement monument stuck firmly in the side of the monoline wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, thus was capable of providing the best possible shelter at the moment. The young American sighed in relief as she rested her cheek against the cool surface, the ample shade offering much needed reprieve from the sun on this planet's sky and anymore potential mini-suns from the Eyeless ships creating further problems for Glenda's highly-sensitive skin.

"Good luck getting back to the settlement," Gilly murmured absently. "Try to avoid the buildings, they might be unstable now." The Acropolitian nodded before realizing that the albino could see her, sheepishly making her agreement verbal. Assessing the ex-mortician almost sadly for another few seconds, hoping that she would change her mind, Dela came to understand that there was no going back from her. So she stood, silently ushered the children away, and the four of them left.

Gilly was alone.

The Doctor was in a bit of a pickle. Not of the preserved cucumber variety, obviously, but the sticky situation variety that might just lead to a sticky end if he didn't watch himself. Currently, he was cornered by a couple of missiles that had a fix on his biogenic material. Like a child playing tag, the Doctor was staying in the designated safe zones provided by the integral piping that the Fortress couldn't afford to be destroyed, forcing the missiles to circle like a pair of particular deadly and explosive buzzards. There were ten possible exits that he could have taken, had the missiles not been four times faster than he was. Oh, this was a puzzle if he ever saw one, which was more than a little irritating since he couldn't particularly spare the time for this.

"Stuff this for a game of soldiers," he grumbled, both out of patience and much needed time. Charging forward, he aimed his sonic straight at the one missile that was flying right for him. Placing it on the Maximum Disassemble setting, the Doctor crossed the fingers on his free hand and pressed the button, making the screwdriver squeal. A burst of sonic wavelengths rammed head on with the missile, causing it to act as if it had hit a solid wall, the entire weapon deconstructing and failing to pieces mid-air before plummeting to the ground useless and — more importantly — harmless.

However, just like how Gilly wasn't immune to the laws of physics when Alsa collided into her, so was the Doctor when the recoil of the sonic threw him backwards, head over teakettle. His body whinged that it was already tired, bruised, and scratched as it was without anything more being added onto that, thanks. As if to add insult to injury, there was still one more missile gunning straight towards him and his sonic needed, at the very least, four minutes to properly recharge for a second blast. A shame, really, as he had been so close…

He raised his arm to shield his head, bracing for impact from his spot on the ground. Morbidly, he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes or look away, instead watching the missile as it hurtled down upon him. The air shifted in front of him — he had a passing thought that it might be some residual sonic waves from the blast earlier, unfortunately too small to be any use — and a bald, toga-wearing ghost appeared, seemingly bemused to see the Doctor essentially cowering in front of it. The ghost didn't see it coming, the missile having hit the back of the ghost's head. Mutually destroyed, they disappeared in a large flash of light.

The Doctor grimaced, apologizing under his breath. While he was glad to still be alive, that didn't make him feel any better about how that came to be. Scrambling around on the ground, not willing to waste a second, the Time Lord dug through the remains of the first missile that he had disassembled, searching and finding a particular part that would become more than useful in the next few seconds if he could just manage to make the necessary adjustments without his screwdriver. He made to leg it to one of the ten doorways but was stopped by another ghost appearing…

And another.

And another.

Within an instant, there were more ghosts that he could count; a flood of flailing limbs, togas, and shinning translucent hair. He was surrounded. "Touch me and I die!" He shouted and the ghosts heard, swirling away until he was out of their reach, but continued to remain enclosed around him. There was no way for him to escape except through them, which wasn't an option. There were so many: tens, hundreds, thousands, millions… "I'm sorry," he told them, his hearts sinking. "I'm so sorry." Every few seconds, a ghost or a group of them would split from the main mob to confront him, seeking reassurance or an explanation or nothing at all, being merely filled with an endless emptiness. Five ghost children, a young couple, a teenager, more, but he told them all variations of the same thing, "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

Still, they eyed him balefully, seemingly incapable of understand or making any connection. It was just the emptiness inside their eyes, a void that contained only their helplessness and bitter loss. A feeling that resounded in the Doctor quite strongly, that sense of futility, that none of it should have happened, that it had all been some horrible mistake… A sense of longing for something that could never be recovered. "I wish I could," he beseeched them. "That I could do anything and save everyone… but I can't." It wasn't fair, none of this was fair!

Ha had to do something for them, had to try, but his sonic revealed nothing. "Not even a blip," he told them regretfully and with heavy self-loathing for being so useless in the face of their plight. "I don't have the answers, I'm sorry. I don't know what you are and I…" He choked on the words, a bitter anger welling up within himself — Useless. Helpless. Worthless. Too little, too late. And now everyone's gone. All your fault — but he owed them, they had to know. "I can't help you. I'm sorry."

But even still, they crowded around him, edging ever closer and closer. They weren't listening to him. "I told you, there's nothing I can do. No point in mobbing me, and I can't stay. I need to stop the weapon before it's too late for the ones who are alive." But when he tried to move past him, the ghosts began to consciously block his way and become agitated. "I mean it, shift!" The Doctor was ignored, even as he warned them, "Touch me and I die. It won't even be as much as you lot have, just an endless nothingness, and then where would you be?"

His words went unheeded, for the ghosts didn't care for words, they were just hungry for what he had that they didn't. They wanted what he had. They wanted it more than anything and it was so unfair. None of them deserved the fate they received and who was he to stop them from retrieving what they were owed?

The Time Lord could sense the shift in mood just as a seasoned sailor could detect the shift in weather, and what he sensed he didn't care for at all. Like a switch had been flicked — or, rather, a mask had been removed — his demeanor changed from pained sympathy to resentful disdain. "You think you're so special? That your kind had received the worst fate to be had in this pitiless universe? Hardly! At least some of your people survived to blunder around the planet another day, at least you weren't the last," he spat.

The ghosts were angry now, but the Doctor couldn't possibly care less. They weren't as angry as he was, even with all of their wrath added together, it couldn't equate to his own. How could it? That fire burning deep within him, hot enough to make civilizations far greater than what Acropolis had once been at its peak burn to the ground. To being capable of causing such ruin to whole galaxies but abstaining purely by choice, his self-control being the only thing greater than his rage.

Or so the Doctor liked to tell himself, as the only thing greater than his rage was his ability to lie, even to himself. And the only thing greater than that, was the depths of his fear and self-loathing.

"I'm the last one, my people completely eradicated, every last one of them. And with Time Lords, we don't just die once, oh no, it would take a lot more deaths than once to make it stick," he snarled, the Oncoming Storm completely taking over, eyes dark and dangerous, teeth bared with his hackles raised, a dangerous predator cornered and ready to strike. "And you know what's worse? They survived. I should have been the last living remnant of the Time War, a war so vast and so devastating, it would make this seem like a petty squabble over a jammy dodger. But no, somehow, they lived and my people's sacrifice was rendered meaningless. Life is always better than death, always, yet I want them dead, every last one of them, exterminated. And I won't stop, I won't die, not until I win!" He lunged at the ghosts, brandishing his sonic screwdriver as if it was weapon meant to inflict harm. "JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" He roared, the command echoing against the metal walls carrying above all other noises.

And they did, leaving him panting in an empty space where millions had once been and were now no more. Somehow, to the Doctor, this was worse than it would have been if they stayed. Despite succeeding in getting the ghosts to leave him in peace, or some sad mimicry of it, he felt as if he had lost something important in exchange.

Gilly sat in the shadow of the monorail and waited. Whether it was for the Doctor to make an appearance or the end of the world via devastation from the weapon remained to be seen, the outcome entirely hinging on who was faster, the Doctor or the Fortress. One blessing came from the knowledge that if it was the latter, her death would occur so suddenly, she wouldn't even realize. There one moment and gone the next. But if it was the former, she would be forced to remember all that she had seen that day and live with the memories for the rest of her existence. That would be the least she could do for Professor Jeffip, if nothing else.

God, it was like her sister all over again. She didn't even know him, but his murder made old wounds tear open once more. They never found her body, just like they won't find his in all that rubble. Gilly was a wreck and she knew it, a volcano ready to blow in an eruption. If she made it through this, she was going home. Forget about tricking the so-called Time Lord into letting her have another trip, Gilly wanted to return home, that being the Planet Earth in the Year 2049. As long as she was on that planet in that year, she could find her own way back. No more time traveling, no more Time Lords, and no more adventures that involved Indiana Jones movie sets. If this was how it usually was for the Doctor, Glenda Hopkins wanted no part of it.

If he had to checkup on her illness or ascertain for himself that she was still breathing, he could damn well make a house call.

Speaking of, she would need another pill soon. Perhaps had an hour or two left before the medication wore off. The ex-mortician didn't think that she would ever get used to death being only twenty-four hours away. Was this how individuals affected with diabetes felt: on a thin rope where their balance between life and death was decided by maintaining their blood sugar? Gilly counted herself lucky that she only needed that one pill a day to maintain homeostasis. If she could just —

The horrifically sunburned albino whipped her head towards the footsteps she just heard, ignoring how her neck complained from twisting the already abused skin. Pensively, she waited until the unknown presence came closer and announced, "I decided that I would wait with you, Glenda."

"Oh," Gilly breathed out in muted relief as Dela sat next to her. She was grateful for the company but surprised that the blonde would come back. It was an unexpected enough decision that it was almost suspicious. "But what about the children? Are you sure it was all right to leave them?"

Dela gave a quiet, bitter laugh, "You forget, they have lived in the ruins of Acropolis for longer than they have lived with their parents. As it is, they stand a better chance than I do in finding the settlement. Besides, I couldn't… I have to see for myself that he comes back… I have a feeling that he wouldn't return to the settlement otherwise."

Gilly couldn't contradict her, either. The Doctor did give the impression of being the kind of person who would want to slip away after completing whatever self-appointed task he gave himself. She briefly wondered if he would have left her behind too if she didn't wait for him here and went with the children earlier, if he would have forgotten about her, but disregarded it. If he went through the trouble of keeping her alive this long, obviously he wouldn't overlook her so easily.

However, even with the illness, Gilly wondered if going with that man back to his time machine — even just to return home — would be more trouble than it was worth.

The Doctor stood in the weapon holding room that was in the center of the cement column that he had observed earlier, gazing upon the weapon before him. If Glenda was here, she would probably make a sarcastic comment or deadpan something along the lines of, 'we went through a literal death maze for a shiny metal staff. Fantastic.' And then he would have haughtily informed her that all the interesting bits were in the higher, lower, and sideways dimensions that she as a human wouldn't be able to sense, obviously. Superior Time Lord physiology and all that.

And what he did sense was nothing good, the exact opposite of the almost innocuous image that that meter long by ten centimeter wide nondescript cylinder provided. The energy crackled and hummed like a lightning bolt was contained inside, but it was black lightning, lightning so dark it would render sight impossible for anyone who looked straight at it. The power radiating from it was unmistakably powerful and dangerous, he should destroy it right now.

But his hand was stayed by the tiny suggestion that Alsa had planted earlier in the council: what if it could be used for the betterment of New Arcopolis? Have the energy be converted to something the Arcopolitans could use to help themselves. The thought tempted him, had festered in his mind ever since he had first heard it and given it the slightest consideration. A mistake, he knew, like the temptation set before Eve by the snake. It didn't help that Alsa had also suggested that they could harness the weapon for themselves should a repeat of what happened fifteen years ago occur again. Rather, it had just proved the point that the Doctor had been trying to make earlier, there were some things that just shouldn't exist or were simply just overkill. If protection was the many concern, using a weapon of mass destruction that obliterated everything living on the planet was counterintuitive and ultimately pointless when a more delicate option would have been more prudent. You didn't use a chainsaw to open a can of beans, after all.

Still, it gave him pause. There was the argument that anything could be made into the weapon if a wicked individual put enough thought into it. Medicine can poison, water can drown, sunshine can burn, and oxygen can suffocate… But the opposite was also true, any sword can be melted down into horseshoes and any spear beaten into a pruning hook. Sometimes, one merely had to take a step back and look at the problem differently. Not to mention, the Doctor alone had the knowledge to do such a thing to the weapon, to be able to convert it in such a way so that it would create and not destroy. Reverse the polarity or whatever.

Every instinct in him was screaming to destroy it.

Again, the question asked, 'was it possible to use the weapon for good?'

This time there was an answer, 'no one else possibly could, but you might be able to do something.' And with that, the Doctor reached the decision to not destroy the weapon.

Turning Alsa's bag that he had commandeered ages ago and had nearly forgotten about inside-out, the Doctor used it like an oven mitt and disconnected the cylinder from the wires that connected it to the Fortress. Said wires fizzed and sparked, having just enough power to give him tiny shocks as he brushed against them, reaching him through the fabric of the bag. And, like picking up a piece of dog poo, the Doctor turned the bag outside in, safely concealing the weapon inside without having directly touched it. The lights flickered, and everything went black, the power source having been removed.

A/N: So, it's been awhile... Life has been pretty harsh in its dealings with me. Between a friend of a friend (who I only know about through vague mentions in conversations previous to the funeral) passing away and needing comforting to the aforementioned friend of mine disappearing without telling anyone for a couple of days for some alone time. Again, without saying anything. I believe I was entirely justified in being terribly worried sick and considering in reporting them missing since even the parents didn't know their whereabouts. Needless to say, I was extremely angry beyond all comprehension, especially considering the circumstances surrounding the disappearance when they finally deemed it time to reappear.

Then you add on the piles of other personal trials...

To be honest, the only really good thing that has occurred recently is my entering into a partnership with an Indie Horror Game designer. I fully expect this to be a worthwhile adventure in undertaking. Between helping out on their main RPG project 'Soulless' (the title is a WIP), I will have their guidance and expertise in creating a first-person POV horror game of my own, 'Zagreus'. I have high hopes for this venture and the next two-years should prove interesting, both in my writing on this site and in my game designing.

...

As a side note, the confrontation you've all been waiting for will be occurring in the next chapter. I decided on a compromise. I originally want to hold off on it, to let it develop and bottle up onto a major explosion that can be filled with all the feels and many reckless words/deeds, but based on the reviews and PMs I've received, people want it now or, at least, in the near future. So, there will be a confrontation in the next chapter that won't be resolved in any sense of the word, nor any reconciliation either. Feelings of bitterness, mistrust, and resentfulness will be festering within Glenda, but she will be somewhat resigned to her fate and will put up with it... Up until the original point where I was going to have the original fight. By that point, she'll be desperate and at her wit's end, all caution thrown to the wind.

And, if any of you are into that sort of thing, I have been working on an SI (self-insert) story by the name of 'Albedo Caelum' in the 'Katekyo Hitman Reborn!' universe as well as a collab semi-SI story with Sylwia Kiley called 'The Lotus and the Clover' in the 'Naruto' universe. I don't usually do advertisements, but I will be updating those more regularly, if you're interested.

Anyway, feel free to review to give me your thoughts. I would attempt bribery, but I really don't know what you would want from me... Maybe if we make it to a hundred reviews, I'll write something of your choosing in recognition of the benchmark, I suppose.

Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving for you American readers.