The Fog of War

[Gildarts]

[spoiler]

This thread is a residual flashback thread, the increments are in relation to Christa Adams' current storyline in "An Alliance Formed in Blood."

[/spoiler]
Captivity: Day Thirty-Nine

"If you do this for us, we can almost guarantee the resources to bring back your dear sister," a voice beckoned as a thumb stroked her pinned cheek. At the touch of the man the chained girl violently thrashed, her vicious eyes scalding with murderous intent.

"Come now, must you act so very stubborn? I'm simply trying to establish a mutual understanding." The smarmy man's brown eyes glittered with translucent amusement.

"Go to hell."

"Tsk, tsk." The man chided, "Christa, my dear, I think your head is still spinning from that last dose. Allow me to reiterate so we don't have any.." He paused, his lip curled into a threatening smile, "...Misunderstandings."

"Allow me to reiterate. I don't want your damn Omni copy."

CLAP!

The hot skin of the woman's rose cheek seared as she was struck by the man's hand.

Footsteps hollowed with a soft, dissipating echo in the metallic room that was her cage. The sound traced away before stopping at the door, "You will listen to me."

"Fuck. You."

"Even if I have to break you."

[Gildarts]

Captivity: Day Nintey-Two

Rasping, slow inhales filled the room, chafing against throat and lung. Parched lips hung open and pale blonde hair hid her entire face that had dipped towards the ground. Tracing the shadow along the woman's skin were blood-covered bruises. Tender and black knuckles, arms, and legs. Especially around the superior rings that held her in place. They lit with fire at times increments, the torture had intensified to the max, and Christa was bordering death. To her agonized spirit, just the tempting hint of it, pricked her mind, but she had lost her ability to hope for such salvation.

Forgotten were the sweet things such as warm sunlight kissing her skin, or the taste of food in her mouth. Instead she was filled with needles and injected with supplements. She had forgotten what it felt like to not be in pain, as the feeling had become numb to her body. There were no shares of pain, but there were so, so, many needles.

Her entire developed body had withered into one of deprivation. Sallow skin, hollow eyes, bone cold. Her gaunt features struck the sick creatures that watched her from the silvery panes of mirrored glass. Some called themselves "scientists," the others, "businessmen," but Christa knew them only as the enemy.

The shrieking sound of the rusted hinges echoed with the opening of her cage's door. The motion of the girl's head did not rock with movement as squeaking, seven-hundred dollar shoes gently rolled near her.

"Not even going to look up?" The familiar man's brown eyes had the same shimmer in them as he chastised the shell of the girl.

Her half-open, unblinking stare only partially registered his presence in the room. If only from the cascades of the wall of her greased hair, she caught sight of the glossy black leather inches from her face.

"Let me know when you want to end this silly duet. Your petty stubbornness is nothing but a nuisance at this point."

Her chapped, faded lips croaked as they formed ragged words of desperation.

"Kill me."

"What a humble request. However, that would mean all of this – our prized effort put into you – would be for nothing. And you see, we simply can't have that."

The fight had left her, silently she took another shivering breath. Her abdomen convulsed only slightly.

"You look like you are at the end of your rope. You may even need extreme medical treatment..." His voice beckoned, as he created the longing for solace within her stirring thoughts. "Have you changed your mind?"

A pause.

The man smirked, mistaking the silence for what he wanted to hear. "How exciting. I really am glad you finally realized the complete futility of all this. I was almost beginning to think you were a waste of our resources. Or worse, my time. It was only too bad you didn't recognize this at the beginning, you could have saved us both so much trouble.."

"Come closer.." Her hoarse voice whispered. The suited man leaned in, his ego savoring her helpless respiration. Christa could barely move her lips as the words escaped, "Go.. To... Hell."

A tinge twitched in his eye but before he could register her words, or move away from his spot hovering above her head, she drew her strengths from every working muscle and bucked into his chin, hard. His teeth met the back of her skull as the suited man was flung backwards feeling only a fraction of the agony she felt in a day. "Hmph." The girl smirked to herself, while her lips remained dead, her energy completely drained, and her limbs shaking from the volts that immediately sparked into her. A consequence for her bad behavior.

"My my," A disturbing arrogance liked his voice, "That was very foolish." The brown-eyed man said as the thick blood drooled from his lip. She relished the color as a few speckled drops fell to the ground.

"That was for... Putting your damn words in my mouth. You can't control me, and you never will. That's why you hate me so much."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, girl. I'll warn you, little Christa. We are getting tired. And you, my dear, are running out of time."

[Gildarts]

Day One-Hundred and Fifty-Seven

Agony. It blazed powerfully in her mind. Leaking from the strong sense of self that had kept her sane for so long. After so many days, so many utterly purposeless hours full of torture, pain, and of course, the most rueful regret. One hundred and fifty seven worthless fucking days and she had inevitably been coerced into playing their game by their completely vile yet highly efficient bullshit.

They had started their effective "convincing" crusade with the subtle threat of killing innocent people, then, they had done it, slashed their throats like it was nothing right before her eyes. Blood spilled and their bodies rolled lifelessly to the ground. Christa was slowly driven mad while the body count at her feet only grew larger.

Training didn't exactly prepare a soldier for these prisoner of war situations, not ones of this caliber. Her home world could not have readied her for this hell. The basic routines hadn't told her what to do if she couldn't escape. Not from this wicked sense of a broken life.

The many blood-curdling screams that had filled that hellish room would never leave her. And because of this, she damned them all to hell. Every last slimy fucker. The Empire. She blamed them for it. The Empire. Malice seethed through her bloodied teeth, hatred blinded her, shivers of terror and self-loathing haunted her in the half-sleep that had become her now so distant life.

Finally, she had fallen to her knees and begged them to stop when they brought in a girl that resembled her sister and placed the child before her. So simply, they had held a freshly sharpened knife pressed against the silken pale skin of the child.

A pearling bead of blood was produced, trickling the etched lines of her neck and staining the collar of her pristinely white shirt. "Her name is Clare. Age eight. Another lost life, and for what?" He knew it hurt Christa more if she knew the girl's name. Katia... And like venom, the words of freshly sharpened daggers stung.

A weak shudder from the essence of her being and the weakened soldier who had fallen to a bow could only whisper her plea, "Please... Please... No more."

The soldier had known death in battle. Even been a reaper of it. And never had it seemed once as senseless - so utterly purposeless - as this.

A triumphant pose from the proud brown-eyed man held up by a false sense of dignity in his vacant suit. "You fought well. But, can't tell me you actually thought you would win against us?"

Her lips dipped into a sighing frown as she drowned in the eternity that was and would always be the consuming deadened loss of shame.

Agony. It burned from her insides like an inferno fueled by the ever-engulfing flames of her dishonor. Once upon a time, she would have rather died than admit defeat. But death was only a fairy tale.

Today was the precipice of her life and forlorn death. After enduring so much, she was now a hollowed shell of her previous self. Her thirst for revenge had since evolved into a monster that was consumed only with feeding the eventual malevolence that would slowly destroy her soul.

She didn't bother to take a breath, it would only feed the agonized fire of her scorched lungs. Singed by the screaming, wilted by the pain, and deflated by defeat that had once meant so much. Now it meant nothing. As far as the soldier was concerned, she had signed her name on fate's tempting dotted line. One proposed by the brown eyed devil. She would kill him. And harbored this purpose above all else.

And as far as she was concerned, she was already dead inside. She had nothing else to sell, and no one else to lose.

[Gildarts]

Day Three Hundred and Fifty Seven

A smirk creased her lips as dawn's light approached.

Good morning.

Today, she woke up, ate her usual tasteless rations and began at her mission. The torture had taken so much from her. The succulent zest of life seemed no more. Now, everyday, she lived as a slave to the Empire. Every breath fueling her gray life was one endured.

The memory chip that also tracked her movements still stung in her neck. And by "neck" Christa meant her spine. Yes it was surgically implanted in a way that she could not so easily take out without severing certain muscles and tendons that would end up paralyzing her. Rendering her useless.

Her boney hand brushed over her perpetually aching neck; it wasn't that this particular pain hurt any more than those needles that made her shiver at the sight, however, it was the principle of it all that really got her.

The girl's expression held an ample serving of "I don't give a shit" while the rest of the low-class emperial scum ate it up. Pride in their uniform weaved on their faces and was displayed in their confident and flamboyant gestures. Well-kept hair was either cut in a high and tight or twirled in a thought bun that was tucked under the boat hats they wore off to the side.

Everyone happy-go-lucky about killing their next, slaying their first, or slashing anyone fortunate enough to be seen as "worthy." Everyone was cheery as the spoons met their lips and the poison cascaded into their throats. The corners of her eyes crunched together, narrowed to help keep her gleeful composure.

Officer Honey approached Christa with a false smile, while the girl continued to observe the room with a raised brow.

"Adams." Honey spoke her last name and the milky fluid of the room's comfort suddenly stiffened and the men stopped slurping down their plates, quickly becoming rigid and so, so civil. Honey was their commanding officer, but she was also one of the only women who avidly flaunted her body, quite evidently appealing their lust, and motivating their success with insinuated incentive. Others let their eyes glue to the two females as Christa received her orders.

And that was when the choking began.

It was almost on cue. The rasping coughs filled the whole cafeteria while others gripped their necks as their eyes bulged from their sockets. Their faces quickly became tomatoes. Lunch trays fell from their hands, food splashed to the floor, and in the chaos, the two women remained absolutely still.

This. Was. War.

And both of them knew it. Officer Honey endured the repulsing havoc with a stoic expression of repressed rage that chafed the lines she never smiled with.

Christa who remained sitting, slowly she tilted her chin at a mocking angle as she looked up at her "superior" with a coy smile. Her eyes lashed with ignited fire, no trace of ever being dimmed. Now, today, this was her revolution. Today she would break loose from hell.

A triumphant voice played in her lips as she serenely spoke to Honey, "What, you didn't get your coffee ?"

[Gildarts]

Day Ten:

"Hire someone else to do your dirty work." She spat as another splatter of splitting pain crushed against her bruised cheek.

"My my, aren't you eager to die today."

"Tch. As if you could. Apparently, you need me alive for some convoluted reason. Damn Empire scum. You didn't even know who I was and now so suddenly you need me? Can't you hire someone else? Or is negotiation off the table? Because honestly, these needles are fucking pinpricks compared to what I'm going to do with you when I get out of here." A pause. "That's right. I'm talking to you suit."

"Watch your tongue girl." His body recoiled as his tongue sharply replied.

"Or what, you'll shoot me? Please, I've met cockroaches scarier than you."

"You are hardly in a position to move, let alone make callous remarks that will get you an unhealthy treat."

"Do your worst, suit."

[Gildarts]

Day Three Hundred and Fifty-Seven, Part Two

With a loud slurp of her own quite obviously poisoned coffee, she turned to rise to her superior and offered a flaunting grin. Flaunting of the 'special' quality of tolerance she had gained from her visit to Hell. Christa's eyes glistened with intensity as enraged fire roared in her fists.

"Never liked coffee." Honey spoke back, her tone haughty and snide. "Like revenge, it's much too bitter."

"What's that expression? Dropped like flies?" Christa sadistically sneered, holding none of her scorn back as though Honey was the one who tortured her and her squadron of two hundred had supplied the ammunition and held her down, delivering her to the suited executioner.

"They were... Good men." Honey's fists clenched together to form balls of white. The two women faced-off before suddenly a bullet launched into Honey's back and through her left pectoral. And the bullet had gone straight through. Large caliber, she assumed. Christa showed no mercy as she tackled the limp body and used it as a meatshield. Sticky-sweet blood soon covered her as her hand reached the officer's holstered pistol. Her expression turned into spilled soup as her eyes landed on her attacker.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Black attire, head to toe, minus the square patch of white around his Adams' Apple. A thin, snaky smile greased his lips as the priest bent down towards the female soldier, on the ground and wavering like a child. Christa's hair a mess, and half of her face was splattered with crimson war paint.

"What, aren't you happy to see your own brother?" He raised his pistol to her temple and smirked.

"You fucked-up, filthy son of a bitch."

"Oh my, repent of your sins, little sis. And all will be forgiven."

"How about you repent of your sins? How could you just sit bad and watch them murder our sister? Or me... Hundreds of days in captivity, just like an extended vacation, and you didn't even write?" She sadistically challenged as her gun lowered, a crucial mistake.

"I was on a mission."

"Oh yeah? I forgot, you were sent by God."

"No. Not God. Omni. You forget, there are people who don't deserve redemption."

"What, and you just banish them? Don't you think it's kind of fucked up?"

"Tsk. Tsk. Dearest sister, you have made too many mistakes. Turn yourself in and you too, can have redemption."

"Yeah yeah, read it to those who actually give a sh-" Christa's eyes widened with a fear-frenzied disbelief. "You're.. You're working WITH them? How could you?! They killed Katia! They killed OUR sister, or have you forgotten?"

"How could I?" Pain lined his words if only for a second, "I'll tell you that I haven't forgotten the reason. Incentive. Now they have the final chess piece. They've held it for very long. And you have made them quite angry. Give it up. Or it's check mate, and not just for us."

Advice. Not just from any priest. But her brother. How effective. The memories swarmed in her mind faster than she could blink. Her weakness. She stared it in the face, while the snout of his pistol stared right back at her.

"What did they do to you? Why are you doing this?"

"Don't you get it? They asked you for one little thing, and you declined. Your sister's death is your fault. I'm your fault. And all you can do is plead innocent, no, you are even worse. A helpless victim. Poor, poor little Christa... 'They killed my sister, someone help me!'" He mocked in a wimpy voice, "It's pathetic."

"I never thought I would hear more bullshit come from your mouth, other than when you were preaching to the masses." The words were strong, but compromised by her faltered expression as the stinging words ripped at her abdomen. He was all she had left. And he had taken the coward's way out of the battle. Betrayed her, rather than fall on his own sword. Christa forgot that no man was perfect. She also forgot that people all too frequently lost their reason to have strength.

"My feelings are so hurt-"

"How long did you last? A day? An hour? You're not my brother anymore. So you won't mind if I do this." The blonde raised her gun, mercilessly on her own kin, ready to spill her own blood.

"Oh Christa, I'm your brother, you know me. You won't shoot me." He approached her with staggered steps until he felt the steel over his heart. "I know you."

"Think again. I went to hell and back. No thanks to you, coward." She growled and clicked the trigger. Only to discover the magazine was empty in her hand. Click. Click. Click. Desperately she pressed before scoffing to herself, and noting the surreal lightness of the gun.

"Ouch. You would shoot your own brother? Maybe I don't know you as well as I thought. After all, you killed our sister." His words were painful velvet, carefully chosen to fit her intricate doubts.

"You take that back! I didn't kill her!"

The snake played her like a fiddle, choosing the tempted emotions enlivened by her fear that he wanted to elicit in her, "You're the one who caused her to die, big sis. Or did you forget? If only you had said yes, surely this moment – rather, this day – three hundred and fifty seven days after, would be very, very different. You could have saved her. Protected us both. But you failed her. And now she is very dead."

The painful truth delivered a crucial blow to her psyche. Her hand desperately clutched the gun as though she were hanging on for her life. Meanwhile, her brother riddled on. "You asked why I was here, I assure you, my reasons are most honorable."

"What did they promise you?"

A sly smile snaked on his coiled features. His manipulation was marked with notable ambition.

"What. Did. They. Promise. You." She wouldn't repeat herself.

"So much more than you could ever imagine. Apparently a priest's soul isn't cheap. However, I will say, they told me they would revive her if I did my job. Yes. You heard right, Katia, back to life. Wouldn't it be like the good old days? The three of us?"

"Your job is to persuade me to do the unthinkable. You know I won't. I'm just as stubborn as ever. And you're just as cowardly as ever. You... You're a monster. Go to back to hell. It's where you belong."

His weary expression revealed he was wearing thin of the repetitive insults, "Now, God is the only just judge, but just how many people have had to die because of you? Their lives taken, I bet their loved ones wept in the same way you mourn for Katia."

"You call yourself a priest, but you're the devil. And you sold your soul. And there is nothing left for you but to burn."

"Who me? Who other than Miss Honey over there, have I killed? And she wasn't exactly, 'innocent' if you know what I mean." He winked, acknowledging the woman's lustful sex appeal.

"You're a righteous bastard, you know that? And more of a monster than I could ever be."

"Now, that's where you are wrong," he waved his finger and narrowed his eyes, "Deep down, you are a murderer. And you don't even care. Just how many bodies are here? A couple hundred? Not to mention the cost of war only increases with the growing population. You even almost shot me a moment ago! As if I could die from a single bullet in my new form... But.. We all have our justice, Christa, and you can choose to call me a murderous vigilante, or you can embrace the fact that you have become one. Your choice."

"You're right. It is my choice." She took a lasting look at her brother and lowered her pistol before swinging a fist into his face and feeling the fleshy crunch of his nose squish under her hardened knuckle.

[Gildarts]

Day: One

"You killed her, what else was I supposed to do? And now you are expecting me to join your little fucking crusade? Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Oh, and you are surprised? And oh, I'm the Empire. Nice to meet you."

"Oh with that, we are SO past the point of negotiation."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Here I was about to propose a deal..." His tongue slithered from his lips while his ebbing tone called to her temptation with the enchantment of siren song. "You see, your particular background has given you skills that could be very useful to us, and in the same way, this makes you quite valuable."

"What deal...?"

"I'll bring back your sister – that's right, I'll personally save her life – all you have to do is one little job..."

And the girl with tear-stained cheeks, desperately held onto the idea that gave her a reason to live; Christa who cherished her sister more than life itself, decided to hear him out.

"All you have to do, is one little thing..."

[Gildarts]

Day Three Hundred and Fifty-Seven, Part Three

She snorted. "Spare me your bullshit. I have another trick up my sleeve." Christa spoke to her brother, now idle on the ground, meanwhile his head spun.

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"I'm going to find Omni."

A hand wrapped around her ankle as he spoke through his clenched teeth, "You can't." He seemed convinced, meanwhile Christa shrugged him off.

"Bullshit, haven't you done enough? Your persuasion won't work on me. You see, some people sell their souls for the world, other people choose to take the world, at the cost of their soul." She stepped on his cheek so he would relent.

"You... Can't.. He'll kill you."

Christa's eyes widened, as her brother suddenly vanished from beneath her foot. She had her chance and she didn't take it. Now she was left alone with her own remorse

"FUCK."

... Later that day...

"Oh yeah Brown-eyes? What are you going to do? Shoot me?"

"We have much more... Effective ways of persuasion."

"Do you now? And how well did that work out for you?" She sneered a challenge.

"You shall see what you have created for yourself, Girl."

"Man, just when I thought you couldn't become any more of a dick, you empirical scum prove me wrong every time."

"Hm. Talking big for a puppet who we have in the palm of our hands."

"You're talking big for a chess piece. What, did they strip away your emotions when you lost your fucked up sense of mortality?"

"Talk all you want. It is but useless squandering."

"Okay, okay, you got me. Can you at least untie me? I promise I'll play nice." Her eyes flicked to her brother, he was dead to her. And his own ally "Brown-eyes" held a persuasive knife to his neck.

"Were you ready to die for your cause?" Christa challenged him, merciless even in his last moments. But it was her farewell.

"I did what I had to." The coward said nobly. Near poetic last words.

Brown-eyes ripped the skin coveted flesh with his blade, sliced through the white tab of his collar, and a dense body fell with a gentle muffle onto the cold ground. During this moment and at the sacrifice of her hostage half-brother, she had slipped her ties, and lunged vengefully close to the suited man who had tortured her for three hundred and fifty seven maddening days.

With the swift swipe of her hand, she ended him. It was too easy. She didn't even turn to the suited man's body, perhaps she could not bear to release her anger, for fear of what she might become. It was over, and she felt a minute pang of despair for her dead brother. Everyone, everyone she loved had died. She crouched low, and covered his eyes with the nearest garment, his priest coat, and corrected him.

"You did as you pleased."

[Gildarts]

Day Zero - Dog of War and Hounds of Hell

VROOOOM!

The hum of zooming vehicles closed in behind her as she steered the hovercraft with her too tight grip and dodged buildings she would have surely crashed into. Damn. Her training hadn't prepared her for this. The air washed her clean the sticky, stained cold fabric of her shirt clung to her chest.

WHOOSH!

A gust of wind carried her past the corner she had steered it to take. The heavy butt of the scooter she had only just learned to drive, skidded and slid as it braked on air and remained almost completely unresponsive while its tail light swung into a windowed Coruscant building and scattered glass on the many miles below.

Jeez that was close. The blonde gasped as she watched the shimmering rims of light fall to into the height of darkness. Quick as flint, she took to the handles once more and revved the engine of the hover scooter, delivering her from the almost immediate surrounding of at least ten white soldiers. Her eyes never fell on the dash-bound needle that quickly climbed with her fearless acceleration.

These freaking people on my tail. Legions of troopers stormed with unending thunder as they traveled close behind with the blast of battle quaking in their uniform march. How had she ended up here? Speeding for her life in the maze of city streets that was Coruscant?

She had chosen a chase scene instead of agreeing to come quietly, just like the movies. They had nothing she wanted and now, they threatened her life? Seems fair. she thought sarcastically, but this is what being a target got her. And sure, the empire was willing to negotiate, in "an eye for your soul" kind of way.


But let's start as the beginning shall we? My name is Christa Adams, and I was sipping tea in my relocated home in Coruscant after the migration of a lifetime. Days ago, the word "Prime" was hardly used without "Optimus" placed in front of it. And clocks only counted time zones differently, rather than measure different days in different worlds, or "Verses" I guess they say.

Apparently, some prime summoned me, who was it? How the hell should I know? Nor do I care. Or at least I didn't, until some bastards barged in my house.


A gentle song made the air into a melody as a brightly realized smile came to my sister's freshly lit face, brought with the light of glowing candles that she followed with her big brown eyes. The cake weighed heavy in my hands, as I delivered it right in front of her, and placed it on the table. I had set it with only ten candles. Only ten.

It was chocolate and I stayed up all night creating it. I can still taste the frosting on the corner of my lip. My smile grows, bringing tears to my eyes as the two of us share a moment, this moment. It doesn't matter if we are a world away from home, as long as we were together. Katia's eyes dwelled on the candles as though they were stuck on a clue, suddenly she looked to me. Her eyes held a question in them that her lips needed prompting to speak.

"What's wrong?" I asked my sister.

A flinch corrupted her smile and her response was one I'll never forget as long as I live, I never thought kids could get so deep. Her ten year old, light-toned voice spoke, "I just... Never want this moment to end."

"Hey, I worked real hard on that cake, you better blow out those candles before they drip wax everywhere." Wax frosting. They were wax less candles, like a thing of the future, common here, but she didn't know. I now wish she had never blown them out.

"Thanks Christa," she responded, "This means a lot to me since mom and dad aren't here."

Mom and dad. They were dead. We were orphans. Nothing more to it. As a sister it was my job to save her. Fat lot of good I did.

"Happy birthday dear Katia, happy birthday to you..."

The light of the room was swept away by the air from her lungs. Smoke coiled from the fringed wicks, as clapping came from both sets of our hands. We exchanged a smile. I cupped my hand around her soft hair and kissed it. The world had ended, and we were together. And then there was a knock at the door. God, I hate myself for answering that door. So much.

Naive. Like a child. Perhaps worse as I didn't even bother to check the keyhole. I wasn't home, and the reality that I had to fight for my safety had yet to dawn on me. In one hand I held me hot tea, the next, I turned the knob. The door parted open, and my brain swirled with numbed shock.

Minutes passed, I must've blacked out, my tea had spilt on my shirt, and hot water was everywhere. I woke to the distant echoes of the same voice spoken by different men, all in white.

"You there!"

"Come with us."

"She passed out."

"Let's bring her to the boss."

"I already got her sister."

Oh god, I remember the screams now. Katia's voice, beckoning me to come back to life. Foolishly, I remained asleep.

"Yeah she's down at the car." Another man replied curtly, as though he were talking through a microphone.

"She's waking up."

"Oh good, we don't have to carry her now."

I fell like a lump to the ground and awakened to the heavy sound of a knock. Only later did I realize it was my own head.

"Who the hell are you?" My hostility challenged their authority. At first I thought there was only one soldier with me, that I was seeing double like when I got too drunk. Then the fuzzy blur around the outline of their helmets became a refined silhouette. There were two actual storm troopers –like from Star Wars – carrying me off into the sunset. Fuck them. This place couldn't get any weirder now. Or so I thought.

"Where's Katia?" I asked, still disoriented. My head spun faster than a top as my vision steadied.

"Oh the little girl?" Christa looked back at the cake, never cut, candles blown. "We took care of her. Now the boss wants to see you, come with us."

"Katia..." My voice wavered, cracked with pain. "You... YOU BASTARDS!" She was all I had left, what can I say? It went faster than those candles had been blown out, and the Empire's soldiers got their own "lights out."

The swing of my trained motion had splattered it everywhere. Frankly, it was quite gross. But I was never the queezy type. Katia was dead, I had just killed two of them. Her murderers. My grief was surpressed by the high I had gotten from the sweet revenge. The splatter of blood on my cheek, all over my shirt, it was everywhere. Part of me even liked making those goons into soup. Revenge was better than dessert, like the uneaten cake I had glanced at on my way out. Only thing was, you couldn't share it. And it didn't bring the dead back to life.

I ran to the garage on the roof. It was a patio and scaling higher than the horizon was the towering image of colossal buildings that I would never get used to. I didn't think as I started the engine of a strange looking machine. And before I knew it, I was in the air.

Now this is the part where, you, my earful listener freaks out, because the story came full circle. That's okay, me running for my life sucks as a place to end my story, and I didn't realize the plot holes either. Those things are harder to notice when you are living them. But I guess it all panned out well enough. Minus the fucked-up ending.

"There's the girl! What are you waiting for, shoot her down!"

"No, we are under strict orders not to."

"She doesn't know that, shoot around her!"

"But if we hit her she'll-"

"Ugh. Pussy." Shots fired around me, I was flying midair, in a futuristic city, being chased by stormtroopers. And what, then this suited asshole comes from the rear of the hound platoon and tries to reason with me? Sure he knocked that one guy with the blaster off his speed bike, but that didn't make him friend of the year.

"Christa, stop this!"

I didn't turn my chin over to see him. And oh, do I regret it.

This is the part of the story where I tell Katia I'm sorry, or I say I wish I had spent more time with her, or that I could see the future. But honestly, that comes later. Action was hot in my blood, my heart pounded with the speed of sound, and I was so, so angry. There will never be a day where I don't regret this one. Because today, those ten candles went out because of me.

Revenge. I thirsted for it. Two wasn't enough to quench the anger that lit my blood. I wanted them all. I wanted their heads. I lacked purpose in this world, I lacked a destiny. It was not my own, there was no reason to fight, but there was a reason to die. For her.

I did something stupid, we were nearing a pedestrian cross-walk bridge, and I thought it might be a good idea to take all of the flying scooters out with me. Kamikaze, I think they call it? Well, I was one crazy fucker back then, and I decided it didn't matter who I took down with me, as long as their dead bodies could be my results.

My proof that I wouldn't just let Katia die. I was righteous, I was stupid, and most of all, I was selfish. And karma is a mother-fucking bitch. Someday I hope Omni will sympathize, but I doubt it. Man, do I wish I had looked at who was crossing that bridge before I wrecked it. All of it came down in flames, and I looked at the rubble of my future, torn to shreds.

The malleable rock was soft, it took but a couple slashings to free it. Meanwhile, people crossed overhead, not knowing enough to look down, and me not caring enough to look up. I had framed the moment perfectly, everything was positioned into place, all I had to do was wait for the grenade I had wedged between the cracks to go off.

The man on the scooter slowed as he drew closer. Right where I wanted him, right beneath the ledge that would mean his death. Sunglasses framed his ominously expressionless face.

"What the fuck do you want from me?"

"We just want to... Make a deal." His tone tempted her.

"Who..."

"I work for the empire, they even supplied me with a small legion to help me support my cause. All I need from you is a little participation. Then you will get to see your precious sister again."

"Katia?! What have you done with her!?"

And that was when the bombs blew up in my face. Well technically, rubble fell from above. I watched it all, and sometimes I can't help but replay the images in my head over and over again.

The bridge collapsed, and all went according to plan. A huge piece of cement smashed into sunglass's temple. A piece that should have killed him. Gravity carried the rock down into the lower tiers, meanwhile, he snapped his neck. Scooters broke when they made impact with the hell from above, meanwhile my heart raced. I could save her, there was hope. I sped from the shower of death after approximating the proximity of rock, and gadging the ratio of distance with simple odds. I survived and following me was that same suited man of death.

I twisted behind me, while that sick son of a bitch followed. He brushed through the cascading fall of rock like it was nothing but water. The freak wouldn't die. So my response was to do as I was trained. And of course, I shot him.

I've never missed a shot in my life. Not to mention a shot that meant more than my life. Apparently amongst the rubble, he had acquired a shield. That shield was my sister. I didn't turn my head, but my scooter was about to explode into a building. I leapt to the closest platform and rolled safely out. The pursuit was still in session, because I heard the soft clacking of his pretty-boy shoes.

"Why won't you-" my eyes froze as I look up. My shout of rage screeched to a stop, claimed by my broken fortitude.

In his arms, he held the bloodied corpse of Katia. A bullet her heart. Her birthday. My bullet. Why couldn't I have missed the shot? Apparently, I didn't, as even in my grief, running as I reached out to her, I noticed a distinct hole in the man's suit, where his cold heart should have been.

"I-I-Oh Katia," my voice broke as I held her bloodied body against my chest. I jiggled her awake, as though I would wake her, or myself, from this nightmare.

I would have done anything to bring her back. However, I would never stoop to the same level of the groveling scum. Especially those who had caused all of this. My guilt clouded my judgement. I knelt before the man in sheer agony, holding the chilling body of my sister, trying to find a reason or a way to stop crying in front of my enemy.

Eventually I lost that "sensitivity." Manipulation, terror, and fear. No one deserved to die like that. One shot from my pistol seemed kinder that way. But I was a warrior. I dropped my sister to the ground and waged war with Empirical hell.

Until someone came up from behind me, and blew my candles out.

[Gildarts]

Breadcrumbs

The Epilogue

The steady beat of the drums thrashed in my ears while my knuckles clenched at the swoop vehicle I nabbed straight from yet another Star Wars guy. He was cool. Now he was cooler and had about five broken teeth. Oh well though, he needed to learn I can punch harder than he can throw em' and well, maybe I needed a punching bag.

I like the dunes, the wind is in my hair, and I feel like with the limitless horizon, nothing can hold me back. It hasn't been that long since my escape from prison. And maybe I've changed a bit. Gotten a little trigger happy, or perhaps just stopped giving a shit about corrupted scum. The empire does that, to people, and they are scum. A brutal lens to the see the world. I know. But dawn slowly rises. And in its light, I see your smile, and it gives me hope.

Today is your birthday Katia. I miss you like hell. And the wind ripples through my hair as I ride into the sands of time. I've been doing some digging, little sis. And not just for past graves, but for Omni. You know, no one thinks I'll find him. They say things like "You're just a secondary," Or, "Someone like you just isn't worthy."

Maybe here, we are just secondaries, but from the world we were pulled from, everyone had a purpose. Now secondaries are enslaved to the authority of Primes. But it isn't even about that. No.. Not here.

Meanwhile, those idiots question my resolve, and I will prove them wrong. They have never had anything worth fighting for in their life. They have never had anything worth more to me than you.

It has been Three Hundred and Sixty Five Days, that I hade endured without you. And I still blame myself for your death. Your older sis was pretty irresponsible, huh? Well, I'm doing all I can, and I won't stop until I either get you back, or die trying.

Much love, and Many apologies sister. I will find Omni, and I promise I will see you once again. If only to say I am sorry.

One. Last. Time.

C. Adams.

[Gildarts]

Ghosts of the Past

Part 1, Drink Away Your Sorrows
[spoiler]

Wandering amongst the swamp, Christa has fallen into a somewhat symbolic "slumber." In any case, I didn't want this part directly in the thread, so I opted to place it here, and I will attach a link to the beginning of the thread in the Saga. The following has some things to do with her brother haunting her deepest subconscious.

[/spoiler]

A rip in her backpack let all the contents spill out. With a huff, she reached down for the bottles, now soaked in goopy mud.

"Now... What is a girl who can't get drunk, trudging around with stacked bottles in the Swamp of Sadness? Doesn't it, y'know, weigh you down?"

Silence came from her hesitant parted lips as her eyes skimmed over the man who the fog had revealed.

"What, no hello for your brother?"

"You, were no brother of mine." A subtle scoff as she rose from her crouch, "Mine died years ago."

"Yeah, no thanks to you," he antagonized "Hah don't worry, of course, I'm not bitter."

"Choices can end a man's life before he even decides to live." Her righteous words rationalized her thought, but far from justified her actions all that time ago.

"So can a bullet to the chest, but then, you know that better than anyone. Now about the booze," his ghost stooped down and lifted up the bottle, emphasis on the very tangible swish of his wrist that caused a contained splashing noise within the glass. Her own eyes widened, he was dead, he couldn't possibly be real. But then.. This was the Omniverse. The same Prime who had dragged them all here, could have done it again. Suspicion and doubt touched her mind as she realized that this reality was growing more and more lucid.

"Ah, I see that caught your eye, sis. Don't worry, I won't steal your booze, scout's honor." The priest held out his hand and with a scrutinizing wink, offered Christa the bottle. In her hands she grasped the smooth chill of glass and very real mud smeared against her palm.

"Just don't drown." He quipped.

His priestly image flickered and he reappeared to her side, "So, we gonna go find Omni? Or are you and I just going to have a nice chat? That is, if he even exists."

"Tch." Christa was, for once, wordless.

"Now, where's that witty retort I know and love? Don't tell me after all of this time my sister has finally gotten soft? Booze'll do that to you, sweetheart."

Fierce eyes landed on him. "If you weren't already dead I would kill you, again."

"Oh, sassy, I like it. Not sure dearest Katia is a fan though." The false smile on Christa's lips suddenly fell, disheartened. Slowly, he withered her defenses away...

"Swamp getting to you yet?" He asked. "Y'know, everyone has pain to kill. It's just too bad you can't drink it away. Oh, and speaking of which, too bad about that soldier... Abner was it? Not that you care, imperial sith and all, though you'd probably say he got what was coming to him. Eh?"

"He didn't deserve it." She retaliated with an edge in her tone, her brother had pressed the right buttons and he knew it.

"You're not real." She bluffed after a while of rolling around in the slop and getting nowhere.

"Then you know what this is. And you realize how inescapable it is... C'mon sis, why don't you just give up? You gave it a good go, after all."

She tossed an annoyed glance, her expression flat with determination. "You know how long I've spent on this. That is not an option."

The priest laughed haughtily, brandishing his badge of entitlement with the same scorning wrinkles of amusement that crinkled around his eyes.

"Oh you mean, how you've spent this past year trying to reach someone who may not even exist, with a completely unrealistic wish. Even if he does exist, and you find him, why would he ever help a secondary like you?"

"I don't have an answer for that. However, I can only hope he will listen to reason." She held her pistol firmly in her hand.

"Better yet, instead why not admit to yourself why you are really trying to find the genie? The truth you are so afraid of. It can't hurt, after all, no one can hear you in here." His voice tempted her.

"No!"

"Selfish, selfish girl..." Her brother tsked to shame her. "Fine, if you don't have the balls to say it, I will. It is, of course, no surprise you seek Omni. You want a new life, to wipe away the old. All those atrocious memories of being tortured by those Empire scum. Why not wish for a clean mind with better memories instead of Katia's life? You have nothing to lose, everything to gain. And you know as well as I do that you want to forget it all."

"I have a debt to pay."

"Don't you owe it to yourself first to find happiness? Even Martha told you to live a little. And she's a housewife of all things. It's my job as a priest to assure you she's in a better place. Heaven is pretty nice, though I'm not sure it exists at all here."

"That's because you went in the opposite direction."

"Touché, Christa dear. But what do you expect will happen IF Katia returns? Do you think she could ever respect her sister when she realizes just the monster you have become?"

"Shut. Up."

"Heck, deep down you know she never loved you, she only ever needed you in place of a mother. So what then, makes you think she would love you now, after killing all of those innocent people and if she ever found out about..."

"Shut UP." She simmered. This was personal, this was family. And Christa made the same mistake again when she held up the gun to her brother –the priest's– chest.

"Oh come now, you know not even Omni could wipe all that sin from your soul. Not even all of Neptune's Ocean's-"

"I don't give a damn." She shot him through. His apparition flickered.

"Anywho, I wonder how your body is doing? After all, you did fall asleep in the Swamp of Sadness. I wonder if it has anything to do with what is soon to come eh, Christa? But then, you know I can only hope."