Last chapter
Misha rushed down a side street lined with small commercial buildings: a barber, liquor store, used clothing outlets, a cheap diner, a pawn shop. Behind her, the mob howled like wolves on the hunt as a small group broke away from the main and charged after the orphan youths.
"Don't let them get away!"
"Run 'em down!"
It didn't seem to matter to the mob that the ones they hunted were only small children. They no longer saw people, only animals to be destroyed.
The boys looked back as they moved, too slowly, terror on their faces, little weapons forgotten in their small hands. Misha urged them faster, but they were too small and afraid to escape the adults coming hard and fast after them.
The little girl tripped and fell onto her face.
Holding her hand and getting tangled up in the girl's small legs, Misha went down after her, landing on her knees and scraping them up on the sidewalk concrete. She let out a cry from the sharp pain but couldn't afford to dwell on it. Misha urged the toddler, "Up! Up!" She pushed to her own feet and bodily hauled the little girl up.
But all the determination in the toddler had fled at the pain of falling. She had gone limp, and fresh tears came out with a wail.
Misha tried to heave the little girl up into her arms so she could carry her and struggled with the weight. The boys noticed the two had stopped and followed suit, too innocent to keep running for their lives. She silently cursed.
A man gleefully shouted, "We've got 'em now! Don't let the vermin escape or they'll find a way to crawl into our city and infect our own kids!"
Others brayed in agreement.
Misha took a few steps with the toddler in her arms and knew she would get far. She turned to the boys, telling them, "Run! Run fast! Don't let them catch you!"
But the boys were frozen with fear. One of them wet himself. The other dropped his stick and started to tear up, lower lip trembling.
Misha despaired. This wasn't fair. They were just kids. They didn't deserve this.
A whistling cut through the air. It grew louder, louder—
A black-armoured body dove between Misha and the mob, raising a huge shield to protect the children.
A man and a woman at the head of the mob sprinted forward. Their eyes were filled with hunger, and they snarled like feral wolves.
—the whistling came close. Something flew through the air at the runners and hit the brick wall next to them.
A violent explosion ripped through the runners.
Misha heard wet things thud into the shield. Blood and bits of brick and dust flew over the shield, spraying Misha and the kids.
The explosion blew the two lead runners to bits.
Shiraz saw them torn to pieces and bloodily scattered across the street like so much paint and clay, as easily as a child whipping a toy at the wall as hard as he could to see it break. Like those behind, Shiraz immediately hesitated and skidded to a halt, stunned by the unexpected and brutal violence. For a split second, he couldn't believe his eyes. He'd never seen anything like that before. His brain struggled to understand.
More whistling cut through the air.
Realization of what was happening shocked Shiraz back to life. Heedless of the fate of anyone else, he whirled and roughly pushed others aside to clear his way as he ran back the way they'd come.
Two more explosions rocked the street.
Shiraz was thrown to the ground, along with others. He saw and felt blood, flesh, and concrete dust raining down around him. He heard people scream. It further stunned him. How could this be happening? They had been marching through the streets with impunity. Who was firing bombs at them? Who was capable of such violence, turning city streets into a war zone? His first instinct was to assume that some infected bastard with powerful arts had appeared. He was partially correct. Movement appeared in the gray and black smoke on the sidewalk. Shiraz looked up.
A skinny young man in black armour appeared, his cloak swirling behind him. A pair of huge gun-like things hung from his hands. They looked like small cannons. The young man's face was covered by a mask, his eyes huge circular mirrors reflecting the fear of the people on the ground before him.
Shiraz gulped. He recognized the logo on the young man's chest. Reunion!
The masked man mocked, his voice cutting, "My, what a brave group of murderers you are, picking on helpless children. Does abusing the weak make you feel strong? Are you under the idiotic belief that being stronger than your victims makes hurting them justifiable?" He raised the guns in his hands, a pair of huge grenade launchers. "I'm stronger than you pieces of shit. I guess it means it's ok to hurt you, then, huh?" He pulled the triggers.
People screamed.
Shiraz ducked, arms over his head as if it could protect him.
The grenades went off, shredding more members of the mob, tearing them limb from limb, exploding their bodies, shattering their heads. The explosions turned people into paste and red clouds and shrapnel made of bone which bit into Shiraz's arms.
Somehow, he'd survived. He pushed himself to his feet and joined the few others running for their lives. They had to make it back to the main mob. Maybe someone had weapons. Maybe they could kill that Reunion monster. Maybe they could survive.
Shullshatterer didn't feel horror at the death he'd brought. But neither did he feel the glee that a truly sadistic heart would enjoy. Instead, the sight of the carnage he'd caused filled him with twisted satisfaction. He felt a strong surge of fanatical rightnessness. A dark taint of wrongness accompanied it, but this he chose to ignore, fully and passionately believing that what he was doing was justice and that the price paid in death was deserved. These people were unquestioningly evil. They deserved the worst possible death.
He calmly stalked after them, casually reloading his grenade launchers with more rounds. They couldn't escape. Let them experience the same fear of being hunted that they'd forced on their own victims. Let them understand how it felt. He lazily lifted a launcher and fired over the heads of the running people. The second story of an empty store burst, and broken glass and steel and concrete rained down on the heads of the mob, drawing blood, fuelling more screaming, and filling hearts with terror.
The wing of people merged with the main mob. Having already halted at the sounds of explosions and the sight of smoke, the fear of those escaping spread like wildfire and the main mob also turned to run. But being a large group, they were not agile and people stumbled over each other while those in the back were less aware of the violence coming for them and hesitated, creating a wall.
Skullshatterer briefly considered stopping his offensive. They were scared now. Several were dead. The others would scurry back to their side of the city and news of justice would spread. It would send a message.
But would it be enough of a message? Would they really understand it? Or would the fact that most of the mob had returned alive embolden them? Make them think they were invincible? Allow them to think they could get away with terrorizing and killing the infected? Give them new opportunities to repeat this tragedy?
He should send a stronger message.
Raising both grenade launchers, he pointed high into the air and pulled both triggers. The weapons popped with a loud, metallic puff and two black grenades sailed toward the mob.
Fresh screams came.
The grenades plummeted.
He pulled the triggers again, sending two more grenades into the air before the first had even landed.
Grenades exploded in the heart of the crowd, sending up bursts of blood and body parts.
As he walked toward the desperately fleeing and dying mob, Skullshatterer saw a man at the edge of the mob, still carrying a flag with an infected symbol on it.
The man turned, blinded with fear, pointed the flag at Skullsatterer and charged like he was wielding some kind of lance or something. He wildly screamed and his legs pumped with all the speed he could muster.
Calmly, Skullshatterer slung his grenade launchers on his back once more. He stood there, watching the fool charge. The man was much bigger than Skullshatterer, who was slender and light because he was still in his teens. But Skullshatterer wasn't afraid.
When the man got within a couple of paces, Skullshatterer released blades in his forearms. Fists bunched, he lunged into the charge and plunged the blades into the man's chest and thigh before spinning aside and allowing the man to choke out a gasp and stumble to his knees, eyes crinkling in pain. Skullshatterer stepped in close again and repeatedly punched holes into the man's back.
The man finally dropped the flag and fell forward onto his chest. "Stop! P-please! I beg you! Spare me!"
Skullshatterer asked, "Do you want to know my name?"
The man trembled and shook his head. Blood leaked from his many wounds. "N-no."
"It's Skullshatterer. Want to know why?"
"No!"
"Do you know what curb stomping is?"
"No! Please don't kill me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"
"You don't know? I'll teach you then. Be grateful. Because you lot seem awfully ignorant and violent, and it is a mercy to be educated when you don't deserve it." Skullshatterer's blades flashed back up into their casing. With his gloved fist, he punched the man in the head a few times, then dragged him to the edge of the sidewalk, to the curb. He placed the weeping man's head on the curb with his mouth open as if biting the corner of the sidewalk.
The man wept harder but was too weak and scared to move.
Skullshatterer lifted one leg high, then brought it down with all his strength on the man's head. The open jaw abruptly opened far wider than it should have and broke. Then Skullshatterer jumped up into the air and landed both feet on the man's head, shattering the skull.
Someone saw the horrid killing and screamed.
He stared down at the messy muck of bloody flesh he was standing in. "That's how I got my name. You filthy, hate-filled, murderous garbage person." Lifting his head to the terrified and fleeing crowd, he unslung his grenade launchers again. He addressed the panicked people, though he knew they could not hear him over their clamouring. "This is right. It is what you deserve. We are Reunion. We are justice." He launched one shot after another, lobbing them up into the air so that they arched down into the mass of anti-infected haters. Bodies blew apart. Smoke and violence filled the street. He continued shooting, reloading as he went, until the entire mob was reduced to a slew of bloody body parts.
Only a handful managed to escape by ducking into buildings or alleys faster than the grenades could catch them. A lucky-unlucky few who would carry the tale and tell the rest of the city that the infected weren't going to be victims forever. They would fight back, and Reunion would lead them.
As silence finally descended, Skullshatterer leisurely strolled through the littered corpses. A few people were not yet dead.
A woman raised a hand, half of her fingers missing, her face a mask of cuts and someone else's intestines. She barely managed a whisper, "P…please… Mercy."
Skullshatterer was no monster. "As you wish." He lifted his foot and stomped hard on her head too, killing her swiftly. Well, it took four stomps, but it was still quicker than bleeding to death.
A commotion. Four soldiers came sprinting around the corner ahead.
Skullshatterer vaguely recognized them as the indolent louts that had been 'guarding' the entrance to the slums. "Perfect." He lifted the launcher in his right hand. "It was your job to stop this mob from harming innocent people. You refused. For the crime of indifference, I sentence you do death." He fired.
The soldiers, having just arrived and struck dumb at the scene, didn't react fast enough. The grenade fell in their midst and blew them in four separate directions. None moved.
Skullshatterer's sergeant approached. If he was bothered by the mass death, he was careful not to show it. He asked, "Should we tag Reunion's symbol at the scene? Take credit and give warning?"
Skullshatterer wanted to. He wanted to scream the warning across the city. But he reluctantly desisted. "No. Let them think some random infected amongst them did it. Someone with arts. We'll maintain our cover for n—" He broke off, unable to continue. Staying silent sickened him. Besides, they had the girl they were after. Precious Misha. He didn't care about staying undercover anymore. "Fuck it. I'm sure they know we have agents in the city already. Tag the wall with their blood. Let them fear Reunion both inside and outside of their city. Make them feel vulnerable, knowing their walls can't protect them. It'll make their fall all the faster."
His sergeant suggested, "Maybe we should leave a message with the logo. Surrender and Reunion will be merciful. Resist, and we'll do this to the whole city."
Slowly, Skullshatterer nodded. "Sure. Fine. Whatever. I doubt they'll surrender, but if they do, it will make things easier for Talulah. Maybe we'll scare the citizens into overthrowing the government and falling on their knees before us. Or someone will throw open the defences, hoping we'll spare them and their family. Go ahead. Leave the message."
The sergeant nodded and went off to the task.
Skullshatterer left him to it. He'd wasted enough time with this. Now that the need for vengeance and justice had been sated, he needed to see Misha. He needed to talk to her. He started walking, but in his eagerness, he picked up into a jog. Moments later, he'd returned to where Misha had been spotted and protected.
She was gone. So were the other kids. The Reunion soldier that had guarded them lay alive but unconscious on the ground, his shield next to him.
Skullshatterer's heart nearly stopped. He whirled in all directions, desperately looking for her and shouted, "Misha!"
They were huddled in the dark of a first-floor vet clinic a couple of blocks from where someone was fighting the mob. Slaughtering them. Amiya and Franka were winded after half-leading and half-carrying each of the boys while Misha had stumbled along with the wailing toddler in her arms.
Misha had gone along with them to escape the explosions and soldiers, but now she spoke up, wary. "Who are you people? Are you with the soldiers back there?"
Franka shook her head, breathing hard. "Never. Those people are killers."
Amiya gestured to her partner. "This is Franka with Blacksteel. My name is Amiya. I'm with Rhodes Island. We're looking for you, actually. We're here to help."
"Me?" Her wariness tripled. She backed away, suspicious. "What are you looking for me for?"
"Do you remember a woman named Kal'tsit? She worked with your father."
Still frowning, Misha shook her head.
Amiya took her communicator out. "Hmm, hold on. I'll find a picture… Here. Do you recognize her?" She held out the device which now showed a picture of Kal'tsit.
Misha tentatively leaned forward to see better and studied the image. After a moment, she half-nodded. "Maybe? She seems kind of familiar."
"She asked us to find you and to help keep you safe." Amiya pulled out her identification. "I'm with Rhodes Island. We're an organization that helps people. We're looking for a cure for oripathy. We also try to help out politically, even militarily if we have to, trying to keep the peace or assisting those in need. Have you heard of us?"
"Kind of. You're like Reunion."
"Uh, not exactly. Reunion is, mmm, like a mercenary army. Rhodes Island is a professional organization. We have scientists, doctors, specialists of all kinds."
"But you fight for infected, like Reunion does?"
"Reunion…often believes they're helping infected, yes. Though their methods are usually violent and destructive, especially against the uninfected. Rhodes Island doesn't pick sides. We're on the side of everyone. We fight for peace and wellbeing of all peoples."
"I don't really get it, but ok. Are you infected too?"
"Yes." Amiya rolled up her sleeve and showed proof.
Misha nodded and relaxed a bit more.
"Will you let us help you?"
Misha glanced at the kids. "Will you help them, too?"
Amiya smiled wide. "Of course."
Amiya spoke into her communicator. "Amiya here. We've located Misha and are with her now. She's safe."
An unexpected and unfamiliar male voice spoke from the device, "This is the Lungmen Intelligence Bureau. Please confirm you have the child named Misha in custody. What is your location?"
Amiya was struck with bewilderment. "Lungmen Intelligence? This is an RI communications line. How are you listening in and using this right now?"
They ignored the question.
"Did Kal'tsit give you permission to use a secure channel?"
Again, no answer came, only a silent pause. Then, "Rhodes Island, please confirm exact present location. Taking the prisoner into custody is of the utmost urgency. Please give us your present location and wait immediate assistance."
"Again, how are you using this channel right now? Is Chief Ch'en there? Can she speak, please?"
No answer came.
Doctor Hayden's voice came instead, his tone easy and laid back, which was very unlike him, "Amiya, Rhodes Island's communications have been compromised. Lungmen Intelligence must have broken in. But it's fine. They're our allies and we trust them. Let's meet up at LGD Headquarters. We can turn the child over to them there."
Amiya held her tongue, biting back the question she wanted to ask before stopping herself to think. She couldn't believe Doctor Hayden would be ok with this security breach. Nor did she think he wanted them to trust Lungmen after they'd done this. Especially when it seemed like it was coming from an agency they hadn't even met rather than Ch'en. This must be a trick. Doctor Hayden was really telling her they couldn't trust this Lungmen Intelligence and that Amiya should stay where she was and absolutely not hand the child over. Probably. She was guessing, but it felt right in her gut. She forced herself to sound natural and relieved, saying, "Roger. Thanks. We'll see you there." She turned off the communicator and turned to Franka.
Franka raised her brows. "Think he meant that?"
Misha worriedly looked back and forth between the women. "You're not going to hand me over to the guards, are you? I thought you helped infected people!"
Amiya shook her head. "No, we're not handing you over. Don't worry. Franka, if they've breached our communications, it's probably safe to say they've done the same to you."
Franka sourly replied, "Probably."
"If they're that desperate to ask for our location, though, they must not have transponder information. Let's wait. The rest of our team should find their way to us."
Misha frowned, distrust in her eyes. "You're not handing me over?"
Amiya shook her head. "No. We're not on a mission for Lungmen. Our friend, Doctor Kal'tsit asked us to find you because she knew your father and was worried. We're strictly here to help you."
"What about Lungmen Intelligence? Why do they want me?"
"They think you have information they want: codes to gain access to the city defences of Chernobog. The city that's headed here to attack Lungmen."
"What? That's crazy! I don't have anything like that."
Franka broke in with, "You might and might not know it right now."
Misha looked uncertain. "I don't know. I don't remember my father ever telling about anything like that."
The toddler sniffled. She spoke to Misha in a tiny voice, "I'm hungry."
Misha had no reply for that. She obviously wasn't carrying any food.
Franka came to the rescue. "Blacksteel operates in Lungmen. I know people who can help take care of the kids." She smiled at Misha. "Will you entrust them to me? I'll take them somewhere safe where they can eat and rest."
Misha looked unsure. She mulled it over and eventually relented, having no way to take care of the kids herself. If an adult was offering to help… "I guess that's ok. But…can't I go with them?"
Amiya said, "I'm sorry to say, it seems like other people are after you. People willing to get violent and to kill. It'll be safer for the kids if you aren't with them."
"Oh. I see." She sagged a bit at hearing that. Fighting to create a brave smile, she beamed at the toddler. "Can you go with this nice lady? She'll get you some food."
The toddler looked askance at Franka as if doubting she was a lady let alone she might have food. But when Misha handed the child over, and Franka responded with a big happy face, the little girl relented.
Franka and the kids waved goodbye as Franka led them toward the back door. Checking first for danger and seeing it was safe, she escorted the kids from the building.
Misha watched them go, then hugged herself with trepidation. "So, now what?"
"We wait. I have comrades who will come and help us."
"Where will we go?"
"Hmm. That's a good question. Do you want to stay in Lungmen? Do you have family here?"
"No. My family are all dead. I only came here with the refugees. I had nowhere else to go."
"Well, Doctor Kal'tsit seems to care for you. Perhaps we could take you back to Rhodes Island? Our base? For now, anyway. Then you could think about where you want to go?"
Misha was sombre. "I don't know where I want to go. I've never been anywhere. I don't know anyone. I'm all alone now."
"You're not alone. You have friends: us!"
"I just met you."
"Ok, that's fair. But maybe we'll become friends if we spend some time getting to know each other?" Amiya pointed at a little doll hanging from Misha's hip. "Where'd you get that?"
Misha looked down and then fingered the doll. "My mother made it for me before she died. She showed me how to make them, too. I was going to make some for the little kids if we ever got the chance. I guess I won't be able to now."
"Hmm. Maybe not right now. But Franka will know where the kids end up. If you want to make dolls for them later, we can probably send them to the kids?"
Misha was skeptical but hopeful. "Really?"
Amiya smiled, her long ears tall. "For acts of kindness, anything is possible."
"Thank. You know, for helping. Most people aren't… They don't… Even for kids. I mean, I'm a teenager, but the others? So, yeah. Thanks." Misha looked down, voice quieter as she offered, "M-maybe I could make you one. A doll. If you want."
Amiya felt a surge of compassion for the girl, an urge to protect her. It was amazing that despite apparently losing her family and becoming infected, and then having been driven to this hostile city and abused, nearly killed, Misha still had a good heart. Impulsively, Amiya went to her and wrapped her in a hug. "I'd love that. Thank you."
Without warning, someone threw the door to the vet clinic open, and a dark figure appeared, framed by daylight. They carried a large gun, and their face was covered by a black balaclava.
Amiya immediately spotted the logo on the man's arm. "Reunion!"
The Assault Squad's sergeant's eyes darted back and forth between the two females. He stepped into the clinic and raised the barrel of his gun. "Hold it right there—"
Before he could finish the sentence, Amiya lashed out with her black arts. She struck the gun, and it lifted far higher than the soldier likely intended, smacking him in the face.
He staggered back in surprise and grunted. But he recovered quickly. Eyes narrowing, he pointed the rifle at them again. "Hands up—"
Amiya hurled more black energy. And again accidentally nailed the gun instead of the man.
The gun bounced up and smacked the soldier in the face again. He tried to jerk his head away but failed and had to take a full step back. Growing irate, he squared himself and gripped the rifle even tighter. "You bitch. I'm gonna—"
Amiya hurled her arts a third time.
The gun snapped upwards and banged the soldier right in the nose, hard enough to break it. He spat a curse and doubled over in pain, one hand going to his poor nose. He stamped one foot in heated anger.
Although this was not what Amiya had intended, she had to bite her lips to keep from laughing.
Misha couldn't help herself. She giggled.
The sergeant wasn't having it. Not with his pride on the line. His head rose, blood streaming from his nostrils. He ripped the balaclava off, smearing red all over his face and grunting at his own idiocy as he hurt himself even further when the fabric jerked across the broken nose.
Misha laughed.
Snarling, the sergeant gripped the rifle with both hands and glared at Amiya. "I'll fuckin' k—"
Amiya was already casting. Black energy shot from her hands. Worried about the man's reaction, she upped the power.
As the gun wasn't even level yet and the barrel was still rising, the arts knocked it down instead of up this time. The force of Amiya's blast was enough to tear the weapon from the man's fingers — and hit him square in the balls.
The sergeant's eyes flew wide in his bloody face, and he choked. Wheezing, he dropped to his knees. But the jolt only hurt his tender bits more and both hands went to cradle the injured area. "Bitch…"
Amiya, despite the fact that he'd just threatened her life, felt a little bad. She winced and fought a smile at the same time. "Sorry. Sometimes, I'm not always accurate."
In a voice that croaked like he was dying because the gun had hit him really, really hard down there, he breathed, "I hate you…"
Amiya held back, not wanting to hurt him again. "Hey. Can we talk? I mean, in a moment. When you're… I can see you're Reunion, but we don't have to fight. We're not your enemies."
"The girl." He looked up and opened one eye, still filled with pain. "We want the girl."
Amiya and Misha looked at each other, worried.
Gritting teeth covered in crimson blood that still ran from his nose, the sergeant proved his mettle by pushing through the pain and shakily rising to his feet. He brought the gun to bear once more. "Give me the girl, bitch, or I'll—"
Instinctively, Amiya cast again, harder than before. Hands outstretched, black arts streamed forth — and once more accidentally connected with the gun instead of the man.
The gun jerked back, the barrel hitting him in the teeth hard enough to shatter several. Then it rebounded, got hit by a second blast of arts, and the weapon nailed him in the groin a second time.
"Fuuuck!" The sergeant dropped to his hands and knees, dropping the traitorous rifle, curled up into a ball. He seemed unable to decide which hurt more, one hand going to his ruined mouth, the other between his legs. No doubt his pride had also taken a beating, but there was no way to cradle that. He spat curses and bits of teeth and groaned in immense pain.
Misha doubled over in laughter. It was cruel but she couldn't help herself. Perhaps it was a venting of relief after so much intensity and having her life in danger. A sign of the absurdity of her situation. Perhaps it was better than crying. She'd done enough of that on the way to Lungmen.
Amiya slowly lowered her hands. "I…don't think diplomacy is going to work after that."
The door to the vet clinic flew open once more.
A new figure entered the dim room. This one was hooded and cloaked, his face behind a gas mask. He carried grenade launchers on his back, but his hands were free. There was something supernaturally calm and confident about the way he moved.
Misha stopped laughing.
Amiya jerked her hands back up, ready to cast.
The new arrival seemed entirely unthreatened by Amiya. He looked down at the fallen sergeant and shook his head. "What the hell?" Then he looked up. Recognition hit, and he physically jerked at seeing Amiya. "You!"
Amiya was taken aback. She didn't recognize this person at all.
Before she could respond, however, his attention turned entirely to the teen girl at Amiya's side. "Misha!" He took a step forward and reached out.
On instinct, Misha stepped back. Her face stilled, the humour gone.
Amiya slid sideways to protect her. "Who are you? What do you want?"
The two reflective circles over his eyes turned on her. He growled, "Get away from her, you traitor."
That took Amiya back again. "Traitor? I don't even know you."
His voice was full of hatred when he spoke, "You're a traitor to your people."
The label confused her. "Excuse me?"
"I know who you are. Amiya something. With Rhodes Island. One of their damned leaders. You're infected, like the rest of us. Like millions of people suffering all over the world at the hands of unjust, unfair, hate-filled assholes. But instead of fighting back, you help them hurt us!"
"What? That's not true!" Despite her total belief in this, her heart rate picked up, and she experienced tinges of both guilt and defensiveness. How could he say such things? Rhodes Island was dedicated to helping others. It was a force of good. She was a good person!
The glassy circles of his gas mask relentlessly bore into her. "You call yourselves allies of the infected, but you're not. You're snakes in the grass. Wolves in sheep's skin. Fucking manipulative and deceptive liars. Do you have any idea how many infected people have suffered and died because of you? Because of your weakness and lies? Because you won't do what's right and stand up for those who need it? Because you're allied with the enemy?" He glowered at her. "I fucking hate those who look down on the infected and persecute them. But I truly fucking loathe people like you who pretend to be a friend and then stab your people in the back. Like that mob out there. You just let it happen, didn't you? Let them march down the street and murder innocents."
She shouted, "No!" But…was there truth in his accusations? RI hadn't, after all, done anything to stop the mob, had they?
"You let people die. You put Misha's life in danger." You could hear the venom dripping from his voice, "I will never, ever, fucking forgive you."
That should be it Thank you everyone for reading! I will go back and do more research on writing before attempting something like this again.