Hey, everyone. Just wanted to give a short foreword, since the last few chapters were pretty lighthearted and this one's kind of heavy. This chapter features a (brief) torture scene, so if you're sensitive to that, I'd recommend sitting this one out.

Otherwise, I hope you all enjoy.

When Alexia woke up, she wasn't in the world of the living. Instead, she was again greeted by the sight of endless, textureless white - the 'space between the paradigms', as the floating man in the robes had put it.

She sat up quickly this time. She felt short of breath. Even in this space between living and dead, she could tell that she'd taken one hell of a blow. Sweat beaded on her brow as she thought of the possibility that, this time, she may very well be dead.

No freaking way I could've survived that, right?

She looked up into the white. Again, the man in the robes was there, smiling down at Alexia like a proud parent. He bowed his head to her.

"Kifflom. Welcome back, sister-sister."

Alexia blinked. She thought it strange she was having the exact same hallucination twice in a row. She'd had no previous experience with 'Kifflom' or the Epsilonists, so why her unconscious brain kept gravitating back to these concepts escaped her.

But she didn't have time to think about it. Shaking her head to gather herself, she looked pleadingly at the man in baby blue robes.

"Mister, I…"

"Call me Cris," he interrupted. "With no H, sister."

"R-right…It's good to see you again, Cris."

"And you as well, Zyntara."

Alexia squinted. "Pardon?"

"Zyntara is your real name, sister," he informed her. "You were queen of the seas, and every fish, whale, and sea urchin therein bowed to your every whim. However, a great storm arose, and your kingdom was swallowed by a massive vortex. Now you are trapped here on Earth, but you will soon be free, sister. You are making great progress already."

I was queen of the sea? Alexia thought. Well, now I know this is all bullshit. I can't even fucking swim.

"I heard that, sister."

"Oh, s-sorry." Alexia blushed, looking away from him.

Cris frowned. "It is no matter. To achieve enlightenment, one must first quell their antithesis. Are you an antithesis, sister?"

"I, uh…" She thought for a moment. "I-I like to know the truth, Cris. And…I guess, the only way I know how to do that is by questioning things."

"I see…" Cris nodded slowly. "It is an unfortunate part of modern life, Zyntara, that our society promotes the questioning of authority, rather than deferring to the judgement of a wise spiritual leader like myself. However, I realize that you are worried about your companion, whose Earth name is 'Damien'.

"Damien…" Her stomach clenched; she hadn't remembered at first, but he'd been knocked out with her. "Oh, is he okay, Cris?! Please tell me!"

"Calm, sister," he said, in a voice so soothing and gentle that she immediately silenced herself. "I've been watching your budding union, of course, and it is truly special. When two souls intertwine, Kraff sees it as a blessing. It allows for two antitheses to be quelled simultaneously, as well as a larger influx of donations to the Epsilon Center."

"S-Sure, well, I don't know about all that. Is he okay, though?"

"You know more than you may realize, Zyntara," said Cris. "But yes. Damien has been blessed with the divine Mark of Kraff. It protects him from harm, although he does not realize its divinity – he just sees it as a common birthmark, located in a rather unfortunate place. As you two become closer, you shall behold Damien's mark firsthand, sister, and when you do, you will know that your union is truly blessed."

"I still don't really understand, Cris," she confessed.

"You will, sister. However, there is only so much I can impart in this format. Once you are back on Earth, you and Damien shall be put through a trial, one that will greatly test your commitment to one another."

"A trial? What do you mean?"

"It will be embarrassing, and extremely painful. But you must not let them break your will, Zyntara, or great consequences shall befall the Ninth Paradigm. Just remember that the tract, once it is complete, shall be written with small hands…Kifflom be praised."

Before Alexia could ask further questions, Cris Formage was ascending into the Heavens again. She tried yelling after him, but before she could, her vision began to fade.

"ALEXIA! KID, YOU ALRIGHT?!"

Alexia groaned as she woke up. She was on her back, staring up into Damien's soot-covered face. A spasm rose up in her throat, and she coughed as the smell of jet fuel burned her nostrils.

"It's alright, kid! Quick, we gotta go!"

Damien hauled her to her feet as she struggled to catch her breath. All around them were the charred, burning remnants of the fighter jet they'd taken down. Damien's truck sat amid the debris field, its front tires blown out by pieces of jagged metal and its engine fuming.

Reaching into the back seats, Damien pulled out Alexia's SMG, along with her body armor.

"Put this on!"

"Damien, w-what's going on?"

"The Roses are gonna be all over this spot in a minute!" he told her. "The truck's dead, so just follow my lead!"

Alexia's breath left her; she could hear diesel engines screaming up the mountain they were on. The white aura of headlights was already visible.

Damien grunted, withdrawing a Combat MG from the back of the truck. "Quick! Let's take cover by that boulder over there!"

Alexia was terrified, but she followed Damien anyway, slipping the body armor on over her torso. Cris Formage's words were still echoing in her head. She put a hand to her right temple, which was throbbing in pain as she ran. The sound of engines were growing louder, along with the distant sound of machine gun fire. Alexia dove behind the boulder, loading a magazine into her SMG.

It wasn't long before Alexia saw them: four pickup trucks, each of which had a .50 caliber machine gun mounted in the bed. Manning each of these guns was a gangster clad in a red bomber jacket.

Damien didn't hesitate. He sprang up from the boulder and littered the pickup trucks with bullets, Alexia following close behind with her SMG. As she'd expected, her gun had a soft recoil, not nearly as sharp as that of a bolt-action rifle. The muzzle still rose as she fired, so to maintain accuracy she had to fire the gun in bursts.

Her patience paid off: as the battle waged, Alexia shot one of the machine gunners in the left temple, killing him. The remaining pickup trucks attempted to circle around the boulder, but were met with fierce fire from Damien's Combat MG.

More Roses were approaching, on foot and in cars. Alexia could feel the heat radiating from Damien's gun as she kept firing, hitting and killing another machine gunner.

Alexia ducked back into cover. Her hands were shaking like mad as she reloaded her gun.

"KEEP FIRING, KID!" Damien screamed over the gunfire. "SOON AS WE GET A WINDOW, WE MAKE FOR THAT TRUCK!"

Damien gave his gun a break, withdrawing a pipe bomb from his vest and lobbing it at the approaching gangsters. There was a commotion before one of the weaponized pickup trucks exploded, lighting up the night air in a flash of ignited gasoline.

It was rather obvious to Alexia that Damien had seen combat perhaps hundreds of times before this. Compared to him, her movements were clumsy and wrought with panic. She frequently ducked for cover, her nerves thoroughly rattled by the bullets thwacking against rock, inches from her head. Gunfire echoed through the mountains, spread out across the vast wilderness like a blanket of chaos.

"Shit! CHOPPERS ON OUR SIX!"

Alexia looked back and saw them; red Buzzard helicopters, closing in on their position. Damien immediately dropped his Combat MG and picked up his Homing Launcher. A well-placed missile took out one of the choppers, but two others quickly took its place in the smoke-tinged skies above.

Alexia's gut wrenched in terror. Her SMG wasn't built for long range. The Earth shook as Damien fired another missile, this one just barely missing.

Damien shouted at her to follow him out of cover. Taking her gun, Alexia scrambled behind Damien, who fired madly at the Roses on the hillside. As they moved, they were met with the explosions of heat-seeking missiles against the ground, which showered them with dirt and pieces of rock.

Alexia's own gun was getting hot. She switched her SMG to her back and drew her AP Pistol, which was still clipped to her waistband. She fired a panicked volley of shots at the approaching Roses, but the chaos all around her prevented her from accessing The Zone. It was apparent that she and Damien were losing.

Eventually, Damien went down. He'd taken a bullet to the chest, and although it hit his armor, the impact left him winded. Alexia was left to keep shooting with her AP Pistol, but she too took a bullet, this one hitting the armor just above her navel.

Alexia doubled over and retched from the pain. The impact was like being hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. She tried to keep firing, but she and Damien were quickly surrounded by Roses, who ordered them to drop their weapons.

Seeing no other alternative, Alexia and Damien did so, putting their hands up as they were surrounded by a platoon of men with assault rifles.

For a moment, the air was still and silent save for their heavy breathing. The men around them, all wearing red bomber jackets and matching red bandanas, looked like they were waiting for orders while their fingers brushed the triggers of their weapons. Alexia could tell by their eyes that they were itching to execute the two Black Skulls.

The sound of a lighter flicking open. Smoke drifted from the crowd of Roses as a man stepped forward, holding a cigarette in his hand. The man had a young, unscarred face, with short blonde hair and emerald eyes. He was wearing a cowboy hat, and his bomber jacket was littered with custom patches. The man laughed triumphantly as he smoked his cigarette.

"Howdy, Damien. It's been a while since I've seen you. How's y'all's crew?"

"Hello, Alastor," Damien said, breathing hard from the pain in his chest. "We're not doing too good right now. We're still burying our dead."

"Right, right." Alastor nodded slowly, taking a long drag of smoke as his eyes moved to Alexia. "And who's your lady friend? She looks like…fresh meat."

"Leave her alone, Alastor," said Damien. "I'm the one you want. Just take me instead."

"I don't think you're in a position to tell me what to do, boy." Alastor snapped his fingers. "Get these assholes cuffed."

With thirty machine guns trained on them, they couldn't put up much resistance as two Roses advanced toward them, carrying two sets of thick iron shackles. One of the Roses grabbed Alexia, wrenching her arms behind her back before locking her wrists in the cuffs.

"Get used to those chains," Alastor said with a smile. "Y'all are gonna be wearin' them for a while."

"Look, we don't know anything, Alastor," said Damien as his own wrists were cuffed.

"That right? Well, then what were you doin' all the way out here? It's like you knew we were gonna send our jet out tonight."

"We were just in the area!" Damien shrugged. "I was teaching her how to shoot! Look, sorry about your jet, but you hit us first!"

"I don't rightly believe you, Damien. No one comes out here to the Highlands unless they've got a real good reason." Alastor blew some more smoke from his mouth. "How 'bout I start hurtin' your lady friend over here? Maybe you'll tell me what you know then."

Alexia tried to remain calm, but doing so was tough with thirty men training guns on her. Two Roses were holding her roughly by the shoulders, standing her up straight as Alastor, the Roses' crew leader, advanced toward her. At that moment, all she could do was stare back, trying not to show fear.

"I don't reckon I've seen you before," he said. "But I will say, you look mighty…familiar. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Little Red Riding Hood," she snarled back.

At this, Alastor started laughing. A few of his crewmates joined him, apparently having gained permission to laugh.

"You're a real jokester, aren't you, girl?" Alastor asked her.

"Sometimes." Alexia shrugged.

"Well, that's alright. As you'll soon see, we've got ways of makin' people talk."

"No!" Damien leaned forward, but was held back by two Roses. "Look, she just joined, okay? She's a rookie. She doesn't know any information you'd be interested in, so just let her go."

"That right?" Alastor smiled. "Well, I reckon if that's true, she might as well get a taste of how we do things. It'll teach her not to get on our bad side. Right, boys?"

A chorus of agreement went up from Alastor's men, after which Damien and Alexia were hauled off toward the waiting cars.

"You're making a mistake!" Damien yelled. "We're not-!"

Damien was silenced by the butt of a rifle slamming into his solar plexus. He crumpled almost to his knees, forcing the two Roses holding him to drag him into a waiting HVY Insurgent. Alexia couldn't help but notice these were the same vehicles she'd seen parked out in front of Bahama Mamas.

"I'm headin' back to the compound," Alastor said, looking sinisterly at Alexia. "Get her full name, her rank, and what she's doin' out here. Then, once she's good and broken, you bring her to me. I think I'll have my own bit of fun with her, if you catch my meanin'."

Alexia felt sick with fear as the Rose gangster holding her lifted her up before shoving her into the back seat of the Insurgent. She fell onto her side as Damien was also pushed into the armored truck.

She was breathing hard, her veins ice-cold. She had a good idea of how the Roses tortured people; she'd seen that skull mask in her uncle's penthouse, with the plaque saying its owner had gotten his eyes burned out. While she'd been hit, punched, and slapped around like a ragdoll for years by her mother, she'd never actually been tortured. Furthermore, she knew what these Roses did to women; she wanted desperately to escape before Alastor could have his 'fun' with her.

She struggled like mad against her cuffs, which were tight and immovable on her wrists. She slumped forward in her seat, beads of sweat dripping from her face.

"Settle in, you two," said the burly Rose gangster driving the Insurgent. "You've got quite a ride ahead of you."

"I think you'll like this place," joined his companion, a smaller man with red hair. "It's very isolated, very remote. It'll bring you two closer together."

As the two men laughed at their misfortune, Alexia looked over at Damien. He was looking back, apology spread across his face. Alexia noticed the moisture in his eyes, the guilt-ridden trembling of his mouth. He wasn't saying it, but she knew he was blaming himself for them getting captured.

She shook her head. "It's not your fault, Damien. I was the one who wanted to shoot down the jet." She looked at the smaller man. "That's right. It was my fucking idea. If you're gonna hurt someone, hurt me."

"Don't flatter yourself, pumpkin." The smaller man scoffed. "Both of you clowns will get a turn with Napalm."

"Napalm?" Alexia squinted.

"He's our resident torturer. And, spoilers, but the name is pretty accurate."

"He's gonna make you sing real loud," the larger man snickered.

A chill ran down Alexia's spine; not only was she going to be tortured, but her soon-to-be torturer was a man named 'Napalm'.

She looked absently out her window as the Insurgent careened down from the Highlands and back onto paved roads. From what she could see, they were heading away from the city and its ambient glow, so bright and vivid in this dark section of country. North of Los Santos was the Senora Desert, where Alexia would be doing her sniper training – that was, if she survived her encounter with Napalm.

Alexia felt something on her right shoulder. She looked over and saw Damien, who was leaning up against her. She could tell he would be hugging her if he could, but for now, she supposed this was good enough. She leaned back into him, trying to find comfort in his body as the truck sped toward Blaine County, followed by a short convoy of Roses.

Hours passed. Daylight was breaking as the truck made it to their destination: a small farm at the base of Mount Chiliad, San Andreas's highest peak. Alexia's captors informed her that this was one of the Roses' weed farms, so remote that it also made for a convenient place to torture their enemies. As the truck stopped, Alexia began hyperventilating. She could feel a panic attack coming on as she saw the shed at the back of the farm, illuminated by a dingy lightbulb in the center. As she was dragged from the Insurgent and pushed toward this shed, Alexia could see them: lengths of chain, hanging down from the ceiling, at the end of which were two wicked metal hooks.

Alexia's captors undid the cuffs. By this point her arms had gone numb from being pinned behind her back for so long. She stumbled forward, hitting the dirt floor of the shed face-first as one of the Roses pushed her. They laughed at her expense, as well as that of Damien, who hit the floor in a similar fashion.

"Alright, you two. Napalm doesn't like shirts getting in the way of his work." One of the taller Roses snapped his fingers. "Take 'em off."

The assembled Roses began snickering. They'd clearly seen the flush of red spring up on Alexia's cheeks. She scooted away from them, crossing her arms fiercely over her chest.

"Look, I'm telling you, she's just a rookie," said Damien. "She doesn't know anything you don't already-"

"Shut the fuck up, Damien!" the tall Rose snapped. "You've killed enough of our guys over the years."

"That's between me and you! Please, guys, she's got nothing to do with this. Just let her go and hurt me all you want."

"That ain't happening. Now take your fucking shirts off before we strip her naked."

"Damien, it's okay, I…" Alexia sighed. "I'll take my shirt off."

Alexia stood up. With some difficulty, she unzipped her body armor and threw it to the ground. This was followed by her flannel shirt, which left her in her tank top. She dropped her hands to her sides, hoping this would be enough.

"Keep going!" the tall Rose barked at her.

Alexia's stomach dropped. All of these men were staring at her, waiting impatiently for her to take off her shirt. She was embarrassed, shaking like a leaf thinking of what else these Roses were going to do to her, but she knew there was no other alternative. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the hem of her tank top and yanked it up over her head. Immediately, a chorus of boos rose up from the assembled Roses.

"Well, shit, I really thought she was packin' under that shirt."

"Nah, I reckon she's just a flattie. Now, let's get her strung up."

Alexia was beyond mortified as she stood there, trying desperately to cover her chest and her stomach. One of the Roses advanced toward her with the chains that had bound her wrists. Looking away from him, Alexia breathed in hard, the muscles in her arms tensing as she allowed her wrists to be cuffed, this time in front of her body.

One of the hooks was lowered from the ceiling via a pulley system, and Alexia was shoved over to it by the Rose who had cuffed her. The chain connecting Alexia's cuffs was looped around the inside of this hook before it was raised again, yanking her arms up above her head. The Rose didn't stop until Alexia was stretched taut, her shoes just barely grazing the floor.

Her head sank miserably to her chest as the Roses laughed at her. She was naked from the waist up, save for only a thin strapless bra. This left her entire stomach, her armpits, and most of her chest on full display as she hung, fully stretched out for their perusal.

Damien soon joined her, occupying the hook to her left. He'd also been stripped off his shirt, leaving him in only a pair of black combat pants. Alexia couldn't help but catch a quick glance of Damien as he was strung up beside her, his toned abs glistening with sweat; he grunted, kicking his feet and making his lean, muscled body swing from the hook he was chained to.

"Someone get Napalm," said one of the Roses. "I can tell he's gonna have fun with these two."

"Maybe he'll take his blowtorch to Damien's balls for us?" another joined in.

"Ohh, here's hoping. That'll make him sing real loud."

The door to the shed was closed, leaving the two captives to hang from their chains.

They didn't look at each other. Alexia was scared and humiliated, hanging next to Damien in nothing but a bra and jeans. With her arms above her head, there was no way to conceal her lack of curves or the ghastly paleness of her stomach. There was also no way to release the tension in her shoulders and her back, which grew by the second as muscles began to ache and sweat began to drip down her face and neck.

Alexia breathed through gritted teeth. Her back arched as she pushed down on her toes, hoping this would relieve the increasing agony in her arms. As she breathed out, her stomach flattened and her chest relaxed, but this relief was only temporary. Eventually her legs tired, and she was forced back to hanging by her arms, her ribcage pushed out by the stretch.

Panting, Alexia looked over at Damien, who met her eyes with a dejected frown.

"These guys don't like me," he said. "And now they're gonna take it out on you…I'm real sorry, kid."

Alexia sighed. "Look, Damien, we're in this together. It doesn't matter whose fault it was. I just wanna get out of here with you."

"Me too, but…" He shook his head. "Man, even if we get outta here, your uncle's gonna have my balls on a platter for getting you kidnapped."

"Not if I say something to him."

Damien's head rose as he looked at Alexia, who forced a tiny smile despite the burning pain in her arms.

"Y…You'd do that for me, kid?" he asked her.

"Of course I would. I…" Alexia grunted, pivoting on her toes. "Like you said, us Skulls always look out for each other. I may not be the strongest or the fastest girl around, but I can save your neck from my uncle. I think he'll listen to me."

He smiled back. "Okay…Thanks for not blaming me, Alexia."

"No problem, Damien…" She let herself down, panting for breath, a sheen of sweat springing up on her forehead.

It was true that she didn't blame Damien for them getting captured. She didn't know what that jet was going to do once it got to the city, but wherever it was headed, it would have surely hurt the crew, at a time when they were still reeling from the massacre at Bahama Mamas.

For a while, the air was silent, save for the clinking of their chains against the hooks they dangled from. Alexia took a moment to survey these chains; they weren't like the handcuffs she'd worn in juvie. These were thick metal shackles, like something out of a dungeon. The cuffs were clamped tightly to her wrists, but not so tight that they cut off circulation. She couldn't help but notice the tiny sliver of daylight between skin and metal, which she could just barely see if she squinted right.

She used the weight of her body to pull down on the cuffs, wincing as the metal dug into her thin wrists. The hook she was chained to was open at the top, meaning if she could just get one hand free, she could get herself down.

I don't think I can slip out of these chains. Unless…

Alexia's train of thought was interrupted as the door to the shed creaked open; Alexia and Damien shifted uncomfortably as a tall, muscle-bound man entered. The man wore a pair of faded overalls and a red hockey mask. Under his arm, he carried something that looked like a toolbox.

His eyes traveled down Alexia's body, and she flushed red, immediately conscious of her half-nudity. Out of instinct, she tried to pull her arms down to cover herself, but the chains wouldn't allow it.

The tall man chuckled. "Well, this shouldn't take long…My name's Napalm. For the next few hours, you two are gonna be my songbirds."

Napalm slammed his chest of tools down on a nearby table. As he opened the box, Alexia's face grew white. All she could see inside were instruments of pain: whips, pliers, jumper cables, a nail gun, a blowtorch. In a panic, Alexia tugged at the chains above her head as he withdrew the blowtorch. He squeezed the handle, producing a bright blue flame from the nozzle. The room they were in began to reek of butane.

"Here's the deal, you two," said Napalm. "You ever watched Fame or Shame? Well, this is a game I like to call Fame or Flame. I'm the judge, and you two are the unlucky contestants."

Oh, fuck me…

Napalm took a few thunderous steps toward Alexia. She was hyperventilating, her face white with terror as she felt the heat of the blowtorch, which Napalm aimed right at her stomach.

"Now, you'd better sing for me nice and loud, girl," Napalm threatened. "The louder you scream, the faster I'll take the fire off."

Damien yelled with all his might for Napalm to stop, to burn him instead, but it was no use. Alexia could feel the tiny hairs on her stomach begin to sizzle and burn off. She tried to back away from the flame, and as it came closer she sucked her belly in, a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable.

Eventually she felt it: skin tightening, hellish pain, smoke rising from the wound. She couldn't contain it. Alexia's screams pierced through the wooden walls of the shed.

"Thaaaat's right, little girl! Sing me a rainbow!"

Alexia thrashed and bucked and kicked as the blowtorch roasted her stomach. In the course of her agony, the shackle on her left wrist slipped down her thumb, catching on the crest of her knuckle. She didn't focus on this, so rended was her mind by the excruciating pain of being cooked alive.

Napalm withdrew the torch. Alexia was shivering, drenched in sweat, her skin clammy and pale as she gasped in breaths. A blistered sear marked her stomach, just above her belly button. All she could smell was the nauseating odor of butane, mixed with the raw, pungent smell of burnt flesh.

"You've got some pipes, girl," Napalm crooned, taking her face in one of his massive hands. "What's your name, anyway?"

"YOU WEAK PIECE OF SHIT!" Damien snarled, leaning against his chains. "WHY DON'T YOU BURN ME, YOU FUCKING BITCH?!"

"I'll get to you in a minute, pretty boy," Napalm said calmly. "Your name, sweetheart?"

Alexia could hardly speak; her eyes were wide with pain, her stomach feeling like it was on fire. She couldn't tell him her name and risk being ID'd as Remus's niece.

Regarding ID's, Napalm soon found Alexia's as he reached into her back pocket and retrieved her wallet, from which he quickly pocketed the cash held within.

"'Alexia Natchez'", he read from the fake ID provided by her uncle. He looked up at Alexia, shaking his head. "Now, sweetheart, you're in the life, so chances are this is a fake. Why don't you tell me your real name before I start burning you again?"

"N-no, it's real! I swear, it's…it's real, it's real, it's..."

Alexia paused so she could push herself up in her chains and suck in a breath. She looked up at him urgently, hoping he would buy the lie, but Napalm shook his head at her again.

"You're lying," he said gently.

In response to her dishonesty, Napalm flicked the blowtorch on again, this time bringing it down lower on her stomach. Again she shrieked and sobbed and howled in pain, tugging and twisting at the chains high above her head.

"Your name!" Napalm shouted. "YOUR NAME, PRINCESS! SING IT REAL LOUD!"

As Damien kicked and thrashed, shouting strings of threats at Napalm, Alexia kept pulling and yanking at the chains. By this point in the torture, she was slick with sweat. She was tugging so hard at the cuffs that her wrists had begun to bleed. All the while, Cris Formage's words echoed in her head:

The tract…Small hands…

Napalm was intensely focused on Alexia's sweaty, writhing stomach. He didn't notice as her left hand, lubricated by sweat and blood, popped loose from its cuff, freeing her from the hook.

Alexia didn't hesitate; as soon as her feet hit the ground, she took off running. Napalm was so caught off-guard by this that he didn't react at first. Alexia, meanwhile, wasted no time; she darted toward Napalm's box of torture tools. Napalm soon recovered himself and lunged in pursuit of her, but by the time he got to Alexia, she'd withdrawn the nail gun.

Alexia's eyes were wild as she squeezed the trigger, hitting Napalm in the left eye through the hole in his hockey mask. She kept going, hitting him with three more nails in his neck before he crumpled to the ground at Alexia's feet.

Napalm lay there lifeless, but Alexia didn't stop. She fired several more nails into the back of his head, a scream of anger and pain accompanying each rabid pull of the trigger.

"KID! Kid, come down, now! Stay with me!"

Eventually Alexia stopped. Breathing hard, she dropped the nail gun and rushed over to Damien, lowering the hook he was chained to so he could get himself down.

As soon as Damien was free, Alexia crumpled to the ground sobbing. Napalm may have been dead, but his touch lingered on her scorched stomach. The pain was indescribable. As she cried, Damien knelt down beside her and undid the shackle around her right wrist, using a key he'd found in Napalm's pocket. Afterwards, he pulled her into a sweaty, shirtless hug, which she immediately returned, clasping her arms onto his neck as she cried.

"You did good, kid," said Damien. "That bastard won't be hurting anyone else. Once we're back at the compound, we can figure out how to stick it to the rest of these guys."

Alexia sniffed back a wad of snot; she wiped her eyes, looking up at Damien. "H-How do you think we'll get outta here?"

"Well, put your shirt on, and we'll improvise. And bring that nail gun, too."

Damien handed Alexia her tank top, along with her wallet and the money Napalm had stolen. She winced in agony as she pulled the shirt over the fresh burns on her stomach, followed by her flannel and her body armor. The pain was mind-numbing, but she knew she had to push through. Once she was at the compound, her burns could be treated.

She looked down at her left hand, the one she'd freed, which was much worse off than she'd initially realized; blood was dripping down from her thumb, and huge chunks of flesh were missing from each one of her knuckles, through which she could see bits of bone. She flexed the fingers in this hand, which sent lightning bolts of pain shooting down her left arm.

Alexia felt sick from the pain. She groaned, following Damien as he carefully opened the door of the torture shed. While her wounds hurt unlike anything she'd ever experienced, she knew that it could've been much worse had she not freed herself from the chains.

Damien looked left and right before signaling Alexia to follow him. Carrying the nail gun, she followed Damien out of the shed and into a thicket of trees, which provided cover as they moved along the side of the shed, walking slowly to keep their footfalls quiet. Eventually, they made it to the back of the shed, where Damien held up a hand to stop.

"There's a cargo van right over there," he whispered. "We steal that, we can drive to Sandy Shores Airfield. If I know where we are, it's just down the interstate." Damien peeked cautiously over the edge of the shed. "Let's get in cover by that wood pile over there."

It was still very early in the morning; the entire farm was in the shadow of Mount Chiliad, which covered their movements as they scrambled behind the wood pile. Immediately, Alexia noticed two guards near the back of the van. They were inspecting the cargo, immaculately-wrapped packages of weed.

Damien looked at Alexia. "You think you can take 'em out?"

Alexia hesitated a bit before nodding. She raised the nail gun, emptying her lungs so she could enter The Zone.

This iteration of The Zone was unsteady. Reality flashed in and out as lightning bolts of pain shot down her arm, all while the searing pain of her stomach burns produced fresh tears that blurred her vision. She only had time for one shot, which delivered a nail into the back of one of the guards' heads.

The surviving guard whipped his head around and saw Alexia, who was out of The Zone but who kept shooting nails anyway. Something else had overtaken her then: hatred, malice for the Roses who'd tortured her. One of her nails hit the Rose in the neck, causing him to choke on his own blood as he died.

Damien clapped her on the shoulder. "Let's go, quick. I'll drive."

They scampered over to the van. Alexia shut the cargo doors before climbing into the passenger seat. Damien got to work hot-wiring the van, which started with ease.

As they drove out of the farm, they watched warily for any Roses who might be following them. Luckily, the few Roses on patrol around the farm didn't look like they could see inside the van, so dark was it outside. Alexia breathed out as they crossed the property line, heading south on a dirt road that paralleled the interstate.

Damien sniffed. "You smell that? There's a lot of weed back there." He nodded at the van's loading bay, which was full of bulging plastic-wrapped bags of green cannabis. "Looks like we may make some money outta this ordeal, after all."

"Well, th-that's good," Alexia said, wincing. "I think those guys took my purse."

"Hey, you did good, kid. Nice job gettin' outta those chains."

"Thanks. I guess that's one perk of having small hands…"

Alexia trailed off; her blood froze as she thought about her vision after she'd been knocked out. How had her unconscious mind known she and Damien would be put through a trial, and why had it specifically mentioned 'small hands'?

Damien looked at her. "What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing, nothing."

Alexia didn't really believe in ghosts or the paranormal, but she was starting to doubt that her unconscious visions were mere hallucinations. However, she didn't want Damien to know this, lest he think she'd lost her marbles.

I've gotta look into this whole 'Kifflom' thing when I get back, she thought. Maybe it's nothing, but there could be something more to it.

She groaned. The adrenaline in her body was wearing off, and every single nerve in her left arm was alight with pain as her stomach continued to burn.

Damien put an arm around her. "Don't worry. We're gonna get you to the compound, and they'll fix you right up…Kid, you are fuckin' lethal."

She forced a smile. "N-No one's ever called me that before."

"Well, it's a hundred percent true. Lethal Lex…" Damien grinned. "What do you think about that name?"

"Lethal Lex…" she repeated.

"Hey, you said you wanted to earn a cool nickname - I would say you've earned this one. Hell, you did most of the work back there."

Alexia paused to consider this. It was true – she'd gotten both of them down from their hooks and killed three Roses, successfully delivering them from the clutches of a brutal torture session.

A rush of excitement filled Alexia's body. Her story, once it was told, would earn her some reputation in the crew, especially with a veteran like Damien backing her up. Maybe, she thought, more people would want to be friends with her.

"Alright then," she said. "Lethal Lex it is."

"That's the spirit."

Alexia smiled as Damien patted her on the shoulder. She shimmied in her seat, leaning a bit closer to him as he drove.

"So, uhh, you got to see my belly back there," she said cautiously.

"I did." Damien nodded. "I wish I got to see it under better circumstances."

"Yeah, definitely. But…I mean, did you like it?"

Damien grinned. "Yeah. Yeah, it was a very nice belly. Smooth and concave, prominent hip bones, a nice vertical navel…"

"You know you're a massive weirdo, right?" she said, giggling.

"Guilty as charged." Damien put a hand up. "I'd like to see it again some time, if I may."

"Perhaps." She smirked at him. "Maybe by then, I'll have abs like you and Jess."

"Maybe, but you just focus on healin' those burns for now. Don't worry about me and my weird navel fetish."

Alexia smiled, looking out her window as the Sun rose over the Grand Senora Desert. The scenery out here was a complete 180 from Los Santos. Sand glittered like broken glass on the hillsides, and coyotes and tumbleweeds darted between the tires of speeding cars. In place of luxury apartments were rusted-out trailers, the majority of which looked abandoned. The only skyscrapers out here were natural ones: mountains, the largest being Chiliad, which lorded over the desert from the north banks of the Alamo Sea.

Looking up at Chiliad, Alexia felt a strange sense of peace. As foreign as the desert was to her, the rural landscape reminded her of home.

Still shuddering from the pain, Alexia leaned up against Damien as he drove. He wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders, navigating the van to the Skulls' airfield in Sandy Shores.