A dream blooms from the black oblivion.

She is standing there, in nothing. And from this nothing comes bits and pieces, slowly transforming the scene.

Strobe lights, flickering. The roar of music. The pressure of hands, poking and prodding. Bitter laughter assaults her ears. Jeering and snide comments beckon her to do their bidding. A chaos surrounds her as she curls in on herself, hands pressed to the sides of her head, jaw clenched, teeth gnashing against the blinding rage of the vortex—

Kate gasps. The pressure drops away—and is replaced with a gaping hole where her heart should be. She pulls herself out of her bed, forgetting the concerned chittering coming from her pet bunny, Alice; the blonde trudges, half-awake, to her door and steps out into the hall of the girls' dorms.

It is night. There are candles placed before every door lining the hallway. She realizes she has stepped into the hall from the stairwell entrance, which shouldn't even be possible—but this fact is lost instantly. She steps forwards, passing the eerie decorations to reach her destination.

…what destination? Where am I going?

Forwards. Back to her dorm room. To safety. She takes the door handle, and passes through—only to reappear at the end of the hall.

The other dorm members are here this time. Each girl stands at the entrance to their respective dorm, all of them with their phones in hand. Kate is distinctly reminded of the fact that she no longer has hers. She is isolated, excluded. Ostracized.

"…hello?"

She asks for their attention—but none of them notice her. She steps to the closest of them—Stella—and waves her hand in front of their face, "Hey, can you hear me?"

Stella ignores her. She, and the others, are squarely focused on the glow of their phone screens, almost like they had been placed in a trance. Kate moved onto the others, vying for their attention. Even though she tried snapping her fingers, shouting into their ears, even giving one of them a gentle poke on the cheek, nothing deterred them.

She steps up to where Victoria Chase was posted, the opposing blonde dressed in her usual ritzy attire. Like the others, Chase was fixated on her fancy smartphone, and this gave Kate a rather dubious idea.

"What are you all looking at…" her hand reaches for the phone resting in Chase's palm—

A hand from the royal blonde catches her by the wrist. Kate yelps, but is unable to break free from the painful hold on her arm. She glances up—

"We've all seen it, Katie," Chase's voice is sweet, like honey, "A hell of a show. I think it's impressive that you've set a new tongue record for Blackwell. Everybody's gonna have to try real hard to beat the tally you racked up that night."

"What are you talking about?" Kate rasped.

"Do I have to spell it out for you, you dumb whore?" came the venomous reply. However, in all honesty, the accused blonde already knew what was being spoken of: her trip to the vortex party. The video. Max and Dana telling her it was not worth watching to find out what happened. The terror she felt when she had been torn apart by prying hands, piece by bloody piece.

Kate decided that she'd heard enough. She pulls at the iron grip holding her in place, demanding of the Queen, "Let go of me—!"

Victoria's glare is sharp as a blade, emerald green eyes sparkling in the candlelight. Her lips are turned down into a bitter snarl, her perfect features twisted into a visage of wrath.

"A sinner who betrays not merely the trust of her family, but also the trust of her God. A hypocrite who lies to her friends and partners, who subjects them to misery on her behalf. A coward you are, a failure to everyone you claim to love. You shall be judged, Marsh. A terrible fate awaits you!"

NO—!

Victoria lets her go, the royal blonde's snarl replaced with a wicked smile. Shrill laughter surrounds Marsh, and she cries out in fright; she all but throws herself at her dorm's entrance, desperate to escape these ghouls and their hellish domain.

She yanks the door open, then uses it as a pivot to pull herself inside the room, slamming it shut. Her head rests on the cold wooden frame. Her hand releases its vice-grip on the handle. She turns, ready to mutter apologies to Alice for running off so quickly—

The hall greets her. They're all staring at her. The light of their phones casts shadows upon their faces, the ghoulish stares piercing the veil of the dreamscape. A genuine panic bubbles to the surface, and she shakes at the sight of these harbingers of terror.

Coward! Hypocrite! Jezebel! They cry out, hands pointing at her to shun her presence. It works: Kate ducks her head in shame, and scurries quickly down the hall, tears burning her eyes as the accusations spill from their tongues.

It's not true—it's not true—it's not true—!

Her door is blocked by caution tape, sealing the door shut. She looks quickly to Max's door, and is surprised to find no obstacles in her path. With no other choice, Kate dives for the brunette's dorm, slamming the door closed behind her.

It is quiet. It is dark. No one can see her break down into sobs, and she does so. She slumps against the cold wooden door, hugging herself in desperation. Glistening tears, highlighted by the faintest rays of the moonlight, roll down her face.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy upon me, a sinner.

"Kate?"

Downtrodden silver eyes turn to the source of the voice, and beheld a familiar sight; Max was sat up in her bed, her pajamas were almost glowing in the ambient light. There was a wordless exchange between the two of them, then they rose to meet each other halfway. Their embrace was intense, heartfelt. These two friends stood there in the quiet room, and held each other close.

"Oh, Max," Kate clung tightly to her best friend, her sobs punctuating the hurt she feels, "I've promised, I've tried so hard…it hurts so much."

Max says nothing, yet tightens the hug in a show of support. And Marsh basks in this moment of peace. She stays there, her sobs receding, her tears drying up and disappearing. In this tranquility, Kate sighs in relief, thankful that this trouble is over, that she might remain in this comforting embrace for however long she needs—

Something taps her shoulder. She blinks, eyes zeroing in on the offending touch—but found nobody besides herself and Max.

Huh?

She is tapped again, this time on the top of her right hand. She raises it forth to observe, and finds a single drop of water.

Wait, what…?

Another drop falls onto her hand. Then another. And another. They patter against her blonde hair, smack against the fabric covering her shoulders.

Rain.

A peal of rolling thunder echoes overhead. She looks up, and is met with swirling grey clouds. The downpour intensifies, the trickle becoming a proper storm. Wind catches at loose locks of hair, silver eyes squint at the moisture being whipped about through violent gusts. The panic comes back to Kate full force once she realizes they're standing on the roof of the dorm building, so close to the edge—

"Max, we need to leave—!"

A hand suddenly grasps the hem of her collar.

"Max—?!"

"You are not my friend, Kate."

Clouded blue eyes glare their hatred upon her.

"You never were."

"Max, wait—!"

She is shoved away. Her foot slips as she stumbles back—

Kate falls.

Her hands reach out in vain. Wide silver eyes beg for rescue—but the sight of Max and the roof of the dorm building is already lost to the blurs of motion.

Darkness swallows her.

"…will you try again, chrononaut?"

Max blinks. Weathered, ocean-blue eyes glance up at nothing. She can sense it, the pull of energy, the familiar feeling of dreadful anticipation.

It's time.

"…I don't want to try again."

Maxine adjusts from its nervous posture, a bright smile forming upon its lips, "Oh—a change! Surely you have seen reason, then?"

"I don't want to try again," Max stood from the bench, gazing off into the endless gray, "I have to."

"And for a second, I thought you would heed my words, for once," Maxine whined, a normal reaction given the situation—but not one which Max cared for. It reminds her of the steadfast conviction to her task: for she deals with something unknown, which cannot be inferred by normal human means. She fights against the otherworldly, for her doppelganger cannot mimic the thoughts in her head, nor the fire which burns in her heart.

"Tell me, demon, are you not—?"

"I am not a demon—"

"Tell me," Max pushed forwards, "Are you not born from a human's last wish?"

"Yes, I am," the entity smiled, "A fair and righteous human, might I add."

Max made no comment of that. Rather, she took note of its admittance, and frowned, "So then, you accept yourself as being like that of a human. You are like her…like me."

"Yes," it confirms with an innocent smile.

Max's blue eyes burn bright with energy, a crooked smile is returned, "Which means, you are just as fallible as I am."

The entity stopped smiling.

"…I beg your pardon, chrononaut?"

"You make mistakes, just like I do."

"That is not true, chrononaut."

"But it is."

"It is not," Maxine's golden eyes glimmered in sharp defense, "I am not truly of your kind. I am formless, and without definition. Though I assume your shape and speak your tongue and mimic your habits, I do it because I care about your eventual return to the third realm. I am guided by the Butterfly's last words to make sure you retain the timeline as it is fated, and leave unharmed. My actions are without error, without need for corrections. It is fated so."

"Is that so?" the human snickered.

It's lying to me.

Caulfield snickered some more; then she began laughing. Loud, harsh wheezes, which curtailed any response from the entity. In fact, its reaction only intensified Max's laughter—it was blank-faced. Expressionless. Undecided.

It's afraid.

"…why are you laughing, chrononaut?" it finally asked her.

"You don't know," Max wiped a tear away, "You don't know."

"What is it that I do not know?" it asked of her politely.

Max did not answer. She was recovering from her laughter, wiping another stray tear from her eyes. The smile she wore was infectious, but not for the entity which spoke to her.

"…chrononaut, what do I not know?"

No answer.

The doppelganger's features became like that of stone: cold, and unyielding.

"Answer me, chrononaut. What is it I do not know?"

"Do I have to tell you?" came the vicious reply, "You would already know what it is, wouldn't you? What with you constantly leering over my shoulder, judging my every action?"

"I cannot be present with you at every waking moment," it rationalized, but this only ignited Max's amusement, "A-ha! So it is the case!"

"What are you hiding from me, chrononaut?" the entity pressed.

"You never saw it," Max recognized, "None of it, huh? Not even the slightest inkling of what I've done?"

"What is it, chrononaut?" there's an edge to the entity's voice. It is not as tolerant as it once was.

Just a little more—

"Aw, is the little demon scared?" Caulfield taunted, her grin was sharp and her glare was full of malice, "Scared the mortal human is going to best you in this game of tricks? Well, come on then! You want to know so badly, then why don't you just reach out and take it—!"

The entity raised its right hand, and sought to touch her forehead—

Max shot her arm out, and pulled. The dull, grey mist is washed away once again, the warm colors of Blackwell's photography classroom bloom from the static, like a splash of watercolors on an empty canvas. Yet this time, the process was slow, cumbersome. Max is reminded of an animation timelapse in which the motions are cut into keyframes, the shapes snap from one position to the next. This molding of the past was surreal; even when it finished its process, it hardly seemed like the actual thing.

Maxine is lunging at her. Far too many times, Max had done the exact same thing—and the entity would dodge her, and she would let it, for it was not her target. But now, she was on the short end of the stick.

Her hands grip the strap of her messenger bag, and she swings it with all her might, striking Maxine whist in the air. The momentum carries the doppelganger off to the side, they crash into the cabinets on the opposite wall, glass shattering and wood splintering from the sudden impact. Figures of nameless people, disjointed and faceless, cry out at the sudden change; they scurry away from the fight unfolding before them. Max doesn't notice them—the entity's recovery from the mighty blow is what captivates her.

"You will tell me, chrononaut," it commands, rising from its slump.

"Make me," Max snarls back, adjusting her stance to brace for the inevitable attack.

The right arm of the entity glows a deep shade of gold. It blinks, its golden irises swallowed by equally golden flames. It curls its heels, and launches itself at her—

She ducked at the last second, her right hand coming up to pull on the threads of time. The scene changed: they were now in the Two Whales Diner, both of them collapsing onto the tile floor at opposite ends of the interior.

Waitresses serving a couple tables gasped, the food nearly slipping from their plates. Truckers turned their heads to grumble about the sudden noise, but sputtered in fright at what they saw. A cop sitting on a barstool by himself reached for his radio, requesting for backup—

Maxine curled her glowing hand into a fist. The doppelganger marched to where Max was recovering, an aura of certainty matched its haughty stride.

"You cannot run from me, chrononaut. It is futile to do so."

"Oh, really—is that so?" Caulfield tauntingly rasped, taking hold of a plate topped with a steaming-hot hamburger and a side of fries. Maxine sees this, and tries to close the distance rapidly with a single dive, hand outstretched. The potato slices scattered into the air, the burger fell apart after a couple feet of travel, but Max's aim with the porcelain saucer was true. It connected, the entity flinched at the impact—and missed her by mere inches with its grasping arm.

Max threw herself over the counter, weaving past the couple of bewildered servers in her way. She grabbed a strawberry shortcake as she passed the glass desert cabinet, shoving half of it clumsily into her mouth to savor the taste. She knew she would not get a chance for something like this for a long while.

Then, her sixth sense spiked. A saucepan is snatched up, and brought up to counter the outstretched arm of the entity. Beautiful golden sparks fly from the contact, but are reignited when Max parries a second lunge, deflecting and then countering with a heavy swing of her own. Her improvised weapon nicks the entity in the jaw, they recoil from the impact and land on the small counter lining the edge of the inner wall.

Max barely survives the salvo of three metal bowls that were suddenly shot-putted in her direction. The saucepan comes up to deflect a jab, but is swept aside by a follow-up strike. Max rolls with the momentum, the counter-swing knocking the entity's arm away before it could touch her. She backs away, shuffling backwards until she found herself backed against the curve of the counter.

Oh, shit—!

The entity primed itself for the opportunity, a faint smile traces its lips at it steps forth to claim its prize—

BANG

The bullet strikes the entity in the side of the head. Red viscera spills out the exit hole, the head jerks from the impact—but the entity does nothing more than turn its glare to the offender.

The cop is standing on the other side of the counter, frozen in disbelief. His service pistol comes down, his expression marred with fear, "W-what the fuck—?"

The entity casts its blazing right hand up to strike him in retaliation—

Max took her chance, her own arm outstretched and pulling at the threads. The diner and its clutter is replaced with a dilapidated scene: the junkyard. Max found herself atop the husk of an old fishing boat, and her doppelganger was tumbling off its side, their position unsupported and without anything to impede their fall.

But the entity rights itself, and begins climbing the hulk of metal. Max panics, the saucepan in her hands is chucked down at the entity to buy her time, and she fishes for another weapon. A rusty metal pipe measuring an arm's length is seized with a trembling hand, and is swung once the entity pulls itself over the lip of the boat.

Maxine takes the full weight of the strike with a raised arm, its other finding a similar-sized wooden two-by-four to counter-swing. With their weapons in hand, the two of them engage in a brutal, impromptu swordfight. Wood and metal clash in sharp, distinct reports. Blue and golden irises glare each other down, striking and countering each other in but a handful of seconds.

The pipe in Max's hands collides with Maxine's leg, knocking it out of balance. The wooden two-by-four hits Max in the ribs before she could block in time. Another strike from the pipe uppercuts Maxine, sending it back-first against the boat's small cabin. Max is about to bring the pipe down to make sure the entity cannot recover—

Its hand comes up, and pulls. Max feels the ground fall from underneath her, and she stumbles into a roll, barely avoiding the swing meant to knock her unconscious. She gathers herself—taking in the scene of the photography classroom once again. The pipe is out of reach from when she stumbled, but another opportunity presents itself in the form of a chair. With both hands clasping the metal feet of the chair, she tosses it at the entity. It dodges, the chair striking the teacher instead, knocking him to the floor.

The doppelganger is rushing for her, its glowing hand ready to clamp down on her head. Max rolls to the side at the last second, hoping the entity was overcompensating in their speed—but it righted its course after but a second's pause.

Her back still to the floor, with desperation apparent over Maxine's advance, Max lashes out with a side kick, striking the doppelganger square in the abdomen. It forces the entity back, its motion causing it to slam into a table placed behind it. Caulfield grins, then rights herself to press her advantage—

Maxine throws itself at her, hand outstretched once again. Its aim is true, its blank stare fixated on its point of attack. Max is caught off guard by the sudden recovery, and she jerks her body backwards to avoid its reaching grasp—

For the briefest of seconds, Maxine's index finger touches the skin of Max's forehead.

The connection was lost almost instantly, and the two opponents ducked away from each other. The classroom faded. The lighthouse cliff returned. Endless grey embraced them.

"There is nothing that you can keep from me, chrononaut," the entity declared triumphantly. It stood from its crouch, glaring upon the human with its golden eyes, "No amount of tricks will keep me from guiding you down the correct path."

"Prove it, you lying bitch," Caulfield snarled back.

"Timeline one-three-three-seven," Maxine recited, as though she were a physician listing a patient's dossier, "After intervening, you gave the journal to the Faithful One, in the hopes that she could reach the end without stumbling over herself. Expected outcome curtailed by intervention. A doomed timeline. A failure."

"Not to me," Max curbed, "She's done what I asked her to."

"The Butterfly was still mortally wounded," Maxine countered, "she will not recover—we both know this to be the case. The White Knight is dead, as is the Head of Security. The Reporter will soon join them. Whatever hope in succeeding that the Faithful One might've had is about to be seized from her. She will be taken like the rest of them…she will not survive. You have made it clear that their lives are non-negotiable, and yet you let them slip away despite claiming victory."

"Don't you get it, yet?" Caulfield snarked, "It's not about them. It never was."

"Then what—?" but the entity stuttered to a halt. Max could see it sifting through memories, playing back the images in its head. The exact moment when it dawned upon this doppelganger, was the same moment which she brought forth a victorious smile.

Gotcha.

"…what is in that envelope, chrononaut?"

"Beats me," the smile grew, "You'll have to ask the messenger carrying it. After all, I told her to guard it with her life. By the way—how long has it been since you leeched off my power? Now that you've spent so much of it trying to best me, you surely wouldn't let yourself be stuck in a timeline over a simple message, would you?"

The doppelganger stood there. Contemplating. A frown was laid heavy across its brow. Its golden eyes scrutinized their human counterparts.

Its right arm began to glow. Blinding golden light surrounds the entity, and in a flash, it is gone. Hope blooms for the first time in Max's chest, she gasps at the sudden excitement.

It's taken the bait!

Her chance had arrived. After all these attempts, after all the suffering she had endured—her chance presented itself. She was not given any guarantee that it would work, but this did not bother her in the slightest. Anything is better than nothing.

Max looked down to her right hand, teeming with energy. She thinks of all the decisions she's made, all the choices she committed to.

She thinks of her friends, her family, her home at the edge of the bay. She thinks of the reason that has kept the flame in her heart alive for all this time.

I'll make it up to you, my dear messenger. I promise.

Max reached her arm out, and pulled.

The white hues of the fluorescents have been changed to a dark red. The skin of Kate's wrists is raw from her straining against the tape. Her head is throbbing, the pressure in her veins roaring in her ears. Her sight blurs, then sharpens, then rolls into static, then fades into a blur again. Over, and over.

His gloved hand brushes gently across the curve of her cheek, his index finger tracing the curve of the light against her soft, pale skin. She retracts instinctually from the touch, but he does not let her go; his hand seizes at the locks of blonde hair, having been unfurled from their bun, silky golden strands pulled taut in his iron grip.

She sobs, knowing what's coming next. She's got her eyes closed, wincing in dreadful anticipation.

He smiles. The knife in his other hand is leveled, the blunt edge is used to bring her chin up. She shivers at the contact of the cold metal.

"It is said that people like you reject the idea of the world. Your god calls upon you to rebel against the worldly pleasures that surround you—that if you surrender yourself to the divine and absolve yourself of the material world, then your soul will be saved. Yet, inevitably, you are drawn out by hunger and thirst—by comfort and pain—to be what you ought to be."

The knife is raised, and cuts through. Golden strands fall to the ground. She whimpers, tears spilling from her eyes. She's trying so hard to not give in—and he craves every second of it.

"Mortal. Sinful. Human."

"God-damn you," she rasps, but immediately does she regret lashing out—the knife cuts more locks of her hair, a cruel laugh spills from his lips.

"Go on, speak your mind," he goads her, "Prove me wrong if you can."

She says nothing in her defense. Her silver eyes gleam with righteous hatred, he drinks in this quiet fury as if he were parched. His free hand gestures to her bosom as he speaks.

"This fear that you feel, it is good. It means you're alive. It means you're still…you."

"As if you know who I am," she bit back.

He hummed, displeased at the notion.

"…you're right. I do not know who you are. That's what I'm trying to figure out."

His gloved hand lets go of her, and she slumps in her seat. The weight of her hair is gone, and is replaced with an emptiness surrounding the back of her neck. He had cut those locks short, as a means of depriving her of that familiar comfort. She feels the cold air all-the-more intensely as he steps away, wondering to himself aloud—

"Who is Kate Marsh? What is she like, what makes her tick? What defines her…innocence?"

She says nothing. He sighs.

"…alright, I won't keep you waiting for the main event any longer," he calls, a bit of excitement in his tone. She frowns, confusion laid heavy on her brow—what the hell was he talking about?

Jefferson steps out of sight, the shadows swallowing his figure as he ventures into the darkness. Kate takes this moment to test her restraints, but again she finds no purchase. Sounds reach her ears, and she looks. It's hard to tell what is going on in those shadows outside of the red hues coming from the studio lights, but the longer she looks, the more she sees. Jefferson, his back turned to her, dragging something closer…someone closer. When he's crossed over the plastic covering the floor, he shifts around the person he's carrying, and now can Kate get a decent look of who it is—

Kate gasps. Her eyes are wide with terror, her lips pulled taut to keep from gawking at the sight. Eventually, she musters the courage to say, "W-what did you do to her?"

"Would you really like to know the answer to that question?" he smiles, a gloved hand taking the unconscious form of Juliet Watson and lifting her up by the arm. The reporter's arms were restrained behind her back, her hair was cast out of its usual style and fell over her hanging face.

That is, until Juliet snapped awake, sputtering profanities under her breath. Her head comes up, and Kate gasps again, for a large gash on her brow had oozed blood all across the left side of Watson's face, coating it in a layer of dark, blackish color. This blood had sealed the reporter's left eye shut, for she could only blink her right eye open.

"Oh God, Kate…?" Juliet rasped, her voice marred with exhaustion, "What're you…?"

"Surprise," he coos down to the reporter, "It seems your friend here wanted to join in on the fun. I hope you're not too…disheartened, now that she'll be stealing the spotlight."

"Wha'ever you do," Watson begged of her, her one good eye pleading to her in desperation, "Don't tell 'im a fuckin' thing!"

"Now, Kate," he implores the trembling blonde, "you wouldn't happen to recall the names of those you spoke to about this little investigation you and Ms. Watson shared, would you?"

She doesn't know what to do. She flounders, torn between sparing Juliet or honoring her wish. She is helpless when Jefferson decides for her, taking the reporter by the nape and shoving her face-first to the ground, her head thunking against the hard floor.

"Wait-wait-wait—!" Kate thrashes in her restraints, "Please, don't—!"

"Names," he commands, taking a handful of Juliet's hair and pulling the moaning deadweight back up to her knees, "I want names, Kate."

"Kate, don't…"

"It's just me!" Marsh cries, "It's only me now, I swear—!"

He cocks his head to the side, eyeing her like a hawk, "Don't lie to me, now. You don't really want to know what happens when I figure out you're trying to deceive me."

"I'm not!" Kate sobs, "I swear it! It's just me left, that's it—!"

"Just you left?" he repeats, the implication catching his ear. Kate stumbles into silence again, but she's got nowhere to run away from this.

With gritted teeth and an aching heart, she admits, "Everyone else is dead. Gone. It's just me now, just me and…"

His predatory gaze glances down to the reporter in his grasp—trying to escape his hold on her despite the onset of a slight concussion—and hums.

"…a very intriguing answer, Kate. It's just so hard to believe something is as good as what you describe."

A gloved hand secures the resisting bronze-brunette, another grabs the knife which had been set on the cart off to the side.

"No, no, please—!"

"Don't be surprised, Kate," he dissuades, "I already know I can't trust your answers. Nothing you say could prevent this, even if you tried."

"She's done nothing to you!" Marsh begged, "She didn't even know you were a suspect—none of us did!"

" I know," he smiles, "I'm rather proud of that, to be honest. I bet it hurts more to be blindsided by the unknown than to fall prey to what you already knew."

His haughty smirk is directed to Juliet, "Wouldn't you agree with that, my dear reporter?"

"Fuck you," came the growling reply, but the blade in his hand pressed against the flesh beneath her jaw, and she gasps in pain.

"I will have my way with the both of you, on my own terms. Then, when I'm done with you, I'll go after those you love," he smiles, a terrible glee in his tone, "I'll start with Max, since she means so much to you two. I'll bring her down here, make her take your place. I'll tell her all about the way you caved in and gave me her name, in a vain effort to save yourselves. And the best part is: she'll believe all of it, because she knows that I don't lie."

"No," Kate rasps, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes," he grins, pearly whites contrasting with red and black hues. He positions himself in such a way that he's looming over the reporter, his left hand holding her steady and his right clutching the knife.

"W-what are you—?"

"Let me ask you something, Kate," he starts. The atmosphere is cold with tension. Juliet whimpers, there's a sudden frenzy in her attempts to dislodge the photographer's hold on her, but she cannot break free. She turns her head to the blonde, her one good eye imparting a final wish.

"Kate, don't give in—" Watson sputters, her busted nose spilling blood down her lips and chin, "Don't give in to him!"

"Do you know what it means, to be truly alone?"

She has no idea how to answer the question. However, it means nothing considering he never gives her the chance to.

The blade slices across the soft flesh of the throat. Warm, glossy, crimson liquid spills onto the plastic. Gargling, choking. Juliet is trying to say something—but it's nowhere near intelligible. The monster lets the reporter fall, and she rolls onto her side, gasping for air. The gargling turns into haggard wheezes, the desperate attempts to suck in air impeded by the blood trickling into her lungs. Tears of anguish roll down pale cheeks for a final time, as the body spasms to find any relief—only to find nothing.

"J-Jesus Christ—!"

"He cannot hear you, Kate."

He steps over the reporter's lifeless body towards her.

"You are all alone. No one is coming to save you now."

Terror. Fear. Shadows hide his features as he steps closer to her. Red color surrounds his imposing silhouette, but she can feel the hungry glare fixed on her. She fights against the restraints, hoping for any chance she can get—but there's nothing.

Kate is doomed.

She knows it. He knows it. He revels in it, his figure becoming one with the pitch black, molding into inhuman shapes as he paces around his helpless prey.

"Not your classmates. Not your family. Not even your God," his gloved hands snatch at her, and she squirms against his grasping, but it's hopeless. One gloved hand clamps down upon her shoulder, the other cups the soft, pale flesh of her face.

"You are mine," he whispers in her ear, "All mine. Every waking moment you spend hereafter, will be one which is under my domain. You live because I allow it; you will die when I see it fit. Your innocence, your purity, your soul—all of it is no longer yours."

She cannot refute him. Down in this hellish realm, his words are law. Nothing can stop this monster, not even her faith.

A thought comes to her, of a promise she had made. She imagines herself there, surrounded by blue-tiled walls and with red blood spilling onto the floor from a gunshot wound. Blue eyes, sharp and clear, imparting a final word to her; a farewell, a fateful request.

"I…I don't belong here. I cannot be here."

"Nonsense," the monster chuckles, "You're exactly where you belong. Don't you see, Kate? This has been your destination all this time. It was fated to be this way."

There's no reply. She is silent, her defeated silver eyes searching aimlessly for an explanation to prove these words wrong. There is nothing. She is left with nothing. She is lost, without aim or direction. No purpose, no meaning. Doomed to suffer at the hands of a monster.

I have been judged. I have been found unworthy.

Lord, if you might forgive me one last time, grant me this final wish: a swift, and painless death.

"There it is," the monster coos, "Oh, what beauty! What naïveté! How I've waited for this moment ever since you first stepped into my classroom!"

The silhouette shuffles to the cart, grabbing another syringe. It is giddy, twitching with excitement over its new plaything.

"We shall have our fun, I will show you so many things. I will take you to places you've never imagined, give you pleasures you did not know exist," the monster stands before her, his tall and imposing height draws fear from the depths of her heart, "And once this is over, and your time comes to an end, I shall guide you into the beautiful black oblivion—!"

BANG

Kate screams as blood droplets shower all over her. The body crumbles, the syringe clattering to the floor along with it. It is quiet, save for the sudden ringing in her ears.

Movement, in the shadows. Silver eyes flicker to it, and judge its disposition: slow, erratic shuffling. Red hues glimmer off the polished metal of a handgun. The gunman shifts over to the table by the couch, and picks up something from it. A few seconds pass, and the lights change from their eerie red hues, moving back to their original bright fluorescent white. She now can discern who had saved her.

"…N-Nathan?"

He is drunk. Kate can tell because he cannot keep himself still, slightly swaying this way and that. His eyes are agitated, bloodshot. He had been crying—he still is crying. The handgun is ever-so slightly shaking in his grip. Eventually, he brings the weapon down to his side. There's a tiredness to his expression that Kate knew could not be easily remedied.

He says nothing. Not a word as he trudges over to the still-warm body of the monster, not a peep as he pockets the handgun and substitutes it with the knife. He steps over to her, the blade still dripping with blood from its last victim.

Kate tenses up, hands curling into fists. She shakes her head, silently begging. He's gonna do it, he's gonna do it—!

He takes hold of one of her wrists, and carefully cuts the tape. He does the same with her other wrist. He backs away, shuffling over to the couch to rest. She slowly, carefully stands up once he does so.

She is alive. She is free.

Careful footsteps walk over to the prince, who sat slumped on the couch. There she notices her flannel, and messenger bag. She takes these things and dons them, then steps over to the tray. She is careful not to notice the bodies lying beside the cart, focusing on the item she's keen for: a roll of paper towels. She takes a sheet from this roll and wipes the speckles of blood from her face. She turns, and heads back to the couch, stopping a couple paces from it.

Nathan is lost in his head. His sharp blue glare snaps erratically from one part of the room to the other. His brow is crooked, his hair is off-balance. The façade of a tyrant has dropped away; in its place, is the visage of an anxious soul.

Eventually, he looks up to her, "…what?"

"Thank you," she returns, "for saving me."

He casts his sorrowful glare down to the floor. He mumbles something, barely audible from where she stands. She tries to hear by stepping closer.

"It was…you or me…you or me…"

"…Nathan?"

"Go," he then beckons her, his head jerks over to the exit. She reluctantly does so, turning her back to him and walking over to the tarp.

No sooner had she passed through this entryway and into another section of the bunker, did she hear the sobs begin to echo. She made it to the exit, but stopped short. Though she could not understand what compelled the sudden change of heart from the prince of Blackwell, she felt it wrong to let this sorrow go unchecked, now that he had saved her life. She about-faces, ready to step back into the dark room and help the poor soul—

BANG

Kate jumped, hands coming up to cover her mouth in shock. Eyes dilated, ears perked for any sound of life. Once the ringing in her ears ceases its harsh tone, she calls out.

"N-Nathan…?"

…there is nothing but silence. She is…alone.

With a heavy heart, she turns back, and steps out of the bunker. Down a concrete hall she goes, starchy fluorescents guide her to a flight of steps leading upwards. She looks back the way she came, then up the stairs. One blood-speckled shoe takes a step, then the other.

Kate ascends.

She is greeted by a flash of bright golden light. When she lowers her raised arm to shield from the intense light, she beholds an angel dressed in human flesh and bone, with golden eyes burning like the sun. It's voice echoes in the barn, carrying with it the weight of ten-thousand souls. A harbinger of fate, a courier of the Lord himself. Yet, Kate was not struck with awe simply for this, but rather because this angel came in the form of someone that she knew.

I have kept my promise. I have fulfilled my oath. I have delivered the message.

"…Max?"

"Be not afraid, oh Faithful One…"