She could no longer recall how long she had been running. A glance backward told her that the pursuit had dropped off. Exhausted, she dropped to her knees, her mind a blur. She struggled against her fatigue even as the resurgence of pain brought her mind to warm vertigo.

Who am I running from? Recollection failed; she was having a hard time thinking straight. After two days of running, she had not helped. Hunger drew her consciousness to a focus again, as it had done several times over the last forty-eight hours. Dully, she remembered. She was running from a strange man in black armour. He had called himself "Cage."

Not inventive, she noted.

He had proclaimed that he wanted to protect her. His apparent capture efforts had not inspired the young girl's confidence. She glanced down at her torn outfit. Transforming to Sailor Mercury had not helped much. She had used her Shabon Spray to confuse them for her escape. She shook her head weakly; it had not helped at all. They seemed to be able to follow her anywhere. This strange environment displayed more advanced technology than she thought could have existed. Even if she had her computer, she doubted it would have proved to be of any assistance.

Well, she thought, I am not without my resources. I've made it this far, haven't I? The effectiveness of the thought ceased. Why? With Usagi and others gone, what good is it to run?

Of that, she was not yet sure. From what she could ascertain, this was Earth. She determined that she was no longer in Japan. Somehow, the explosion had resulted in a teleportation of some kind. The thought that she might teleport back to where she came fell strictly to chance. First of all, she had no idea where she was, and secondly, none further of where she was going. Beyond this, she knew herself lacking the necessary strength for such an action. So, if it was random teleportation, as they had not arrived together at the terminating point of the transport, the others could be six ways from the moon. There was no way of telling where they were. With a dull gaze, she looked about, trying to figure out where her feet had taken her. She felt a stale, warm breeze wash over her, making her feel nauseous and adding an undesired soporific effect to an already depressing day. She was at the edge of both hope and what seemed to be an impoverished, rather dismal-looking village.

She staggered as she stood; her senshi-enhanced strength waned under her human weakness. As she walked, her mind wandered listlessly over the past several days of her life. Even though she tried to forget Atlantis, she could not help but dwell on it. What was it? Maybe there was something she was missing that could help her. Perhaps it was just a morbid fascination with the former legend and the pain it had brought to her life.

She had always thought the world of Atlantis to be one of greater enlightenment and advanced knowledge. As a part-time bibliophile, she was always searching for more knowledge. From that search, she gained a romanticized view of the legendary Atlantis. That hope had been brutally dashed when she had learned of the true nature of the inhabitants of the archaic continent. They had turned out to be a race of slavers. Well, perhaps a single "race" was an inaccurate word. She knew they were called "Splugorth," but it did not seem to have to do with their appearance or genetic structure. Ami was sure there was one intelligence behind the Splugorth, with the rest of the operatives being obedient races and those perhaps with a debt to their servitors, or whatever the case.

She shook her head again, trying to keep awake. Hunger was no longer staying her fatigue. She entered the town at a pace that resembled a crawl, finding it challenging to muster energy for a more substantial effort. Nearby, people noticed her but kept their distance, unsure of her existence. Many regarded her as an illusion and then left to continue their lives. Others appeared to be concerned but lacked the nerve to approach the haggard-looking young woman. In return, she merely ignored them, or at least tried to. After the resulting submission and violence of Atlantis, somehow, she was not compelled to plead for assistance, even though she was sure she would die without it.

Another woman, however, seemed to lack the fear of those about her. She was a sharply dressed contrast to the poor look of the inhabitants of the town, which swarmed about her as she approached Ami. It seemed apparent to her that the woman was an outsider, a traveller. She certainly did not live in this god-awful town.

In one slender, soft hand, she held a canteen, the other a rather tempting slab of cheese. Ami just stood for several minutes, staring at the food as if it was entirely alien to her. She reached for it and hesitated, gazing at the woman who offered it to her.

'Gomen nasai, wakarimasen,' Mercury muttered faintly. So sorry, I don't understand.

'Nihon go ga hanse-masen,' the woman replied softly; I don't speak Japanese. She thought apologetically, but I do want to save your life. Too bad I can't tell you that outright… "Mizu, um… water. I've got water and food. Dozo. Please, eat."

'Ah, so desu.' With a deft nod and a weak 'Hai,' the food disappeared, and Ami attacked it ravenously.

'Namu ka Allison,' she said with a slight gasp. "Do you speak… uh… English? Wakarimasu ka? English?" she gestured to her mouth as she spoke, hoping to get the point across.

With a vague grin, she nodded. "Yes. I do, pretty well."

"Cripes. Then why didn't you just…" she glanced down momentarily, then sighed. "Oh."

"Right."

"You haven't eaten in a while, I guess. What's your name?"

"Two days," she muttered with a heavy Japanese accent between bites. "Ami."

Allison looked shocked. Her eyes travelled down Ami's bruise-marked and ill-clothed frame. Then her face set in a concentrated look as she slipped off her knapsack, opened it, and began searching through it. After several seconds of rummaging, she pulled out a dark blue robe. She handed it to Ami. Having finished the cheese and water, Ami watched the woman like a wild animal, wary and uncertain. Again, she was hesitant.

There was a questioning expression on her face as Allison offered the robe. With an affirmative nod, she watched Ami put it on. The care with which she donned the covering betrayed her refined nature. She slipped the heavy hood over her short blue-haired head. Noticing her gaze, she did not smile. She just bowed stiffly and turned away slowly.

"Where will you go?" Allison asked boldly.

The young woman paused and turned back.

"Why do you care?"

"It's not personal if that's any comfort," she replied. "Keep walking, I'll leave you alone."

Ami considered this. Allison might have had ulterior motives, but she found that she almost could not think of caring. Her vision swam before her.

"Uh—unnn." She took two shaky steps, then fell into her arms, unconscious.

—

"Ami?"

The voice was not much more than a whisper. Warmth blurred vividly in her mind, and she recollected having fainted. She opened her eyes. The sun was up, and she shut her eyes quickly as the light of it blinded her. She uttered slightly at the attack.

"Oh good, you're awake! You've been out for a while. Almost two days," Allison helpfully supplied. Ami opened her eyes slowly, dark after images dancing in her vision. She blinked, unsuccessfully trying to get rid of them.

"Are you hungry?" she asked as Ami glanced at her and their surroundings. They were in a poorly built and lit bedroom. The walls were composed of loosely placed panels of wood. The bed consisted of straw, and she felt her back cry out in agony in testimony to the stiffness of it. Ami's mind balked; sun? A makeshift hole in the roof had been covered with some transparent material. It looked as though the hole had resulted from a fall or battle rather than from the plans of the individual who constructed this place.

"Yes," Ami nodded slightly, eager to sate her hunger. Allison produced a large piece of cheese and several other items, which she quickly pieced together to form a sandwich. Ami ravenously accepted the feast.

Allison could only watch as this wan girl polished off her sandwich in not more than a dozen bites. Allison put together another, hoping to sate her appetite. It was evident to Allison that this girl had been taken for slavery. She bore the marks of a slave; her back scarred, her wrists and ankles raw—also, the two long claw scars on her face. Relatively recent, she surmised. Ami's health was in such a state that she was not likely to retaliate. Allison knew that included her mental health, as well. Her feet had been bleeding when she had tended them. More importantly, she bore the marks of an Atlantean slave. Allison had flushed a symbiotic organism from Ami's system.

Thank heavens for Shi-Con tech, she thought.

Allison observed her finish a third sandwich and her second glass of ale. Finally, she felt she could inquire, "Who are you? How did you escape from Atlantis?"

She paused, eating, and swallowed before speaking. "I am Ami Mizuno. I was helped by one who claimed to be my friend."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. We escaped." Her tone was measured, her eyes narrowed slightly, full of distrust.

"Then why are you alone? Where are your friends?"

"Friends? Did I say anything about friends?"

She was lying, and Allison was aware of it. Allison pursued the strain of fiction, however.

"The one who helped you escape."

Ami studied her for a time. She is no fool.

"She was killed."

Allison merely nodded. That part was genuine enough; Lt. Nira had been a distant friend. Despite the remainder of dishonesty, she was sympathetic to Ami's distrust. She had no valid reason to place any faith in this unfamiliar woman.

Well, that's something I intend to earn, Allison decided.

"How are you feeling?"

Ami regarded the inquiry like a politician's promise, with the expectancy of treachery. "Better," she replied. "Thank you." A moment of silence was the intervening point between that and her words: "So what do you know that you haven't told me?"

Allison was not sure how to reply. She knew that the lie had buried a hatchet of one kind, and to remove it, she only had to tell the truth… but one question remained: would Ami believe her?

"What would you say if I were to tell you I was responsible for your freedom?" Allison ventured dangerously.

"You going to prove it?" Ami asked, seemingly unfazed by the notion.

"I can. You think you can manage a short walk?"

She sat up sluggishly, then swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She leaned forward abruptly, gagging. Allison startled, getting to her feet rapidly. She put a hand on the young woman's shoulder. Finally, Ami stopped and looked up at her.

"Are you sure?"

Ami glanced up at her and nodded deftly.

"I guess I ate a little quickly. I'll be fine."

A few minutes later, they exited the inn. Allison was sure the innkeeper did not mind the two gold pieces of tip she had left him next to the five silver pieces for the room. Quite a bit for such a shack, though it was apparent that she was concerned about the money. They were moving as quickly as Ami's somewhat ragged pace would allow.

"So where are we going?" Ami asked.

"I've got a hovercraft hidden just outside of town," she explained. "That will get us where we're going."

"A hovercraft?"

"Yeah," a deep voice started behind her. "One 'o those things you crash in, y'know? Kinda like this!"

Just as they turned towards the voice, a fist descended, smacking soundly against the back of Ami's head. Ami gasped, and Allison cried out, grabbing for an amulet around her neck. A dark blue exoskeleton armour abruptly replaced Allison's slender form with excellent silver avian-like wings in a brilliant flash. Reaching for the blue scabbard mounted on her left hip, she pulled forth a heavy broadsword. Ami stumbled forward, wholly enveloped in shock, trying to remain conscious.

The power-armoured Allison struck at Ami's assailant, aiming to kill them. The seven-foot-tall cyborg raised his claymore and turned to parry Allison's strike. They met evenly, snarling at each other as they struggled to determine the greater strength. The cyborg grinned and raised what looked like a remote above his head. Was the one finger not gripping? Was it used to point something… up?

She cursed loudly as a hovering tank descended upon them. Its excellent cannon and accompanying rail guns made everything crystal clear.

'Yeah, I figgered y' might see in the end,' the cyborg stated, his ugly grin retaining its unpleasant presence. Angrily, Allison raised her hands, dropping the broadsword.

"Now, now," snarled the cyborg, levelling his arm cannon at Allison three inches from her suddenly sweating face. "Let's be all civil-like. I don't gotta kill you, but if yer going to get all nasty…"

Allison cursed under her breath, watching the hatch of the tank open and a heavily armoured man appear from its depths. On hope, Allison extended the vibro blades concealed in the armlets of the armour and moved as if to attack, striking the arm cannon aside quickly.

"Hey there, you," snapped the voice from the hover tank. "Don't you be getting' no ideas! Perry, we're goin' er what?'

"Yeah, sure," replied the cyborg. "Ya don't mind, do you? No? I dun' thunk it…"

Allison felt something smack sharply against the back of her head, then only a dark veil.

—

Pain. She awoke subsumed and lost in a sea of it. The world was dark, her body numb – for the pain seemed to center in her head – and endless minutes passed before the inky black transformed slowly into clean, white walls and extraordinary, hair-prickling air. A faint click and whine sounded above her head, after which a voice communicated by narrow frequencies made a cursory assessment:

"Ah, good morning, how are you?"

She sat up, looked around, and ran a hand through her short blue hair.

"Pardon?"

"You're quite lucky to be alive," the voice stated coldly.

Where is the voice coming from? She could see no one around.

"Lucky?"

There was a sigh. "Take a moment to gather your wits; you've been through quite the ordeal."

Where am I? She paused, gazing at the smooth white walls of the room. There did not appear to be any way out, no discernible door. What have I been doing that might have brought me here?

"Who am I?"

Another sigh; "We were hoping you could tell us that." A pause. "I suppose we'll have to start from the brick at the bottom. First of all, honey, you're not human."

"I'm not?"

"At least you understand that that's a good sign—lateral thinking. The problem is, we don't know exactly what you are. Aside from what we could tell from the cybernetics you've had in."

Cybernetics? she thought, getting slowly to her feet. Why do I know that word?

"What do you suppose about that now?"

She began to recognize stiffness in her leg on the left side of her… face. Without thinking, she touched her left cheek, then her right. She felt less pressure on her left cheek. She pressed harder on the one, then the other—same result.

"Yes, it might feel odd. That would be because most of the left side of your face is synthetic."

"What's synthetic?" Her hand fell away from her face.

"Fake. Synthetic is manufactured material. Unnatural, like you. But not. Understand?"

"What?!" She stumbled backwards, falling against the smooth wall.

"Calm down, honey," the voice said flatly. "Do you have a name?"

She heard a mumbling as she scrambled up against the unyielding whiteness of the wall. Trembling, she fought against the thoughts of not being honest.

"Damnit," the voice cursed. "The first thing she does after coming to is freak out. Doctor Lambert, we need you to sedate our blue-haired girl here," the voice observed in tones indicating minimal alarm.

She did not hear these words as they were spoken. Nor did she hear the entrance of the cyber doc as he approached her, needle in hand.

He whined, "Calm down; this will make you feel better now."

He reached for her, taking the upper portion of her left arm with one hand. Something snapped, and a frantic look passed over her face like the sudden flash of summer lightning. She stuck at him with her right arm, a blind action, and her hand hit the doctor in the face, which cracked open like a ripe melon. She screamed and crumbled into a crying heap as the body made a pool of crimson upon the consistently white floor.

"Cage! Get in here! Handle your flipping SDB, will you!?" the voice growled, no longer sounding relatively calm.

Two Dead Boys in heavy armour entered the room without hesitation. One of them uttered a curse. The second, however, sounded as though he was smiling when his dark voice left his throat.

"Rather more'n I thought," he noted as he reached over and grabbed her by the neck, lifting her to her feet. She struggled and choked but did not seem to be aware of his words or the pain he was inflicting. "Not that I mind."

"Glad you're enjoying yourself. Will you get on with it and put her out?" the voice snarled in controlled tones.

He glared upwards.

"Fine. I guess we'll have to get it all the hard way."

The following day brought bright light from multiple sources. It felt like a hospital; the cold air on her skin, the white ceiling, the unemotional voices…

"She's coming around…"

"Good, just make sure you keep those sedatives pumping. That way, we won't have messes like the last doc who attempted to administer."

"Right."

The world spun, dazzling in its brightness. It felt like the most she could do was raise her finger.

"No, no, don't try to move, you've been hurt."

Hurt? I don't feel hurt. I feel violated. "Wh-whu…" her mouth refused to form the words she wanted. Do you have any words at all? The blur of white and blue hovering over her refused to leave. Not that it mattered. Why doesn't it matter?

It came back to her in chunks, in fragments.

Messy doctor?

She had killed the doctor when he…

Killed?

… tried to inject her with something.

Killed? I caused someone to die?

Then, the men in black suits had come.

Good. I'm glad he's dead. Jerk.

They wanted to know why…

I killed one of them, too. They shouldn't mess with me. They don't…

They wanted her to come quietly with them.

They don't know me.

Who is she?

Do I know me? I see the night.

Sarah Feldman had tried to get into her mind. I tried to reach into the sealed depths. She succeeded.

"You were a Sailor?"

…Long walking nights in the cool moonlight…

"Not really. A Sailor Senshi. They are very different."

"So you were a 'Sailor Senshi.' Would you mind telling me what that is?"

…Jumping so high I could ascend two-story complexes…

"It's a warrior—a protector. We fought the NegaVerse. We fought the creatures of the NegaVerse: Jedite, Malachite, Zoisite, Neflite…"

"Do you know that those are stones?"

… Fighting for all I was…

"Yes. The names are stones. The warriors we fought were not."

"Who are 'we'?"

… Is that me? I don't want that to be me…

"The Bishojo Sailor Senshi. Pretty Sailor Soldiers of the Moon. Sailor Moon, Sailor Mercury, which was me, Sailor Mars, Sailor Jupiter, and Sailor Venus."

"Do you know that those names are the names of celestial bodies?"

… I fought. Yes. That's okay. It should do…

"Yes. But the Sailor Senshi were human."

"You speak as if you are no longer a part of that group."

"I'm not."

"But you are Mizuno Ami, from Tokyo. We read that on your ID. It's amazing to have carried it all this way through the rift. Spectacular."

…Who was I?…

"That's not me."

Sarah adopted the complexion of a fleshless corpse some two centuries old.

"She is dead."

They had been foolish enough to think that the sedative was strong enough to hold her back. Silly enough to leave her alone with the D-Bee.

It doesn't matter who I was. I can be what I need to be. Who do I need?

Sarah's screams were not heard through the soundproof walls nor by the sleeping surveillance officer. By the time the cameras had alerted security, it was too late.

Who is this psychotic woman to murder a therapist?

She is fight. Fighting. She is Sarah Night.

Sarah would go and then return. Again, she would go and then return. Sometimes with snacks, sometimes with guards and pain. Did she care? What did she want? Reality flew by in blurs of consciousness. Snippets of awareness, some violent, some crimson coated, others awash with pain. Each time, the same or similar questions are asked.

- Who are you? -

I don't

(want to tell you)

know. Who I am now isn't who I was

- Why? Who are you now? -

I told you already

- Why are you here? -

Shut the hell up

Blur of an already bloody glove. Pain snapped in her face.

- That's no way to talk to your saviours. Without us, you would be dead, D-bee. Where are your friends? -

What friends?

Then, the surgery. Sometimes, they would beat her up, sedate her, and then take her to be operated on. Other times, she would wake up in the room, lights shining down on her, blurring her vision, pain fogging her senses, blood staining her reality. She continued to fight against them, holding what information she still held within her, no matter how hard they hit or how deep they dove with their scalpels. Even then, they took her arm; she held firm. Through the many days of tears, through the seemingly eternal pain.

They hoped to fetch knowledge from her DNA. Why not just take a blood sample? They had. It seemed to them it would be curious to gauge how the 'subject' reacted if they removed an entire limb. She reacted, to be sure. So much so that even their most potent sedatives, on single dosages (all of them), only managed to keep her from breaking down the door. Underestimating even the most attractive and slender was a lesson they would learn the hard way.