"For someone so smart, you can be awfully stupid!"

Conner clutched at his ribs as he panted, trying to control his breathing. He wasn't certain how far he had run but it must have been at least five minutes he had been sprinting through the woods that surrounded Hearthome. Chasing after Pigritia had led him into a thick part of the woods, where the trees were close together, joined by scratchy bushes and trails that were barely there, thick with wet mud that sloshed underneath with every step.

"Do you think you know me?"

Pigritia's voice echoed around the woods. Conner slowly circled, his eyes flicking from one tree to the next, looking for any sign of movement. She was close, he could feel it. Behind the modulation of the voice that spoke out through the trees he could hear the heavy breathing. A snapping of a twig drew his attention to a shadow passing by a distant tree but then all was quiet again.

"I know who you are. Conner Shepherd. Survivor of demons. You bear their mark with every scar."

"You don't know shit about me!" Conner called out, still slowly circling. He needed to figure out his approach. He was not going to let Pigritia get away. The more she talked, the more she was present, the more Conner could figure out his plan.

"I know all I need to know, Conner." The voice came from his right and Conner turned. "I know the things you've done. The things you're ashamed of. The people you've killed. I can name them."

"Go on then," Conner challenged. "Give it to me."

"Ava. Twenty." The name echoed out in a damning tone.

"Who are you? What are you doing? Hey, stop! Stop!"

Conner took a breath. The voice was trailing on his left now.

"Emily. Seventeen."

"You don't want to do this, my dad's a policeman, we can work this out!"

"Sophie. Nine. The Ripper's youngest victim." Pigritia's voice, even behind the modulation, was full of ire and disgust.

"Mummy, save me! Mummy!"

"Well colour me impressed; you have done your research!" Conner called out. "You can list them all you like, I don't need reminding. You say their names like you are better than me. Like you people haven't killed. Paulie murdered Imogen Banks, mocking her all the while."

"But children, Conner. How can you make excuses for children?" The voice seemed to be coming from all directions now. Conner needed to find his nerve again.

"I have never made excuses for my victims and I never will," Conner responded. He started to move forward towards the last place he heard the voice, slowly passing by trees. "You can name them all you want. I've never forgotten them."

"How do you live with yourself?"

"Night by night, day by day."

"You will never be forgiven."

"I do not seek redemption!" Conner's head snapped to a shadow passing by the treeline close to him.

"Then what are you here for? Why live? Why not simply jump off the top floor of Hearthome, or hang yourself with the sheets, or any number of things. Why keep going, Conner?"

"Killing myself would be the ultimate disservice to those lives that have ended at my hand," Conner said. "I live because it is simply all I can do. Death is the end, no matter what has happened before. The moment our souls leave these cages, that's it. Done. Our sins rot with our corpses. I will hold onto my sin for as long as is needed." Footsteps behind him. Conner spun around quickly. Nothing. "So what of your sins, Pigritia? The sin of sloth. Is it simply a nickname or is there a bigger reason?"

"I thought you knew all you needed to know about me."

"I know the important things. I know your real identity. I just want to know more about the mask itself."

"Why should I answer your questions?"

"Because it seems to me like you want to play cat and mouse."

"What makes you think this is a game?"

Conner grinned. "Because you are losing."

The wind whistled through the leaves. There was no response. Conner slowly walked through the trees and found the trees loosening up slightly. As they did, he came upon a small clearing that must have been used as an old logging camp at one point. Tree stumps dotted the clearing like pockmarks amidst the woods and at the back of the clearing were a moss-covered pile of split logs. In the middle of the clearing like a decrepit statue was the rusting remains of an old logging machine, its giant claw dangling precariously over a fallen tree. With each gust of wind the claw swayed ever so slightly with a rusted whine.

"So why are you hiding?" Conner called out. "You clearly want to engage with me. Hell, you've been focused on me from the very beginning. You want to make me a scapegoat. You may have taken John but you injured him with my knives. So why don't you actually tell me what you want?"

Conner walked into the clearing, walking among the guillotined trees. There was no response but his instinct told him that Pigritia was close.

"Should I tell you what I've worked out? I worked out that whatever plan you did have before Noah had his vision went to shit! You got caught up in it all and the seven of you couldn't figure out how to handle it. Whatever plan you did have was meticulous but now you're flying by the seat of your pants. You're fucking up at every turn. Paulie murdered Imogen on his own. I delivered him a letter with a lock of hair and do you know what he did? He panicked!" Conner walked up to the old claw machine. At one point perhaps it had been green. "He went to ask for help! Oh, he thought he was being secretive. He thought he was being sly. But I've been watching. There are ways in and out of Hearthome that make it very easy for someone like me to keep an ear and an eye out. And do you know who Paulie talked to?"

Conner stopped next to the machine and put his finger against it. It was flaking, orange segments of paint flicking off at his touch.

"A lovely patient named Penelope!" Conner said. The name 'Penelope' rang out through the clearing. "It isn't unusual for an orderly and a patient to talk, no, no, no. But what is unusual is for the orderly to be begging for help. To be crying and snivelling like a child, saying that somebody knew that he was Invidia, but Paulie never admitted to what he did to Imogen. Secret keeping even in his fear. And this girl, Penelope, told Paulie to be patient. That they would make a move soon. That they would pin it all on Conner Shepherd. So tell me, Pigritia, does this story ring a bell? Do you see why I know who you are? Do you see why its fruitless?"

Conner saw the shadow a moment before something tackled into him from above. He realised that Pigritia had leapt off of the top of the main carriage of the logging machine like some kind of crazed animal. Conner and Pigritia rolled in the mud together until Pigritia had Conner's shoulders pinned to the mud. Conner stared past her mask and into her eyes.

"What about the second part of that story, hm?" Conner said as he looked at Pigritia. She was holding him but there wasn't much force behind her strength, not at the moment. Conner did not attempt to fling her off, either. "When Conner Shepherd, having heard all these things, and having got all the proof he needed, went to confront the young Penelope because he thought he had it in the bag. So he could get the answers he so surely wanted. He waited for her in her room. He wanted to catch her in the act. Get her to take off her bandages, so that he could see the tattoos that he had been told about, the final piece of physical proof he needed."

"And who told you about my tattoos?" Pigritia asked.

Conner grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know? Use your brain, I'm sure you can at least work out who didn't tell me." Conner suddenly kicked upwards, pushing Pigritia off of him. Her back pressed against the logging machine and Conner snatched for her mask, but Pigritia dived to the right. His fingers scraped the paint and he turned to Pigritia where she stood underneath the crane part of the logging machine.

"So tell me the third part of your story, Conner," Pigritia said. "What happened when this girl took off her bandages?"

Conner narrowed his eyes. This was the riddle. This was what he did not quite understand yet.

"Let me tell you, shall I?" Pigritia said. She extended her arms, the tattoos clear to Conner's eye. "There were no tattoos. The theory you had was squashed, just like that. You ran away. A pathetic display. You seem to be having a habit of missing lately, Conner."

Conner had been keeping his temper for the most part, but this comment dug at him. He darted forward through the mud, when he heard an extra high-pitched squeal. He stopped and looked up at the rusted claw, that was dangling right above Pigritia's head. She wasn't moving, still holding her arms open as if she wanted to embrace Conner. The binding attaching the claw to the crane was breaking and even from here, Conner could see how delicate it was. At any moment, it was going to snap. Perhaps even any second.

"Do you know something fun about the List, Conner?" Pigritia said. "It likes making the possibility of accidents happen. This means you can manipulate it. Say, put yourself below a dangling crane that is moments away from breaking. Whatever drives the List takes the opportunity." Wind passed across the clearing again. The claw shook and shivered. Pigritia's eyes flashed. "You will never get your answers if I am dead, will you?"

Conner grit his teeth. He knew exactly what she was doing. He knew exactly what she had done. He had played right into her trap. She wasn't losing the game. He had been, from the very moment they had confronted the four of them at the grassy clearing further away.

Pigritia glanced up. "I am prepared to die. I have been from the very moment of my birth. I do not mind what is in store for me, if that is what fate has decreed." The claw shrieked as its metal bindings stretched. "At least then I can finally sleep."

Conner made his decision.

He darted forward just as the bindings finally snapped and the great metal claw started to fall. He tackled into Pigritia with all the speed and force he could muster, getting her out of the way with barely any room to spare as the claw hit the mud and dirt hard, spattering Conner's back.

He glared down at Pigritia beneath him. Her eyes were lit up underneath the mask. He reached up and grabbed the edges of the mask and Pigritia made no move to stop him. The bindings came free as Conner pulled the mask off of Pigritia and flung it to the side.

Penelope stared up at him, smiling in a way Conner had never seen before. Conner couldn't quite put together what he was clearly seeing. This was Penelope. The same eyes. The same nose. The same mouth. Exactly the same features as when he had confronted her in her room. Only in the room her arms under the bandages had been covered in scars. Penelope's arms here were covered in tattoos, no scars to be seen.

"I don't understand," Conner said, more to himself than to Penelope herself. It was exactly as he had suspected but he did not understand why. He hated it that he didn't understand.

"It doesn't matter whether you understand or not," Penelope said, that smile still on her face. "There's only one thing that is important. You have saved me. My turn is done. And you've put yourself on the List, Conner."

Something flickered inside of Conner's mind. He was angry. He was very angry. He could feel the anger crawling up his spine and reaching into the back of his brain. Penelope was underneath him clear as day, tattoos on her arms and there was no doubt these were real tattoos. He was angry that she had made a fool of him. He was angry that he simply didn't understand. No, Conner was more than angry. He was enraged.

When his fist hit into Penelope's face, the smile did not disappear. This enraged him all the more. It was like a shadow was overtaking him, a parasite inserting itself into his mind.

Penelope laughed out loud.

Conner's fist hit her in the other side of the face, his knuckles cutting open her cheek. Despite this, Penelope just laughed again.

"Go on, Conner Shepherd! Go on! Kill me! Do it! Kill me! I want it, I want it like you can't even imagine! You're the killer! Do it!"

A small voice told him he shouldn't be doing it but Conner could not listen to it. He started swinging his fists, again and again and again, each impact shuddering up his arms. Yes. Yes, he wanted to kill her. He needed to kill her. He needed to kill her for what a fool she had made of him. It had been too long, too long since he had seen the light go out of someone's eyes at his behest, too long since he had claimed a victim, too long since—

Something suddenly grabbed Conner's fist. Conner looked up to see the towering form of John, his hair ablaze, his face full of… pity?

"Enough," John said, gently pulling Conner away from Penelope. Conner didn't protest. He stood, panting.

Penelope was splayed on the floor, tattooed arms outstretched, her mask discarded. The vicious assault from Conner had split open cuts on her cheek, her left eyebrow, and her forehead. Her nose looked crooked and was bleeding. Yet her eyes were open and she coughed, spitting up blood. Penelope moved to her side, letting blood slip from her lips. She coughed again, paused, and then spat up what looked like a tooth, letting it hit the mud.

The anger was gone. Conner shivered. He clutched at himself and stared up at John again. "If… If you hadn't been there…"

"Then you would have done what you have always done," John said, no remorse in his voice. The burnt side of his face was expressionless, as always, but the other half was still full of that pity. "But at the same time, you also saved her. You lost control. You may not have killed her. We won't know. Be glad that I was here."

Conner looked down at Penelope again from where she sat. She wasn't a threat anymore. He had gotten what he wanted and he didn't understand it. Why did she have tattoos now and why did she have scars then? There must be an answer but Conner didn't know what it was.

"Despite your actions, your words have conviction," John said, standing in front of Conner. "Sometimes our minds can be our biggest enemies. Perhaps you should take Hearthome seriously, once this is all over. Accept help properly."

"Only if you do first," Conner said, running a hand through his hair. "Stop talking down to me. You hate my guts, don't you?"

"I do. That doesn't mean I can't look past my hatred. Again, I was given a task and I intend to complete it. We need to get you back. Paulie and that Marcus have been secured by Wasp. Rhino is injured but okay. We'll just take Penelope and—"

BANG!

Conner watched John's expression change slowly. He looked to the left where Penelope was sitting up, pointing a black and modern pistol at John. Her hands were shaking. "I tried so hard to keep you out of it, John. You couldn't just keep to your goddamn business, did what we said!" Penelope said, panting. "I didn't want to kill anyone, I really didn't!" Penelope stood up, the pistol shaking even more now. She took a few steps back and started running away from the clearing.

This time, Conner did not run after her. Instead he looked back to John.

John staggered backwards on unsteady feet. One hand had gone down to his side and blood was spilling deep and dark through his fingers. His good eye was wide and full of what Conner was surprised to see was fear. "I…" John muttered. He was swaying but keeping his balance. He managed to step forward towards Conner, reaching out with his other hand to grab Conner's shoulder. The way the blood was spilling out of his side, the gunshot wound was clearly bad. "…Don't let me die, Shepherd…" John's footing suddenly gave way and he fell forward. Conner managed to catch him with both arms. Despite being so tall, John was also deathly light. "…Lily… I need… I need Lily…"

"Who is Lily?" Conner asked as he held John awkwardly in his arms, staring at the area that Penelope had disappeared into.

"…Shepherd… People can… change…" John's voice was already fading. The injury needed to be looked at and fast.

"Fuck you for making me do this," Conner growled and with one last look at where Penelope had disappeared to, he lifted John up and over his shoulder. John groaned in pain as Conner hoisted him into the fireman's carry and they must have looked a sight, the long form of John laid out over Conner's shoulder. "You're gonna stay awake, you hear me Bridge?"

"That's not my… name…" John replied quietly.

"Well, if it keeps you pissed off at me, and keeps you awake, then I'm gonna keep calling you that, Bridge," Conner could feel the blood running down his back and shoulders, and could see it spilling down his front. He started to walk. "And I'm gonna keep talking to you, and you're gonna keep talking to me," The walk turned into a jog. "And I'm gonna prove to you that I'm not a killer. If that means I got to save your sorry ass to prove it, then so be it." Conner started running. "So tell me who the fuck this Lily is, I want to hear all about her. Bridge, you hear me?"

There was no response, as John slipped into unconsciousness, bleeding badly atop Conner's shoulders.